Technically speaking, dealing with technology isn't in my job description. However, when one is in ministry and truly striving to do what God has decreed for them, job descriptions are just pieces of paper. All ministers, ordained or not, take on aspects of their work because it needs to be done.
Many in our congregation are reading through the Bible this year, and currently they are in the book of Leviticus. The tribe of Levi was the tribe of Israel charged with abad. Abad is the Hebrew word for worship through work. The Levites were the ones who did all of the work behind the services in the temple. Not only were they the musicians and preachers, they also prepared the sacrifices, cleaned up afterwards, filled the lamps with oil, all of the nuts and bolts required so services went as they were supposed to. Because acts of worship were work, they learned that their worship was their work, that even cleaning the altar after an animal sacrifice was an act of worship.
This was something I had to remind myself of frequently over the past week and a half or so. Overseeing the sound systems at the church is something that fell into my lap for several reasons. Recently we purchased new digital equipment to replace and upgrade our older, failing analog equipment. What should have been a 2 hour installation turned into a 3 day, 13+ hour event including 4 hours with a professional (who also thought he'd only be there for 2 hours). I actually caused bodily injury to myself, crawling around the sound system trying to trace unlabelled wires. Even the pro admitted the wiring was a mess and that nothing we had done on our own to try to do the installation made his job any more difficult.
By the time he left on Monday afternoon, after a Sunday of using the portable sound system, everything was working. The sound was clear and crisp, a night and day improvement over what we'd had. Relief and praise.
But before my congregation could experience it, on Saturday afternoon I received a text from a coworker. The fancy programmable lights? Yeah, all the presets weren't working as they should.
Director of Music is my title, in case you forgot. Many in my congregation refer to me as "the choir director." Sound systems, light panels, drop-down screens and LCD projectors? Yep, I do that, too. Some know, most don't. The human me occasionally craves the recognition for all that I do, but the spiritual me, the minister me, knows that I don't do the work for earthly gains. I do it because it is my abad, and God has greater rewards for me when His time is right. As part of Micah 6:8a says, "walk humbly with your God."
I put my chili on the back burner (literally) and drove down to church to reprogram the lights. 30 minutes to drive down. 45 minutes to do the light plot (that admittedly I should have done a couple months ago) and reprogram the lights. 30 minutes to drive back. Fortunately, my chili didn't burn.
Sound system functioning! Lights fixed and looking great! The chili for the cookoff tasted good! I was all excited for Sunday services.
Then on Sunday the portable system crashed. And the hearing assist devices stopped working.
Such is ministry; we keep moving regardless of the set-backs. A patient hour on Tuesday morning, and the portable was working again just fine. Another 30 minutes with the hearing assist devices resulted in asking the powers that be to authorize the return of the pros. You win some, and you lose some.
It is easy to complain when our technology doesn't work. You can't hear the pastor or speakers. You can't read what is on the screens. You can't see your Bible. Likewise, it is easy to make that which facilitates our worship more of a focal point than it ever should be. As our youth pastor said, basically, churches were without sound systems for hundreds of years, so why are we so fast to complain? A salient point, but we have become comfortable with what we use and we detest change, even if that change is for the good.
Ultimately we have to remember that microphones, speakers, screens, lights, projectors, all those fun technological elements, are not the focus of our worship. They are there to make our worship space more inviting for us humans to enter into God's presence and to open our hearts and minds to draw ourselves closer to Him. They help us praise Him, pray to Him, learn about Him -- all things we certainly can do without the fancy technology, but they make us more comfortable incorporating all elements of worship into our technologically-driven daily lifestyles.
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him." Colossians 3:17
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Le Communhaute de Taize - une service de priere
During this upcoming Lenten season -- yes, we just had Christmas and already we're talking about Lent -- weekly Taize services will be offered as part of a Thursday evening study and prayer time. Although RCC's congregation has had some exposure to Taize, I'd like to devote a blog entry to this wonderful, simple, and calming service.
For those who do not know the history of the Taize Community, it was started in 1940 by Brother Roger Schutz. The community is an ecumenical monastery, with what could be considered a nunnery near-by although it is not directly associated with the community. Frere Roger started the community as a pacifistic response to the horrors of the World War and a place where people could live a simple life, true to the scriptures. The location, in south eastern France, was only a few miles to the south of the war's separation line. To this day, Taize residents come from all Christian faith traditions (Protestant, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, etc.) and they seek to live humbly and simply, and to strive for peace and reconciliation through prayer
I had the fortune of spending a full week at Le Communhaute de Taize in July 2001. It remains, ten years later, one of the most formative weeks of my life. Prior to my trip, I had been participating in and leading monthly Taize services at my Episcopal parish in Houston, TX. I am hoping to return to Taize in the future.
A Taize service consists of 4 main elements: the chants, readings, prayer, and silence. The chants of the Taize services are meant to be short and simple; few are longer than 8 or 12 bars. They are repeated sometimes for 3 or 5 minutes. This allows the chant to become a mantra and a prayer. As the congregation repeats the chant, instrumentalists and cantors improvise over the music. It is a truly organic, spirit-led music; the chant ends when the congregation "feels" it should end. This happens much more often than you would think. When I was at Taize, there were about 800 people there that week, maybe more. We'd all have 3 services a day together, and we could all communally sense when a chant should end. 800-1000 people.
