Many of these days of Lenten preparation for Easter find us (here in the Midwest) slowed down by late winter surprises. This year, where I live the surprises are cold, not snow. We hunker down, stay in, and find ways to manage a less active life.
It's a good time to slow down and listen. "Audite!"
The Gospels are a good place to start listening. Jesus is speaking:
"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30)
Listen again:
"Come Unto Me" composed by Larry Nickel
sung by the West Coast Mennonite Chamber Choir
Tony Funk, conductor
The psalmist speaks, for us:
Answer me quickly, O Lord! My spirit fails! Hide not your face from me, lest I be like those who go down to the pit. Let me hear in the morning of your steadfast love, for in you I trust. Make me know the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul. (Psalm 143:7-8)
If Lent is about remembering it is also about looking. So in keeping with the Latin imperatives: Videte!
"And I will pour out . . . a spirit of grace and pleas for mercy, so that, when they look on me, on him whom they have pierced, they shall mourn for him, as one mourns for an only child, and weep bitterly over him, as one weeps over a firstborn." (Zechariah 12:10 - St. John the Evangelist points us to the prophecy, with Jesus on the cross, John 19:37)
"When I Survey the Wondrous Cross"
Isaac Watts
When I survey the wondrous cross On which the Prince of glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ my God! All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.
(I've posted an English choir, in part because the tune here, ROCKINGHAM, is not what we normally sing in the U.S. - not in my experience, at least - and so I think you may hear this familiar hymn with fresh ears.)
O God, you are my God; earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you; My flesh faints for you, as in a dry and weary land where there is no water. So I have looked upon you in the sanctuary, beholding your power and glory. Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you. So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift up my hands.
(Psalm 63:1-4
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent. I have written about Lent many times over the years. You can read one iteration starting here. For today - and for the six weeks ahead - I simply want to remind us that the season of Lent is a time of preparation for a full and joyous celebration of Easter. It is 40 days (not counting Sundays), and it is all about Jesus. (That is to say, Lent is not about me, not about my discipline, not a self-improvement-start-good-habits endeavor.)
For years I have, not so covertly, observed Lent among musicians at two evangelical (non-Lent-observing) churches. If you wonder why Good Friday and Easter services were led so effectively by those musicians, that's the secret: they have been prepared by a crypto-liturgist leading stealth Lenten observations. Sue me.
Today I began the season with the Walter Wangerin devotional, Reliving the Passion. Over this season, as often as I can manage, I will drop in here with some scripture and music: my own take on Lenten services.
Remember!
The symbol of ashes, the sign of the cross on the forehead, is accompanied by the words of Scripture: "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Genesis 3) The ancient liturgy added the word, "Memento" - Remember: you are dust and to dust you shall return. Lent reminds us that we are not immortal. And it reminds us that one who is immortal died for us. During these days, we remember.
Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations . . . from everlasting to everlasting you are God. You return man to dust and say, "Return, O children of man!" For a thousand ages in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night . . . So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom . . . Let your work be shown to your servants, and your glorious power to their children. Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!" (Psalm 90, ESV; read it all here - and you can change to any translation/version at that site. Myself, I'd go with the King James.)
"Abide with Me" is commonly used as an Evening hymn. It really is a perfect Lenten hymn.
I shan't always quote Wangerin, but I'll always be glad I did. This is from today's reading: [W]hen we genuinely remember the death we deserve to die, we will be moved to remember the death the Lord in fact did die - because his took the place of ours. Ah, children, we will yearn to hear the Gospel story again and again, ever seeing therein our death in his, and rejoicing that we will therefore know a rising like his as well. Remember now that thou are dust. Death now - yes, even in the midst of a bustling life. My death and Jesus' death, by grace conjoined. Memento! - because this death, remembered now, yields life hereafter. And that is life forever.
The lecture title was provocative: "Phos hilaron From early church to Christian rock: A cultural history of the oldest hymn in Christendom." That's a mouthful, and clearly describes the excellent lecture by Mark Thorne, Assistant Professor of Classical Languages at Wheaton College. One thing I am really digging in this stage is the freedom to take advantage of a vibrant offering of public campus lectures.
Dr. Thorne's was vibrant, interesting, and fun. He delivered what the title promised, and along the way I learned a lot about a hymn I thought I knew. It's place in the Anglican Evening Prayer is responsible for the version I know as an evening hymn, "O gracious light." I mentioned this prayer in an earlier post. What I didn't know comprised most of the lecture, which was full of visual and audio illustrations. Just the way to finish a week of classes, late on a winter afternoon.
