Not only the words to the church's hymns but the tunes themselves are gifts from the Holy Spirit, to be treasured and passed down from one generation to the next. The tune of Be Thou My Vision is known as SLANE (hymn tune names are typically capitalized), and refers to a very dramatic event that occurred on March 26, AD 433 (Easter Sunday), on the Hill of Slane in Ireland.
Oral tradition relates that at the command of Leoghaire, the Supreme Monarch of Ireland, the druids and Irish chiefs were to meet in full number...
"...and the decree went forth that... the fires throughout the kingdom should be extinguished until the signal blaze was kindled at the royal mansion. ... [The druids] would muster all their strength to bid defiance to the herald of good tidings and to secure the hold of their superstition on the Celtic race, for their demoniac oracles had announced that the messenger of Christ had come to Erin. St. Patrick arrived at the hill of Slane, at the opposite extremity of the valley from Tara, on Easter Eve...and on the summit of the hill kindled the Paschal fire [as an Easter fire, it was a sign of the presence of Christ, the Light of the world]. The druids at once raised their voice. 'O King', (they said) 'live for ever; this fire, which has been lighted in defiance of the royal edict, will blaze for ever in this land unless it be this very night extinguished.' By order of the king and the agency of the druids, repeated attempts were made to extinguish the blessed fire and to punish with death the intruder who had disobeyed the royal command. But the fire was not extinguished and Patrick shielded by the Divine power came unscathed from their snares and assaults. On Easter Day the missionary band having at their head the youth Benignus bearing aloft a copy of the Gospels, and followed by St. Patrick who with mitre and crozier was arrayed in full episcopal attire, proceeded in processional order to Tara. The druids and magicians put forth all their strength and employed all their incantations to maintain their sway over the Irish race, but the prayer and faith of Patrick achieved a glorious triumph. The druids by their incantations overspread the hill and surrounding plain with a cloud of worse than Egyptian darkness. Patrick defied them to remove that cloud, and when all their efforts were made in vain, at his prayer the sun sent forth its rays and the brightest sunshine lit up the scene. Again by demoniac power the Arch-Druid Lochru, like Simon Magus of old, was lifted up high in the air, but when Patrick knelt in prayer the druid from his flight was dashed to pieces upon a rock.
"Thus was the final blow given to paganism in the presence of all the assembled chieftains. It was, indeed, a momentous day for the Irish race" (from "http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/11554a.htm", accessed July 25, 2007).
The Irish folk song Slane was written about this occasion, and became the hymn tune SLANE when it was matched appropriately to the Irish monastic prayer of protection, Be Thou My Vision, in the early 1900's.
******************************************************
If the tunes themselves are gifts, we should treat them well!
If you are singing this tune at home, here is a hint to help you find the correct rhythm in one difficult place: for the words to match the tune, one syllable in the third line usually gets two beats instead of one.
The syllable that gets two beats is capitalized in the following illustrations.
1. Thou my best THOUGHT, by day or by night....
2. Thou my great FA-ther, I Thy true son....
3. Thou my soul's SHEL-ter, Thou my high tower....
4. Thou and Thou ON-ly, first in my heart....
5. Heart of my own heart, whatever befall.... (here the syllables match the tune, beat for beat)
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
"Be Thou My Vision" 3: Fighting and Resting
I wrote the following a couple months ago with a migraine; there are a lot of semi-colons....
Be Thou my Battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
“Dignity” and “delight”, an unusual pairing in a hymn, provide the transition from fighting to resting. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “dignity” as worthiness, worth, nobleness, excellence; honorable or high estate; nobility or befitting elevation of aspect, manner, or style; becoming or fit stateliness, gravity. In medieval times, noblemen were required to fight with their king. Our King stays so close to us that we are not separated by the length of a battlefield nor even by another body; He defends us as our Shield and fights for us as our Sword. He goes deeper even than providing the tools of war; He confers nobility, the nobility belonging to sons and daughters of the King, that we may use the tools with good conduct and honor. This graciousness prompts deep delight, the kind of delight found in the safe shelter of a worthy lover, whose tower protects us from the battle raging outside. We have here pairings of outward activity (battle shield, sword) and inward rest (shelter, tower); the singer ecstatically prays that God meet all needs. “Battle shield” and “shelter” are further paired as images of things that surround us, while “sword” and “tower” are paired as images that point up and straight to the sky; we are protected from earthly perils and raised heavenward by God’s own power. The dignity of the uplifted human soul is joined with the delight of the sheltered human heart in one hymn of praise to God.