The readings are chosen by whomever is leading the Taize service. Sometimes they follow the standard lectionary, sometimes they are ones the leader feels led to utilize. Usually one of the readings is a responsory psalm, but there are no "rules" to structuring a service. In France, every Friday evening is Good Friday and every Sunday morning is Easter for them -- a constant reminder of the sacrifice and miracle Jesus went through to save us. Beyond that, Taize does not specifically follow liturgical seasons, which allows a great deal of flexibility for the service and adaptations into more liturgical congregations.
Taize is ultimately a service of prayer. The chants are a form of prayer, and the readings also a form of prayer. There is usually one specific communal prayer during a Taize service, which can run anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. If the service is being led by a clergy, he or she may opt to include more prayers.
The most significant and identifying element of a Taize service, though, is the period of silence. For people new to Taize, this can be quite uncomfortable. It is literally a time to "be still and know that I AM GOD." With congregations new to Taize, this silence period usually starts at a length of 3-5 minutes. Experienced congregations can go 20 minutes. When I was at Taize, our first few services -- and these are people who have pilgrimaged to Taize, it's not exactly on the tourist map of France -- the silence might have been successful at 5 minutes. By the end of the week, 15 minutes or more was the norm.
You might have noticed I have not mentioned a homily or communion. Neither of these is a "standard" element to Taize services, but they do make appearances on special days. I was fortunate to be at Taize while Frere Roger was still alive, and on occasion he would speak a few words during a service other than a prayer. He did give a homily on Sunday morning, which was also the only time that we celebrated communion.
The worship space at Taize is fairly sparse. It is basically a long, rectangular hall. It can be shortened in segments by folding walls for when the number of attendees is low, like during the winter months. There are no pews or seats. Returning pilgrims often bring their own mini benches, or if you get to the hall early enough you might be able to get one of the little wooden seats scattered around. Otherwise, you sit on the floor or on your heels. There is traditional electric lighting, but the majority of the lighting comes from candles. Icons will be displayed, not to be worshipped, but to be a reminder of the Biblical stories and figures they represent. On Fridays, a giant wooden cross will be on the floor, as there is a time during the service for people to come forward and pray at the cross.
The service in the style of Taize is incredibly flexible and centering. The plans at RCC are to have the service in our worship center, and set up with the traditional candles in addition to natural and electric lighting. Chairs will, of course, be set up but there will also be a clear area for those who choose to sit on the floor or on a cushion they bring. The words to the chants will be projected, saving both paper and administrative time, and eliminating the need for brighter lighting. Taize services during Lent will be special times for reflection and prayer. I hope to see you all there.
For those who do not know the history of the Taize Community, it was started in 1940 by Brother Roger Schutz. The community is an ecumenical monastery, with what could be considered a nunnery near-by although it is not directly associated with the community. Frere Roger started the community as a pacifistic response to the horrors of the World War and a place where people could live a simple life, true to the scriptures. The location, in south eastern France, was only a few miles to the south of the war's separation line. To this day, Taize residents come from all Christian faith traditions (Protestant, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, etc.) and they seek to live humbly and simply, and to strive for peace and reconciliation through prayer
I had the fortune of spending a full week at Le Communhaute de Taize in July 2001. It remains, ten years later, one of the most formative weeks of my life. Prior to my trip, I had been participating in and leading monthly Taize services at my Episcopal parish in Houston, TX. I am hoping to return to Taize in the future.
A Taize service consists of 4 main elements: the chants, readings, prayer, and silence. The chants of the Taize services are meant to be short and simple; few are longer than 8 or 12 bars. They are repeated sometimes for 3 or 5 minutes. This allows the chant to become a mantra and a prayer. As the congregation repeats the chant, instrumentalists and cantors improvise over the music. It is a truly organic, spirit-led music; the chant ends when the congregation "feels" it should end. This happens much more often than you would think. When I was at Taize, there were about 800 people there that week, maybe more. We'd all have 3 services a day together, and we could all communally sense when a chant should end. 800-1000 people.
The readings are chosen by whomever is leading the Taize service. Sometimes they follow the standard lectionary, sometimes they are ones the leader feels led to utilize. Usually one of the readings is a responsory psalm, but there are no "rules" to structuring a service. In France, every Friday evening is Good Friday and every Sunday morning is Easter for them -- a constant reminder of the sacrifice and miracle Jesus went through to save us. Beyond that, Taize does not specifically follow liturgical seasons, which allows a great deal of flexibility for the service and adaptations into more liturgical congregations.
Taize is ultimately a service of prayer. The chants are a form of prayer, and the readings also a form of prayer. There is usually one specific communal prayer during a Taize service, which can run anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour. If the service is being led by a clergy, he or she may opt to include more prayers.
