How Not to

The Gospel Coalition is sort of the go-to page for the "young, restless, Reformed" crowd. Lots to read and hear there, and much, much to admire; to learn from; to stir the heart. The assembled blogsters alone make it a site worth bookmarking. TGC wants the church and the world to know about Jesus, as clearly, as uncomplicatedly, as free of stumbling blocks, as humanly and ecclesiastically possible. So, today's post. And so, the principles so clearly articulated by author Jonathan Leeman.

Asked by a church member whether to start a church for the motorcycling crowd, Leeman provides a good, clear, I think biblical response. I hope people read it.

My only response, and my purpose for thinking about it today, is to ask the question that is sort of becoming my project - "Yes, but . . . ?" If Leeman's response is helpful for "How Not to Grow a Healthy Church," are we willing to ask: "Yes, but are we asking the same questions regarding the music in our services?" Can we resist the "drift" Leeman describes, by cultivating musical "redwoods not rosebushes"? Leeman asks:
"Which would you prefer—a bush that blooms tomorrow and wilts the next day, or the majesty that rises skyward over a generation? Take your pick." And all I'm asking is - are we asking this question about music, too? That's my project.

And lest you think this means some one thing, well, stay tuned! But it does mean something, not anything.

And, by the way, if the redwood analogy seems remote, let me recommend a book that will expand your vista: The Wild Trees.As corollary reading, peruse the Bible talk about trees. Then ask the question with me.

New Song, Old World

Last week I read through Calvin Stapert's A New Song for an Old World. 

The premise(s) are not new: 1 - the church of today will do well to stay in touch with the early fathers, and learn from their wisdom; 2 - the world of today is much like the world of the first few centuries AD, and we do well to see how our forebears navigated in that world.

I picked up the book (finally) because it seemed to be a good introduction to a field that I expect to read extensively in, for a master's thesis. (On that, more as it develops, and over the next couple of years!)

Anticipating the heart of my nascent thesis - viz., that in considering the music of the church we tend to reject some wisdom from our ancestors, and to hold on to some perspectives from anti-Christian philosophers - this book looks at the writings of the immediately post-apostolic church in regard to music in worship, music in the home, and music's role in shaping character. Stapert draws out some consistent and helpful themes, while carefully (as a good academic!) suggesting that the main thing is to not ignore these voices in our modern decision-making.

Naturally, given my personality and my self-proclaimed position as "poster boy for traditional worship," there is much here that I would like to champion. Interestingly, it has started to have its effect in a more personal way than I anticipated. Our fathers critiqued the music of pagan entertainment cut pretty close to home, and I realize that as often as not when I am in "mindless music mode" - cycling, working in the yard, showering, etc. - the music in my head is nearly always . . . well, let's just say, it is not lofty, exalted, nor sacred. Don't get me wrong, it's not lewd or offensive either. But the point that gets to my heart is: where are the psalms and hymns hidden in my heart?

Well, a lot to think about, and a hard hard heart to be plowed. As for the academic purpose for this reading, it has presented me with a good start at the theological primary sources for my academic project. Meanwhile, perhaps the unexpected work on a more important, more personal project, will begin to have its way in me.

single syllables

Today I enjoyed the singing of God's people in the church my Karen and I are attending during my sabbatical. Well, we enjoy this singing every Sunday. Today I had a fresh appreciation for it, with a little bit of The Anthologist rattling in the back of my ear:
Do you notice those one-syllable words? The Elizabethans really understood short words. Each one-syllable word becomes a heavy blunt chunk of butter that is melted and baked into the pound cake of the line. . . Gascoigne said that to write a delectable poem you must "thrust as few words of many syllables into your verse as may be." The more monosyllables, the better, he said.
 
When I read this earlier this weekend, I thought of hymns, old and new. But mostly new. I have to say that some of the new hymn writing I admire is flawed by using too many polysyllabic words. Good words; words with meaning and richness. But in the end, perhaps words that get in the way of our singing, that don't melt in our ears and tongues and hearts and souls.

Yes, I have to say that a certain personal favorite (here unnamed) gets hung up here. While another, Timothy Dudley-Smith, so often triumphs with single syllables. This morning we sang Bob Kauflin's "O Great God" and I think the only word of 3-syllables is "occupy;" by and large this very good little hymn passes the single-syllable test. One may also compare most classic hymns with (for example) some very fine hymns from the pen of the late James M. Boice. Great ideas, solid concepts, glorious themes. But, to paraphrase the emperor in "Amadeus" - "too many syllables."

And it makes me wonder: will this be a predictor of the long-term success/use of a hymn?

C. S. Lewis famously called hymns "third rate poetry set to fourth rate music." Don't go to Lewis for encouragement about church music. But I take issue with the great man. Hymn poetry is the most disciplined form I can imagine. And when it's good it is very, very good. (And to be fair, when it is bad, it is horrid.) This notion of the value of single syllable words just may be another aspect of my hymn selection matrix; I think we're on to something.

Thursday

Sabbatical - I thought I'd be writing more. Full time grad school was more intense than I expected. Since the semester ended, I've been alternating between relaxing and panic about the remaining weeks. Trying to redeem the time. Reading some things that I wanted to get to during sabbatical.