Be Thou my Battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
“Dignity” and “delight”, an unusual pairing in a hymn, provide the transition from fighting to resting. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “dignity” as worthiness, worth, nobleness, excellence; honorable or high estate; nobility or befitting elevation of aspect, manner, or style; becoming or fit stateliness, gravity. In medieval times, noblemen were required to fight with their king. Our King stays so close to us that we are not separated by the length of a battlefield nor even by another body; He defends us as our Shield and fights for us as our Sword. He goes deeper even than providing the tools of war; He confers nobility, the nobility belonging to sons and daughters of the King, that we may use the tools with good conduct and honor. This graciousness prompts deep delight, the kind of delight found in the safe shelter of a worthy lover, whose tower protects us from the battle raging outside. We have here pairings of outward activity (battle shield, sword) and inward rest (shelter, tower); the singer ecstatically prays that God meet all needs. “Battle shield” and “shelter” are further paired as images of things that surround us, while “sword” and “tower” are paired as images that point up and straight to the sky; we are protected from earthly perils and raised heavenward by God’s own power. The dignity of the uplifted human soul is joined with the delight of the sheltered human heart in one hymn of praise to God.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Sean's Question 2: All the Stanzas All the Time?
Sean asked: "It seems as though you spread the hymn out over the course of the month, is this formulaic or do you look at the context of the hymn stanzas? ... Do you sing ALL the verses in the hymn or just the verses in your hymnal..."?
Answer to both questions: it depends.
I'm interested in using the Hymn of the Month in different places in the service, so singing all the stanzas is not always appropriate. For example, my priest has requested that I almost always close our contemporary service with a high-energy praise song--send them out with a bang.... To honor his request, but also to illustrate to the congregation a correspondence of themes through the centuries, I closed with only the final stanza of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God"--changing "That word above all earthly pow'rs" to "God's word above all earthly pow'rs" so we weren't hitting it without context--and then on the last note of the last line--"His kingdom is forevER"--launching immediately into the intro of a praise song called "King of Kings."
Another reason to not sing all the stanzas all the time is that the congregation could get weary of it. Some Sundays I present our Hymn of the Month merely as an instrumental during communion, offertory, prelude, or postlude. I hope the musical variations will bring different aspects of the text to light, as words drift in and out of the congregation's minds, both staving off boredom and illustrating text.
Finally, we don't necessarily sing the version in the Episcopal hymnal. In fact, we don't even have hymnals (which I much regret, but the church has other things to deal with right now). So while I'm picking the version or translation, I'm also studying all the original stanzas and beginning to assign them to different parts in the service during the coming month. Then we just pubish the desired stanzas each week, print format for the traditional service, Power Point for the contemporary service.
I have no idea if people in the congregation are actually holding on to the bulletin insert from the beginning of the month, the insert that prints the hymn in its entirety, but if they are, then they have a bird's eye view of the hymn to work with at home.
Answer to both questions: it depends.
I'm interested in using the Hymn of the Month in different places in the service, so singing all the stanzas is not always appropriate. For example, my priest has requested that I almost always close our contemporary service with a high-energy praise song--send them out with a bang.... To honor his request, but also to illustrate to the congregation a correspondence of themes through the centuries, I closed with only the final stanza of "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God"--changing "That word above all earthly pow'rs" to "God's word above all earthly pow'rs" so we weren't hitting it without context--and then on the last note of the last line--"His kingdom is forevER"--launching immediately into the intro of a praise song called "King of Kings."
Another reason to not sing all the stanzas all the time is that the congregation could get weary of it. Some Sundays I present our Hymn of the Month merely as an instrumental during communion, offertory, prelude, or postlude. I hope the musical variations will bring different aspects of the text to light, as words drift in and out of the congregation's minds, both staving off boredom and illustrating text.
Finally, we don't necessarily sing the version in the Episcopal hymnal. In fact, we don't even have hymnals (which I much regret, but the church has other things to deal with right now). So while I'm picking the version or translation, I'm also studying all the original stanzas and beginning to assign them to different parts in the service during the coming month. Then we just pubish the desired stanzas each week, print format for the traditional service, Power Point for the contemporary service.