The most significant and identifying element of a Taize service, though, is the period of silence. For people new to Taize, this can be quite uncomfortable. It is literally a time to "be still and know that I AM GOD." With congregations new to Taize, this silence period usually starts at a length of 3-5 minutes. Experienced congregations can go 20 minutes. When I was at Taize, our first few services -- and these are people who have pilgrimaged to Taize, it's not exactly on the tourist map of France -- the silence might have been successful at 5 minutes. By the end of the week, 15 minutes or more was the norm.
You might have noticed I have not mentioned a homily or communion. Neither of these is a "standard" element to Taize services, but they do make appearances on special days. I was fortunate to be at Taize while Frere Roger was still alive, and on occasion he would speak a few words during a service other than a prayer. He did give a homily on Sunday morning, which was also the only time that we celebrated communion.
The worship space at Taize is fairly sparse. It is basically a long, rectangular hall. It can be shortened in segments by folding walls for when the number of attendees is low, like during the winter months. There are no pews or seats. Returning pilgrims often bring their own mini benches, or if you get to the hall early enough you might be able to get one of the little wooden seats scattered around. Otherwise, you sit on the floor or on your heels. There is traditional electric lighting, but the majority of the lighting comes from candles. Icons will be displayed, not to be worshipped, but to be a reminder of the Biblical stories and figures they represent. On Fridays, a giant wooden cross will be on the floor, as there is a time during the service for people to come forward and pray at the cross.
The service in the style of Taize is incredibly flexible and centering. The plans at RCC are to have the service in our worship center, and set up with the traditional candles in addition to natural and electric lighting. Chairs will, of course, be set up but there will also be a clear area for those who choose to sit on the floor or on a cushion they bring. The words to the chants will be projected, saving both paper and administrative time, and eliminating the need for brighter lighting. Taize services during Lent will be special times for reflection and prayer. I hope to see you all there.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tradition or Rut?
Although we are not strictly a liturgical church in that we use the sections of the Mass Ordinary to structure our worship, we do follow a set pattern in our services. Occasionally we "mix things up" with a special presentation or moving the prayer song to a different part of the service. But in general, our congregation can expect the same basic structure, same basic flow, every Sunday.
For many key elements, this makes sense. It is our worship style, our worship choice. It is one reason we have chosen RCC as our church home and/or place to worship on Sunday mornings. But for some elements, I have to ask: why?
I'm still new, still (barely) in my "honeymoon period." And I can ask these questions, the "why do we do this?" questions. Sometimes Brett and Raymond have an answer for me. Sometimes they tell me to ask someone else, because frankly they aren't sure or hadn't thought about it. Ultimately the question comes down to: "why do we REALLY do what we do?"
I once heard a sermon illustration that can be summarized this way: a child watches her mother make a ham, and the first thing her mother does is cut the ham in half before putting it in the pot, although it would clearly fit without being cut. She questions her mother why, and her mother says, "Because that's the way my mother did it." She asks the same question of the grandmother and ultimately the great-grandmother who says, "I cut the ham in half because I never had a pot big enough!"
So do we do certain things in worship "because that's the way we've always done it," or do we do certain things in worship because it's the "right" thing to be done?
One liturgical question I pose to my 10:30 "traditional" congregation: the role of the Gloria Patri. For advent, we switched out the regular setting for the 70's praise song, "Emmanuel." That will carry us through the baptism of Jesus, but then what? When I told the choir we were changing it for the season, I was met with concern. However, I have yet to hear why we sing a Gloria Patri, and why we sing it when we do. It comes at a rather odd moment in the service.
In more strictly liturgical churches, the Gloria Patri is usually the conclusion to the Psalm of the day, which is either sung Anglican style (by the choir) or chanted if not simply read. I play a Catholic Mass twice a week, and there is no Gloria Patri at that service, nor does that parish sing one on Sundays unless the Psalm is sung. My Episcopal churches reserved the Gloria Patri for either the Psalm conclusion (and not always then) or its regular place in Evensong services, when the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis are read or sung.
There are many things like this that we could start to question as to their inherent role. For example, the use of the organ. It was not in existence in Biblical times, and the early churches in America did not use it. The same can be said of the piano as well. Ironically, the instruments that most commonly make up modern praise bands -- guitars and drums -- CAN trace their lineage directly back to David. So what is ultimately more "traditional:" hymns with organ, or praise songs, a modern psalm if you will, sung with guitars and drums?
There is no answer to this question. It is just something that I, as well as our ministerial staff, wrestle with on a regular basis. We need to honor the "traditions" of the church, within reason. However, it is also our role to stretch, to challenge, to prod, to poke our congregation into growth and searching, and sometimes that means questioning and even doing away with some "traditions." Do we want to be like the adage my minister-father uses all the time: "Like a mighty tortoise moves the church of God, brethren we are treading where we've always trod," or do we really want to be a vibrant church, on fire for God and feeding God's people? Are our traditions really sacred, or are they just a comfortable rut?
For many key elements, this makes sense. It is our worship style, our worship choice. It is one reason we have chosen RCC as our church home and/or place to worship on Sunday mornings. But for some elements, I have to ask: why?
I'm still new, still (barely) in my "honeymoon period." And I can ask these questions, the "why do we do this?" questions. Sometimes Brett and Raymond have an answer for me. Sometimes they tell me to ask someone else, because frankly they aren't sure or hadn't thought about it. Ultimately the question comes down to: "why do we REALLY do what we do?"
