Lessons and Carols

Christmas Eve. Cambridge, England. King's College, 3pm. A Service of Nine Lessons and Carols.

Christmas Eve. Winfield, Illinois. King's home, 9am. The international live broadcast of "A Service of Nine Lessons and Carols" from King's Cambridge.

Our tradition is not nearly so hoary, and it is not unbroken, but this family has long enjoyed - with millions of others around the world - the worship and the wonder of this service. And it was a surprise to learn, back around 1999, that College Church in Wheaton had never "put on" a Service of Lessons and Carols. It seemed such a . . . well, such a College Church kind of service. And so it was a delight to introduce this into our series of Sunday evening December services. We ran it about a decade, and after a hiatus, the Chancel Choir revived it this year.

Without me.

Sigh.

And this brief run of posts is not offered as a contrarian plan to that evening. Far from it. It is just my vision for "A Service of Nine Lessons and Carols," for 2012, if I had been in a position to plan such a service, and a choir to work with. If I manage it, the series of posts will end on Christmas morning, with the Ninth Lesson, and the final carol(s).

I'm thinking of it this morning because my daily Advent reading, from Walter Wangerin's Preparing for Jesus, included a poem, the setting of which I had planned to use in this season at College Church, had I stayed put long enough. That poem, paired with another, will be featured later in their proper place. For now, to whet your appetite and to encourage you to find the December 24 live broadcast (or live-stream) and carve out 90 minutes of that day to enjoy it, I give you:

A Service of Nine Lessons and Carols
from King's Study, Winfield

Prelude: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

Introit/Processional: Once in Royal David's City 

 

Bidding Prayer 
Jesus, God of all our hopes,
We thank you for being our Wonderful Counselor - we need you to show us the way;
our Mighty God - we need you to protect us from all evil;
our Everlasting Father - we need the comfort of being in your family;
our Prince of Peace - we need your peace in a troubled world.

Give us grace that we may seek the way, the truth, and the life.
Without you, we would wander off course - broad is the way that leads to destruction.
Without you, we would embrace error and walk in darkness.
Without you, we would remain in our sins and never know eternal life.
We praise you, that you have come so that we might have life and have it abundantly.
Just as you sent your messengers, the prophets, to prepare the way of salvation, may we prepare the traditions that nurture our spiritual lives and celebrate the dawning of your everlasting Kingdom.
Heaven and earth await that great event.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus!

taken from Wendell Hawley, A Pastor Prays for His People (Tyndale, 2010) 

Wendell is a friend, pastor, and colleague from College Church.

First Lesson: Genesis 3:8-15

"Lessons" are Bible readings, and they are the centerpiece, the focus, the main event of the service. The music hangs on the readings. So, seriously, I encourage you to read before or as you listen. Before for maximum effect, during for the sake of time! I am providing a link to each reading.

First Carol:  Adam Lay Ybounden

At the birthplace of this service, King's College Chapel, the "carols" are the items sung by the choir, while the congregation sings "hymns." 

 First Hymn: What Adam's Disobedience Cost

A Lessons and Carols that included a Carol and a Hymn for each Lesson could become quite long. But not longer, I think, than 90 minutes, which is the time you'll want to set aside for the Decembver 24 broadcast. But one day at a time, I think we'll keep this pattern. Today's hymn I could not find recorded. Too bad. I think it has a haunting tune, and I love to hear the College Church congregation sing it.

A childhood worship memory

In my last post I mentioned the Rev. Phillips, at the Bronson (MI) Methodist Episcopal Church. He was tall - OK, he seemed tall to me - and dignified, and warm. (Oh! maybe he is why I do not understand the supposed disparity between dignity and warmth, between formal and personal!) People liked him. My family liked him. I liked him. Because of him, I wanted to be "a minister someday."

Which I soon outgrew, but that's another story.

This story is funny because it goes against everything I have written in the opening paragraph. Except about Rev. Phillips being tall. It has nothing to say about that.

Our organist was Mrs. Billie Hunsinger. She was as proper as the minister was dignified. White haired, at least in my memory. And can you picture the classic Methodist Episcopal chancel - the altar rail, the communion table, the pulpit, and the choir stalls divided and facing each other over the open center? It's naturally difficult to get a good photo that shows this. If you've seen it you know what I mean. If you haven't, I hope you will someday. It's like the Kings College chapel, without the screen dividing the nave from the chancel, and an altar (kneeling) rail across the front.

