What a tune does to a text

I’ve been reading Gordon Giles, The Music of Praise: Meditations on Great Hymns of the Church (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2004). Giles is an Anglican vicar who has served at St. Paul’s Cathedral, London. He has compiled hymns for each Sunday of the church year—Advent 1 through Christ the King.

Each week’s reading begins with the words in poetic form. (A “hymn” is the words, meant to be sung but distinct from the “tune.”) A short reflection follows, including some history of the text and tune, observations about how text and tune work, the relevance of the hymn to the particular Sunday, and a prayer.

I’m learning some new hymns. And I’m learning some new tunes, as well. Even with familiar hymns, the English often (usually?) sing different tunes than we do in the States. The book comes with a CD including twenty-one of the hymns, with choir and organ.

I don’t go looking for this sort of thing whilst reading a book like this . . . But I have sat up and taken notice of several of Giles’ comments that speak to my “soap box” issue. Namely, that how we sing affects our understanding of what we sing. Here are just a few examples I have noted along the way:

·         “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” – The tune Rockingham, to which it is invariably sung in Britain and elsewhere [ed. note: though, not, alas, in most evangelical churches in the US] is an exquisitely lyrical, flowing tune, which illustrates that love and sorrow, flowing, mingled, down. Words and music mingle, and we are slowly but surely swept along on a gentle tide of contemplation and worship. The major key is used, perhaps surprisingly, but therefore with greater effect. There is no lugubriousness here, no wallowing in the minor key as we sing of what a shame it is that Christ died. This old and famous hymn tune does not want to say that, or to make us say it; it wants us to boast in the death of Christ . . . And yet it is not a proud tune either. The triumph of the cross is muted, and the direction of the hymn is not outward; we are [not] telling it abroad, but rather internalizing our meditation on the suffering and the glory of the cross. (106–107, emphasis added) I just want to highlight here the idea that the tune functions in our contemplation, worship, and understanding. We understand the words differently with different tunes. I do not say “wrongly,” but differently. The notes matter.

·         “My Song Is Love Unknown” – It is no surprise that a specially written tune by an eminent composer [ed. note: John Ireland wrote the tune LoveUnknown specifically for this text]  fits the words so well, or that it manages to combine those two elements of inward reflection and outward declamation. It is written in the key of E flat major, when we might expect a minor key, but it conveys a hint of melancholy in its distinctive use of downward suspended notes in the tenor part. [ed. note: music theory alert] Thus, in the first verse, at the end of the first line, the music appears to rest on the word ‘unknown’, and does so on what appears to be a major chord (A flat, the fourth of the scale), yet, as the tenor line moves from an A flat to a G, we realize that this is a C minor chord, and the colour has therefore changed, even on one word. The same kind of movement is found at various points in the tune, and is emphasized at the midpoint, at the end of every fourth line. Thus there is penitence built in to this tune, and the ambiguity and irony of Crossman’s poem is reflected subtly and effectively. (117, emphasis added) Yes, it is entirely possible to sing these words to other tunes; at least one other tune, the Welsh Rhosymedre is one. This tune, Giles says, embodies the spirit and letter of the poem.

Full disclosure: I actually prefer a newer tune, Gunnar, written by Edwin T. Childs (MorningStar Music, 1999). There are many who only know “My Song Is Love Unknown” to this tune and believe it to be the only perfect fit for the text. I cannot argue against that sentiment. I only wish I could post a recording sung by the congregation and choir of College Church in Wheaton, for whom it was written.

·         “All for Jesus” (tune All for Jesus) – This is the closing hymn in John Stainer’s Passion cantata, The Crucifixion: At the cross, then, this hymn speaks of a majestic triumph: it really is quite rousing, and is not the kind of hymn we might expect to sing when thinking of the crucifixion of Jesus. The tune is expansive rather than lyrical, and it is in the bright key of F sharp, which is beyond the height of many a voice. (For this reason it can be good to transpose it down to D major, but if it is taken to the halfway house of E flat major, the flatness of the key can make the tune more lugubrious than it is intended to be.) (122, emphasis added; and yes, the use of the word “lugubrious” again, duly noted) Here is a subtlety of key selection that we do not often enough consider. Yes, by all means change the key in which a song if needed, to accommodate the voice of the congregation. But consider what impact the alternate key will have on the words. Not all major keys are equal, and the choice of key will affect the character of what is sung. “All for Jesus” – lugubrious, or majestic? Take your pick; but know what you’re choosing and think about what you’ll get.

The point of this post is to argue (again!) that the musical choices we make in congregational song—note: the music we choose to sing the words we put in peoples’ hands—will shape how we understand those words. Let’s be thoughtful and careful (theological) with the notes as well as the words.

I get the news I need on the weather report

I Get the News I Need on the Weather Report*

OR

God Sent All This Snow

As I write, on March 20, there is a fine light snow in the air. The Spring Equinox will arrive at 11:57am where I live. “Spring has sprung,” in spite of appearances at the moment.