I once heard a sermon illustration that can be summarized this way: a child watches her mother make a ham, and the first thing her mother does is cut the ham in half before putting it in the pot, although it would clearly fit without being cut. She questions her mother why, and her mother says, "Because that's the way my mother did it." She asks the same question of the grandmother and ultimately the great-grandmother who says, "I cut the ham in half because I never had a pot big enough!"
So do we do certain things in worship "because that's the way we've always done it," or do we do certain things in worship because it's the "right" thing to be done?
One liturgical question I pose to my 10:30 "traditional" congregation: the role of the Gloria Patri. For advent, we switched out the regular setting for the 70's praise song, "Emmanuel." That will carry us through the baptism of Jesus, but then what? When I told the choir we were changing it for the season, I was met with concern. However, I have yet to hear why we sing a Gloria Patri, and why we sing it when we do. It comes at a rather odd moment in the service.
In more strictly liturgical churches, the Gloria Patri is usually the conclusion to the Psalm of the day, which is either sung Anglican style (by the choir) or chanted if not simply read. I play a Catholic Mass twice a week, and there is no Gloria Patri at that service, nor does that parish sing one on Sundays unless the Psalm is sung. My Episcopal churches reserved the Gloria Patri for either the Psalm conclusion (and not always then) or its regular place in Evensong services, when the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis are read or sung.
There are many things like this that we could start to question as to their inherent role. For example, the use of the organ. It was not in existence in Biblical times, and the early churches in America did not use it. The same can be said of the piano as well. Ironically, the instruments that most commonly make up modern praise bands -- guitars and drums -- CAN trace their lineage directly back to David. So what is ultimately more "traditional:" hymns with organ, or praise songs, a modern psalm if you will, sung with guitars and drums?
There is no answer to this question. It is just something that I, as well as our ministerial staff, wrestle with on a regular basis. We need to honor the "traditions" of the church, within reason. However, it is also our role to stretch, to challenge, to prod, to poke our congregation into growth and searching, and sometimes that means questioning and even doing away with some "traditions." Do we want to be like the adage my minister-father uses all the time: "Like a mighty tortoise moves the church of God, brethren we are treading where we've always trod," or do we really want to be a vibrant church, on fire for God and feeding God's people? Are our traditions really sacred, or are they just a comfortable rut?
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
The Pitfalls of Scriptural Worship Leading
Advent can be a difficult time, musically. Everywhere people are bombarded with their favorite Christmas tunes: on the radio, in the stores where they shop, on TV, the list is endless. Then they come to church and we're singing chant and minor-keyed Advent music. This dichotomy is particularly apparent at "contemporary" services, where the music is often rock in style and what some congregants appreciate most is the opportunity to clap their hands or dance along to the music. In the past, there hasn't been a great deal of good, contemporary Advent music. Fortunately this year, several wonderful pieces have been made available and we begin the process of teaching them to our congregations.
But teaching new music, especially in a format where only the words are made available to the congregation, is a time-consuming process and must be done gradually. One cannot simply plan all new music, or even 50% new music, at a service. It is simply too jarring to the worship experience and ultimately will have a negative effect. Many congregations max out at one, maybe two, completely new songs a service. Which leaves worship leaders and music directors considering their options: either planning music that is usually sung year-round, but can be tied scripturally to Advent or its themes, or plugging in less-than-contemporary music.
For the first Sunday of Advent, at our contemporary service, I opted for the first choice: music that is usually sung throughout the year, but had clear associations to Advent and our chosen theme of the "journey." I put forth music that was designed to draw my congregation into a spirit of preparation for the journey, encouraging penitence. I drew on "Redeemer" themes and anticipation.
And my congregation went.... "whuuuuh?"
Every church desires their worship leaders and music directors to be Godly men and women, and RCC is no exception. Not only do they want their music directors/worship leaders to be great, well-trained and talented musicians, but they want them to have a solid spiritual faith walk and understanding of the scriptures. Sometimes, though, a deep understanding of the scriptures can be too deep.
One of my congregants left me a note in my box flat out saying, "Suzanne, what was UP with the music this morning? Isn't it Advent?" Ok, I'm paraphrasing her entire note into 2 sentences, but you get the point. I sent her a long email explaining my processes and thoughts behind worship/music planning and through that realized something important. I had gone too deep, scripturally. I had entered into esoteric. It is something I should have known was a danger, and yet I made the mistake.
My father is an ordained minister, and he was let go from a church for being too intelligent. Before you scratch your head and say, "How is that possible?" let me explain. He had been called to pastor a church that was full of wealthy, well-educated, very successful people. Doctors, lawyers, prominent citizens of a larger city, people who literally had NFL players for next-door neighbors comprised the congregation. He made the assumption that they were as scripturally intelligent as they were intelligent in other aspects of their lives. He was wrong; scripturally they were in elementary school. But he didn't make the adjustment and they got tired of the sermons going over their heads and so they let him go.
