Go uncomplaining forth

It's another snowy, slushy weekend in northeast Ohio. We've reached that time of winter when we it's all too easy to start complaining about the cold weather, the shoveling, and the wet shoes. Stores are starting to stock their garden supplies and spring bulbs, which only makes us more eager for spring and dissatisfied with the lingering winter.

This topic came to mind as I was looking over this Sunday's music, which includes the hymn "A Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth." (The tune will feature prominently in the prelude as well.) It reminded me of a line from the old Agatha Christie movie "Appointment with Death." A devout woman is asked if she is feeling well, and she responds, "What are my sufferings compared to those of our Savior?"

As I see it, that rhetorical question is one of two extreme attitudes that can stem from this line of thinking. One is exemplified by that quote: a maudlin meditation of the sufferings of the Passion story, which I fear can quickly become a joyless faith. The other approach is to cultivate a sense of gratitude and thanksgiving. Personally, I prefer to see the positive and hopeful aspects of this particular hymn text:

"A lamb goes uncomplaining forth to save a world of sinners.
He bears the burden all alone, dies shorn of all his honors."

Picking up on a topic from earlier in the week, perhaps we treasure simple hymn tunes like "Jesus Loves Me" because they so clearly express a simple, joyful faith of God's love. But even hymns that recount the Passion story should be a joy to us, and a reminder that we have few reasons to complain - even while we're shoveling our driveways for the third time in the same week!

No respect

I have to admit that I don't listen to American Public Media's Composers Datebook regularly. I mostly blame the delivery method. After all, I read Writers' Almanac online almost daily, but clicking play on a daily audio clip always seems to require one too many steps for convenience. Fortunately, people around me are faithful listeners and don't let me miss the best segments. I received two emails this week about the broadcast from Feb. 22nd.

The broadcast included a discussion of the anniversary of the premiere performance of Virgil Thomson's "Symphony on a Hymn Tune." It should more properly be titled a symphony on two hymn tunes. Not only did he utilize the well-known tune "How Firm a Foundation," but he also layered it with strains of "Jesus Loves Me." The piece was not a success, with the NY Times describing it as "Too trivial and inconsequential, too unoriginal in its material, and flimsy in its material to merit discussion."

Could that opinion have stemmed in part from the use of the simple tune "Jesus Loves Me" in a symphonic setting? Pastor commented to me that it seemed like that particular tune is the Rodney Dangerfield of the hymnal, getting no respect. It seemed especially timely to me today, given the sermon hymn last night, "There Is a Green Hill, Far Away." It too was originally composed for children, with a simple tune and text. Some people see beauty and meaning in that comforting simplicity, while others dismiss it as lacking depth.

I'm sure there's a range of opinion on singing simple hymn tunes, so what do you think, readers? Are such hymns best relegated to Sunday School or do they deserve a place in worship? And what hymns would you nominate for Rodney Dangerfield status - those favorites of yours that seem to get no respect?

Happy Birthday, Chopin

Today may or may not be Chopin's birthday. He always claimed that it was March 1, though church records put it earlier. No matter what the date, though, this year marks the bicentennary of the great composer's birth.

Chopin composed only for the piano, which is only one of the reasons we don't associate his work with church music. I actually did play one piece of Chopin's during my time at Bethany, employing the A major Polonaise as a postlude (Op 40, No 1, nicknamed the Military Polonaise). It's about as close to a march as we could ever claim he composed and worked as a change of pace, I believe.

However, some people would shun Chopin's music for its romanticism. His pieces plumb the depths of the passions (in the broad, classical sense of the passions, not simply amorous). Despite his fondness for Bach and classical influences, Chopin's piano music was fully steeped in 19th century Parisian salon culture. The turmoil of the era can be heard in the etudes and the romance in the waltzes, as well as the nationalism of the Polonaises and mazurkas.

I find it intriguing that much of the famous and beloved classical music of the concert hall is from the romantic era, but the church largely shuns it in favor of earlier work (or its modern revival and reinterpretation). A Washington Post article on Chopin today might have touched on the problem when it described the challenge of his work as "walking the fine line between emotion and sentiment, between feeling something and looking back, fondly, on the way it felt." The romantics urge us to action and emotion, not contemplation. Romantic music could inspire liberation theology, perhaps, but not push us toward meditative prayer. Thus, the cliche remains of yoga and prayer to the strains of chant or Bach. Is that fair to the composer's intentions? And is it fair to us that such music is not part of our worship experience?

