Martin Marty 4: No Private Spirituality

The last item I want to discuss from Martin Marty's list is #8, Going Public. Marty remarked that confessing our faith in public, as illustrated by such hymns as "I Love to Tell the Story", is a very strange act in our American milieu of private spirituality.

Yet the psalms are filled with announcements that "I will speak of Thy goodness in the great congregation." The Old and New Testaments do not really credit any faith that remains private.

My husband pointed out recently that people who say they believe in Jesus but not in the church do not really believe in Jesus at all—not to the point of following His teachings beyond a vague niceness (and was Jesus actually "nice"?). Jesus reveled in symbolism and community, following the Old Testament law to the letter in His circumcision, presentation at the temple, and baptism; He went to the temple feasts with His parents; He attended the synagogue regularly, reading Scripture there publicly until the crowd decided to stone him. His first followers continued these Jewish practices, giving them a Christian twist, but not neglecting to meet together and not neglecting to carry on Jesus' commandments to use physical signs—water, bread and wine—to convey His teaching. The signs themselves were of community with the Trinity and with each other, and could not be practiced in any act of private spirituality.

Take a deep breath. Sing it out. "I will speak of Thy goodness in the great congregation; I Love to Tell the Story."

Martin Marty 3: Voices and Bodies that Rise, Fall, and Rise

The fourth point, Voice, emphasized Christianity as a material religion. Paying attention to our voices reminds us that we would not have Christianity without "a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and a river" (Marty was quoting someone else here).

The first time we sang the hymn "That Joyful Eastertide" (VRUETCHTEN) with text, the second time on "aw". We focused on the vibrations and resonance in our body, on our "wonderful madeness."

One of my employers said last week that he believes we will just be spirits in heaven, that Jesus' resurrected body was an illusion or something he cast off after he got through the clouds. That rather defeats the purpose of our belief, doesn't it? We long to be restored humanity, in all our spiritual and physical glory, not merely ghosts.

Fortunately, the Bible disagrees with my employer's views and holds out a different promise. Thomas put his hand in Jesus' side, and no body fell thunk to earth after the disciples stopped gazing up.

Dan Schutte 3: Hunger and Satisfaction

This Sunday a women's trio at my church is performing another of Schutte's tunes, "Pilgrim Companions", since the lectionary, as nearly as I can recall from planning this a couple months ago, has to do with Christ's being the Bread of Life (John 6) and with our walking together as imitators of God, His beloved children (Ephesians 4-5)--two themes unified in "Pilgrim Companions".

How do we capture the idea of the now and the not-yet, of Christ feeding us but not entirely satisfying us until heaven? One of the stanzas in "PC" reads, "Over and over, we hunger for someone to feed us and fill our desire; when the God of our longing has courted and captured our hearts, we will hunger no more," and the refrain closes with, "Hungry yet hopeful, sustained by the love of the Lord."

Since college years, I've latched onto that phrase, "hungry yet hopeful," as the theme of my life. My life didn't start that way. Since age nine, I had been nurtured on John Foley's version of Psalm 16, "For You Are My God" (and just why did a pack of St. Louis Jesuits have so much standing in a Reformed church?—but that is a question for another day), and its refrain, "For you are my God, you alone are my joy…". I thought God alone had to be my joy—sort of a beatific vision. But in college I began reading Psalm 16 seriously and finally noticed that immediately after the statement, "I have no good apart from thee," the psalmist follows with, "As for the saints in the land, they are the noble, in whom is all my delight" (italics added). So I began to get an inkling that God does not want us to enjoy "just" Him, but Him in His creation.

But how to enjoy God in His creation? The sadness of the world has never been far from me (many toddler portraits show a melancholy face, whereas my little brother is beaming), as the world, God's creation, including those made in His image, is continually falling short of God's intentions for it.

I read a lot of C.S. Lewis then and nearly memorized (really) his Weight of Glory essay, in which he talks frankly about our hunger for that which is not in this world, for the glory that is to come. This is still different from God alone being our joy; Lewis talks rather about our delighting in our Father's approval and stepping into the harmony and unity of creation that was meant from the beginning.

Hungry yet hopeful. You see how this develops.

When I taught for a couple years at a Christian high school, one of the kids' favorites songs was called "Hungry": "Hungry I come to you, for I know you satisfy." I sort of liked this song, but was worried that the students would get the ideas (1) that Jesus is supposed to satisfy immediately, meaning sometime in this life, and (2) that something is wrong with the kids if they don't feel "satisfied by Jesus" despite all their devotional practices. There certainly was a lot of unchristian guilt spread around that campus, possibly associated with songs like this.

I tried to talk about unrealistic expectations for satisfaction. I tried, for example, to tell the students in some chapels that if they got married, it could just increase the loneliness. My husband, The Abbott, is my best friend and a far-above-average partner in caring for me and preparing for our baby, but the loneliness I experience on a daily basis is real and unanswered by this wonderful man; I see more clearly after marriage than before that the dearest of human partners will not satisfy this ache, this hunger, for complete harmony and unity with God and His creation. I'm not sure the students understood this; I'm not sure I explained it well enough, or that because of songs like "Hungry", anyone was capable of understanding this.

The subtlety of Bernard of Clairvaux's "Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts" helps us here. Two stanzas will suffice:

Jesus, Thou Joy of loving hearts,
Thou Fount of life, Thou Light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfilled to Thee again.

We taste Thee, O Thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee still;
We drink of Thee, the Fountainhead,
And thirst our souls from Thee to fill.

The now and the not-yet. We're still hungry--yet hopeful. They didn't often sing this at the high school.