It’s been an unusual winter here in Chicago, with one of the highest annual accumulations of snow. What my Karen and I call a “Minnesota winter” – snow came, stayed, and accumulated; we didn’t have the typical Chicago snow/thaw/melt/repeat cycle. In our view, this is actually a good thing.

But there has been a lot of complaining in the circles I read and listen in on. Too much snow, too cold, for too long. Me? This winter I’ve had a theological “aha!” about the way we think and talk about the weather.

As moderns, we know how weather happens. Our models for forecasting are getting better all the time. We are rarely surprised by unusual weather events, and we find that it is increasingly easy to make reliable long-range (5- to 7-day) plans around the forecasts.

Therefore, we reason (like the good products of the Enlightenment that we are) that God has nothing to do with today’s weather. Sure, we concede, he cares about us and the affect of the weather on us. God still wants us to be thankful and joyful in all circumstances. But is God actually responsible for this fine light snow in the morning just hours before the Equinox?

If not, then we may complain about the weather.

BUT: What if, without ignoring the science, we still believe that God is responsible for the weather? What if it was God’s plan for northern Illinois that we should have so much snow, so often and for so long, and some pretty intense cold to boot? Then are we comfortable complaining about it?

Well, I don’t mean to sound better than I am. I just found that, this winter, I could not complain. And then I found that I could be not only thankful, but joyful. Of course I am happy that spring is coming. Yes, I’ve been eager for it. And check back in the heat of July and August and see if I am still maintaining my cheery attitude toward God and his ways with our climate.

You see—modern Christians with a foot in scientific materialism—if God is not directly involved (read: responsible) for our weather, then how is he not the Great Watchmaker, the Maker who set things in motion and leaves them to their own processes? Is he not rather actually holding all things together by the word of his power (see Colossians 1:16—17)? This winter I have regained some of the wonder by believing this means even today’s weather.

So, today I’m thankful that it is snowing on the first day of Spring, even if I’m also thankful that there’s not going to be enough that I have to shovel again.

* Paul Simon, "The Only Living Boy in New York"

The transitional book shelf

So here I am, post-thesis, with three part-time jobs and something more permanent "out there." Winter's grip is loosening here in Chicago land, but not so much that I can be out on my bicycle. There are always musical goals to pursue, to be sure. And - of course - books to be read!

The advance news on John Eliot Gardiner's biography of J. S. Bach surfaced as I was writing my thesis this summer. I have to say, I was relieved to hear it would be released too late for me to have to account for it in my work! No doubt it would be excellent and helpful, but I did not relish what it might do to my progress. It hit the shelves at about the same time I submitted the thesis.

My Karen gave me a copy for Christmas - a prized gift! But I could not bring myself to begin it until my thesis had run its full course. As soon as it went to the technical reader (official copy editing; jots-and-tittle stuff) I cracked Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven. And, oh what a rich, engaging work this is! I am going to enjoy savoring this, a few pages at a time, every day for weeks. Last night Gardiner addressed the Pietists for the first time. I was relieved to see that what he wrote concurs with the portrayal in my thesis . . . though, of course, more elegantly and succinctly stated.

On less scholarly fronts, I have been working through The New Oxford Book of English Verse, with the goal of reading cover to cover through this year. I am writing occasionally about that in my other blog. And, to provide a break from my course prep work, weekends I have been re-reading the C. S. Lewis Narnia series. I'm eager to get to The Last Battle this weekend, after which I will begin his Space Trilogy. Those books will take longer than a weekend each, especially once the roads open up for bicycling! Then, it will be on to The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. This is my year for recapturing wonder.

My professional project this week has been focused on the nature of Christian Higher Education, specifically paying attention to the role of campus worship ("chapel"). Yes, I have a particular reason for this right now, but more generally I have ideas that I want to work out. So, I've read Duane Litfin's Conceiving the Christian College, Arthur Holmes' The Idea of a Christian College, and David Dockery, Renewing Minds. (Litfin is the previous president of Wheaton College, where I am completing my theology degree; Dockery is the newly appointed president of Trinity International University, where I am teaching music history this year.) Also very helpful is the essay by Philip Ryken, "The Liberal Arts in the New Jerusalem," in Liberal Arts for the Christian Life. I have pretty strong opinions about worship [oh, really?!?] and want to think clearly about what the options and opportunities are for worship in the academy. I'm eager to get my hands on James K. A. Smith, Desiring the Kingdom: Worship, Worldview, and Cultural Formation.

All this, with lectures and rehearsal prep to boot. What a life!

Ars moriendi

Ars moriendi.

The Art of Dying.

Making a good death.

A cheery thought for a sunny March day at the beginning of Lent.

I was introduced to the ars moriendi during my thesis reading. David Yearsley, in Bach and the Meanings of Counterpoint, suggests that Bach’s final composition, the chorale prelude “Vor deinen Thron” (Before thy throne) was “a prelude to the unimaginable joys of the transfigured body. It is a chorale prelude not to congregational singing, but to eternal life.” (p. 36; you can read this chapter here)

The Art of Dying was a well-established discipline to consider how to make a good death. That is, how to die without anxiety, in such a way as to experience spiritual comfort personally and to give loved ones comforting assurance of one’s spiritual preparedness. By the 17^th century, the general tone of this discipline was that “dying well” was the natural end of “living well.” Even the Puritans saw ars moriendi as an important discipline and pastoral care matter: Thomas Becon’s The Sick Man’s Salve predates by a century Jeremy Taylor’s better-known Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying.