In other words, do you ever feel that church music (or perhaps even the worship experience in general) intellectualize faith too much (exclude too much romanticism), and thereby diminish the experience? Or does such an emphasis wisely avoid the irrational whirl of personal emotions in order to instruct us and learn God's will?

Health and Transfiguration

I feel like I'm recovering as much from a week of the winter blahs as from a touch of the virus that's been going around campus. It reminded me that we sometimes forget how much of our lives we do spend "on the peak" (to continue the theme from Pastor's Transfiguration sermon again).

Good health, a good home and family, friends and loved ones, work and hobbies - we all have many daily blessings in our lives. It can be difficult to maintain a sense of gratitude and celebration, so in some ways it's good for us to have less-than-perfect, off-peak days to remind us of how good our lives are. It's too tempting and too easy to fill into inspiration cliches on this topic, but it's still worthy of our reflection and notice.

This Sunday is the first Sunday in Lent, and we'll be singing hymns to remind us that the season ahead is one of repentance and reflection. Among them will be ELW 319:

O Lord, thoughout these forty days you prayed and kept the fast;
Inspire repentance for our sin, and free us from our past.

We'll also be singing one of my favorites: "Life Every Voice and Sing." It's such an inspiring anthem of social change and hope for the future. It's music that can accompany us on our march toward the peaks of Palm Sunday and Easter!

Transfiguration and Sondheim

I've been away from the blog for a couple of days, but plenty of ideas have been bouncing around the back of my mind. I've been thinking about Pastor's sermon from Transfiguration Sunday, in which he discussed the contrast between peak moments in life and the quotidian existence between them.

Musically, the church year certainly has an example of such a contrast. Between the peak celebrations of Christmas (or, if you'd prefer, Epiphany) and Easter we have a long valley of non-descript Sundays and the trudge through Lent. Even though there is some fantastic music during this time of year, they aren't tunes that the average person can sing in the same way as the songs of the major holidays.

It reminds me as well of the gaps between concerts or performances. Hearing the St. Olaf Choir or seeing a great Broadway musical can provide moments of beauty and musical epiphanies that sustain and provide inspiration for weeks and the next opportunity to hear such beauty again.

Living up to my motto that a showtune exists for every occasion, Stephen Sondheim wrote beautiful lyrics on this topic in the musical "Into the Woods." After a magical 'moment' and before returning home to her daily life, the Baker's Wife sings these words:

Oh if life were made of 'moments,'
Even now and then a bad one.
But if life were only 'moments,'
Then you'd never know you had one.
...
Must it all be either less or more;
Either plain or grand?
Is it always 'or'?
Is it never 'and'?
That's what woods are for!
For those moments in the woods.

Biblical knowledge

I've commented before on how much music can help impart Biblical texts and messages. Just this past week, one of the readings should have been familiar to everyone from the ordinary liturgy. During the Sunday School hour lately, I've overheard one class of students learning the books of the New Testament by singing the names.

So it made me laugh especially hard to see last week's episode of "Psych" on television, where one character tried to recite the books of the Bible:
Genesis
Exorcist
Leviathan
Do...the right thing

If only his Sunday School teacher had taught more music!

St. Olaf Review, Part 3 (and last)

My last thought about the concert is really a series of question for my readers regarding repertoire. The St. Olaf choir sang Charles Forsberg's setting of "Prayer of St. Francis." Of all the music they sang, it was the piece that had the least impact on me, personally. In thinking about it, I wonder if it was because I know the text so well and have heard it sung (and recited) so many times. Has repetition simply dulled its effect?

The question brings to mind a segment I once heard on "This American Life." Ira Glass told the story of a school teacher who took his students to Washington D.C. and played Martin Luther King, Jr's "I Have a Dream" speech for them on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial. Of course, we'd expect anyone to be awed by the history, the emotion, and the power of that place and those words. Instead, many of the students shrugged and said they had heard it plenty of times before and it still hadn't seemed to change the world. Is that just general cynicism or the inevitable effect of repetition?

Obviously it would be difficult to argue with the message of the text of the Prayer of St. Francis - "Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace." On the other hand, a perfectly obvious result is often considered boring or elementary in other disciplines. A mathematical tautology doesn't need further study, after all.

So my experience has brought three questions to my mind:

1. Is the Prayer of St. Francis in particular still a meaningful text?
2. If not, has it been dulled by repetition, its "obviousness," or something else?
3. In any case, what are the implications for weekly repetition of the liturgy or hymns? Does such repetition ultimately reinforce or undermine the message?