Oh, Schteve

The time that many of us thought about in far-off hypotheticals has finally come in full reality: Steve Warner has relinquished the reins of the Folk Choir and answered his next call for his storied and grace-filled ministry.

My four years in the 35-year history of the Folk Choir coincide with some of the milestone moments that led up to this particular breaking of the baton. After auditioning for Folk Choir and being accepted at the start of freshmen year in 2007, I then in 2008 enjoyed my first tour with the choir - an international jaunt around Scotland and Ireland, during which, with complete aloofness and naïveté, I enjoyed our ministry and memories as Steve began to hatch one of his most "evil plans" behind closed doors. And this plan would go on to ruin Steve's life just as it would ruin mine.

Folk Choir in Edinburgh, Scotland on Scotland-Ireland Tour, May-June 2008.

In 2009, I enjoyed my second major tour with the choir, the euphemistically named Spring Touring Ensemble went and Amtrak'd all the way to Boston for a week of music ministry and fun times, sans our illustrious director. With Carolyn Pirtle at the helm and Nicholas Shaneyfelt at the keys, us folkheads would get a first formal taste of how our joy and ministry could be done at significant scale even with Steve hundreds of miles away.

Brief snapshot of hijinx from Boston Tour ("Lawd, Heah, Ah Prayah"), March 2009.

Meanwhile, in 2008-09, Steve, Carolyn, and several co-conspirators officially birthed the House of Brigid, a post-graduate service community founded by the choir and centered in Wexford and the Diocese of Ferns, where Steve's strongest and deepest relationship connected post-grad volunteer folkheads to the one and only Fr. Denis Lennon.

The eternal hospitality of Fr. Denis, here with my brothers, dad, and I as we dined with Sr. Mary.

In March 2010, my friend Dan Crupi and I popped over from London to visit the first volunteer community, sharing music ministry with Teach Bhride I and toasting to their trailblazing. 7 months later, my friend Katie Klee and I utilized some Nanovic monies (thanks, Mr. Nanovic!) to visit Teach Bhride II, to minister in the schools with them and get a fuller sense of the community and their life during a longer stay. As I pulled away in our cab to the airport bus, I looked at Clonard Parish from its quirky double-roundabout and knew it had made a claim on me. I knew I'd be back. Sure enough, about a year later, Steve and I were walking the harbor-front of Wexford town, he as the then-director of the Folk Choir and me as a volunteer in Teach Bhride III.

Dan and I visit Chris, Carolyn, and Martha, Teach Bhride I, February 2010.

Katie, Flan, and I visit Jess, Clarisa, Carolyn, and Patrick, Teach Bhride II, October 2010.

And here, in June 2016, almost 30 years after Steve first took his choir to Ireland, the land that made its claim on him has finally got him.

Trying to resist hyperbole, especially when it's so tempting to exaggerate, I'm gonna try to capture some of the essence of Steven "Cookie" Warner instead in three anecdotes that will make you feel wise, will warm your heart, and will make you laugh.

"Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir"

No, this isn't the story of how a group of hansom men with maturely higher-pitched singing voices once created shirts whose fronts said "University of Notre Dame Folk Choir Established 1980" and whose backs celebrated the supremacy of said hansom men - though Steve did tell me after the unveiling that Thursday night that we should be sued by the university for not properly marking the school's title.

This is the story of Folk Choir love. In my time in the choir, I remember there being as many as 7 couples within the choir. The close-knit community, quantity and quality time, and weekly back rubs are prime conditions for romance, and even if many fizzle, the possibilities abound. Many folkheads at least dip their toes in the pond and try their luck at folkhead love.

Steve directs a song for the Class of 2011 at our Senior Concert in Ryan Hall Chapel.

In February of senior year, my friend and fellow folkhead Katherine and I started dating. It snuck up on me a little, but I was excited. We didn't hide it, and others in the choir surely knew fairly quickly.

So did Steve.