Draw your own conclusions about why in the world I am thinking about ars moriendi these days. There are more than a couple, but I’m not about to embark on a public psychoanalysis! Let’s just say that I don’t seem to be able to avoid it. Two weeks ago, at the Bach Cantata Vespers in River Forest, one of the hymns was “Who Knows When Death May Overtake Me” – with each line concluding “My God, for Jesus’ sake I pray Thy peace may bless my dying day” – a prayer for the living who know they will one day die.

In my reading through The New Oxford Book of English Verse (which I occasionally write about here) I have encountered this theme often enough that I have decided to track it through the year. I rather suspect that as the chronology of English poems marches into and beyond the 18^th century, this theme will – er, ahem – die out.

Eighteen-year-olds don’t get this, and thirty-year-olds don’t want to. We protect children from the very notion of death and especially of their own death. (Though our forebears had no such scruples: see the children’s hymns of Isaac Watts and Cecil Frances Alexander, which now to many seem downright sadistic, or at best macabre.) But our forebears may have been on to something: if we live with our end in view, we may just perhaps live better.

And that is at least one part of what Lent is about. I won’t be writing a Lenten series, but there’s a Lenten thought for me. And to that end, here is an appropriately themed poem which seems apt for this season. It was part of my Oxford poetry reading this morning:

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

John Donne, 1572—1631, Holy Sonnet 10

The Presentation

February 2

Forty days after the Nativity

An Evangelical Feast?

Granted, we don't know on what day Jesus was born.

But equally granted, Jesus was born on a certain day. And eight days later he was named. And forty days after she gave birth, his mother, Mary, presented herself with an offering for purification, according to law and custom. And while the family were in the temple, they had significant encounters with two older saints who recognized who Jesus was. Their words of blessing are part of our scripture. Let us pay attention.

So, since we have agreed in the western Church to set apart December 25 as the Nativity, then Jesus' name day is January 1. And the 40th day after the birth is February 2. Another "Forty day" marker in redemption's story, and in the Church's walk with Jesus.

Introit:

I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.

(Isaiah 49:6)

Psalm 84:1 - 4

How lovely is your dwelling place,

    O Lord of hosts!

My soul longs, yes, faints

    for the courts of the Lord;

my heart and flesh sing for joy

    to the living God.

Even the sparrow finds a home,

    and the swallow a nest for herself,

    where she may lay her young,

at your altars, O Lord of hosts,

    my King and my God.

Blessed are those who dwell in your house,

    ever singing your praise!

Prayer

 Almighty and everliving God, we humbly pray that, as your only-begotten Son was this day presented in the temple, so we may e presented to you with pure and clean hearts by Jesus Christ our Lord; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

(Collect for The Presentation, Book of Common Prayer, 1979)

Malachi 3:1 - 4

“Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me. And the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his temple; and the messenger of the covenant in whom you delight, behold, he is coming, says the Lord of hosts. But who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is like a refiner's fire and like fullers' soap. He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, and they will bring offerings in righteousness to the Lord. Then the offering of Judah and Jerusalem will be pleasing to the Lord as in the days of old and as in former years.

Anthem: from Messiah (recordings from Robert Shaw with the Atlanta Symphony and Chorus) I wish these were available with the bass-baritone Gerard Sundberg, who sang in this annual concert for Shaw’s last years (including the last Shaw performance of Messiah) If you are inclined to listen, be advised the whole string will take about 10 minutes.

Thus saith the Lord:

But who may abide:

And he shall purify (from a different source altogether):

 

Hebrews 2:14 - 18

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. For surely it is not angels that he helps, but he helps the offspring of Abraham. Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted.

Hymn:

O Worship the Lord in the Beauty of Holiness (music choir singing this hymn)

See the text here.

Luke 2:22 - 40

And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, “Every male who first opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord”) and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the Law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.” Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord's Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple, and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him according to the custom of the Law, he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said,

“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace,

    according to your word;

for my eyes have seen your salvation

    that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,

a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

    and for glory to your people Israel.”

And his father and his mother marveled at what was said about him. And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary his mother, “Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.”

And there was a prophetess, Anna, the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. She was advanced in years, having lived with her husband seven years from when she was a virgin, and then as a widow until she was eighty-four. She did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day. And coming up at that very hour she began to give thanks to God and to speak of him to all who were waiting for the redemption of Jerusalem.

And when they had performed everything according to the Law of the Lord, they returned into Galilee, to their own town of Nazareth. And the child grew and became strong, filled with wisdom. And the favor of God was upon him.

Prayer:

O Christ our King and Savior, who was humbly presented in your Father's house to a waiting world, keep alive in us a welcoming heart and a burning love, so that we may live in the light of the glory of your redeeming power, revealed to all the nations in your birth, presentation, and resurrection. Amen.

(Gordon Giles, The Music of Praise, 71)