I’m a native of Seattle, Washington – the seventh of my parents’ ten children. Our home was centred around our Catholic faith and music. I don’t know how they managed it, but our wonderful parents, Vilem and Agatha, put all of us through Catholic schools and ended each exhausting day by gathering us around their bed to pray the family rosary.

My father was a violinist and violist, a professor of music at the University of Washington and the conductor of the Seattle Youth Symphony for 28 years. All my siblings took up string instruments and a few of us doubled on piano. People said walking by our house sounded like a music conservatory with practicing spilling out from every corner of our home. I began piano at age 5 and took up cello around age 10. It was a great day when I had advanced enough to play in the Seattle Youth Symphony, where I was introduced to the great orchestral works by Ravel, Respighi, Debussy, Mahler, Stravinsky and many more. Weekends were spent with friends exploring the great string quartets of Mozart, Haydn, Beethoven and Schubert for the first time. The whole experience was exhilarating!

After graduating from Indiana University, where I studied cello with Janos Starker, I naturally pursued a career in music. But after several years of professional orchestral and chamber work, I sensed something missing in my choice of music as a profession. I didn’t feel settled. I found myself wondering if the sense of call to the religious life that had pursued me since my youth could be a true vocation. That question was answered when I walked through the front door of the Seattle Carmelite monastery the first time. I had the overwhelming sense of having come home. I was drawn to the front of the chapel where I knelt down and joined in singing the Our Father with the community as they finished Vespers on the other side of the grill. The sense of call was so strong that I resigned from the Vancouver Symphony, where I was playing, to take time for discernment. On the feast of the Annunciation, the words for Psalm 95, ‘If today you hear God’s voice, harden not your heart,’ struck me so forcefully that I could doubt no longer. I entered Seattle Carmel nine months later in December, 1982.

I took to Carmelite life like a fish to water. Piano became my primary instrument simply because it was needed. But there was never a thought about composition…that is, until the 100^th anniversary of St. Thérèse’s death in 1997. When the leadership of the US Carmelite Nuns’ Associations met in Seattle to discuss what contribution we might make to the celebration I suggested that, in the absence of music for St. Thérèse, we commission Dan Schutte to write a hymn for her. ‘Great idea,’ they said. So, I wrote to Dan through his publisher and waited for a response. When I didn’t hear back from him¹ I said, ‘Oh well. I love St. Thérèse. I’ll give it a try.’ And so, without ever having had a composition class in my life, I began… pencil in hand, facing a blank score wondering if I was a fool to have agreed to this. How to express in music the depths of Thérèse’s spirit, which had guided me during my first 15 years in Carmel? One note, one phrase at a time – Thérèse’s Canticle of Love began to take shape. Until the day of the recording I had no idea if it worked. When I heard it the first time – to my utter amazement – it was beautiful!

For me, composing is a contemplative experience of listening to the Spirit. It needs time and a space of solitude to unfold. It is a manifestation of the inner Spirit finding outward form in sound. It’s an intimate, intuitive process, challenging me to trust the unfolding. It takes courage to sit in front of a blank page and simply begin. It’s like casting a line into deep waters never sure of ‘catching’ anything. I fight against the urge to allow the blank page to intimidate me into silence. I’ve found if I just start, the water will begin to flow. A general sense of mood and style are all that are needed to begin with. After that, it will find a direction. I listen within, put a few notes on the page, then step back to allow the musical phrase to find its own shape. Sometimes it’s as if the music already existed. It’s just a matter of nurturing it gently into birth. It’s an amazing experience!

Each of us has been given gifts, and with them, a responsibility to develop and share them. When I discovered composition was something I could do, my immediate inclination was to put my gifts at the service of Carmel. But how to integrate that into my life in the context of Carmelite community life? In the absence of a Carmelite handbook to guide the community through the process, we discerned each step as best we could. The Canticle became a crash course in learning that composing is only the beginning of a creative process that involves many steps and many talented people.

In 1997 I was approached by Saint Luke Productions to compose the music for a one–woman play, Thérèse, The Story of a Soul. This was followed by their production of the movie Thérèse in 2001. I knew I couldn’t manage these projects without learning Finale, a software music notation programme that can turn out scores and parts in a fraction of the time that writing things out by hand would take. I found a Finale class that ran 5 mornings a week for a month at a community college. I approached the community with the ‘request.’ They agreed. I gulped. And so it began. In addition to my community responsibilities and prayer, there were classes, exams, meetings with Leonardo at Saint Luke’s and a score and parts to turn out within a very limited time period.

