Churchly Spires

I'm reposting a piece I wrote shortly after my move to Milwaukee, so impressed was I with the many beckoning spires on the south side.

***

My eye caught the spark of beauty leaping from the horizon of downtown Milwaukee, a gladdening distraction from the torn-up roads in the construction zone. Polished, churchly spires gleamed against their gray and ghetto-like surroundings, testifying to a time when people did not settle for “whatever works,” but invested those solid piles of masonry with consideration for God’s glory and for posterity. Truly, a wise man leaves an inheritance to his children’s children.

Today, most congregations question the wisdom of building something so permanent when a cheap wooden building would do, but Milwaukee’s first settlers took the trouble to build not for their time but for the future. We see in abundance the structures built by pragmatism. Our society “lives for the moment,” and it produces art and architecture that will soon be cast away and forgotten. We mourn the lost aesthetic of beauty and extravagance, of high art poured out to the glory of God.

The soaring spires on Milwaukee’s skyline, as long as they stand, will never cease to signify the glory that is above and within them, and I believe their aesthetic will be reborn in my time. The consuming beauty of holiness is a call to worship, and we answer with our art.

“Lord, I have loved the habitation of Thine House, and the place where Thine honor dwelleth.”

8-29-07

Four Preludes on the Playthings of the Wind

Here Sandburg gives us a somewhat uncomfortable perspective on reality. The language is nothing if not straightforward, and the meditation seems to come straight from Ecclesiastes: "Vanity, all is vanity." As Christians, our focus is to be "on things above, not on things of the earth"--items that become the "playthings of the wind." Christ Himself urges us to "lay up treasures in Heaven, where moth and rust do not corrupt, and thieves do not break through and steal." What are your treasures?

"The Past Is a Bucket of Ashes"
1
The woman named Tomorrow
sits with a hairpin in her teeth
and takes her time
and does her hair the way she wants it
and fastens at last the last braid and coil
and puts the hairpin where it belongs
and turns and drawls: Well, what of it?
My grandmother, Yesterday, is gone.
What of it? Let the dead be dead.

2
The doors were cedar
and the panel strips of gold
and the girls were golden girls
and the panels read and the girls chanted:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us every was.
The doors are twisted on broken hinges.
Sheets of rain swish through on the wind
where golden girls ran and the panels read:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.

3
It has happened before.
Strong men put up a city and got
a nation together,
And paid singers to sing and women
to warble: We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation,
nothing like us ever was.
And while the singers sang
and the strong men listened
and paid the singers well
and felt good about it all,
there were rats and lizards who listened
... and the only listeners left now
... are ... the rats .. and the lizards.
And there are black crows
crying, "Caw, caw,"
bringing mud and sticks
building a nest over the words carved
on the doors where the panels were cedar
and the strips on the panels were gold
and the golden girls came singing:
We are the greatest city,
the greatest nation:
nothing like us ever was.
The only singers now are crows crying, "Caw, caw,"
And the sheets of rain whine in the wind and doorways.
And the only listeners now are
... the rats ... and the lizards.

4
The feet of the rats
scribble on the doorsills;
the hieroglyphs of the rat footprints
chatter the pedigrees of the rats
and babble of the blood
and gabble of the breed
of the grandfathers and the great-grandfathers
of the rats.
And the wind shifts
and the dust on a doorsill shifts
and even the writing of the rat footprints
tells us nothing, nothing at all
about the greatest city, the greatest nation
where the strong men listened
and the women warbled:
Nothing like us ever was.

Carl August Sandburg (1878 – 1967)

Not even Solomon . . .

Common morning glory? What is common about this?

Nothing hails the summer dawn like those blue trumpets subtly wafting a wonderful, barely-there fragrance. When you’re lucky enough to discover the short-lived bloom and inhale its small vial of sweetness, the day is so much better. The morning is truly glorious when you see an entire fence draped with the marvelous things. Morning glories are anything but common. Their blossoms seize the brief, opportune window of time in the earth’s orbit, and then vanish. God snaps His fingers and the world breathes loveliness; blessed are those who have eyes to see. It was not enough that Adam and Eve should merely eat, drink and survive; God provided for the rejuvenation of our souls in His transcendent aesthetic.