Haunted in New Mexico: Lutherans Amok

Check out our friend's most recent post. She's been attending an art conference (writers' workshop?) in New Mexico with a pack of ex-Lutherans.

Martin Marty 2: Silence and Noise

The first two points, Silence and Noise, could both be illustrated within sound.

Silence here refers to the spaces between notes--the organist's touch or the length of pause between phrases or stanzas--and to the possibility of a leader simply reading a stanza out loud in the middle of the hymn, while the congregation listens. Attention to silence helps us tune in to sound; the silence becomes part of the sound, another of its forms or shapes.

I use this method of attentiveness instinctively when shaping phrases in congregational song, based on the meaning of the text, but I noticed last night that I also use silence and softness pedagogically during piano lessons or choral lessons. A quiet smile or other facial expression in response to a performance is very effective after I've been blathering away or the student has been pounding away for a few minutes; the sudden absence of verbosity, whether verbal or musical, quickens our ears and sharpens our focus.

I recall also that one theory behind chant is that monks were allowed to make it somewhat organically, without a strict tempus, and with lots of individual variations within a choir. The subtlety of these variations was due, not crassly to lack of practice, but thoughtfully to the Holy Spirit's interpreting the text through each vessel, nudging here, lengthening there, taking a little breath, according to as each understood and as each had need. I do hope that theory of chant performance is true. Even if it is not, we can make it true in our own performances, explaining to the choir why in some cases we do not want them to keep an absolutely strict rhythm and tempo.

Silence.

Noise was delightfully illustrated through the spiritual "Let My People Go", which we were instructed to sing "in a down and dirty manner", stamping our feet on beats three and four after "Go down" and "Moses." Not all hymns and church tunes should be sung reverently; not all the Bible should be read reverently, I mean in an ethereal voice.

This reminds me that in a later post I mean to cover a hymn written by one of the participants of the conference, Adam Tice, in which "[t]he maiden Mary (not so mild) bore into death's domain true God, and yet an infant child...." Not so mild! Get down and dirty, Mary. Bear us that child.

Martin Marty 1: Churchgoers as Naked Mole Rats

During the Hymn Society's recent conference, Martin Marty brought us a look at the phenomology of hymnody—"What Is Going on When Christians Sing Hymns in Congregation?"—with each of his points accompanied by an appropriate hymn.

The points seemed a little haphazard, some of them having to do with the manner or technique of making music, some with the content of the songs, and one (#8) as the most cerebral, describing what happens in general when the private becomes public. I could have used another level of organization, dividing the points more neatly into categories.

I'll list the points first, then ponder some of my favorites in this and later posts.

Introduction: Phenomenology Defined; Location of Sacred
1. Silence
2. Noise
3. Awe
4. Voice
5. Rhythm and Harmony
6. Narrating and Listening
7. Conversing
8. Going Public
9. Unisonality and Harmony
10. Catechizing
Summary: Praising and Story

I don't recall how Marty defined phenomenology except through his example of stepping back from the congregation as a stranger to observe. I would supplement this with a concrete example, comparing this attitude of the stranger in the congregation to how you might observe a colony of naked mole rats burrowing around at the zoo, underground in a clear container like an ant farm: What are those creatures up to? How are they moving? Do they look busy or languid? What happens when one naked mole rat encounters another naked mole rat going the opposite direction in the same tunnel? How big are they making their burrows? How much noise does burrowing make? Where are the baby naked mole rats kept while the adults work? Are the babies allowed to observe, or are they confined? Does any adult oversee them? (This vision of the naked mole rats is vivid in my head, since I dreamed last week that I gave birth to one. My actual baby, due the middle of November, promises to look more human than that.)

During the introduction, Marty mentioned (as an aside?) that the discipline of acting like a stranger allows one to answer the question, "Where is this congregation locating the sacred?" Some congregations locate it in the host (the communion elements), some in the center aisle, some in icons, some in the music itself. I don't think I've seen a congregation locating it in the center aisle and I'm not sure how this would be observed, but the other places seem standard.

Dan Schutte 2: "Holy Darkness" and Songs of Suffering

During the workshop, Schutte had us all sing his "Holy Darkness", based on the writings of St. John of the Cross. The refrain begins with the lovely blessing, "Holy darkness, blessed night, heaven's answer hidden from our sight", and the first stanza is quite beautiful: "I have tried you in fires of affliction; I have taught your soul to grieve. In the barren soil of your loneliness there I will plant my seed." (Please write Oregon Catholic Press for the full score, Catalog #9906 for SATB arrangement and "assembly edition"—words and melody only.) We had sung several other songs and then politely waited for his comments, but at the end of this performance, everyone clapped. I think we were relieved that someone has written a song about depression and suffering, when all the rage right now is how happy we are and how Jesus satisfies our suburban dream.

What songs about suffering does the American church sing on a regular basis? We have the songs of Passion Week, of course. We have "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God", with its implied suffering: "Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also. The body they may kill; God's truth abideth still…" But I don't think we have enough songs that acknowledge our suffering and allow us to hallow it. We will all suffer; we are all in big trouble if we have not been prepared with hymns that grant us strength of character to withstand it.

My favorite song of suffering is Bonhoeffer's "By Gracious Powers So Wonderfully Sheltered", especially the stanza, "And when this cup You give is filled to brimming with bitter suffering, hard to understand, we take it thankfully and without trembling, out of so good and so beloved a hand."

A few rounds of "Kyrie Eleison" never hurt either. I feel the American suburban churches are so complacent that whenever I play a "Kyrie Eleison" or "Agnus Dei" during a service, I try to make the organ wail. If somebody won't cry, then something has to cry. And perhaps it gives people a chance, however fleeting, to acknowledge there may be tears inside themselves, now or later.