So, that's the setting. I swear this is true. In my wildest imagination at that age, I could not have made this up. Rev. Phillips announced the hymn, which was new for this congregation. He said a few words about it, and explained that Mrs. Hunsinger was going to play it through for us.

Then he turned, and he said . . .

"Hit it, Billie."

Advent 1

My spiritual awakening traces (as far as I can tell) back to an Advent season when I was in 5th or 6th grade. We attended a Methodist Episcopal Church (yes, I remember Methodism before the UMC) in Bronson, Michigan. It was a charming old sanctuary, classic in every way, in my memory at least, and this would have been one of the last years that congregation had before it was replaced by a "totally 60's" new sanctuary. And Reverend Phillips was a charming pastor. The first thing I "wanted to be when I grow up," apart from the usual grade-school boy dream of fireman, etc., was a minister. That was entirely because of my young admiration of Rev. Phillips.

I soon outgrew that, but that's another story.

The Advent season was the only time in my home that we routinely got out the Bible and read. That was Mom. She prepared the Yule log (seriously, we had a Yule log) and we would read and light the candles. I have no idea how often this happened. It may have been only one year, but it is powerful in my memory, and tied to one particular Advent at Bronson Methodist.

What I recall is the sense of it all, not the particulars. I do know that we heard sermons from Isaiah. And . . . that's pretty much it! The readings, the fact (but not the content) of sermons, the look of the church, and a Yule log. It would be years before I knowingly put all this together; years after I had begun to understand the relationship that was stirred by the Spirit of God through the words of Isaiah proclaimed by Rev. Phillips. And it came together one Advent.

So this has been a special season for me, and consequently for my own family, all my adult life. Karen and I learned Advent worship in the Village Church of Western Springs when we were newlyweds and beginning a family. We took that into my ministry of music at Berean Baptist Church in Minnesota, where it was a delight to help move along the nascent seasonal observation there. When we came to College Church, we found a rich season well developed, and it was in so many ways like finally finding our Advent "home."

It should not, then, be a surprise that it is now, at the beginning of this season, that I begin to fully understand what I am missing during this ministry hiatus. The "ordinary" season has past, and while College Church is hardly a liturgical calendar kind of place, there is that sense of new beginnings that comes with Advent there. This year we will see that from the other side of the chancel, particularly when we attend "Lessons and Carols" as part of the season.

We have been visiting churches this fall. Not so much to "find a church" but to get to places that we had never been able to see before. But for Advent, we thought it would be a good idea to settle into one church for the four Sundays. We narrowed this down to two options, and Saturday night made our choice. It seemed like such a good choice, for all the right reasons. But you know, it was not, as it turns out. Advent can be celebrated properly in myriad ways. So when I say that this way didn't quite "do it for us," it is hardly a critique of the service or of the excellent church we attended. It should have worked on every level, and yet it didn't. So, since we never thought we'd consider this particular church a place we could settle long term, we will change course for the coming Sundays.

And, no surprise here, our other option will have a service very much like what I've had the privilege of planning and leading for decades. Very much, I am pretty sure, like that Advent season long ago in Bronson, when my spirit was stirred for the coming of Christ into my life.

The advent of Advent

This would have been my 28th season of music ministry in the season of Advent.

I've been surprised to not really miss much about my work in the church over these past eight weeks. I've kept plenty busy. (In fact, instead of writing here this morning, I should be in my study space hunkering down on my term paper!) I've enjoyed the flexibility and freedom of the weekends with my Karen. Evenings home, with my reading finished for the day, and nowhere I have to be. All very sabbatical like.

A couple of weeks ago, it began to worry me that I was not missing the rehearsal of Christmas music. Perhaps the fact that I thought of that should have been a clue to what was really going on inside. Oh yes, we have missed Thursday nights with the choir at College Church. But why was I not missing the music-making that has shaped every week of my life for 26 years? (That missing year equals two sabbaticals.)

The illusion shattered this weekend, in the most dramatic and fulfilling way. It hit (beautifully) on Friday night, when we entered the gym at St Olaf College, for the annual Christmas Festival. This was our fourth or fifth time at the Festival, which stands in my mind as the epitome, the sine qua non, the exemplar of what a church or academy Christmas Festival can and should be.

I've never dreamed of getting a choir to perform to the standards of the St Olaf Choirs. But I have always heard Christmas music there that I've wanted to introduce to my choir. My life - and my choirs - have been enriched by the St Olaf tradition, Advent, Christmas, and et cetera. This year was no exception, except that I'm not now in a position to carry the candle back to a choir of my own. And that was when I truly began to miss the work with the people who get together weekly to make music for worship.