But the lecture did press some of my buttons, stirred some of my hornets' nests. The lecturer became curious about Phos hilaron when he heard it on the 2009 David Crowder Band Album, "Church Music." That set off his inquiry, and so that was also the final musical example of the lecture. The questions that follow do not in any way reflect Dr. Thorne's content or purpose for the lecture. They are simply the way my mind worked as he concluded. Here goes:
* Not all Christian music is church music. This is an issue confused by - oh, let's say the David Crowder Band album title, "Church Music." By "church music" most people probably think "the music I will be expected to sing in church." And others - fewer perhaps - will mean "the music that I will listen to others perform in church." I might be able to make the argument that the DCB album is filled with music that could be performed in church; on the same principles that I could justify a choral anthem. Fair enough. But as for singing . . .
* Related to the above, who (that is, what congregations) actually sing along to the tunes on the DCB "Church Music"? I am not asking who enjoys this music (many do, and with good enough reason) but who actually sings along. I hear this in settings where it is reasonable to expect the audience/congregation to get it and get with it. But I have yet to hear this sort of thing thoroughly engaged vocally even my a significant minority. Listen along? Sure. Mumble along? Well, OK.. All I'm saying here is: assign some music a proper role of performance, if it should be used but can't really be sung by the untrained or those unfamiliar with a particular CD or radio station.
* One of the points made in the course of the lecture is that Phos hilaron took on musical characteristics of the various eras in which it was introduced. [Notably exceptional of course is in the Greek church, where this hymn has been sung daily for something like 1700 years, and where relatively few chant variants continue to do good service for it.] Which raises a question: Should "music of the era" serve as a justification for "any music?" Yes, "Hail gladdening light" (another translation of Phos hilaron) technically can be rapped or set to Euro techno electronica tribal Celtic funk, but should it?
* Which raises the last question I walked away with: Should a liturgical hymn be used outside the liturgy? This is a tough one for me, as a worship planner and song chooser. Do I really have the right to borrow someone else's liturgy for my free church worship? (Much less for a concert designed primarily for entertainment?) There are few hymns that would conclude the Lord's Day in an evening service better than one of the settings of Phos hilaron. But . . . should it? Or should we be writing our own?
Dr. George Kalantzis, head of the Early Christian Studies program at Wheaton College, made this concluding comment at Thursday's lecture: "We look back, not with nostalgia but so that we may know who we are." And then he dismissed us into the early evening with Phos hilaron: O gracious Light, pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven; O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed! Now as we come to the setting of the sun, and our eyes behold the vesper light, we sing your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices, O Son of God, O giver of life, and to be glorified through all the worlds.
And I drove home singing: O gracious Light, Lord Jesus Christ, in you the Father's glory shone. Immortal, holy, blest is he, and blest are you, his holy Son. Now sunset comes, but light shines forth, the lamps are lit to pierce the night. Praise Father, Son, and Spirit, God who dwells in the eternal light. Worthy are you of endless praise, O Son of God, life-giving Lord; wherefore you are through all the earth and in the highest heaven adored.
Phos hilaron, trans. 20th century, F. Bland Tucker
Classes begin again today! I am enrolled in my final semester of course work, to be followed - God willing - by a thesis to be written in the summer and defended in the fall. One step at a time.
And those "one steps" over the past week have had something to do with the thesis. And with an independent study I am undertaking this semester. Which, itself, has something to do with the thesis.
So, the week before classes was a reading week, with lots to enjoy about it and I am happy to say that it really has me eager for the weeks ahead. I anticipate a good deal of my writing this semester to contribute - directly or preparatorily (no, not a word) - to the thesis. These days that has meant reading about Bach, and the Lutheran worship services of the 17th and 18th centuries.
More on that another time. What struck me last week, though, was the following comparison/analogy. Which, you know, I would never make about myself and so I make it about the kind of work I do. That is to say, even in jest I would never compare myself to J. S. Bach, in any regard. (Though, if I got that powdered wig I've always coveted . . . ) And one could hardly confuse the kind of worship services I have planned with those of Leipzig's churches in the 18th century. But I think they do have this in common:
Built around the sermon scripture, they seek to weave instrumental music, choral music, and congregational song into a theme for the day. Everyone and every thing in the service has its part. And ideally, when the hour is done, there is a lingering impression, an understanding of the scripture that is rooted in the sermon but expressed complementarily (also, not a word?) in all that has been said and sung, whether by congregation, choir or instruments.
In an ideal service plan, it seems to me, there is a weekly "cantata." Now, Herr Bach produced a pretty impressive cycle of services, and they sound like . . . well, like Bach! In my case (and in most cases today) the music comes from a variety of sources. My services are less durable than the Bach cantatas, but their structure and purpose are similar.