Dan Schutte 1: Listening to Scripture

Despite my not having written on this blog for some months, hymn activity has hardly slowed!

I just came back from the Hymn Society National Conference in Greencastle, Indiana. Where else can you rub shoulders with great text and tune writers, have three snack breaks plus three meal breaks per day, and sing for hours every morning and afternoon?

Thursday morning, the final day of the five-day conference, I was much too groggy to introduce myself to even one new person, but I enjoyed at least listening to Dan Schutte, a composer whose works I've been singing since age nine. He gave a workshop on the Spirituality of Hymn Writing.

One of the things I appreciate most about Dan is his attentiveness to Scripture. He said that when he writes a new song, he often (always?) opens about eight translations of a scriptural text. Listening to language prompts him to develop certain metaphors for God or Christian experience which are only hinted at or bypassed in some translations, more fully expressed in others.

This philosophy of hymn writing is completely different from what I've encountered in the writings of Ruth Duck and Brian Wren, as exemplified in Wren's hymn, "Bring Many Names." Briefly, the Duck/Wren philosophies of hymn writing state that Scripture is culturally bound and therefore does not have ultimate authority in determining how we address God; rather, the Spirit releases us to find new names for God in our new age of Christian history. This puts tremendous emphasis on the individual's perception of God rather than on God's revelation of Himself.

"For All the Saints": Encore!

There are THREE MORE STANZAS in the Cyber Hymnal version of "For All the Saints" than have appeared in any hymnal I own. We'll have to consider those later.

"For All the Saints": Warfare and Light in the Bedroom

In comparing the three official supplements of the Episcopal Hymnal 1982, I've noticed that their language becomes gradually more pacifistic. No more "marching to Zion"—no, now we're just enfolded in a "warm embrace."

Now I'm about as female as they come. I wear skirts six days a week; I bake cookies (when I'm not struggling with morning sickness—four weeks to go till the end of the first trimester!); I sing lullabies for pleasure; I'm kind to animals. But! I like action movies and adventure stories and fairy tales of knights fighting dragons; like every human on the planet, I struggle against temptation, fight to control my tongue, battle inward thoughts, and occasionally have to speak sharply to make a point. The metaphor of warfare in my daily life, usually against myself, very much applies.

So we come to Ralph Vaughan Williams' setting of Bishop How's saints song. Lying in bed last week with a churning tummy, nibbling a ginger muffin and sipping water before daring to stand up, I found "For All the Saints" had fresh meaning. Thank God it was in the Episcopal Hymnal!—even if variations on the theme wouldn't show up in the supplements.

The first stanza doesn't actually set the theme so well—gratitude for the saints, but they rest only from "labours" and not from the warfare that marks the rest of the song, except for the last stanza. I wonder, however, if those first and last stanzas, the bookends that don't fit the books, have a sly way of saying, "Warfare is not really the point. Blessing, thanksgiving, and singing are the beginning and end of the story."

Through the middle six stanzas, the themes of warfare and light are interestingly intermingled.

Stanza 2: The Lord, the Captain of the "well-fought fight", is also the one true Light in the darkness.

Stanza 3: His soldiers fight as the saints of old to win a gold crown (you have to envision gold to see the light here).

Stanza 4: While we are feebly struggling, those saints are shining in glory—in the full presence of the Light that cheers us now.

Stanza 5: This one leaves out the light theme, but stealing on the ear is a "distant triumph-song" in the fiercest strife and longest war. I suddenly like that light is left out of this one stanza, because it makes the substitute, that distant strain of music, seem light-like in its place. It reminds me of a Wendell Berry poem about morning light darting into a room like a little bird through the window.

Stanza 6: As the golden evening brightens in the west (the setting sun, the end of our lives, the end of the world), the faithful warriors expect rest.

Stanza 7: And lo! before the darkness settles in, there "breaks a yet more glorious day". All of us saints rise triumphant in "bright array" while the "King of glory" (perfect Captain/King, perfect Light/glory) passes us in review.

So there you have it. The ridiculous feeble struggle of a young pregnant woman trying to get out of bed is suddenly lit by millions of saints and one strong Light. A "distant triumph-song" sounds in the darkened bedroom. No more warm embrace of blankets! The woman finishes her muffin (and the last stanza of the hymn) and decides to try to stand.

Actually, I made it to work only four minutes late.

"Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven": A Lesson in Hymn Editing

Please do check out an article that appeared in Touchstone magazine, "No More 'Hims' of Praise". It's a little sarcastic, but proves a good lesson on why we should exercise much more care in editing hymns--or why we should keep our hands off the hymn editing altogether!

"Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven" is the subject. The author takes us through a contemporary version of the hymn and compares it to the original, with commentary, stanza by stanza.

Time to Say Goodbye: Septuagesima and "Alleluia, Song of Gladness"

We have a guest columnist today! Nan from Holy Hauntings has been a faithful reader of this blog. When she sent me an email last month about the burying of the "Alleluia," I asked her if she would be willing to share this fascinating stuff with my readers. Has YOUR church ever held a ceremony like this?!?

Nan:

"Alleluia" or "hallelujah", meaning "Praise the Lord", is one of the few Hebrew words adopted untranslated into Christian worship. It is interesting to note that nowhere and at no time was any effort made to translate it into the vernacular, as Saint Isidore of Seville (636) mentioned in his writings. He explains this by the reverence for the hallowed traditions of the Apostolic Church.