Old Friends Some things in the Festival that we've sung in my choirs: Holst, Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence; Ferguson, arr, He Comes to Us as One Unknown; Christiansen, Beautiful Savior (never more beautiful than when sung by the St Olaf choirs at the end of the Festival, circling the Skoglund Arena).

New Ideas I Could Use "Awake! Awake and Greet the New Morn" (Haugen, arr. Ferguson) Here, I thought, is a new Advent hymn that people would really love to sing. And maybe for another week, even, forget that what they really want is to sing Christmas carols too early. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" (arr. K. Jennings) - a newly composed melody, and a brilliant setting for this familiar text. "Night of Silence" (Kantor, arr. Ferguson) - a setting to introduce and then accompany "Silent Night." Where have I been, to have missed this 1996 arrangement?

Gotta Look This Up Some things that would be fun to learn and use: I don't "know" the Poulenc Gloria, not as a conductor or singer, but only as a listener. Hearing "Laudamus te" reminded me that I have some work to do here. Conductor Christopher Aspaas had several arrangements in this program, each of them very, very nice. But one that stood out was his pairing of the American songs, "Poor Wayfarin' Stranger" with "I Wonder as I Wander." Lovely brilliance, that. His medley "Carols for the Choirs and Orchestra: Love and Joy come to you" was beautiful, and it was nice to see an alternate to the (rightly beloved) model by Carolyn Jennings, sung for years in this Festival.

Familiar and Welcome This is the first year after John Ferguson's retirement from St Olaf. It was good to see so much of his work still in the program. Along with settings by both Kenneth and Carolyn Jennings. I sometimes forget just how perfectly Ms Jennings wrote for choirs, and how well a good church choir can handle her work. Kenneth's work is lovely and impressive, and to my ear more usually better suited to the collegiate level choir. But it is always good to hear their work. Good on you, St Olaf, for keeping this repertoire going. Karen and I were at the Festival the year Steve Amundsen's "Angels' Dance" was premiered. It was great to hear this in person again. "Day Full of Grace," another Christiansen masterwork was also part of the program.

It was a surprise to hear no world music. It was a treat to see how many students in the orchestra sang along with the audience during the carols. And it was a huge surprise to see almost the full orchestra singing along on the final number, the aforementioned "Beautiful Savior." Our seats had never been so close to the orchestra, so perhaps this is nothing new and we just hadn't been able to see it. (Thankfully, St Olaf has managed to avoid the "Jumbotron" syndrome.) But I literally every orchestral face I could see was singing - and obviously singing voice parts - as the program concluded.

It was a little strange hearing all this before the first day of Advent. But it was glorious, and it stirred our hearts, and it prepared the way for this season that prepares the way. And, as always, it was worship. We were lost in wonder, love, and praise!

A little help here?

We had sung quite a bit, and pretty meaningfully. We had been sung to, and had read part of a psalm aloud, in unison. The offering was given, and it was time for the reading of the sermon scripture.

All this without a printed guide to the service. (Don't get me started on that. Today.) The direction through the service was clear enough, and the service simple enough, that we - first-timers - got through without confusion or distraction. The young staff person got up to read, announced the passage, and real well.

And then, here's where a printed order would have helped. Or, in this context, we might have been given a cue or two on the projection screen. But there we were, the scripture read out, and the reader said:
"This is God's Word"

To which the people replied:

Well, actually, the people didn't know what reply to make. We said, in keeping with our church's custom: "Amen." Others mumbled "Thanks be to God." Most, so far as we could tell, didn't realize a response was being evoked.

We sat down, my Karen leaned over to me and said, "Whatever." As in . . .

Reader: "This is God's Word"
People: "Whatever."

Feelings

Some reflections waiting for the start of a worship service yesterday:

I try not to go to a service of worship - anywhere or anytime - as a critic, a reviewer. That might not ring true, if you have read some of my recent posts. But, really, I don't go "looking for trouble." So, while there would certainly be issues I could take with the service we got to yesterday, that isn't what this is about. I just wanted to contextualize the reflections that I will eventually get to.