Except that our sermons are not an hour long, and we don't have another 20 - 30 minutes of music on each side of the sermon.
Well, anyway, just a little musing as I begin this semester and wonder about the future. I'd never considered that I've been preparing "weekly cantatas" for years now. With my above disclaimer about comparisons (i.e., there are no valid comparisons to Bach nor to Leipzig nor to the 18th century), this idea shapes my thinking about worship planning.
And it also suggests that as the music of that cantata-meister will figure into my thesis, I must begin to soak it up by listening to weekly cantatas by himself.
The Twelve Days of Christmas have passed, and tonight the Christmas tree goes down, among the last of the seasonal items to be packed away. It has been an unusual season for me - the first December in 28 years in which I have not prepared and conducted Christmas music for worship and programs. I missed it a great deal, which is instructive for me as I press on in my theology studies and discern what is next in my vocation.
Reading Walter Wangerin,Preparing for Jesus, grounded my season, Advent through Christmas. When December began I had no idea that I would be "making music" vicariously through this blog and Facebook posts. The nice personal benefit that came out of that was a rich sense of occasion in the season. I've never really "observed" the Twelve Days of Christmas, in any personal sense. The readings, and the fun challenge of proposing music for each day from December 17 through January 6, helped "keep me in the game." At the Sixth Day of Christmas I recapped a Facebook series of musical offerings, so here today is my re-cap of Days 7 through 12.
As earlier, I add some notes, some alternate recordings, and the occasional optional selection. Enjoy!
Seventh day of Christmas, January 1, 2013
I confessed (a) my ignorance about why there are different ways to count the 12 days, and (b) my laziness that kept me from doing the research about it. Thanks to a couple of rather more interested and energetic friends (friends in real life and on Facebook), I relaxed into the count proffered by Pastor Wangerin. It gave me an extra day of "Christmas" music; and yet, as both ways of counting still end with January 6, Epiphany, in a sense it didn't really matter! In any case, both methods of counting also mark January 1 as the observation of the Circumcision, the Name Day of Jesus. The gospel song, "What You Gonna Name that Pretty Little Baby" is a family favorite, especially from a recording of the Penumbra Theatre (Saint Paul, MN) production of "Black Nativity." There is a professional recording from a Broadway production of this Langston Hughes stage work. It is, of course, excellent. But for our family taste, the gentler Midwestern version - which we attended several years running - is unmatched.
Eighth day of Christmas, January 2 A favorite of choirs, congregations, and audiences, Benjamin Britten's This Little Babe, from his Ceremony of Carols simply had to show up somewhere in the 12 Days. I put it here following the "naming" on January 1, because - to my mind - "this little babe, so few days old, has come to rifle Satan's fold" is a natural next statement following, "you shall call his name Jesus, for he shall save his people from their sins." (Jesus means Yahweh saves.)
Ninth day of Christmas, January 3 I just had to get in one of my favorite carols, The Wexford Carol, and this recording by conductor and arranger, Dale Warland. Of course, this is a folk tune and traditional carol, so here is another setting:
Tenth day of Christmas, January 4 I began the turn from Christmas proper, to the Epiphany. I like this selection because it bridges the season so well: Jesus, the Light of the World points back to the angels' announcement of the birth ("Hark! the herald angels sing") and ahead to the theme of Epiphany ("Jesus, the light of the world"). The selection posted on Facebook is nice because the performers and the audience are racially diverse - a great picture of Epiphany and the gospel. But this was a very tight second choice. Its merits are many and obvious, among them the unbridled gospel choir, the excellent lead singer, the totally engaged congregation (this is church), and the Chicago connection - Trinity UCC. Don't let the timing of this video keep you from starting it. The featured song is first in a string of songs. If you have time, treat yourself to the full medley!
Eleventh day of Christmas, January 5. By one reckoning (and, I gather, the more common), this would be the Twelfth Day. By either reckoning, January 5 is Twelfth Night. Time to get your Shakespeare out. Children, Go Where I Send Thee is commonly included in Christmas programs, and is also included in the Black Nativityproduction in Saint Paul. But, in a strictly liturgical sense, the whole sending/going motif properly belongs to Epiphany. So, another transitional item. As a folk song, it comes in many variants. Some more obscure than others. All of them fun. I stand by my posting of that from the Johnny Cash Christmas special (1977), because . . . well, just because. I might have picked this video there because it is a group that bears mention:
Twelfth day of Christmas, January 6 I may be delusional, but I believe a congregation does not want to be rushed away from Christmas. Preachers outside the liturgical calendar, on the other hand, for any number of reasons, may be all too ready to press on to whatever is next. One way to serve both sides of this post-Christmas dilemma is to sing As of Gladness, Men of Old. Here again, often sung during Advent or on Christmas Eve; but the text screams "later!"