Perhaps more than any other word, Alleluia ties us in a direct line to our Christian Fathers and Mothers. St. John mentions the Alleluia in the Revelation, Saint Jerome (420) praises the pious farmers and tradesmen who used to sing it at their toil, and the mothers taught their babies to pronounce Alleluia before any other word. Finally, the expression "Alleluia, the Lord is risen" became the general greeting of Christians in early medieval times on the Feast of the Resurrection.

But the time has come to say goodbye to the Alleluia, at least for a short time. Most people think that the last Sunday before Ash Wednesday is the official day we do this, but it historically was done weeks before, on Septuagesima Sunday (actually, the eve before). When we abandoned the Historic Lectionary, one of the great losses was this season of the "Gesima" Sundays. We also lost a reminder of why there even needs to be a Lent, Holy Week and Easter.

From Golden Legend or Lives of the Saints: "At Septuagesima beginneth the time of deviation or going out of the way, of the whole world, which began at Adam and endured unto Moses. And in this time is read the Book of Genesis. The time of Septuagesima representeth the time of deviation, that is of transgression. The Sexagesima signifieth the time of revocation. The Quinquagesima signifieth the time of remission. The Quadragesima signifieth of penance and satisfaction."

Septuagesima, Sexagesima, & Quinquagesima, words that sound strange to our modern ears, are in fact three Latin words and they indicate how far away we are from Easter—that is, 70, 60, and 50 days respectively.

Historic Ways to Say Goodbye

The "depositio" (discontinuance) of the Alleluia on the eve of Septuagesima assumed in medieval times a solemn and emotional note of saying farewell to the beloved song.
The liturgical office on the eve of Septuagesima was performed in many churches with special solemnity, and Alleluias were freely inserted in the sacred text, even to the number of twenty-eight final Alleluias in the church of Auxerre in France.

This custom also inspired some tender poems which were sung or recited during Vespers in honor of the sacred word. The best known of these hymns is Alleluia, dulce carmen (Alleluia, Song of Gladness), composed by an unknown author of the eleventh century. It was translated into English by John Mason Neale (1866) and may be found in the official hymnal of the Protestant Episcopal Church.

In some French churches the custom developed in ancient times of allowing the congregation to take part in the celebration of a quasi-liturgical farewell ceremony. The clergy abstained from any role in this popular service. Choirboys officiated in their stead at what was called "Burial of the Alleluia" performed the Saturday afternoon before Septuagesima Sunday. We find a description of it in the fifteenth-century statute book of the church of Toul:

On Saturday before Septuagesima Sunday all choir boys gather in the sacristy during the prayer of the None, to prepare for the burial of the Alleluia. After the last "Benedicamus" [i.e., at the end of the service] they march in procession, with crosses, tapers, holy water and censers; and they carry a coffin, as in a funeral. Thus they proceed through the aisle, moaning and mourning, until they reach the cloister. There they bury the coffin; they sprinkle it with holy water and incense it; whereupon they return to the sacristy by the same way [24].

Thus the Alleluia is sung for the last time and not heard again until it suddenly bursts into glory during the Mass of the Easter Vigil when the celebrant intones this sacred word after the Epistle, repeating it three times, as a jubilee, not herald, of the Resurrection of Christ

Things We've Handed Down

Fortunately we have held onto one of the treasures of the final Sunday of this season, Septuagesima: a hymn present in most hymnals today, Alleluia, Song of Gladness.

1. Alleluia dulce carmen,
Vox perennis gaudii,
Alleluia laus suavis
Est choris coelestibus,
Quam canunt Dei manentes
In domo per saecula.

2. Alleluia laeta mater
Concivis Jerusalem:
Alleluia vox tuorum
Civium gaudentium:
Exsules nos flere cogunt
Babylonis flumina.

3. Alleluia non meremur
In perenne psallere;
Alleluia vo reatus
Cogit intermittere;
Tempus instat quo peracta
Lugeamus crimina.

4. Unde laudando precamur
Te beata Trinitas,
Ut tuum nobis videre
Pascha des in aethere,
Quo tibi laeti canamus
Alleluia perpetim.


Alleluia, song of gladness,
Voice of joy that cannot die;
Alleluia is the anthem
Ever dear to choirs on high;
In the house of God abiding
Thus they sing eternally.

Alleluia thou resoundest,
True Jerusalem and free;
Alleluia, joyful mother,
All thy children sing with thee;
But by Babylon’s sad waters
Mourning exiles now are we.

Alleluia we deserve not
Here to chant forevermore;
Alleluia our transgressions
Make us for a while give o’er;
For the holy time is coming
Bidding us our sins deplore.

Therefore in our hymns we pray Thee,
Grant us, blessèd Trinity,
At the last to keep Thine Easter
In our home beyond the sky;
There to Thee forever singing
Alleluia joyfully.

Sources

The Cyber Hymnal, www.cyberhymnal.org

The Golden Legend or Lives of the Saints. Compiled by Jacobus de Voragine, Archbishop of Genoa, 1275. First edition published 1470. Englished by William Caxton, first edition 1483, edited by F.S. Ellis, Temple Classics, 1900 (reprinted 1922, 1931).

Francis X. Weiser, S.J., Handbook of Christian Feasts and Customs. Harcourt, Brace & World, New York, 1958, 9 (http://www.neiu.edu/~history/Wei.htm).

Alliteration and the Incarnation

Alliteration is a friendly gesture on an author’s part. I was greatly helped in memorizing “Like a River Glorious” by Miss Havergal, who wrote that “Peace” was “Perfect” and it “Floweth Fuller.” She proceeded to proclaim that “not a surGE of worry, not a SHade of care, not a blast of hurry, touCH the spirit there.”

She even added a gentle pun: God’s perfect peace floweth “fuller” (stanza 1), so we may trust Him “fully” (stanza 3).