This is the mistake I made on the first Sunday of Advent. I was too scriptural, too abstract, for my particular congregation. It shouldn't have to take a lengthy email explaining why the music I'd planned for that Sunday was indeed appropriate. My congregation should be fed intrinsically through worship and understand the connection without needing to really stop and think. Some thought is a good thing. Requiring too much gets in the way of a spiritual connection and can impede worship.
Lesson received, and hopefully learned. The second Sunday of Advent was a much better service, both from a worship and a musical stand. Hopefully Advent 3 will be even better, Lord willing. I continue to pray and revise my planning, and perhaps I need to use a little less brain and even more heart, because ultimately my job is to facilitate and encourage worship, with just a little education. If I'm not doing that, I'm not doing my job, and I'm not being a vessel for the Holy Spirit, plain and simple.
But teaching new music, especially in a format where only the words are made available to the congregation, is a time-consuming process and must be done gradually. One cannot simply plan all new music, or even 50% new music, at a service. It is simply too jarring to the worship experience and ultimately will have a negative effect. Many congregations max out at one, maybe two, completely new songs a service. Which leaves worship leaders and music directors considering their options: either planning music that is usually sung year-round, but can be tied scripturally to Advent or its themes, or plugging in less-than-contemporary music.
For the first Sunday of Advent, at our contemporary service, I opted for the first choice: music that is usually sung throughout the year, but had clear associations to Advent and our chosen theme of the "journey." I put forth music that was designed to draw my congregation into a spirit of preparation for the journey, encouraging penitence. I drew on "Redeemer" themes and anticipation.
And my congregation went.... "whuuuuh?"
Every church desires their worship leaders and music directors to be Godly men and women, and RCC is no exception. Not only do they want their music directors/worship leaders to be great, well-trained and talented musicians, but they want them to have a solid spiritual faith walk and understanding of the scriptures. Sometimes, though, a deep understanding of the scriptures can be too deep.
One of my congregants left me a note in my box flat out saying, "Suzanne, what was UP with the music this morning? Isn't it Advent?" Ok, I'm paraphrasing her entire note into 2 sentences, but you get the point. I sent her a long email explaining my processes and thoughts behind worship/music planning and through that realized something important. I had gone too deep, scripturally. I had entered into esoteric. It is something I should have known was a danger, and yet I made the mistake.
My father is an ordained minister, and he was let go from a church for being too intelligent. Before you scratch your head and say, "How is that possible?" let me explain. He had been called to pastor a church that was full of wealthy, well-educated, very successful people. Doctors, lawyers, prominent citizens of a larger city, people who literally had NFL players for next-door neighbors comprised the congregation. He made the assumption that they were as scripturally intelligent as they were intelligent in other aspects of their lives. He was wrong; scripturally they were in elementary school. But he didn't make the adjustment and they got tired of the sermons going over their heads and so they let him go.
This is the mistake I made on the first Sunday of Advent. I was too scriptural, too abstract, for my particular congregation. It shouldn't have to take a lengthy email explaining why the music I'd planned for that Sunday was indeed appropriate. My congregation should be fed intrinsically through worship and understand the connection without needing to really stop and think. Some thought is a good thing. Requiring too much gets in the way of a spiritual connection and can impede worship.
Lesson received, and hopefully learned. The second Sunday of Advent was a much better service, both from a worship and a musical stand. Hopefully Advent 3 will be even better, Lord willing. I continue to pray and revise my planning, and perhaps I need to use a little less brain and even more heart, because ultimately my job is to facilitate and encourage worship, with just a little education. If I'm not doing that, I'm not doing my job, and I'm not being a vessel for the Holy Spirit, plain and simple.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Advent Reflections
Hello, friends! I apologize for the lengthy hiatus from blogging here, but life is like that sometimes!
Well, it is finally here. Stores bombard us with lighted evergreen trees, radio stations have mostly shifted to including some seasonal music, everywhere we turn we see ads for "Black Friday" and reminders of what would make "the perfect gift." Even McDonalds is advertising "Black Friday" specials! Although in 2 days many of us with gather with family to enjoy a large meal and hopefully spend a few moments remembering what we are thankful for, Christmas is upon us as a society.
These increasingly early reminders about Christmas make it that much more imperative that we understand what Advent is all about. I grew up Baptist, where Advent is rarely acknowledged except perhaps in the inclusion of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" at a service somewhere. It was when I converted to liturgical churches that Advent -- and its meaning -- came into my life.
Like Lent, Advent is a season of preparation and expectation. While Lent is used primarily for the reflection of sins and the crucifixion of Christ, marking the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness, Advent is about anticipation. God chose to send Jesus to the earth as an innocent newborn baby, born to a girl barely a woman who became pregnant while still unwed. The very concept that God would send His greatest gift to us in such a delicate and common package is almost bewildering. Certainly God has the ability to make a huge spectacle out of the arrival of the Messiah! But instead it was a humble cave in a small town, witnessed by animals and later some societal outcasts -- the shepherds -- that He chose to give the greatest gift ever.
Advent is the time where we should stop and ponder all that. There is a reason much of the music associated with Advent is more somber in tone, and often in a minor key. It is designed to invite us into a time of reflection on this wondrous event of centuries ago. In keeping with this centuries-old idea, some of the church music for Advent is derived from plainchant.
