The Zeal of Thy House

It wouldn't have been an obvious connection to me, four weeks ago, but reading Dorothy Sayers' chancel drama, "The Zeal of Thy House," is directly related to my reading of Karl Barth on Mozart. Late in April one of my professors, David McNutt, gave a fascinating lecture on "A Surprising Correspondence: Dorothy L. Sayers and Karl Barth on Artistic Creativity." You can listen to it starting here.

Then, just days later, my last reading assignment for grad school was Karl Barth, Dogmatics in Outline, in which twice Barth mentions Sayers as both essayist and playwright. It was clear to me that I would be reading Sayers this summer!

I've read quite a bit of Sayers over the years. Lord Peter Wimsey stories, of course, but also her essays, and her radio drama, "The Man Born to be King" (to which Barth refers in his little book on the Apostles' Creed). Professor McNutt's lecture reminded me of the title of "The Zeal of Thy House," which I promptly put on my summer reading list. This weekend was my time for that.

Sayers was once considered the preeminent English detective mystery writer. She considered her work translating Dante's Divine Comedy to be her best work. She was a clear and incisive apologist of the Christian faith; many know two of her essays: "The Dogma is the Drama" and "The Mind of the Maker." In the latter she makes artistic creativity an analogy for the Trinity. And that is the tie to the play at hand. It is hardly a "spoiler" to cut to the end and summarize her vestigia Trinitatis argument.First: there is the Creative Idea . . . and this is the image of the Father.
Second: there is the Creative Energy . . . and this is the image of the Word.
Third: there is the Creative Power . . . and this is the image of the Spirit.
And these three are one, each equally in itself the whole work, whereof none can exist without the other; and this is the image of the Trinity.
(Don't rush to judgment about Sayers without reading her where I have put in elipses!)

In much the same way as Barth on Mozart, in no small part this little play can be read as a dramatic treatise on general grace. But only much in the same way. For - and here, I will  be careful to not give spoilers - this is a work about the work of the church, and there must necessarily be special, particular revelation, judgment and redemption.

The choir (a section of the cathedral)

  

image from pitt.edu, glossary of medieval art and architecture:http://www.pitt.edu/~medart/menuglossary/

 of Canterbury Cathedral has been burned after the martyrdom of Thomas Becket. Was it the judgment of God? But now the choir is to be rebuilt, and three architects are finalists in the selection. The committee select the cynical foreigner (a Frenchman, of course!) whose religion is his work. And whose work is his pride: "At my age one learns that sometimes one has to damn one's soul for the sae of the work. Trust me, God shall have a choir fit for His service. Does anything else really matter?"

Does anything else really matter? That is the theme that runs through the play. It plays out in the conversations among workmen and between clergy, and with both in exchanges with William of Sens, the architect. Throughout, the veil is pulled back so we see the archangels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, who have God's work to do in all this. And we hear the voice of the choir - that is, the human voice of the monks in hymns and chants - which carries on even if there is no finished space for their worship.

Theater doesn't work well when it answers questions. And in that sense, perhaps, "The Zeal of Thy House" might not be excellent drama. But as I read it, I again found myself eager to be in a setting where "chancel drama" like this could be done well and effectively. Sayers wrote a number of plays for performances in sacred spaces and for ecclesiastical events. Not unlike Benjamin Britten's chancel operas and the medieval mystery plays from which they are drawn, and T. S. Eliot's "Murder in the Cathedral," Sayers' work doesn't really belong on the stage as such, but in spaces where people gather for Christian worship, and in which audiences might be challenged to think, and even to worship.

Dorothy L. Sayers, "The Zeal of Thy House" (Canterbury: H. J. Goulden, Ltd., 1937)

Barth on Mozart

It is a little collection of encomia from the twentieth century’s most prominent Protestant theologian to the best-loved, and probably irreligious, composer of the late eighteenth century. For years I’ve been aware of this little book, and finally got around to reading it this week.

