Chris A. Williams 1948-2019
Chris Williams, age 71 of High Bridge, NJ, died Tuesday, June 11, 2019 at RWJ University Hospital in Somerset, NJ after a long battle with infections and, finally, a stroke.
Born in Allentown, PA, he was the son of the late Francis A. and Doris J. Williams. Chris had lived in Clinton before moving to High Bridge eight years ago.
He was Lead Technical Analyst for ADP and AT&T before retiring.
Chris was a member of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Lebanon and had served as the music director since 1989. He loved music and had been a music teacher before entering the business world.
Chris is survived by his son, Daniel F. Williams of Brielle, NJ and his two brothers, Bill Williams and Gary Williams.
Born in Allentown, PA, he was the son of the late Francis A. and Doris J. Williams. Chris had lived in Clinton before moving to High Bridge eight years ago.
He was Lead Technical Analyst for ADP and AT&T before retiring.
Chris was a member of the Church of the Holy Spirit in Lebanon and had served as the music director since 1989. He loved music and had been a music teacher before entering the business world.
Chris is survived by his son, Daniel F. Williams of Brielle, NJ and his two brothers, Bill Williams and Gary Williams.
The Celebration of his Resurrection was held on Saturday, June 15, 2019 at Church of the Holy Spirit.
A Poem offered during the service
Music would seem to end when the baton lowers, the sustain pedal lifts,
a composer assuming she has written the final fermata just there
at a bold double bar line telling us all to stop playing, singing, listening.
Only for the moment, we trick ourselves into not hearing, not playing, not singing
As if a sheet of notes or a canvas, stone or wood could every stop beauty from becoming
Beyond itself, even with the intention of the author self-limiting her own effect.
From a famous strain of sophistication to a childhood ditty hummed unthinking
We would be foolish to believe there is any conclusion to the music
Continuing in the interpretation of the next player, the next artist, the next human.
The artist interprets the sum of before however they seek the gauze of novelty
And we interpret what has been interpreted to us, that is: all of it, all of it, all of it.
And our gratitude is there in the song or rhyme repeated but not repetitious.
For beauty is renewed and recovered as it is reinterpreted every time its sung,
there can be no end of it, you see, there has never been, though we fail for the noise;
the din of pain and weird judgments against an arrogant standard of a perfect.
No beauty is complete, no work finds it fulfillment, no thing of us ever is done,
Especially not even in the welcomed bliss of something vast and uncomprehended
When there is no fermata at all and there never is a need to be finished.
Philip Carr-Jones
Music would seem to end when the baton lowers, the sustain pedal lifts,
a composer assuming she has written the final fermata just there
at a bold double bar line telling us all to stop playing, singing, listening.
Only for the moment, we trick ourselves into not hearing, not playing, not singing
As if a sheet of notes or a canvas, stone or wood could every stop beauty from becoming
Beyond itself, even with the intention of the author self-limiting her own effect.
From a famous strain of sophistication to a childhood ditty hummed unthinking
We would be foolish to believe there is any conclusion to the music
Continuing in the interpretation of the next player, the next artist, the next human.
The artist interprets the sum of before however they seek the gauze of novelty
And we interpret what has been interpreted to us, that is: all of it, all of it, all of it.
And our gratitude is there in the song or rhyme repeated but not repetitious.
For beauty is renewed and recovered as it is reinterpreted every time its sung,
there can be no end of it, you see, there has never been, though we fail for the noise;
the din of pain and weird judgments against an arrogant standard of a perfect.
No beauty is complete, no work finds it fulfillment, no thing of us ever is done,
Especially not even in the welcomed bliss of something vast and uncomprehended
When there is no fermata at all and there never is a need to be finished.
Philip Carr-Jones
In lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the Music Scholars Fund at Church of the Holy Spirit. This fund supports young musicians.
ministers, chorale, chapel & Chris empty organ seat
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Cello & Piano; Chris spirit plays the organ
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Resurrection Reading with ministers on the eve of Holy Trinity
Interment Service with Father John & Father Phil
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Gathering in the CHS garden, Chris Williams interment
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Many thanks to Gloria Jean Waller for the photos of the service.
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Fond memories from Chris' life.