As is custom for the sitting president, Steve and I met for about half an hour every week to set the agenda for that week's officers' meeting (or "Secrets Club," as we called it - that's a whole 'nother blog post). Occasionally, Steve would check in on my well-being or challenge me to be a good leader for the choir, so the week that Steve found out that Katherine and I were dating, he made sure to bring it up.

After gently alluding to it to make sure he had good intel, I confirmed it to him. Without hesitation, he looked me deep in the soul and told me, "Don't become the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir."

I knew exactly what he meant.

Folkheads often gossip about one another, that kind of gossip that borders just on the safe side of malicious behind-the-back-talk and teeters a bit too close to it at times. I knew it went on. Steve knew it happened. He wanted to make sure that I didn't let it happen to us. Michele and Steve had an eye out for Katherine, who as a sophomore was already showing her dedication, her ability, and her leadership potential. And Michele and Steve wanted the best for me and potentially for us.

A few years later as Katherine and I planned our wedding, it was a no-brainer that we needed Steve to lead our choir, with Michele cantoring and Karen blowing the roof off with the organ. The choir was the context for our friendship and for the lifelong connection we have found in each other. Steve brought us each in, and Steve looked out for us as we grew individually and in relationship. In a palpable, eternal way, I will always be the property of the Notre Dame Folk Choir.

My mom's favorite song

One of the reasons I chose Notre Dame was that I was 2 1/2 hours away from home, which meant that I had a decent buffer zone from home and family but also reasonable accessibility for occasional visits. My mom and dad were awesome at giving me space to be independent but remaining present and supportive with everything from buying dorm room groceries (whether themselves or by consent in absentia via credit card) to major-switching (what are you gonna do with a theology major?).

My parents' soft spot, especially my mom, was the Folk Choir, Basilica, and grotto. With my brother having been in the choir from 2003-2007, I had come with my parents to see the choir on campus and in the city when they traveled. Steve's music and personality had charmed my mom's heart, and my dad was similarly proud of the activities and community that his sons had chosen.

My mom in the JACC for graduation in 2011.

One favorite Folk Choir anecdote about my mother has to do with good ol' MassCast. As Fr. Rocca reminds us weekly, "This Mass will be Taped to be broadcasT on the inTerneT." Well, one week when my mom and dad were there, as the congregation joined hands to sing the Our Father with the support of the Folk Choir, mom began her habitual tears. Something about the melody paired with the words of this time-tested prayer just melted my mom like a microwave melts butter for popcorn. As she reached for a tissue with her free hand and began to wipe tears from her face, the MassCast cameras snagged her and featured her emotional reaction for a solid few seconds. It was just one moment in a long history of mom's many tears for that sung prayer.

In March 2013, my mom passed away following a stroke and other complications from ovarian cancer. She had been diagnosed two months prior, but the final challenges came and took their toll in a swift three days. Never ones to mope, we spent the week laughing, toasting, and telling stories. We sorted through boxes and photo albums and enjoyed friends' and family members' tributes. Additionally, my older brother and I worked with our parish to plan mom's memorial Mass.

As we chose the music with the parish staff, we wanted some of the favorites that mom had found through the Folk Choir included in this liturgy, and the sung Lord's Prayer by Steve was paramount. We finalized our selections, and our dear friend Michele Warner laid out the program in our familiar tri-fold style. Not to be outdone by his wife's contributions, Steve offered to come up and play for mom's Mass. We were humbled by his offer.

My family and I rolled in just before Mass started on that Saturday afternoon and took our seats up front. The readings and the music brought the love of God to my heart in just the ways I needed. When we reached The Lord's Prayer, any restraint I had been able to impose on my tears melted away, just like it used to for my mom, as we and hundreds others sang along with Steve's guitar to the familiar melody.

My mom with Katie Klee, at the Teach Bhride III send-off in August 2011 -
I think this was mom's last trip to Notre Dame.

I don't even remember talking to Steve that day. I don't remember saying hi or hugging him or greeting him. I just remember seeing him with the choir, taking a backseat to our home parish's musicians as they took the lead, and contributing his ministerial gifts the way that he so naturally and generously can.