It can be read in a single sitting, but Karl Barth’s Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart is worth savoring over a long weekend. The magisterial dogmatician’s ebullient delight in Mozart and his music reveals just the kind of child-likeness that the author admires in the composer.  Over and over in these four short pieces Barth praises Mozart’s capacity for “play,” and that delightful verb characterizes his prose as well. As one very skilled amateur musician friend of mine often remarked, “this is why we say we are playing music.” It is fun to see the towering theologian agog at the bewigged wunderkind.

Three words capture what Barth admired in Mozart: joy, freedom, grace. Of course Barth cannot ignore the irony that he, a Reformed dogmatic theologian, should favor Mozart’s music over all others. Shouldn’t Bach, the quintessential church and Christian composer, have that place of honor? “It may be that when the angels go about their task of praising God, they play only Bach. I am sure, however, that when they are together en famille, they play Mozart and that then too our dear Lord listens with special pleasure.” (23) No, while for Barth Bach is perhaps too much concerned with a message (and Beethoven with a personal confession); “Mozart does not wish to say anything: he just sings and sounds.” (37) It is this singing and sounding, with joy and in freedom, that appealed to Barth.

And what of grace, that sola of the Reformation? Where does Barth find grace in this apparently disinterested Roman Catholic and Freemason, whose sacred music is often accused (I admit, I am among the accusers) of being disinterested in or flippant with sacred texts? Barth’s little book might well serve as an exercise in the theology of “common grace,” of the imago Dei which flares out of even unworthy vessels. (Think of Salieri’s arguments with God in Amadeus. PeterSchaeffer’s play neatly captures the jealousy “religious” people sometimes have when they see God’s creative gifts so freely distributed.) This book of short pieces on Mozart might, I say, serve as an argument for common grace. But to Barth’s credit, and for the enjoyment of the reader, he does not.

Because, surprisingly, Barth finds something genuinely sacred in Mozart’s music. In explanation of his love for Mozart, he notes that “the New Testament speaks not only of the kingdom of heaven but also of parables of the kingdom of heaven.” (57) Mozart’s joy, freedom, and grace as parables of the kingdom, the presence of God. Well and good, but what about his sacred music? How are we to square the unavoidably happy sounds we hear in his Kyrie and Miserere? "We will never hear in Mozart an equilibrium of forces and a consequent uncertainty and doubt." No matter how some of the more somber movements of the Mass may begin, they will eventually  

sound as if borne upward by the trust that the plea for mercy was granted long ago[.] Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domine! In Mozart’s version he evidently has already come. Dona nobis pacem! – a prayer, but a prayer already answered. This feature is enough to mark Mozart’s church music as truly sacred, all objections notwithstanding.(56) 

And, dare I say, may make a Mozart Mass suitable for a Protestant Eucharist!

Barth’s pieces were all written in 1956 for Swiss periodicals upon the bicentennial observation of Mozart’s birth. A nice bonus in the edition I have just read is the Foreword by John Updike. Here again, a nice surprise for those who do not know the religious, theologically serious side of Updike. This makes a nice companion for a playful collection by a towering theologian. Perhaps that could only happen with Mozart in the middle.

Karl Barth, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart trans. Clarence K. Pott (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1986).

A single step

"A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step."

Of course, there are many steps before that single journey-beginning first step. Even packing one's bags takes many steps. Hey, I took a few just to make sure I had this Chinese proverb right (when I could have just relied on Google instead of opening Bartlett's Familiar Quotations). Which makes me wonder, exactly how many steps follow the single step at the beginning of this journey?

Yesterday I took that first step of my summer journey: 80 words of my thesis, done. Hey, no one said they couldn't be baby steps! The day was filled with many preparatory details, sort of a cross between looking through my bags one last time, and making sure I had my maps. (Because, smart phone or no, I will take maps on a vacation. See Bartlett's comment above.) I re-packed my bags. I worked through a recently written paper to see how it best fit into chapter one of the thesis. I followed trails (and yes, I did much of that online). I had second thoughts: "Should I actually begin with the Introduction? Or with this chapter, with materials already fresh and close at hand?"