Have you ever photocopied a hymn and circled or blocked its alliterations, even drawing lines between them? The pattern of circles and blocks is a sign of the author’s (or translator’s) prowess.

A good pattern also signifies respect for the Incarnation.

I’m not kidding.

Hymn writers who are in a hurry to get across an idea or to make a point, who hover on the theoretical level, don’t bother with artistic development or care for the language. There is no tenderness in how they handle words. They have not allowed language to roll over their tongue and to taste the physicality of a verb. It’s as if God were all Head and no Body.

Likewise, hymn singers who slop their consonants are too spiritual for their own good. God made us physical creatures with a physical language, spoken with tongue and breath and throat. We worship God with our whole bodies when we pronounce our beginnings and ends.

It’s no accident that “Jehovah” fit better in Miss Havergal’s chorus than “the LORD God”; the softly buzzing “v” sound in “Jehovah” is reflected in the softer “f” sound that fills stanzas and refrain. A picture of the Incarnation in a single song.

New House / New Post

Has it been that long since the last post? Well, we finished moving into our new house last weekend. As soon as the move was complete, I wrote an article I'd been promising a friend, on the general topic of Why Hymn Festivals Are a Good Idea. I think I called it "Hymn Festivals: Feasting on the Spirit."

You can view the complete article--an apology for hymns that goes deeper than "some hymns teach good theology"--here.

Getting Started in Music

In a newspaper interview a few weeks ago, the reporter asked me, "What got you started in music?"

People. Adults who sang to me.

1. My mother, who sang "Itsy-Bisty Spider" and "In My Heart There Rings a Melody."

2. Sandy Twigg, who played piano with gusto at our Christian Reformed church and had such a big smile and gave me my first piano lessons with flat black stickers of music notes as prizes for learning my pieces. Two notes, begin on middle C, alternate with D: "Here we go, to the zoo; funny monkey, how-de-do?"

3. Chris and Nancy Hansen, who started a children's choir at our next church and asked me to sing alto instead of soprano: "Just think of it like another melody."

4. Sister Eucebia, at the Catholic school where I was sent for punishment in fifth grade, who put a plastic recorder in my hands and told me I was going to learn to play it.

5. Sister Juliana, who saw the recorder in my hands and asked if I would play it next to her at the organ during weekly mass. Recorder and organ! Tooting ten-year-old and expert musician! I learned all the songs, and still know them by heart.

Last month, while directing a rehearsal for a community musical, I told one of the altos, "Just think of it like another melody." The next week, she told me this one remark had changed how she thought about singing: "You're the first person to teach me how to sing." Last night, she gave me a Mary Kay brush set in thanks. I am able to apply my eyeliner with precision because of Mr. and Mrs. Hansen.

Our hearts are full; nobody ever really leaves.

So—not WHAT got you started in music, but WHO?

Happy Valentine's Day, Like, Jesus-Style

In a comment under "At the Name of Jesus" 1, "The Leper" remarks that the sentimental 19th-century hymns penned by men and women alike are examples of the popular "Jesus Is My Boyfriend" style.

Since this is Valentine's Day, I'd like to share Bob Webber's phrase for these types of songs: "Valentines to Jesus."

Roses are red, violets are blue, God died for me, He died for you too.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone--and you too, O Untouchable and Anonymous Leper. Why don't you run out and HUG somebody in honor of JESUS. Don't forget to ask them, "Is Jesus YOUR boyfriend, too?"

Real Life Intrudes

Quick update--I've still been THINKING about hymns but not WRITING about them! So sorry. My husband and I are buying a house and have to move in over a period of about two weeks because of my crazy rehearsal schedules. Paperwork and packing are taking over our lives right now, until March 5. But I'll try to find a few minutes here and there for shorter posts in the next couple weeks. Thank you for your patience and for your comments, that keep coming on older posts.

"At the Name of Jesus" 2: Unlike the Greeks

I'm especially interested now in the fifth stanza:

Bore it up triumphant with its human light,
Through all ranks of creatures, to the central height,
To the throne of Godhead, to the Father's breast;
Filled it with the glory of that perfect rest.

The idea that God can change is contrary to the Greek concept of unchanging perfection and to a common piety that misinterprets the passage "Jesus Christ is the same today, yesterday, and forever."

Once there was no human in the Godhead; now, for all time, there is a human in the Godhead. God has changed. He is still perfect—and we are made perfect with Him.

"At the Name of Jesus" 1: Chronological Order

The eight stanzas of "At the Name of Jesus," my #13 in the 100 Hymns Project, has a chronological and poetic order I didn't understand from the "selected stanzas" version found in most hymnals—if the hymnals keep this song at all.

The first stanza sets the theme, drawn principally from Philippians 2:5-11 and John 1: "At the Name of Jesus, every knee shall bow, every tongue confess Him King of glory now."

The second stanza echoes the Nicene Creed and is set in the relationship of the Trinity before Creation.

The third stanza tells of creation in a breathtaking echo from another ancient text, the Liturgy of St. James as set in "Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence."

The fourth stanza sums up the entire life of Jesus, Philippians 2-style, emphasizing again the Name of Jesus.

The fifth stanza is set after the resurrection, when Jesus takes His Name and human body up "through all ranks of creatures" to the "throne of Godhead."

The sixth stanza is our response, part one, as we fulfill the theme by naming Christ in worship.

The seventh stanza is our response, part two, as the Name is enthroned not only in heaven but in our hearts.

The eighth stanza foresees the return of that Name in glory, when not only our tongues but our hearts "confess Him King of glory now."