I have no idea if people in the congregation are actually holding on to the bulletin insert from the beginning of the month, the insert that prints the hymn in its entirety, but if they are, then they have a bird's eye view of the hymn to work with at home.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Sean's Question 1: Origins of Hymn of the Month
Sean asked a number of questions in the Comment section of the last post. I thought they each were worth answering in a separate post.
By the way, Sean, since you're one of about three people who reads and comments on this blog, I'm curious: Are you a church musician? Do you have a web site you'd like me to feature one of these days?
OK, here we go:
“How did you first start the hymn of the month idea?”
The summer after graduating from college, I had a few weeks in an apartment with nothing to do before the next gig. I decided to memorize hymns. Every day I would walk to the college library with a list of favorite hymns and then I would research their first appearances to get as close to the original lyrics as possible. Every afternoon I would order the hymns by date of writing and happily memorize them, stanza by stanza, in strict chronological sequence. Why deny my congregations this pleasure just because they have only a few minutes per week instead of hours per day?
The next year, as a first-year graduate student in Massachusetts, the church I served as organist requested an extended prelude once per month to prepare the congregation for communion. I thought the congregation might as well understand what they were hearing, so began little synopses in the bulletin each month, describing the prelude music, especially how the tunes and organ colorings illustrated the text.
Later, as a choir director, with a ton of music to teach every week and very little time to allow the words we were singing to sink in, I found it helpful to have a “theme” hymn just for the choir, to help focus their attention during a season.
Finally, at this most recent church, I’ve had the joy of considering what hymns could best minister to the congregants if they were deeply in the congregants’ minds—and what hymns would best help the congregants minister to God. They’re not all my absolute favorites—my personal favorites being rather too complex and often in different languages—typical of any trained musician—but they’re well-loved and quite good enough to live in hearts through a life-time. Many of them already have survived many centuries, so they’re likely good for a few more years….
Most of the hymns chosen for this congregation come from Hymns and Tunes Recommended for Ecumenical Use (ask the Hymn Society of the United States and Canada for this list), and then I chose which version of each we’ll use and what month it would fit best, including which hymn it best follows. Twelve to twenty months, meaning twelve to twenty hymns, is probably enough to plan ahead.
Hal Hopson has written One Hundred Plus Ways to Improve Hymnsinging: A Practical Guide for All Who Nurture Congregational Singing—do you know this book? I’ve only skimmed it, but it’s chockful of good ideas. You could spend the rest of your life and ministry implementing his ideas.
By the way, Sean, since you're one of about three people who reads and comments on this blog, I'm curious: Are you a church musician? Do you have a web site you'd like me to feature one of these days?
OK, here we go:
“How did you first start the hymn of the month idea?”
The summer after graduating from college, I had a few weeks in an apartment with nothing to do before the next gig. I decided to memorize hymns. Every day I would walk to the college library with a list of favorite hymns and then I would research their first appearances to get as close to the original lyrics as possible. Every afternoon I would order the hymns by date of writing and happily memorize them, stanza by stanza, in strict chronological sequence. Why deny my congregations this pleasure just because they have only a few minutes per week instead of hours per day?
The next year, as a first-year graduate student in Massachusetts, the church I served as organist requested an extended prelude once per month to prepare the congregation for communion. I thought the congregation might as well understand what they were hearing, so began little synopses in the bulletin each month, describing the prelude music, especially how the tunes and organ colorings illustrated the text.
Later, as a choir director, with a ton of music to teach every week and very little time to allow the words we were singing to sink in, I found it helpful to have a “theme” hymn just for the choir, to help focus their attention during a season.
Finally, at this most recent church, I’ve had the joy of considering what hymns could best minister to the congregants if they were deeply in the congregants’ minds—and what hymns would best help the congregants minister to God. They’re not all my absolute favorites—my personal favorites being rather too complex and often in different languages—typical of any trained musician—but they’re well-loved and quite good enough to live in hearts through a life-time. Many of them already have survived many centuries, so they’re likely good for a few more years….
Most of the hymns chosen for this congregation come from Hymns and Tunes Recommended for Ecumenical Use (ask the Hymn Society of the United States and Canada for this list), and then I chose which version of each we’ll use and what month it would fit best, including which hymn it best follows. Twelve to twenty months, meaning twelve to twenty hymns, is probably enough to plan ahead.