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. If God so clothe the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is cast into the oven, shall He not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” Matthew 6:28-30

Brief Glory, or Glorious Brevity

Morning glory vine,
Vine of morning’s glory,
Glorious morning on the vine!
Petals of heaven,
Pieces of tumbled-down sky,
Drink heady sweetness of the morning
from the bugle-cup divine;
Sound the glories of the morning
from the trumpet on the vine!

Wine of morning yields to noon—
Phoebus’ chariot runs unchecked
Crushing all in its advance—
One chance
To be, to shine,
To shout such glory
In the narrow space of Soon.

Upgrading Church Music

"Many parishioners simply don't view what goes on in the church as 'the arts.'" This startling statement was uttered by my organ teacher, Sister MJ Wagner, of Elm Grove. Perhaps that's because the music used in the parish was low quality to begin with, and no one seemed motivated to improve on the status quo.

This new post from the New Liturgical Movement blog indicates a stirring among humble "church mice" such as myself to see the quality improved and uplifted as an offering worthy of the God we serve. Our efforts tell the world what we think of our God.

Sea-Fever

I must go down to the seas again,

to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship

and a star to steer her by;

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song

and the white sail's shaking,

And a gray mist on the sea's face,

and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,

for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day

with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume,

and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again,

to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way,

where the wind's likea whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn

from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream

when the long trick's over.

John Masefield

Lake Michigan

Bryant and I recently spent some quality time on the shore of our beautiful Lake Michigan, and I was inspired to re-post some thoughts from last summer. Here they are:

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul . . ." Psalm 23:2. Lake Michigan presents stunning evidence of God's care for the sons of men; in it God has provided for both physical and spiritual renewal of His creatures.

Physically, we barely comprehend how dependent we are on this superbly designed entity. We recognize easily enough that no one can live without drinking water and using it for hygienic purposes. Commerce and trade with distant states and countries is made possible through vital waterways. The water supports a world of life forms which produce oxygen and build up the food chain. The lake constantly renews itself and purifies the environment through the natural processes God set in motion. Had a human artist or engineer conceived such a marvel—such beauty, such efficiency, such utility—he would be an object of worship. His name would never die on the lips of human beings.

"The voice of the LORD [is] upon the waters: the God of glory thundereth: the LORD [is] upon many waters, Psalm 29:3. This is as close to mysticism as I come. I know only that God's voice makes itself heard without doubt in the glory of the waters. Christianity is not required for humans to acknowledge this, intentionally or inadvertently. Real estate along the water sells for a significantly higher price than property located elsewhere. Created in the image of God, hardwired with His aesthetic, the human spirit is instinctively attracted to and responsive to this beauty.

Those waters not only restore my equilibrium, they absolutely unchain my spirit. I am reminded of the words of our Savior: "Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." I am convinced this is one way God gives rest to his creatures. In its wholly unconstrained effect, the compelling cadence of westbound waves rolls the weight from my shoulders and pulls the tension from my muscles. My eyes can find nothing but delight in the rocky shore and the blue jewel of the marina. My mind searches the heavens in wonder at the Creator and consummate artist who invented this transcendent experience for the human creature. Surely it was created only for me!

All heartsick people come to the water. The mere sight of those great waters floods the soul with balm and healing, no matter how heavy the burden. I observe the faces of those who pass by, and it is plain that many seek healing for a wounded spirit and restoration of soul. We all find some measure of it there, in the majesty of God's creation. To regenerate and unconverted alike, the waters testify to the genius of their Maker and shout His praise aloud. Lake Michigan is a powerful communiqué to those who have ears to hear.

Overview: Lake Michigan, the second largest Great Lake by volume with just under 1,180 cubic miles of water, is the only Great Lake entirely within the United States. Approximately 118 miles wide and 307 miles long, Lake Michigan has more than 1,600 miles of shoreline. Averaging 279 feet in depth, the lake reaches 925 feet at its deepest point. The lake's northern tier is in the colder, less developed upper Great Lakes region, while its more temperate southern basin contains the Milwaukee and Chicago metropolitan areas. The drainage basin, approximately twice as large as the 22,300 square miles of surface water, includes portions of Illinois, Indiana, Michigan and Wisconsin. Lake Michigan is hydrologically inseparable from Lake Huron, joined by the wide Straits of Mackinac.

