“J’adore the French horn,” my mother murmurs, amid the holy blasts. I am less appreciative of its grandeur, possibly because I am a heathen. Jason’s father is a French horn player, and one Christmas he gave us a CD of songs he had recorded called Horn of Praise. Several years later, it was followed with Horn of Praise II. Perhaps the mad impulse to praise with horns is endemic to all Christianity.