And reading some surprises, too. Like Nicholson Baker, The Anthologist, on loan from my sister. I'm just past midway, and my jury is still out on whether it is to be recommended. But this passage, read last night (Wednesday night), really speaks to my present sabbatical condition:

Thursday is the day of fear. On Monday you're in great shape because you've got the whole week. Then Tuesday, still pretty good, still at the beginning more or less. Then Wednesday, and you're poised, and you can accomplish much if you just apply yourself vigorously and catch up. And then suddenly, you're driving under that huge tattered banner, with that T and that H and that U and that frightening R and the appalling S - THURSDAY - and you slide down the steep slope toward the clacking shredder blades that wait on Sunday afternoon. Another whole week of your one life. (or, in the present case, your sabbatical)

Well, it's not so bad as that, but I do get the Thursday shakes, and the countdown will soon change from "weeks" to "days." I'm enjoying a lot of reading. The Anthologist is my bedtime read. Earlier this week I finished Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. I am working through some of Eugene Peterson's newer books, and Calvin Stapert, A New Song for an Old World. An introduction to western musical aesthetics will surely be started and well underway before next Thursday's "clacking shredder blades."

Sojourn

Except for time at home, and with family, and when we can get it, with friend, I am finding myself on the "outside" during these weeks of sabbatical.

Enjoying grad school, I nevertheless recognize that I am not only a "non-traditional student" but also that after this one semester full time, I will again become that phantasm - the part-time, occasional student. By the time I'm done with this program, I think everyone in classes with me this semester will be long gone from Wheaton College!

Long nourished by any gathering of the American Choral Directors Association, I just didn't "connect" with this year's national convention here in Chicago. Yes, partly because I was not there the whole time. And partly because of my focus this winter. Partly too, it might be said, because I'm not sure how much the glories of choral music will be welcomed, embraced, or included in my future work. In other words, I love choral music, but how much of what I hear at ACDA will make its way into the public worship of which I have a part?

Two weeks ago I had my first contact with FMCS - Forum on Music in Christian Scholarship. Sort of a throwback to my long-gone days in the world of musicology, it was a well-organized, collegial, very academic meeting with interesting papers, well presented. And I thought, "I don't really belong here anymore."

The one thing I can say about this feeling of displacement - I sense that my vocational calling to serve the church is being re-affirmed. I just wish I had a more clear (or fun?) sense of what that means!

Meanwhile I am enjoying study and reflection, and have just come up for air from a couple of days of good work on a term-paper for "Modern World Christianity." More on that later.

One highlight, though: an outing in which I was very, very much at home. The Bach Collegium Japan, Masaaki Suzuki conductor, sang the Bach Mass in B minor in the Resurrection Chapel of Valparaiso University. This was pure pleasure, music-making of the highest order, and worship of the deepest kind.

I wanted to embed a video of the Collegium with Maestro Suzuki conducting. But that link is disabled at YouTube. So, here is a link to a good look at them (it is not from the Mass). From there, explore the options on the right ... it looks like you could pick your way through the Mass!

Focus!

Being a student, pro tem, it was both natural and self-indulgent to take a spring break trip ... to some place warm. Meanwhile, many of my (younger, poorer, more dedicated) classmates - stuck in northern Illinois in March - made significant progress on their term papers.

Also, the time away (as much a gift to my long-suffering Karen as a self-indulgence) meant I would not attend most of the national convention of choral directors, held the same week here in Chicago.

Which upon reflection heightened for me the strange tension of this sabbatical: how will I spend my time? Music, or Theology? What is my greatest need in this study break, and what will serve the church best?

So, this was rolling around the back of my mind yesterday when I had to go through the church office. I meet weekly (away from church) with a young intern who is now part of the interim music leadership team. After our meeting, I was to speak briefly with my pastor. On the way through the office I stepped into "my" office to say hello to the other half of that interim team - a peer, colleague, contemporary - Dan, who is also a runner and cyclist.

(More on these excellent men, another time!)

I had run to my meeting with Jordan, who then gave me a ride to church. I would run home from my meeting with pastor Josh. In other words, I was not in office attire. Dan could not miss the attire, and we chatted about the beautiful day for running, and he asked about my marathon training. "I'd rather be on a bicycle today," I replied, truthfully. To which Dan said, "Oh no, you've got to keep your focus for that marathon."

And it turns out, that was the real reason I had to go through the office yesterday. Of course, Dan's comment is simply true at the level he meant it: if I am going to be ready for the May 1 marathon, I have to prioritize running over my preferred sport, cycling. I have to stay on the training program. I have to go the distance in every respect. I have to focus.

And that is a word, too, for my theological studies during the sabbatical. They may not be my preferred mode of learning and stretching and growing. But they are what I am doing now, and I have to prioritize them for the time being. I have to stay on program. I have to go the distance. I have to focus.

Which reminds me ... those three term papers don't seem to be writing themselves.

Sabbatical

I began a sabbatical on January 10, and thought I would take a little time each week to post here. Here it is, 9 weeks into this season, already.

For now, just surfacing to note that I am no less busy than when I'm at my "day job." I am a full-time graduate student for the semester - historical theology -  and reading like crazy. My Karen and I took a spring break trip last week, and now I am on the back side of the semester. Just (of course) as the Illinois weather is starting to improve and what I really want to be doing is cycling! Yep, I should have written those term papers in February. If only.

So much to write, and I hope to get at it ... a little bit at a time.

The concept of a "sabbatical" is of course biblical, but it is exercised almost without exception on an academic model. "Deny yourself and do no work?" Well, I guess that doesn't have to mean "be unproductive." My goal in formal academic study is to focus on some theological questions and issues related to worship. This is hardly a new theme for me, nor a new discipline. But I am reading and thinking uninterruptedly, with a sense of urgency, and (for a change, a welcome change for now) guided by others. It is expanding my thinking, opening my horizons, and I believe it is equipping me for the 15 or so years I have left in full time vocational worship ministry.

Time will tell. For now, it's back to the books.