I would be VERY curious to know if these eight stanzas are the only original stanzas. The author seems intelligent and aware enough to have chosen eight stanzas deliberately—in which case we begin to enter overtones of the perfect-seven-plus-one—the eighth day of creation, the day of resurrection, the day of the world to come.

Order, order everywhere—and artistically satisfying references as well.

Hymn Festival on Apostles' Creed

Following please find the program of a hymn festival I conducted at a small Baptist church on Sunday night. They let me pick the theme. Vividly in mind were all our recent conversations on the creeds, so I chose the Apostles' Creed and told how it related to early baptisms.

You know, every time we do a hymn festival, concert, or service for a small church, we have a choice about how much work we put into it. Nothing, of course, can ever be perfect, so there comes a point at which we have to call it "good enough." But balancing that there should be an attitude of reckless joy, of pouring perfume on Jesus' feet, of giving our very best for whom some may consider the very least--in this case, people who love Jesus but don't know much about the history of hymnody.

In choosing this program, I also tried to balance hymns from their own Baptist hymnal with unfamiliar tunes (most drawn from an Episcopal hymnal), both to show how the congregation's own heritage depicted themes from the Apostles' Creed and to expose them to some delightful material and fresh perspectives.

Another thought was to vary congregational with solo music; sung music with played music; and speaking with singing. On "For All the Saints," for example, I asked the congregation to keep their hymnals closed. I taught them just the refrain ("Alleluia, alleluia!") and then read the stanzas as a poem, with the congregation coming in on each refrain. (I did get carried away and sang the last stanza; irresistible.)

After each section, the congregation was instructed to declare the quoted part of the creed when I gave them a downbeat, like choir and choir conductor. After the resurrection, the congregation led ME in speaking the quoted part, while I responded with the appropriate music; they heard that it symbolized their authority because of the restoration of the image of God.

A further use of symbolism in this service was to have the congregation sit during the stanzas of "I Am the Bread of Life" and rather aerobically stand whenever they sang the refrain--"And I will raise them up...."--to show their belief and hope in the resurrection.

Enjoy.

#20 Sing Praise to God Who Reigns Above (MIT FREUDEN ZART)
st. 1 and 2—soloist
st. 3 and 4—congregation

"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Creator of heaven and earth."

* * *

#251 Of the Father's Love Begotten (DIVINUM MYSTERIUM)
st. 1—congregation
3 middle stanzas—soloist
st. 2—congregation

"I believe in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord."

* * *

Tell Out, My Soul, the Greatness of the Lord! (WOODLANDS)

"He was conceived of the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary."

* * *

Beneath the Cross of Jesus, arr. Ken Medema
As Jacob with Travel Was Weary One Day (JACOB'S LADDER)

"He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried."

* * *

1 Peter 3:18-20

Psalm 139:7-8
Leader: "Where can I go from Your Spirit?"
Congregation: "Where can I flee from Your Presence?"
Leader: "If I go up to the heavens…"
Congregation: "You are there."
Leader: "If I make my bed in the depths…"
Congregation: "You are there."

Ephesians 4:7-10 (Psalm 68:18)

"He descended into hell."

* * *
Lord of the Dance (SIMPLE GIFTS)

"The third day He rose again from the dead!"

* * *
"He ascended into heaven and sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;
whence He shall come to judge the living and the dead."

At the Name of Jesus (KING'S WESTON)

* * *

"I believe in the Holy Spirit."

Le Soir, Reinhold Glière
O Breath of Life (SPIRITUS VITAE)

* * *

"I believe in the holy catholic church."

#384 We Are One in the Bond of Love
#383 We Are God's People
st. 1—soloist
st. 2, 3, 4—congregation

* * *

"I believe in the communion of saints."

#355 For All the Saints (SINE NOMINE)

* * *

"I believe in the forgiveness of sins."

What Wondrous Love Is This, arr. Larry Shackley

* * *

"I believe in the resurrection of the body."

Christ, the Victorious (RUSSIA)
I Am the Bread of Life (I AM THE BREAD OF LIFE)
And I will raise them up,
And I will raise them up,
And I will raise them up on the last day.

* * *

"I believe in the life everlasting."

#517 Jerusalem, My Happy Home
Simple Gifts, arr. Mark Hayes

* * *

(from #449 All Praise to You, My God, This Night)
Leader: "All praise to You, our God, this night, for all the blessings of the light. Keep us, O keep us, King of kings, beneath the shelter of Your wings."
Congregation: "Amen."
Leader: "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; praise Him, all creatures here below; praise Him above, ye heav'nly host; praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!"
Congregation: "Amen and amen!"

100 Hymns Project: The First 10

I broke my own rule.

I picked twenty-nine hymns for the 100 Hymns Project instead of waiting to memorize the first group of ten before picking the second group of ten. Sheer gluttony. Not a whit of self-control.

Oh well. That rule wasn't one of the Ten Commandments, thank God.

The first twenty-nine are all hymns that have been floating through my mind for the past months, a phrase here, a phrase there. After this, I shall become more deliberate and choose either an era, an author, or (most likely) a theme for the next group of five or ten.

Here are the first ten:

1. Like a River Glorious (WYE VALLEY)
2. This Is My Father's World (TERRA BEATTA)
3. Abide with Me (EVENTIDE)
4. He Is the Way (HALL)
5. Alleluia! Sing to Jesus! (HYFRYDOL)
6. Hope of the World (VICAR)
7. How Lovely, Lord, How Lovely (MERLE'S TUNE)
8. I Bind Unto Myself Today (ST. PATRICK'S BREASTPLATE and DIERDRE)
9. How Bright Appears the Morning Star (WIE SCHÖN LEUCHTET)
10. All Things Bright and Beautiful (ROYAL OAK)

The tune names themselves are evocative. Ancient names, hidden places, old ways. I feel like pronouncing myself a Guardian of Congregational Song. Let the tradition flow through us.