This coming Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent, we will sing "Creator of the Stars of Night." The tune, which in our hymnal is unaltered save for harmonization, is called Conditor Alme. The hymn (text) comes from either the 7th or 9th centuries, depending upon what source you read. The most common translation comes from the Anglican hymnal of 1940 which is still largely in use today by the Episcopal Church. This translation is less graphic than a direct Latin translation and omits the 5th and 6th stanzas; the 5th stanza is one of dreading Christ's arrival as He is coming to "judge the quick and the dead," and the 6th stanza is the Gloria Patri. The general text, though, conveys the overriding theme of Advent, how a small child born of a virgin was sent to save us all from our sins.
Perhaps the best-known Advent carol, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," is also derived from plainchant. The tune name is Veni Emmanuel and has been traced back as far as the 1400s, where French Franciscan nuns were using the tune as a processional. It is still commonly used as a processional carol, and lends itself to antiphonal usages as well., particularly on the refrain: "Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!"
This Advent season, try to take some time away from the continuous advertisements on TV, the non-stop reminders to spend money believing that the best gifts are the ones that cost the most or are the flashiest, and remember the best gift of all that we have ever been given: Jesus Christ. He came without great fanfare, born to an unlikely girl, in a dirty, humble setting. And yet He willingly paid the ultimate price for us. This is worthy of reflection.
Well, it is finally here. Stores bombard us with lighted evergreen trees, radio stations have mostly shifted to including some seasonal music, everywhere we turn we see ads for "Black Friday" and reminders of what would make "the perfect gift." Even McDonalds is advertising "Black Friday" specials! Although in 2 days many of us with gather with family to enjoy a large meal and hopefully spend a few moments remembering what we are thankful for, Christmas is upon us as a society.
These increasingly early reminders about Christmas make it that much more imperative that we understand what Advent is all about. I grew up Baptist, where Advent is rarely acknowledged except perhaps in the inclusion of "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" at a service somewhere. It was when I converted to liturgical churches that Advent -- and its meaning -- came into my life.
Like Lent, Advent is a season of preparation and expectation. While Lent is used primarily for the reflection of sins and the crucifixion of Christ, marking the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness, Advent is about anticipation. God chose to send Jesus to the earth as an innocent newborn baby, born to a girl barely a woman who became pregnant while still unwed. The very concept that God would send His greatest gift to us in such a delicate and common package is almost bewildering. Certainly God has the ability to make a huge spectacle out of the arrival of the Messiah! But instead it was a humble cave in a small town, witnessed by animals and later some societal outcasts -- the shepherds -- that He chose to give the greatest gift ever.
Advent is the time where we should stop and ponder all that. There is a reason much of the music associated with Advent is more somber in tone, and often in a minor key. It is designed to invite us into a time of reflection on this wondrous event of centuries ago. In keeping with this centuries-old idea, some of the church music for Advent is derived from plainchant.
This coming Sunday, the first Sunday of Advent, we will sing "Creator of the Stars of Night." The tune, which in our hymnal is unaltered save for harmonization, is called Conditor Alme. The hymn (text) comes from either the 7th or 9th centuries, depending upon what source you read. The most common translation comes from the Anglican hymnal of 1940 which is still largely in use today by the Episcopal Church. This translation is less graphic than a direct Latin translation and omits the 5th and 6th stanzas; the 5th stanza is one of dreading Christ's arrival as He is coming to "judge the quick and the dead," and the 6th stanza is the Gloria Patri. The general text, though, conveys the overriding theme of Advent, how a small child born of a virgin was sent to save us all from our sins.
Perhaps the best-known Advent carol, "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel," is also derived from plainchant. The tune name is Veni Emmanuel and has been traced back as far as the 1400s, where French Franciscan nuns were using the tune as a processional. It is still commonly used as a processional carol, and lends itself to antiphonal usages as well., particularly on the refrain: "Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!"
This Advent season, try to take some time away from the continuous advertisements on TV, the non-stop reminders to spend money believing that the best gifts are the ones that cost the most or are the flashiest, and remember the best gift of all that we have ever been given: Jesus Christ. He came without great fanfare, born to an unlikely girl, in a dirty, humble setting. And yet He willingly paid the ultimate price for us. This is worthy of reflection.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
In Honor of All Saints Day
November 1 is All Saints Day on the Liturgical calendar, a great feast day celebrated by both Protestant and Catholic churches world-wide. Many churches will hold special services on November 1 itself; others will have observances on the Sunday immediately following All Saints Day. This latter option is what we at RCC will be observing. But as many Protestant churches do not specifically recognize or pray to saints, you may be wondering what all the fuss is about.
All Saints Day is historically a day to remember "the communion of saints." Note "saints" is not capitalized, because it refers not to a select few people who have been canonized, but to all who have labored faithfully in service to God. All Saints Day is for remembering those who have gone on before us. Since 2 A.D., Christians have been remembering and honoring those who had passed on, but due to the difficulty of wide-spread communication and perhaps also inconsistent calendars, there was no one day set aside for the general remembrance. Local churches set up their own days for remembering their favorite saints. (If you look at a Catholic or Episcopal calendar, you will see numerous days set aside as "The Feast of Saint So-and-so;" this is where those feast days come from.) Pope Gregory III, who passed in 741, is credited with officially making November 1 All Saints Day.