References: Great Lakes Atlas, Environment Canada and U.S. Environmental Protection Agency, 1995

Go, Lovely Rose

I love this poem not so much for its content but for its incredibly clever use of language and metaphor. This is another poem that has lodged itself in my inner being through the medium of music, impossible to forget. Enjoy the artful, carefully crafted work of Edmund Waller.

GO, lovely Rose--

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that 's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired:

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die--that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

By Edmund Waller 1606-1687

"Loveliest of trees, the cherry now..."

My favorite CD, If There Were Dreams to Sell, contains a miniature setting of this Housman poem that I consider a half-carat masterpiece. Hint: Get the CD! Richard Hickox is the baritone, and the orchestral colors (especially oboe) complement the richness of his voice most beautifully. This poem always comes into my head at this time of year; Bryant doesn't understand why I'm compelled to stop in mid-stride (while jogging) and revel in the fragrance of apple blossoms. But, you know, apple trees only bloom once in the year! Then the blossoms are gone, not to be seen again until we're all a year older. Carpe diem!

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

by A. E. Housman (1859-1936)

i thank You God

i thank You God for most this amazing day:
for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;
and for everything which is natural
which is infinite which is yes (i who have died
am alive again today, and this is the sun's birthday;
this is the birthday of life and love and wings:
and of the gay great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing
seeing breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginably You? (now the ears of my ears awake
and now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e. e. cummings

I Am in Need of Music

I just sang a beautiful setting of this poem by David Brunner over the weekend with a small choir; my brain continues to caress these lovely objects over and over.

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

by Elizabeth Bishop

Kindred Spirits: Blog Alert

I stumbled across a great blog yesterday called Kirchenlieder (Church Songs). If you enjoy the content of Kirchenmusik (Church Music), you'll want to take a look. It's not as philosophical as Religious Affections, but the author (Lance Peeler) definitely shares my aesthetics. Speaking of Religious Affections, the latest post on the site really held my interest. Scott Aniol discusses two types of art distinguished by aethetists: Dionysian vs. Apollonarian art. To quote Mr. Aniol:

Both Dionysus and Apollo were mythological Greek gods associated with art. Apollo was the god of reason and logic, and was considered the god of music since the Greeks thought of good music as a great expression of order and patterns (a la Pythagorus and Plato). Dionysus, on the other hand, was the god of wine and revelry, and was worshiped with loud, raucous music accompanied by pipes and drums.

So Dionysian art/music communicates to the raw passions, while Apollonarian art communicates (ultimately) to the emotions through the intellect. He quotes from Daniel Reuning of Concordia, who points specifically to the music of Lutheran tradition as Apollonarian.

His intention in writing is to help the Christian distinguish between mere emotional experience and true worship, which addresses the whole person and not merely the emotions.

While I do not share or endorse Mr. Aniol's entire theology, I have learned a great deal from his writing and I do not hesitate to share this valuable resource.

Rushdoony on Writing Well

I Corinthians 10:31 "Whether therefore ye eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."

"I detest the cute style of writing so popular today, New Yorkese I call it, because I believe words are tools to be used intelligently, respectfully, carefully, and lovingly. A good writer does not call attention to himself (as William Buckley endlessly does), but to his subject, and his writing opens up avenues of thought and insight...

Good writing gives me a sensuous sense of wealth and luxury; good writing is like combining the ultimate in nutritional value with a strictly gourmet dinner in a perfect and happy marriage."

~ R.J. Rushdoony, Letter to Otto Scott, April 28, 1977

Brahms’ Requiem:

An Appreciative Analysis for Deeper Listening

I wish to examine the masterful illumination of a great text with music fully befitting its grandeur. Few composers ever matched the intellectual mastery of Brahms’ work. He obviously took his craft as a musician very seriously, and honed his skills to their highest capacity.

The word Requiem is Latin for “rest.” Originally, in the Latin liturgical tradition, Misse pro Defunctis (Mass for the Dead) began with the words Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis (Give them eternal rest, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them). A very small portion of the Latin text came from the Bible, but it was apparently composed for the express purpose of observing a mass for the departed; it contained, most notably, a section called the Dies Irae or Day of Wrath, conjuring images of terror at the Last Judgment, which Brahms ignores. Countless settings of the Requiem Mass had been produced by composers since medieval times.