By the end of the afternoon, I had slogged through my single step. Eighty words:

Music in the eighteenth-century Lutheran liturgy was composed, performed, and practiced in keeping with theological principles articulated by Martin Luther. Luther’s practical theology of music was evident in the content, actions, and participants of the liturgy. Preceding and undergirding the practical, Luther’s appreciation for and use of music was rooted in biblical and philosophical perspectives that constitute a more systematic theology of music. As with Luther’s theology generally, his theology of music is “occasional” and found throughout his collected works. 

I am not going to write my thesis online. I only put this here because there is no way this is how chapter one will begin when I'm finished with it. But it is enough to get me out of the house, down to street level, and get my bearings.

Eighty words is just under one percent of the total word count of the last grad school paper I wrote. A paper, not coincidentally, on a Lutheran theology of liturgical music. I have fairly good reason to expect that the next steps will be bigger, or will come at a more rapid pace. They had better! I anticipate the thesis being around 40,000 words. Off we go! This thousand mile journey is supposed to be complete by Labor Day.

Writing

Writing is the thing I most looked forward to with my academic hiatus. Writing, and the reading that would inform the writing. There has been plenty of both, so on that count this has been the hiatus I hoped for.

This is the final week of classes in my M.A. program at Wheaton Graduate School. Today I will write a 2500-word essay on Dietrich Bonhoeffer's "Christology" lectures (Berlin, 1933). Tomorrow I will finish an independent study paper on the practical theology of music of Luther and Bach. That will be the longest paper I have produced . . . to date.

But all the writing this year has been but a prelude to the writing I have in front of me this summer. This past week my thesis proposal was approved, and I will be writing what is titled (for now at least): Pious Hymns: J. S. Bach, Religious Devotion, and the Lutheran Liturgy. I am bringing  theology, rhetoric, and liturgy into a conversation to demonstrate that Bach's musical treatment of Pietist hymns re-framed the theology of those hymns. It's kind of labor-intensive, but in the end I think there is a persuasive argument to be made. (Not a new argument, perhaps, but a conclusion that has not been explored with the Pietist hymns.)

And if you understand none of the preceding, well, bear with me! On this space my writing will be a bit more diverse. Or you may get enough in bits and pieces to be able to follow along.

Historical theology (my academic discipline du jour) traces theological themes through church history, and/or examines some theological topic in a specific time and place in hopes of finding wise answers to modern issues. Doing the historical and theological work well, looking back, should help when applying the wisdom of the past. (Or, as often happens, heeding the warnings of the past!) The issue behind (or in front of) my thesis is a nagging concern that the modern church considers music in worship a largely subjective matter, about which theology has little bearing. And note that I am talking about music not words. Yes, I want to say, the church should be thinking theologically about the notes.

Today's writing on Bonhoeffer has nothing to do with that. It's just a really engaging assignment. The paper I am finishing tomorrow - that has lots of material that will find its way into the thesis. Here's hoping I have the write stuff!

What's wrong with this picture?

What’s wrong with this picture?

OR

Things the Church doesn’t need.

• Celebrity Christians
• Christian Celebrities
• Arena Worship
• Entertainment Metaphors

“Doesn’t need” in the sense that God’s kingdom work doesn’t require them.

“Doesn’t need” in the sense that they are at least as likely to harm as to help the church.

“Doesn’t need” in the sense that they have no mooring in the biblical description of or instruction about the church.

“Doesn’t need” in the sense that they seem neither to be either growing or sanctifying the church, nor making an impact on our society.

Ken Myers said it best in All God’s Children and Blue Suede Shoes, an exploration of the thesis: the old holiness movement's caution, “in the world but not of it,” has become evangelicalism’s “of the world but not in it.” We do well to heed his proposal, first published nearly 25 years ago: “We would do much better to make the church a living example of alternatives to the methods and messages of popular culture.” Note methods, and consider messages. In case we haven’t noticed, popular culture needs an alternative, and needs it badly.