Even as the music was being written, planning for a rehearsal and recording session had to begin. A group of musicians needed to be assembled; each one lending their talents to bring the music to birth. A conductor, with the indispensable role in interpreting your intentions and communicating it to the musicians, had to be found. A recording engineer, with a finely tuned ear to every detail of the recording process, needed to be contracted; every person adding their indispensable talents to the creative work. And, by the way, they all needed to be paid. Between grants and generous donors, we always found the support we needed just in time!

But even after the last note has been recorded and the musicians have gone home, it doesn’t end there. That’s when post-production kicks in: working with the recording engineer in the editing process, producing CDs and, in the case of Teresa’s Four Waters in Word, Image & Song, a DVD. Then there is cover artwork to select, programme notes to write, copyrights, proofreading. And when the last edit has been made and the last proof signed off on, then (in some cases) there are music publishers to work with! Finally, when all is said and done, the time comes to let go; to scatter the seeds and allow the Great Spirit to carry them on the wind.

Was I naïve about all that would be involved when I composed Thérèse’s Canticle of Love? Definitely! I didn’t know I could write music at all nor could I foresee the implications of developing this gift. Neither could the community. Much has to be said for the patience and support of my sisters who saw me through these projects first in the Seattle Carmel and now in Reno Carmel. Years pass between musical projects when I don’t put a note on the page. Community and Association responsibilities rightly take precedence. In the meantime, the seed returns to the earth where it germinates in silence. Will something arise from the silence again? I don’t know. But giving voice to Edith Stein and Elizabeth of the Trinity tugs at my heart.

Each of the musical projects I’ve been involved in have been both rewarding and challenging. Composing the score to the movie Thérèse was uniquely challenging. With the movie still being filmed during the only time frame I had to work on composing the score, I had no idea the number or length of the scenes I was writing for! I was flying in the dark, doing most of my work at night while attending to my community responsibilities during the day. I reached out to my father for help. He became an invaluable adviser, even composing the scene where Thérèse was experiencing the ‘dark night.’ Not only did he save my life – it was also a joy to work alongside him, not just because he was my father, but because he was a great musician.

Composing the virtual choirs, Nada te Turbe and the Salve Regina, for St. Teresa’s 500^th birthday was certainly a high point. The hope was that Carmelites from all over the world would participate but I had no idea if they would. I chose these two texts, guessing that – regardless of nationality – all the Carmelite sisters, who were invited to sing the Nada te Turbe, would know Teresa’s text in the original Spanish and that every OCD and OCDS, who were invited to participate in the Salve Regina virtual choir, would be familiar with the text in Latin. By the grace of God, funding came through for this project, enabling me to hire Scott Haines who produced Eric Whitacre’s original virtual choir.² Fr. Saverio (Superior General at the time) graciously provided a letter of support, which was translated into several languages and sent around the world. Meanwhile, Scott developed a website where people could log in to learn their parts, record and submit them by email. In the end, participation in the Salve Regina virtual choir drew minimal participation. But over 100 sisters responded in singing the Nada te Turbe. It was thrilling to see sisters from 23 countries united in singing this musical tribute to St. Teresa!

I am in debt to St. Thérèse who somehow tricked me into discovering a gift I didn’t know I had and, in the process, nudged me toward integrating my musical background with my Carmelite vocation. In responding to this call within a call, my intention has always been to make known the spirit and rich teachings of our Carmelite saints and mystics through music. If it’s true that ‘Beauty will save the world,’³ and if I’ve succeeded in making a small contribution toward that end, it will be because of the amazingly talented musicians, engineers, editors, producers, and publishers I’ve had the privilege to work with in addition to the Seattle and Reno communities to which I’ve belonged. Composing takes so much more than the talent of one person. It takes many gifted people collaborating on a creative journey to set the song of the Spirit free.

1. Many years later, when I had the joy of meeting Dan Schutte in person, he shared that he had never received my letter. ↩︎
2. Lux Aurumque – a choral composition by Eric Whitacre, often noted for its serene and luminous texture. ↩︎
3. Fyodor Dostoevsky believed beauty was more than aesthetics – it was the embodiment of truth and goodness, capable of drawing people together and inspiring moral action. ↩︎

Recordings and Sheet Music of Sr. Claire’s compositions are available on the Carmel of Reno website

https://carmelofreno.com/music-film-shop/