That day, in the humungous crowds, in the procession forward to receive Communion that was chock full of people whom mom formed for that Sacrament, in the beautiful prayer and music, I glimpsed heaven heartily. And the way Steve entered into it so simply to give mom and us this gift was the lynchpin to the ideal memorialization of my mother.

When do you want your Prozac?!

In April 2015, my then-fiancee Katherine and I had the great privilege of being overnight guests at the home of the Warners. Folkheads get to come over for a BBQ; seniors get to come over for drinks; friends get to come over and stay. We were so elated that we had grown up to the point that Steve and Michele were legitimately our friends now. So when it came time to choose music for our Wedding Mass, they invited us to come have dinner, stay the night, and catch up as we picked our music.

The quintessential cantor, Michele, leading the music at our wedding in July 2015.

Ever the cheeky bastard, I couldn't help but have snarky ideas for this consultation. Following the tradition of many a great Thursday Night Survey, or "TNS" (remember "What's the worst song to sing at a wedding?" and the eternal answer of What Child is This?), Katherine and I gradually brainstormed the worst set list we could possibly compose for our wedding.

We rolled into Granger, Indiana, and reached the Warner homestead. We set up shop on the patio where Steve and Michele had - wait for it - set up a self-turning rotisserie chicken apparatus in their grill. Chicken, wine, Warners - Yes.

When the time came for music discussion, Katherine and I put on our best poker faces and slid Steve and Michele a notebook full of (terrible) song choices. This may shock you, but it appeared that Michele caught on a little bit quicker to the gag. As Steve's eyes went through the list, we could see his diplomacy slowly fading to disbelief and confusion. Finally, Steve blurted, "What the hell is this? This is freakin' depressing!"

The fake set list we proposed to the Warners.

Katherine and I lost our resolve and began to laugh with them as they caught on to the joke. We had a chuckle and explained that we had spent a lot of time on real selections but had relished the opportunity to assemble the anti-list. Delighting briefly in the monsters we were, monsters that Steve had created, we transitioned to real music choices, and Steve and Michele were their always-insightful selves as we sculpted the perfect set list for our Mass. As we refilled our wine glasses and enjoyed post-dessert banter, Steve added in retrospect, "I'm going down the list thinking, 'when do you want your Prozac!?'"

No Prozac needed. The wedding Mass was the complete and total joyous Sacrament we hoped for. I was utterly delighted when, throughout the rest of that day and in the days and weeks following, we received immense praise for the beauty of that wedding liturgy. It meant the world to me that Steve, Michele, Karen, and our renegade alumni choir had brought such a beautiful liturgy to our Sacrament and to our friends and family.

The choir of our dreams, led by Steve, at our dream-come-true wedding Mass, July 2015.

* * * 

One of the running jokes among folkheads is that none of us understand how we made it into the choir. We all feel somehow unqualified or unfit to be part of such a beautiful community. And when we'd tell our "how I joined the Folk Choir" stories, it always seems like no one really felt like they had a great audition to earn their place in the choir.

One time, we finally got Steve to comment on this phenomenon. With his usual story-telling timing, Steve told us, you know how I ask for your name? your address? your other contact info and such? I can get that all from the computer systems. Smirking, he went on, I'm just watching you, listening to you, getting a read on you.

Sure, Steve eventually has everyone do scales, and sing, and whatever. But Steve leans on his impeccable ability to read people and identify those qualities of ministry and community that make the Folk Choir so distinctive. We all smirked, realizing Steve had hustled generations of auditioners as he elegantly constructed an army of Kingdom-builders to do this important ministry.

I can only imagine what the full story of Steve's transition to Ireland really is. However, I know Steve navigated it with thorough, intentional discernment. And I know he shared nuggets of it gradually, with earnest, dramatic, and likely excessive suspense.

I'm grateful for the ways that I've walked with Steve, and I know he will continue to walk with us and pray earnestly for all of us, even as the road rises to meet him in Ireland. He ruined our lives, and we ruined his.