One source I read likened All Saints Day to Presidents Day or Veterans Day here in the U.S. It is not a day for remembering a specific person, but rather a large and oftentimes nameless group of people. Coming after "All Hallows Eve," which we now call Halloween, it is a day for pausing and reflecting, sometimes sadly, other times fondly.
Musically, there are two hymns most associated with this feast day. The most common one is to the tune Sine Nomine by English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the title is "For All the Saints." Written originally by William Walsham How (1823-1897), Bishop Suffragan of East London, different hymnals have taken liberties with the original text to either make it more gender-neutral or to take out references to war. The overall theme of the hymn has not changed, though, as it is one of exultation and celebration for those who are finally resting from their labors. The biblical foundation comes from Hebrews 12:1, which refers to being surrounded by a "great cloud of witnesses," referring to those who are deceased. Vaughan Williams's tune is incredibly stirring and triumphant, although one critic from the 1930s somehow dismissed it as "jazz music" and "a feeble dance tune." After hearing Sine Nomine, one has to wonder if he was actually hearing a different tune!
Lesser-known to many Protestant churches is "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God." Episcopal and some Catholic children grow up singing this in Sunday school and VBS much as I, originally a Southern Baptist, sang "Onward Christian Soldiers" every year. This hymn, written by Lesbia Scott, focuses more on the wide variety of "saints" we have, that one was a doctor, one was a Queen, one a soldier, one a priest, etc., and that they lived not only in ages past but are currently among us. Each stanza ends with some variation of "God help me to be one [a saint] too." The tune, Grand Isle, does have a bit of that children's music feel about it, but it is also quite catchy.
So this All Saints Day, take a moment to reflect on those you may have lost in your lives, what their legacy was, and how they impacted your life. And then consider how you can live your life so when you are called home to heaven, we think of you when we think of our saints.
All Saints Day is historically a day to remember "the communion of saints." Note "saints" is not capitalized, because it refers not to a select few people who have been canonized, but to all who have labored faithfully in service to God. All Saints Day is for remembering those who have gone on before us. Since 2 A.D., Christians have been remembering and honoring those who had passed on, but due to the difficulty of wide-spread communication and perhaps also inconsistent calendars, there was no one day set aside for the general remembrance. Local churches set up their own days for remembering their favorite saints. (If you look at a Catholic or Episcopal calendar, you will see numerous days set aside as "The Feast of Saint So-and-so;" this is where those feast days come from.) Pope Gregory III, who passed in 741, is credited with officially making November 1 All Saints Day.
One source I read likened All Saints Day to Presidents Day or Veterans Day here in the U.S. It is not a day for remembering a specific person, but rather a large and oftentimes nameless group of people. Coming after "All Hallows Eve," which we now call Halloween, it is a day for pausing and reflecting, sometimes sadly, other times fondly.
Musically, there are two hymns most associated with this feast day. The most common one is to the tune Sine Nomine by English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams, and the title is "For All the Saints." Written originally by William Walsham How (1823-1897), Bishop Suffragan of East London, different hymnals have taken liberties with the original text to either make it more gender-neutral or to take out references to war. The overall theme of the hymn has not changed, though, as it is one of exultation and celebration for those who are finally resting from their labors. The biblical foundation comes from Hebrews 12:1, which refers to being surrounded by a "great cloud of witnesses," referring to those who are deceased. Vaughan Williams's tune is incredibly stirring and triumphant, although one critic from the 1930s somehow dismissed it as "jazz music" and "a feeble dance tune." After hearing Sine Nomine, one has to wonder if he was actually hearing a different tune!
Lesser-known to many Protestant churches is "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God." Episcopal and some Catholic children grow up singing this in Sunday school and VBS much as I, originally a Southern Baptist, sang "Onward Christian Soldiers" every year. This hymn, written by Lesbia Scott, focuses more on the wide variety of "saints" we have, that one was a doctor, one was a Queen, one a soldier, one a priest, etc., and that they lived not only in ages past but are currently among us. Each stanza ends with some variation of "God help me to be one [a saint] too." The tune, Grand Isle, does have a bit of that children's music feel about it, but it is also quite catchy.
So this All Saints Day, take a moment to reflect on those you may have lost in your lives, what their legacy was, and how they impacted your life. And then consider how you can live your life so when you are called home to heaven, we think of you when we think of our saints.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Abbot's Leigh - "Lord, You Give the Great Commission"
Today, our congregation was challenged with the Parable of the Talents. Members were asked, if so led, to accept "talents" released by the Outreach Committee and to utilize them in a modern-day exercise. This is an added challenge on top of last week's commission from Pastor Brett to be the church that is "Feeding God's People."