Hal Hopson has written One Hundred Plus Ways to Improve Hymnsinging: A Practical Guide for All Who Nurture Congregational Singing—do you know this book? I’ve only skimmed it, but it’s chockful of good ideas. You could spend the rest of your life and ministry implementing his ideas.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
"Be Thou My Vision" 2: Men, Men, Men!
Be Thou my Wisdom and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine Inheritance now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart;
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
Today we focus on the second and fourth stanzas (see above) because one leads to another. Although we proclaim Christ's salvation for male and female, the language of "sonship" here conveys an important theological truth for both sexes: in Christ we share His inheritance, the inheritance of the first-born Son, which is freely given to all. The exclusive language of Psalm 2:7-8 ("The LORD said to me, 'You are my son, today I have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession."), exclusive because it speaks of Christ, becomes the inclusive language of Galatians 3:26, 28-29: "...for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. ... There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free; there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ's , then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to promise." Because the Son inherits, all of us inherit.
In "Be Thou My Vision," instead of our inheriting the nations, we inherit God Himself. "The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; thou holdest my lot. The [property] lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage" (Psalm 16:5-6).
Lord God of Abraham, we cannot quite grasp what it means for us to inherit this promise--the promise of fully dwelling with You. May Your Spirit begin to probe in us what it may mean to live in the light of this inheritance; while we serve as stewards of earthly treasures, help us consider what it means for You to be our greatest treasure.
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine Inheritance now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart;
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
Today we focus on the second and fourth stanzas (see above) because one leads to another. Although we proclaim Christ's salvation for male and female, the language of "sonship" here conveys an important theological truth for both sexes: in Christ we share His inheritance, the inheritance of the first-born Son, which is freely given to all. The exclusive language of Psalm 2:7-8 ("The LORD said to me, 'You are my son, today I have begotten you. Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession."), exclusive because it speaks of Christ, becomes the inclusive language of Galatians 3:26, 28-29: "...for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. ... There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free; there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ's , then you are Abraham's offspring, heirs according to promise." Because the Son inherits, all of us inherit.
In "Be Thou My Vision," instead of our inheriting the nations, we inherit God Himself. "The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; thou holdest my lot. The [property] lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage" (Psalm 16:5-6).
Lord God of Abraham, we cannot quite grasp what it means for us to inherit this promise--the promise of fully dwelling with You. May Your Spirit begin to probe in us what it may mean to live in the light of this inheritance; while we serve as stewards of earthly treasures, help us consider what it means for You to be our greatest treasure.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
"Be Thou My Vision" 1: With That Missing Third Stanza
So the first Sunday of the month, I always print the full hymn text as we will eventually sing it. Even though we may not sing all stanzas every Sunday, individuals are offered the chance to take that first insert home and work on memorizing the whole thing.
Of course YOU aren't surprised by the third stanza about battles and fighting and such, since as the people who read hymn blogs, you know almost everything there is to know about hymns already; but the congregation sure was surprised, since mention of Christian-as-warrior, even though it doesn't mean we should literally take up swords to hack our enemies, is removed from most P.C. hymnals. But you knew that.
Here's a little review:
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought by day or by night;
waking or sleeping, Thy presence my Light.
Be Thou my Wisdom and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Be Thou my Battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine Inheritance now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart;
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright Heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.
Of course YOU aren't surprised by the third stanza about battles and fighting and such, since as the people who read hymn blogs, you know almost everything there is to know about hymns already; but the congregation sure was surprised, since mention of Christian-as-warrior, even though it doesn't mean we should literally take up swords to hack our enemies, is removed from most P.C. hymnals. But you knew that.
Here's a little review:
Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart;
naught be all else to me, save that Thou art.
Thou my best Thought by day or by night;
waking or sleeping, Thy presence my Light.
Be Thou my Wisdom and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.
Be Thou my Battle Shield, Sword for the fight;
Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight;
Thou my soul’s Shelter, Thou my high Tower:
raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise;
Thou mine Inheritance now and always:
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart;
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art.
High King of heaven, my victory won,
May I reach heaven's joys, O bright Heaven's Sun!
Heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.