Creeds of Make-Believe

This is in response to the comment left by Nan two posts ago, under "Community of Individuals." Be warned: I care very much about this particular subject, and got carried away.

***

Thank you for the detailed info, Nan!

Horrible "creed". You're correct to put it in quotation marks because it's an interpretation of a creed, rather than a creed itself. An orthodox creed (literally, a creed of "right praise") is founded on historic facts--on God's saving deeds in history--rather than on our interpretation of those facts. Interpretations change; God's deeds are set. What He does for us must always flow out of what He did; sermon, music, and prayers may direct us to what He does from the starting point of what He did, but we have lost our bearings if our creeds forget what He did. God knows where we'll end up then.

Furthermore, a guiding purpose of the creeds was to tell what God was NOT, to safeguard us from heresy, rather than to define what He was. Thus the Nicene Creed speaks of Jesus as "God from God, Light from Light, Very God from Very God", protecting us from the idea that Jesus is somehow less than God but not really letting us in on who God is, apart from what He does.

Your instincts are right, to question what is "not there", what has been left out. When we begin to use our creeds to define our own understanding of what God is, we risk leaving out a very important attribute. For example, in the creed you offered, in the bit about the Holy Spirit, the H.S. breathes, draws on us, encourages, exhorts, comforts, nourishes, and inspires. It sounds like an exhaustive list and suggests that it is meant to be read as an exhaustive list, but it entirely leaves out that the H.S. also judges, rebukes, reveals, glorifies God, etc., etc. Your creed's list is deceitful. It could misguide people in a number of ways.

It also insults the Holy Spirit. Usually, when people get it into their heads to make up their own creeds in order to glorify God, they end up diminishing God. That is because their creeds tend not to focus on God's saving deeds in history but on their own extremely limited understanding of what those deeds mean.

By the way, it is the same situation in marriage vows. When we make up our own words, new and fresh and unique and individual for every new and fresh and unique and individual pair, we end up shrinking the meaning of that marriage from the transcendent and universal to the mundane and particular, what it is for John and Jean, a miniature world unto themselves. It's also dangerous: people vowing magnanimously and recklessly to "always be there for each other" or to be the other's "shoulder to cry on" and "friend to laugh with" are thumbing their nose at God. The God who witnesses their vows cannot be pleased when they inevitably turn away instead of "always being there." It behooves us not to promise too much, or too little.

100 Hymns Project

One of you readers has asked for more detail on this 100 Hymns Project. Glad to oblige!

A few months ago I got tired of hearing fragments of songs flit through my mind, but being unable to recall the full text and tune of these favorite hymns. So I decided that having 100 hymns deliberately and thoroughly memorized was a reasonable goal.

Here's the strategy:

1) Choose only the first 10 hymns. Choose the next set of 10 after the first set has been thoroughly memorized.

2) Select which version of the hymn to memorize. (I usually research the original lyrics and then pick the most agreeable tune.)

3) Copy out or photocopy that version. This is helpful for (a) punching holes in the hymn and sticking it in a three-ring binder for handy review, and (b) marking recurring phrases, synonymns, alliteration--all to help me memorize and get a fuller meaning of the text. (I do this with psalms from the Bible, too, although I'm rarely so careful about photocopying them before marking up the sacred page with my own system of underlines, boxes, circles, and squiggles.)

4) Mark the date of memorization next to the title in the expanding table of contents (in the front of the three-ring binder). This not only encourages me to see the progress, but keeps me from getting too ambitious with other memorization projects, since I note I have been memorizing only about three hymns per month (starting #13 this month!).

5) Decide on some system of review. Every couple hymns, I review all the other hymns in groups of 2 to 5. The review alone takes a week or two. When I know I've missed a word or when a phrase comes too stiffly, I jot it down with the hymn title and stanza number on a piece of scratch paper. The next day, I review only those sections jotted down on the paper, before proceding to the next review group or new hymn. (I like to keep the scratch paper until the next time those hymns pop up in a review session, to see if I'm still missing the same things or if the memory gaps have changed.)

If you try this yourself, IT IS VERY IMPORTANT TO HAVE LOW OR NO EXPECTATIONS about how long this project will take to complete. People memorize at different rates and have different standards for how well something should be memorized, for how securely it sits in their brain. They also have varying demands on their time and varying abilites for self-motivation.

If you haven't memorized anything in years, you may want to start with 1 hymn, 5 hymns, or 10 hymns--or even 1 stanza of 1 hymn. Baby steps, darlings, baby steps.

More on the actual hymns I chose later.

Please let me know if any of you have tried this in the past, are trying this at present, or are suddenly inspired!

Contemporary Church: Community of Individuals?

One of the great ideas I took away from IWS was: there are other people LIKE ME! No kidding. You all in the blogosphere are becoming my friends, but chatting with you via our keyboards is different from worshiping with you (I would never be content with attending a church of the 'net.) From the first song--a praise chorus, "He Is Exalted"--to the closing hymn, an original text sung to the tune "Gift of Love", I felt the presence of other believers who cared not only about worshiping God but about figuring out how God would like to be worshiped.

Furthermore, they had had several years of practicing this. They were the kinds of people who say creeds and memorize songs.

Feeling ourselves part of a community is important to our spiritual balance. But we also represent something to the world, to the "rulers and principalities", and to God Himself when we are able to join our voices and gather in one place for worship. We represent something very particular when we say together, instead of in the privacy of our rooms or alone in some outdoorsy "worshipful" setting, "I believe in God the Father Almighty, Maker of heaven and earth...."