We know people at this church, pastoral staff and musicians, and one of the musicians welcomed us within moments of our arrival. The now-expected condolences and questions were posed, vis-a-vis my recent (temporary?!) departure from music ministry. But we sat alone, and while the musicians were finishing their prep and sound check, while the orchestra gathered, I wondered what pastors say is the role of "feelings" in . . .
* understanding and defending truth?
* in doing what one knows to be right? ("obedience" is the old-fashioned word)
* in knowing the will of God?
And what is the role of feelings in "worship?"

I think I am on pretty firm ground when I suggest that most church leaders will say that  feelings have their place in the answers to the first three questions, but it is probably "last place." And in the circles I serve in, most will insist that content has priority in worship. But when it comes to evaluating a service, and when it comes to sorting out what will get people to attend a service, feelings are given a pretty high value. Much higher than in other areas of Christian thought and living. Why is that?

Yes, feelings are important. Yes, worship that appeals only to the head, or to the ascetic [nb: not aesthetic] without an affective element, are problematic in perhaps more dangerous ways. Granted, and like you I don't much relish those as alternatives. But I want to press the question: "Why is a worship service - a single service, or a style of service - judged primarily on the feeling response to it?" And "Where is that taking us? Where will it leave us?"

This challenges me in my own responses to services, especially now as a guest in unfamiliar churches. Am I "objective" enough to get beyond how I "feel," even if I don't "like" the structure, the degree of (in)formality, the music? And if I can't get beyond my feelings here will they take a firmer grip on my ability or willingness to grapple with truth, with obedience, and with action?

Awash in sound

My friend and former colleague, Randall Gruendyke, is the campus pastor at Taylor University, Upland Indiana. In case this post finds its way to his circle, before I quote Randy I want to point out that his comment was made about a decade ago, and is not cited here to portray anything about the current or past situation of chapel music at Taylor.

Hmm. I've never begun a post with a disclaimer. Anyway . . .

Randy made this arresting analogy about highly amplified worship bands. (This will be a pale paraphrase of Randy's always well-spoken observations.) The wall of sound that is produced by a band behind amplifiers is analogous to the "rood screen" in ancient churches. That was the usually ornate screen (wood or stone) behind which the priests did the "real work" of the mass, while the people stood around and waited in front of it. Here's a picture of one of the more famous rood screens still in place:


This is the screen at Westminster Abbey, London. (And while we're here, a little tip: If you're going to Choral Evensong at Westminster, try to get there early enough to get seated behind the screen, where the choir sits. Amazing.)

So, you get the idea. All the important stuff happened behind the screen. The people not only didn't understand the mass when it was not in their language; they couldn't even see what was going on.

Randy's observation was that this is what highly amplified worship music does. It separates those leading the music from those who are supposed to be singing. Often, the visual impact is the same, with amplifiers, keyboards and other instruments between the musicians and the congregation. An altogether apt metaphor, and if you sometimes wonder why so much sound still doesn't help you engage in the singing, just think about it.

But my Karen and I had a similar experience Sunday in a very different context. The robed choir, the organ and piano, the classical orchestra - all suggested visually that this was not going to be a "worship band" service. Nor was it. (In spite of the inexplicable presence of a "worship leader" with a guitar in front of all this. I still don't get that. Was it supposed to make the traditional music feel more folksy?) But it still had its "rood screen" effect. Everything had a microphone, and the whole was amplified through an impressive speaker array. (Though elevated in a very lofty space, it was still visually very present. Sort of like a space station.)

We were awash in sound. The songs and hymns, we wanted to sing. And people were singing. But it became so monotonous.The organ and orchestra never found their way to highlight what each had to offer; the sound just sort of smushed together. The piano would have been completely lost if not for the microphones on it. Also, the violins. But rather than draw out the texture of this rich assortment of instruments, it came out as a bland stew. The impressively large choir also might be a very fine choir, but the microphones did nothing to make it sound other than a bunch of voices singing their hearts out. (Give me a struggling 12-voice choir that can hear and respond to each other, any Sunday morning.)

In the end, while we could actually sing along, the focus still was on what was happening "up front." Not surprisingly, the congregation applauded even after the hymns. Was it, after all, all about what was going on "behind the screen?"

This whole thing about the role of music to guide, lead, coax, encourage the congregation is so important. This weekend I again was reminded that it isn't like one approach naturally gets it while another doesn't. An organ can be that screen of sound, just as much as a praise band. A choir can as much as a guitarist song-leader. The main thing is to know the space we're given for worship, understand how it works best for the voice of the people, and decide how to use the space and musical resources for the best benefit of their singing.