Monday, July 16, 2007
"All Creatures of Our God and King" 2: St. Francis Not a Nature Lover
(Note: The following didn't actually publish in my church's bulletin, because I decided not to play the hymn that Sunday.)
This hymn from St. Francis was a brilliant departure from the pantheism (nature-worship) of his day--instructive for us in a day when paganism is alive and well in parts of the United States, and when we ourselves feel a proper yearning to be in closer harmony with the nature God made.
The original lyrics included addresses not merely to Mother Earth but to Brother Fire and Sister Water, from a Christian perspective. G.K. Chesterton’s marvelous biography, St. Francis of Assisi, brings this into focus ([San Franciso: Ignatius Press, 1986], 81-87; first published in 1923):
“St. Francis was not a lover of nature. … The phrase implies accepting the material universe as a vague environment, a sort of sentimental pantheism.… Now for St. Francis nothing was ever in the background. … He wanted to see each tree as a separate and almost a sacred thing, being a child of God and therefore a brother or sister of man. …
“Though in some ways [All Creatures of Our God and King] is as simple and straightforward as a ballad, there is a delicate instinct of differentiation in it. … It was not for nothing that he called fire his brother, fierce and gay and strong, and water his sister, pure and clear and inviolate. … St. Francis was…the founder of a new folk-lore; but he could distinguish his mermaids from his mermen….
“[When he was going blind, he was told the solution was to cauterize his eye.] When they took the brand from the furnace, he rose as with an urbane gesture and spoke as to an invisible presence: ‘Brother Fire, God made you beautiful and strong and useful; I pray you be courteous with me.’
“If there be any such thing as the art of life, it seems to me that such a moment was one of its masterpieces. Not to many poets has it been given to remember their own poetry at such a moment, still less to live one of their own poems. … For Francis there was no drug; and for Francis there was plenty of pain. But his first thought was one of his first fancies from the songs of his youth. He remembered the time when a flame was a flower, only the most glorious and gaily coloured of the flowers in the
garden of God; and when that shining thing returned to him in the shape of an instrument of torture, he hailed it from afar like an old friend,calling it by the nickname which might most truly be called its Christian name.”
Creator Spirit, as we sing this hymn, minister to us; help us to properly name the many creatures You have made and to understand and rejoice in Your purposes for them. By our seeing all nature in Your light, help us to minister to creation, to care for it in the way You desire; may we have patience with its limitations and happiness in its strengths. May we become living testimonies to the care and delight You take in creation, in all the particular, different things, and to the hope we have in Christ of Your restoring it in the new heavens and new earth. Alleluia, alleluia!
This hymn from St. Francis was a brilliant departure from the pantheism (nature-worship) of his day--instructive for us in a day when paganism is alive and well in parts of the United States, and when we ourselves feel a proper yearning to be in closer harmony with the nature God made.
The original lyrics included addresses not merely to Mother Earth but to Brother Fire and Sister Water, from a Christian perspective. G.K. Chesterton’s marvelous biography, St. Francis of Assisi, brings this into focus ([San Franciso: Ignatius Press, 1986], 81-87; first published in 1923):
“St. Francis was not a lover of nature. … The phrase implies accepting the material universe as a vague environment, a sort of sentimental pantheism.… Now for St. Francis nothing was ever in the background. … He wanted to see each tree as a separate and almost a sacred thing, being a child of God and therefore a brother or sister of man. …
“Though in some ways [All Creatures of Our God and King] is as simple and straightforward as a ballad, there is a delicate instinct of differentiation in it. … It was not for nothing that he called fire his brother, fierce and gay and strong, and water his sister, pure and clear and inviolate. … St. Francis was…the founder of a new folk-lore; but he could distinguish his mermaids from his mermen….
“[When he was going blind, he was told the solution was to cauterize his eye.] When they took the brand from the furnace, he rose as with an urbane gesture and spoke as to an invisible presence: ‘Brother Fire, God made you beautiful and strong and useful; I pray you be courteous with me.’
“If there be any such thing as the art of life, it seems to me that such a moment was one of its masterpieces. Not to many poets has it been given to remember their own poetry at such a moment, still less to live one of their own poems. … For Francis there was no drug; and for Francis there was plenty of pain. But his first thought was one of his first fancies from the songs of his youth. He remembered the time when a flame was a flower, only the most glorious and gaily coloured of the flowers in the
garden of God; and when that shining thing returned to him in the shape of an instrument of torture, he hailed it from afar like an old friend,calling it by the nickname which might most truly be called its Christian name.”