So, in planning hymns, one in particular leaped out at me. In our hymnal, the Chalice Hymnal, it is #459, Lord, You Give the Great Commission. It is set to the tune called "Abbot's Leigh," one of the great hymns tunes in the Protestant tradition. Imagine my surprise when Jan, our wonderful organist, came to me and said, "You know the congregation doesn't know this one, right?"
The sound of a record needle being scratched across a record sounded in my brain. Then I realized, aha! Another teaching moment!
The text, "Lord, You Give the Great Commission" was written in 1978 by Welsh-born Anglican Jeffery Rowthorn. Rowthorn wrote this hymn (note: a hymn is actually a literary term, not a musical one) while on the faculty of Yale University's Institute of Sacred Music. In 1987, Rowthorn was consecrated Bishop Suffragan of Connecticut and he continued to edit hymnals and supplements. These are still in use by Yale and its ISM to this day.
The text draws its 5 verses from specific Scriptures. Verse 1 comes from Jesus sending his disciples out during his ministry (Luke 9:2) while verse 2 is the Great Commission as recorded in Matthew 28:19-20. Verse 3 comes from Mark 14:22, the initiation of the Lord's Supper, verse 4 from Jesus' prayer for forgiveness while hanging on the cross, and the final verse once again calls upon the Great Commission. The overall sense of the hymn is that all Christians are those to whom Jesus has called in Matthew 28:19-20, not just those who have been called into ministry. We are all able to minister with our own talents and gifts.
The tune "Abbot's Leigh," is not the easiest hymn tune in the repertory, but one that once learned is quite satisfying. It tends to be paired with hymns (texts) of great declamation. In 1978, University United Methodist Church in Austin, TX commissioned a text specifically to be paired with this tune for the close of an eight-month-long festival centering around the themes of Worship, Music and the Arts, and was used to dedication a new communion table and font among other things. First Presbyterian Church, also in Austin, TX, picked it up and used it to dedicate a new building.
The tune was written during World War II by Cyril V. Taylor, a British musician. It was written in response to criticism of the Religious Department of the BBC using the hymn tune "Austria" for the words "Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken." (Chalice Hymnal, #709) The tune, now called "Austrian Hymn," is also the melody to which the Austrian National Anthem was sung, hence the criticism and backlash during the war. Although written in 1941, the tune was first published in 1951 and quickly became a staple in every modern hymnal. The tune's name comes from the village of Abbot's Leigh, where Taylor was residing when he wrote this melody.
In our hymnal, Chalice Hymnal, the tune is used for both "Lord, You Give the Great Commission," as well as #280, "God is Here!" #280 is the text commissioned by University United Methodist Church.
So, in planning hymns, one in particular leaped out at me. In our hymnal, the Chalice Hymnal, it is #459, Lord, You Give the Great Commission. It is set to the tune called "Abbot's Leigh," one of the great hymns tunes in the Protestant tradition. Imagine my surprise when Jan, our wonderful organist, came to me and said, "You know the congregation doesn't know this one, right?"
The sound of a record needle being scratched across a record sounded in my brain. Then I realized, aha! Another teaching moment!
The text, "Lord, You Give the Great Commission" was written in 1978 by Welsh-born Anglican Jeffery Rowthorn. Rowthorn wrote this hymn (note: a hymn is actually a literary term, not a musical one) while on the faculty of Yale University's Institute of Sacred Music. In 1987, Rowthorn was consecrated Bishop Suffragan of Connecticut and he continued to edit hymnals and supplements. These are still in use by Yale and its ISM to this day.
The text draws its 5 verses from specific Scriptures. Verse 1 comes from Jesus sending his disciples out during his ministry (Luke 9:2) while verse 2 is the Great Commission as recorded in Matthew 28:19-20. Verse 3 comes from Mark 14:22, the initiation of the Lord's Supper, verse 4 from Jesus' prayer for forgiveness while hanging on the cross, and the final verse once again calls upon the Great Commission. The overall sense of the hymn is that all Christians are those to whom Jesus has called in Matthew 28:19-20, not just those who have been called into ministry. We are all able to minister with our own talents and gifts.
The tune "Abbot's Leigh," is not the easiest hymn tune in the repertory, but one that once learned is quite satisfying. It tends to be paired with hymns (texts) of great declamation. In 1978, University United Methodist Church in Austin, TX commissioned a text specifically to be paired with this tune for the close of an eight-month-long festival centering around the themes of Worship, Music and the Arts, and was used to dedication a new communion table and font among other things. First Presbyterian Church, also in Austin, TX, picked it up and used it to dedicate a new building.
The tune was written during World War II by Cyril V. Taylor, a British musician. It was written in response to criticism of the Religious Department of the BBC using the hymn tune "Austria" for the words "Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken." (Chalice Hymnal, #709) The tune, now called "Austrian Hymn," is also the melody to which the Austrian National Anthem was sung, hence the criticism and backlash during the war. Although written in 1941, the tune was first published in 1951 and quickly became a staple in every modern hymnal. The tune's name comes from the village of Abbot's Leigh, where Taylor was residing when he wrote this melody.
In our hymnal, Chalice Hymnal, the tune is used for both "Lord, You Give the Great Commission," as well as #280, "God is Here!" #280 is the text commissioned by University United Methodist Church.
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