What do you think it means, this trend to make up our own liturgies and our own songs? Not as a devotional exercise, but as a subsitute for the historic liturgies and songs. I was intrigued by the strong reaction of one of this blog's readers, when her liturgical leadership made up some prayers again. Why are people reacting so strongly to creativity in the service? Are there good and bad kinds of creativity when it comes to worship?

IWS: Episcopalians, Anglicans, and a Flag

More than the studies, an actual worship service packed the most emotional wallop these last few days.

Friday night, Grace Episcopal Church, the host campus of IWS, became Grace Church (Anglican) in a two-hour service of disassociation from the Episcopal Church U.S.A. and a realignment with the worldwide Anglican communion under the province of Rwanda.

The tenor of the service was sober and sad, in keeping with the title “Solemn Acts of Disassociation and Realignment”, yet also gracious and full of hope. We opened with “The Church’s One Foundation”—especially poignant in the line “by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed”—and closed with “Alleluia, Sing to Jesus!” in its conviction that the church will be reunited. The “songs of holy Zion [will] thunder like a mighty flood.”

The point at which I gave in to tears was when an ex-serviceman and an Eagle Scout took down the Episcopal flag and folded it in front of the altar, in preparation for this week’s delivery of the flag, church registry, and account book to the Episcopal diocese. I wasn’t a member of the church; I’m not even Episcopalian. But I suppose I identified with these people through the very particular symbol of a flag. When I’m overseas, it does my heart good to see our stars and stripes hung as a courtesy in some government building or included in some decorative scheme. A flag is a symbol of participation and belonging, and of where one’s heart resides. In the silence, seeing the Episcopal flag folded in a tight little triangle and laid like a bundle on the rail was like beholding my own secession from the United States of America.

Then, while we sang Rich Mullin’s “Step by Step,” a light blue banner of the worldwide Anglican communion was carried up the center aisle and placed in front of the lectern. It was embossed with the words, “The Truth Shall Make You Free.”

IWS: Reason and Experience

For two days I’ve been here in Jacksonville, the days booked solid with classes and meetings until 9 PM.

There are nineteen of us beginning the doctoral program, fifteen men and four women from varied denominations. We meet in a Sunday school classroom of a local church and the teachers sit to speak or stand to scribble on a blackboard with half-inch stubs of chalk. Around us rise the murmurs of other students farther along in the program, in other Sunday school classrooms. Since we’re in a Worship Studies program, I pretend these murmurs are chants and I’m sitting in a monastery—an ironic pretense since every one of the students in this “cohort” is married. But we are possibly as committed as the monks to the glory of God through the pursuit of academic studies and the renewal of His worship. It’s a good crowd.

The first day was spent with personal introductions, course overview by my professors (Lester Ruth and Andy Hill), presentation by Robert Webber on “An Ancient Evangelical Future” and his conveniently numbered 39 Articles, and oh-so-informed worship services.

The second day was spent with more worship services, communal meals, Q-and-A on issues in the Episcopal/Anglican churches in America, and two chunks of classes, morning and afternoon, on a historical overview of Christian thought (Biblical period to postmodern), ancient Biblical themes, and ways of reflecting on 20 centuries of Christian worship.

The most interesting point was that in the Modern era (1750-1950’s), Christians began to think of their faith as provable in terms of reason or experience. The rationalists set out to prove the existence of God, the physical reality of the resurrection, etc., as if faith was primarily about a set of intellectual beliefs. This led, of course, to worship services that were heavy on the preaching. The experientialists focused on the individual experience of salvation, for example, the ability to say that I was saved on such-and-such a date, which led to worship services with a strong revivalist tinge and songs like “I Serve a Risen Savior”—“you ask me how I know He lives; He lives within my heart.”

Besides determining the structure of worship services, both of these views can lead to anxiety about one’s personal salvation: “Am I really able to believe this stuff? And do I understand enough about Christ’s work for me in order to be saved?” or “Have I really felt the love of Jesus? And do I feel loving toward God?”

Bob Webber remarked that both of these views put the burden of salvation on the individual rather than on Christ’s saving work, regardless of how we feel or whether we exhaustively understand.

Do your churches focus on reason or experience or something else? What have your backgrounds focused on? How do you think this has affected your understanding of God?

Touching Down in the Sunshine State

Thank you for your patience in waiting for a new post to come up. I ended up playing organ for eight hours on Christmas Eve--about four hours too many--which doesn't affect the hands as much as the back and shoulders. Anyway, I was very reluctant to do anything like playing the keyboard for several days--including typing for this blog!

We're going to do something a little different in this blog over the next week or two. I'm flying to Jacksonville, Florida, tomorrow morning to begin the Doctor of Worship Studies through the Institute for Worship Studies, founded by Robert Webber, guru of "Ancient-Future" worship fame.

Dr. Webber had piqued my interest when I was an undergraduate at Wheaton College and had to take some kind of History of Christian Thought class, for which he gave me a good grade but never returned my extensive notebook. I figure this three-year doctoral program will yield enough notes to make up for the loss of that notebook.

So this next week, if the campus has internet access, I'm going to be your embedded reporter and offer you some observations from the program. My husband says I should wear one of those white T-shirts that says in bold letters, "I'm blogging this," to give everyone fair warning.

However, since God comes down pretty strongly against gossipers and since I'll be working with these people for the next several years, the blog shouldn't be full of nasty little tidbits. We hope to aim for the amusing and the thoughtful instead.

See you in Florida!