Creator Spirit, as we sing this hymn, minister to us; help us to properly name the many creatures You have made and to understand and rejoice in Your purposes for them. By our seeing all nature in Your light, help us to minister to creation, to care for it in the way You desire; may we have patience with its limitations and happiness in its strengths. May we become living testimonies to the care and delight You take in creation, in all the particular, different things, and to the hope we have in Christ of Your restoring it in the new heavens and new earth. Alleluia, alleluia!
Thursday, July 05, 2007
"All Creatures of Our God and King" 1: The "Alleluia" Refrain
OK! Thank you, Adam and Sean, for your encouragement. I would be happy to publish some of the Hymn Notes appearing weekly in the church bulletin. We've been doing this only two months now, although of course I've had the idea and done similar things at other churches for many years.
On the first week of each month, the congregation receives an insert with the full lyrics. They are encouraged to take these home and memorize them.
On successive weeks, they may receive some historical background or devotional material about the hymn.
Here's the second week of "All Creatures of Our God and King," as it appeared in the bulletin in June:
The songs of God’s people were never meant to rest in the church building, but to bubble up from our hearts throughout our moments and days. We pray that the Hymns of the Month may help us reflect on the inspiration of the Holy Spirit through two millenia of congregational song, and to dwell on some of the words and tunes the Spirit inspired in our brothers and sisters before us, so that the Spirit may have opportunity again to bless God, others, and ourselves through these phrases in our own hearts in this time. As an example of how different hymns may be sung in different moments of our lives, we will sometimes sing them at different points in the Sunday morning service.
The refrain of this hymn of the month (“O praise Him, alleluia”) makes it particularly appropriate for use before and after the gospel reading.
“Alleluia” survives as a transliteration of the Hebrew “Hallelujah”, meaning “Praise Jah[weh]!” It appears numerous times in Psalms 113-118 and four times in Revelation 19, where it serves less as an injunction to praise than as a mighty summation of all the intensity of praise in heaven. This word’s continued use from the Old Testament temple worship to the New Testament’s revelation of heavenly worship, from the liturgies of first-century Christians to twenty-first-century Christians, allows us to join our voices with the company of heaven and to participate in the worship of all believers through time and space.
Please encourage one another in worship this morning, and yourselves throughout the week, by singing “Alleluia” with loudness and might.
On the first week of each month, the congregation receives an insert with the full lyrics. They are encouraged to take these home and memorize them.
On successive weeks, they may receive some historical background or devotional material about the hymn.
Here's the second week of "All Creatures of Our God and King," as it appeared in the bulletin in June:
The songs of God’s people were never meant to rest in the church building, but to bubble up from our hearts throughout our moments and days. We pray that the Hymns of the Month may help us reflect on the inspiration of the Holy Spirit through two millenia of congregational song, and to dwell on some of the words and tunes the Spirit inspired in our brothers and sisters before us, so that the Spirit may have opportunity again to bless God, others, and ourselves through these phrases in our own hearts in this time. As an example of how different hymns may be sung in different moments of our lives, we will sometimes sing them at different points in the Sunday morning service.
The refrain of this hymn of the month (“O praise Him, alleluia”) makes it particularly appropriate for use before and after the gospel reading.
“Alleluia” survives as a transliteration of the Hebrew “Hallelujah”, meaning “Praise Jah[weh]!” It appears numerous times in Psalms 113-118 and four times in Revelation 19, where it serves less as an injunction to praise than as a mighty summation of all the intensity of praise in heaven. This word’s continued use from the Old Testament temple worship to the New Testament’s revelation of heavenly worship, from the liturgies of first-century Christians to twenty-first-century Christians, allows us to join our voices with the company of heaven and to participate in the worship of all believers through time and space.
Please encourage one another in worship this morning, and yourselves throughout the week, by singing “Alleluia” with loudness and might.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
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."
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."
Thursday, August 24, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, August 11, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, August 10, 2006
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.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, August 07, 2006
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.
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.
Monday, July 31, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
"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.
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.
Monday, April 03, 2006
"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.
"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.
Monday, March 20, 2006
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).
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).
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