Organizing surprises was a significant, though rare, part of our family. When I was in sixth grade, Mom told my sister and me that she was taking us out of school for a week to visit Grandma in Florida. On my twelfth birthday, she surprised me with a hi-hat, an important part of a drum kit, by asking me to see how a new pair of shoes fit my feet. My sister and I surprised Mom on her fortieth birthday by serenading her with birthday songs as she walked downstairs. On Mom’s forty-third birthday, I surprised her by playing J. S. Bach’s “Jig Fugue” (1) on the organ as part of a Mother’s Day church service. So it seemed somehow appropriate for Mom and me to work together to surprise our pastor with a performance of Charles Widor’s “Toccata” (2) for organ as part of two Easter services.

I played the piano through elementary school and the organ in high school and college. While I enjoyed performing and experimenting with those cool sounds that only an organ can make, I hated learning new music. I had to learn each measure of each piece first by playing the right-hand part while reading from a braille score with my left hand. Then I had to play the left-hand part of the same measure while reading with my right hand. Once memorized, I played with both hands without reading the music. I had to repeat this process measure by measure and phrase by phrase until I could play a piece of music from beginning to end.

Some pieces were easier to memorize than others. While Bach’s contrapuntal writing was hard, the Widor piece, despite its blizzard of notes, was much easier because of its constant repetition. It was loud, bombastic, and showy, the perfect piece for a testosterone-fueled college sophomore who preferred playing percussion.

While I was learning the piece at school, Mom first got the regular church organist’s approval, and then had to sell the surprise idea to the pastor’s secretary.

“I don’t know how I did it,” she said when I asked her what she remembered about our efforts, “but I somehow persuaded the pastor’s secretary to write `Easter Surprise` in the bulletin.”

The bigger challenge was to rehearse the piece without alerting the pastor to what we were doing. We decided to wait until there were no lights in the parsonage” near the church, which Mom could see because we lived three blocks away. So late on the last two nights before Easter, we snuck into the church using keys that Mom had because she directed the church’s handbell choir.

“The church was pitch dark,” Mom said, “so I hung on to you as we walked up the stairs to the organ loft. But a small light came on when you turned on the organ. I was terrified the pastor would see it, but there was nothing we could do, especially since I had to follow the music in order to pull out the stops at the right moments.”

Mom went on to describe how exciting it was for her as I played the piece in pitch darkness.

“It somehow connected me to your blindness in a special way,” she told me.

After the final hymn was sung at the first Easter service, the pastor announced that he didn’t know what was coming next, and asked the congregation to be seated. The surprise performances went well.

A month later, I performed an organ recital at college, and while chatting afterwards with friends and family at a local hotel bar, it dawned on me that I no longer felt joy performing as a soloist, just relief that it was over. Two days later, I quit taking organ lessons, focusing instead on composing music, playing percussion, and partying with friends.

Several years later, I played timpani for an arrangement of the Widor Toccata for organ, brass, and timpani during Easter services at the largest Episcopal Church in New York City.

Now that was fun!

Happy Easter!

(1) To hear a recording of Bach’s “Jig Fugue” that I listened to in high school, please visit

(2) To hear a recording of Widor’s “Toccata” that I listened to in high school, please visit