Teneto!

"My soul is sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me." (Matthew 26: 38)
Maneto.
Vigilato.
"Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is week." (Matthew 26:41)
Vigilato.
Orato.
"Sleep and take your rest later on. See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners." (Matthew 26:45)
Teneto: hold on.

Luke 9:62 Jesus said, "No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fir for the kingdom of God."

It's Lent: Hold on.

O Lord, my heart is not lifted up;
my eyes are not raised too high;
I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me,
but I have calmed and quieted my soul,
   like a weaned child with its mother;
   like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, hope in the Lord
   from this time forth and forevermore.

Psalm 131

Orato!

There in the garden, with his followers, Jesus was sorrowful and troubled. And he said to them, "My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with me." And going a little farther he fell on his face and prayed, saying, "My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will but as you will." And he came to the disciples and found them sleeping. And he said, "So, could you not watch with me one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak."  (Matthew 26:38-41)


Maneo! Remain. Abide.
Vigilato! Watch. Be vigilant.
Orato! Pray.

This long excerpt from Walter Wangerin, Reliving the Passion, gives you an idea of my Lenten devotional reading this season. If you don't have time to read it all: in these few words Wangerin relates Jesus' prayer in the Garden with the prayer he taught his disciples. After the video, this post ends with The Lord's Prayer.

The Fourteenth Day 
"Lord," the disciples had asked in an earlier, easier time, "teach us to pray." And Jesus had answered by teaching them certain words: "When you pray," he said, "say . . ."
     The prayer he spoke then we call The Lord's.
      But Jesus teaches the same thing twice. And the second lesson is not words only; deeds make up the prayer as well, and passion and experience - the whole person dramatically involved.
     Words alone might be as hollow and irrelevant as ping-pong balls. But now the Lord reveals how prayer can be the expression of an event already in progress; it is human experience finding its voice - and by that voice directing itself wholly (the whole experience, action, emotion, thought, desire, body, and spirit) straight to God.
     Behold: what takes place in the Garden of Gethsemane is the Lord's Prayer actually happening, as though the earlier words were a script and this is the drama itself:
     -- Jesus cries his deepest and desperate desire: that the hour, by the power of his Father, pass away from him. This is the living substance of the sixth petition: Save us from the time of trial.
     -- Jesus pleads three times, "Remove this cup from me," the plea of the seventh petition: Deliver us from evil. 
     -- But under every request of his own, he places an attitude of faithful obedience to his Father, saying, "Yet not what I will, but what thou wilt." Here is the third petition, which prepares us properly for any answer God may give all other petitions: Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
     -- Implicit, hereafter, in his entering into "the hour" of trial after all is his personal conviction that "the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand."  Jesus, now more than ever in his ministry, is the living embodiment of the second petition, Thy kingdom come. Right now, his acceptance of the Father's will is the coming of that kingdom here!
     -- And he begins both prayers the same. But whereas the first might have seemed a formal address to "Our Father," this latter cry is a howl, a spontaneous, needful plea: "Abba, Father!" Here is a child who cannot survive apart from this relationship. By crying "Abba!" he hurls himself at the holy parent: he runs like a child; like a child he begs attention; but also like a perfect child he trusts his daddy to do right and well.
     When Jesus teaches us to pray, he does not teach plain recitation. Rather, he calls us to a way of being. He makes of prayer a doing. And by his own extreme example, he shows that prayer is the active relationship between ourselves, dear little children, and the dear Father. Abba.
     Who can pray The Lord's Prayer now with words and not with the heart's experience?

Walter Wangerin, Jr. Reliving the Passion

Zondervan (1992), 65-66

"Thy Will Be Done"

text and music, Craig Courtney

Let these weeks teach us to pray. Oremus - Let us pray:
Our Father, who art in heaven,
hallowed be Thy name;
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts/trespasses, 
as we forgive our debtors/those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil/from the evil one/from the hour of trial.
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever.
Amen.