Influenced, no doubt, by Lutheran innovation, Brahms takes this opportunity to break with Catholic tradition by using a completely different text and still calling it a requiem. Brahms carefully chooses relevant texts from Luther’s translation of the Bible which focus on comfort for the living who mourn their dead. The use of the German vernacular is quite significant in church history, and subsequently in music history.

Brahms seeks to express the heart and soul of the various Biblical texts; each new thought in the text comes in on the wings of a new melodic theme perfectly suited to its character. Brahms draws from an exceptionally wide palette of musical techniques in producing the desired effects. One sees the influence of early music and especially Bach, from whom he learned the art of fugue. The musical structure of the Requiem is often compared to an arch, with seven movements that complement and balance each other in mood and character.

The work opens with “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted,” and closes with a quote from Revelation, “Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord; for they rest from their labors and their works do follow them,” both set gently with tender, lyrical melodies.

The second and sixth movements are heavy both in character and content, with the music ponderous under the weight of ultimate realities. The text of these movements (refer to translation below) reflect on the brevity of human life, the vanity of human works and the hope of the Resurrection as the sole relief of that despair. The sixth movement gives way to a fierce, ostentatious celebration in the victory (won by Christ) over death, and then falls into a rapturous, deeply felt adoration of our God, Who is “worthy to receive glory and honor and power.”

The third and fifth movements each make use of baritone and soprano soloists, respectively. The text of the third movement states the human longing for purpose and meaning to life: “Lord, help me to number my days, that my life would have a worthy goal,” (loose translation from the German) and the haunting woodwinds reflect that yearning. This cry is answered in the fifth movement, where God promises to comfort His people “as a mother comforts her child.”

In the fourth and central movement (also the most popular), the Christian’s blessed hope becomes luminous and palpable. “How lovely is Thy dwelling-place, O Lord of Hosts! My soul longs, fainting, for the courts of the Lord! My heart and my flesh cry out for the Living God. Blessed are they who dwell with You; they will praise you forever.” As if David’s poetry alone were not breathtaking enough, the sweep of angelic massed sopranos and determined footsteps of the bass-entering fugue would threaten to overwhelm the sensibilities. The melodies are utterly charming, but the compositional workmanship is nothing less than masterful.

The effect of the work as a whole is uncommonly powerful because of its dual impact on right and left brain functions. The profound intellectual and technical mastery allows the emotional response to follow it to its depths.

Come and hear the Master Singers of Milwaukee perform this work in two locations,
Saturday, February 23, 2008 at 7:30pm
North Shore Congregational Church, 7330 N. Santa Monica, Fox Point
Sunday, February 24, 2008 at 3:00pm
St. Sebastian Catholic Church, 5400 W. Washington Blvd., Milwaukee

Text of Brahms' Requiem

I. Chorus
Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted.
-Matthew 5
They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. They go forth and weep, and bear precious seed, and shall come again with rejoicing, bringing their sheaves with them.
-PSALM 126

II. Chorus
For all flesh is like grass, and all its glory like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls...
-I PETER 1
Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient.
-JAMES 5

III. Baritone Solo & Chorus
Lord, let me know my end, and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is. You have made my days a few handbreaths, and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight. Surely everyone stands as a mere breath. Surely everyone goes about like a shadow. Surely for nothing they are in turmoil; they heap up, and do not know who will gather them. And now, O Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in Thee.
-PSALM 39

IV. Chorus
How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My soul longs, indeed it faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and my flesh sing for joy to the living God. Happy are those who live in your house, ever singing your praise.
-PSALM 84

V. Soprano Solo & Chorus
Ye now are sorrowful; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice,and no one will take your joy from you.
-JOHN 16
As a mother comforts her child so will I comfort you. Behold with your eyes: but for a little have I known sorrow and labor and found much rest.
-ECCLESIASTICUS 51