As of gladness men of old
Did the guiding star behold,
As with joy they hailed its light
Beaming onward, beaming bright;
So, most gracious Lord, may we
Evermore be led to Thee.
And again, to be strictly calendrical (?) here is where we could finally program, We Three Kings!
Before I go "back to the beginning," I'd want to offer this setting by . . . the Beach Boys! Go on, listen to it. You know you want to! And it is surprisingly reverent. Enjoy.
But, to come full circle on the season, I really must end back at King's College, Cambridge, Choir in that Chapel:
Christmas Music: I look forward to a much more personal engagement in 2013!
Popular outrage against film critics who panned the Christmas
Day release of “Les Miserables” highlights a challenge facing many churches.
The Chicago Tribune critic, Michael Phillips, spent the week following his 1-½
star review dealing with incensed moviegoers questioning his fitness to be a
critic, his motivation for trashing a great film, even his humanness. As I read
Phillips’s article detailing the firestorm(“Do you hear the people sting?” Chicago Tribune, 28 December 2012) I
thought of the state of the modern church in its continuing evaluation of liturgy
and music.
Phillips is just one of several prominent film critics who
found fault with this blockbuster adaptation of the perennially popular stage
musical based on the 19th century novel (which, one suspects, is
being read with less frequency these days). Acknowledging his love for the
musical, Phillips primarily faulted the direction and cinematography, feeling
that the film didn’t breathe. In short, he criticized not the story but the
craft of film-making which failed, in his opinion, to do justice to a great
story already well told in two other media. Granted, by quoting his critics
Phillips may have painted a caricature. But the quotations have the ring of
truth, and sounded to me very much like what one hears in discourse about what
is right – or wrong – about a church’s worship life. “People just kept
applauding and would not leave until the credits were over. How can you put
down one of the greatest movies of all time?” “I was enthralled . . . The
packed theater, the sound of sniffles and noses being blown . . . the sound of
patrons clapping after the final song is sung is a sound that just isn’t
experienced all too often.” “Much applause. . . and buckets of tears.” Whether any of his correspondents commented
on the quality of the acting or singing, we are left to wonder. Phillips,
however, commented on (and complimented) both, in print and on a radio
interview focused on the backlash from his review.
Questions of editing and caricature aside, when I read these
critiques of the critic I was struck with their similarity to what one often
hears in appraisal and evaluation of public worship. Response to Phillips
suggested that a critic’s job is to be “objective” and “neutral,” and noted
with some satisfaction that public response to this and other panned films
disproved the critic’s assessment. After all, if “The Hobbit” has been the #1
film for two weeks running, how dare a film critic find fault with it? If
people cry and clap for “Les Miz,” it must be good. The same college professor who introduced me to the novel, Les
Miserables, also taught us how to distinguish good poetry from bad. “You
are welcome to like bad poetry,” she said, “I just want you to be able to tell
the difference.” That, it seems to me, is the role of the film critic; it is also
the role of the church leader with responsibility for a congregation’s music
and liturgy.
The modern church suffers from a persistent romanticism that
places final aesthetic authority in the feelings of individuals. The self is
the only arbiter of taste. If it makes me feel good, it is good art. If I weep
and clap, it must be good. How can you say that [fill in the blank] is not good? Generally, those who teach and
preach are able kindly but firmly to reply: “No, but thus says the Lord, and so
we will teach and preach, and so we will learn to live.” And in this way a
people’s life is shaped; the will, the feelings, the responses and actions are
transformed over time by the renewal of the mind. But when it comes to those
other life-shaping aspects of public church life – liturgy and music – we are
often in danger of allowing the spirit of the age to inform our evaluation. If
it feels good, it is good. If it is difficult to engage, could you kindly make
it appealing? It is much easier to pay for a $12 movie than an $80 Broadway
ticket. The book is practically free, but who has time for that?
The role of film criticism is to introduce, contextualize, provide
insight, and yes, finally to recommend whether readers should spend their money
on a particular movie. The critic who does all this well will hear from a
public that only wants to know, “will this movie make me feel good?” It is not
unlike the function of preaching, liturgy, and music, which each have a role in
shaping the lives of Christian believers. In an environment that rejects the
expectations and values of nineteenth century romanticism in the arena of
preaching and teaching, shouldn’t we be cautious of embracing the same
standards of evaluation in our liturgy and music?