VI. Baritone Solo & Chorus
For here have we no continuing place, but we seek one that is to come.
-HEBREWS 13
Behold, I show you a mystery: we shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed; in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the hour of the last trumpet. For the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. Then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written: Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?
-I CORINTHIANS 15
You are worthy, our Lord and God, to receive glory and honor and power, for You created all things, and by Your will they existed and were created.
-REVELATION 4

VII. Final Chorus
Blessed are the dead who from now on die in the Lord. "Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labors, and their deeds follow them."
-REVELATION 14

At a Solemn Musick

by John Milton (1608–1674)

BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heav'ns joy,
Sphear-born harmonious Sisters, Voice, and Vers,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ
Dead things with inbreath'd sense able to pierce,
And to our high-rais'd phantasie present,
That undisturbèd Song of pure content,
Ay sung before the saphire-colour'd throne
To him that sits theron
With Saintly shout, and solemn Jubily,
Where the bright Seraphim in burning row
Their loud up-lifted Angel trumpets blow,
And the Cherubick host in thousand quires
Touch their immortal Harps of golden wires,
With those just Spirits that wear victorious Palms,
Hymns devout and holy Psalms
Singing everlastingly;
That we on Earth with undiscording voice
May rightly answer that melodious noise;
As once we did, till disproportion'd sin
Jarr'd against natures chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair musick that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion sway'd
In perfect Diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O may we soon again renew that Song,
And keep in tune with Heav'n, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite,
To live with him, and sing in endles morn of light.

Laudamus Te; Benedicimus Te; Adoramus Te!

I love Sunday. “I was glad when they said unto me, Let us go into house of our God,” but even more likely would I be the one saying “Let us go.”

My favorite place to be is church, preferably a beautiful church with high, vaulted ceilings and intense stained-glass images, one whose atmosphere is one of reverence and formality. Why? Because I believe those aesthetics represent the character of our God so much better than strictly functional surroundings—a view shared by war-weary king David (II Samuel 7). Certainly a casual glance at nature communicates the idea that beauty was important to God; confirming this notion, God’s instructions for the Temple construction concluded often with the words “for glory and for beauty” (Exodus 28).

While the Old Testament protocols are not part of our worship, we see that God does want us to think of Him in connection with “glory and beauty.” He wants us to have some impression of his majesty and worth, and so it hurts me to be inside an ugly church.

Liturgical worship is very special to me. I love its formal structure, its artful text, which, for the most part, is taken straight from the Bible. It’s an especially lovely experience when we sing the Matins service with its ancient canticles, the Venite and the Te Deum.

Of all the fragrant Matins text, the one bit that possesses my mind is this line from the Venite: "O come, let us worship Him!" My body shivers as I turn on the organ mixtures and play this sweeping line of music, which, set off from the rest of the text at the end, communicates the prophet-king’s compelling call for God’s people to worship with him. I’m not just playing the service—I am investing my spirit in the call to worship, for God has called me to Himself. I am irresistibly drawn to worship Him, and I must compel the redeemed to worship with me. In the space of that sanctuary, it’s as though I myself turn eagerly to my fellow believers and beg them to “kneel before the Lord Our Maker.” (How could we not—“for He is a great God; a great king above all gods; in His hand are all the deep places of the earth!”)

Half the thrill comes from knowing that even predating the Incarnation, God’s elect sang those very same words in formal, corporate worship. If it was fitting to sing this in the days before Christ, how much more to sing it now, illumined by the utter fulfillment of God’s promise? My prayers, my worship, mingle with those of other worshippers—no longer separated by time and space, but all in praise before our common Lord. “O come, let us worship Him!” This primitive, urgent cry sums up the only response appropriate to the love of our God . . . Who became our Savior.

Adventante Deo

By John Addington Symonds (1840–1893)

LIFT up your heads, gates of my heart, unfold
Your portals to salute the King of kings!
Behold Him come, borne on cherubic wings
Engrained with crimson eyes and grail of gold!
Before His path the thunder-clouds withhold
Their stormy pinions, and the desert sings:
He from His lips divine and forehead flings
Sunlight of peace unfathomed, bliss untold.
O soul, faint soul, disquieted how long!
Lift up thine eyes, for lo, thy Lord is near,
Lord of all loveliness and strength and song,
The Lord who brings heart-sadness better cheer,
Scattering those midnight dreams that dote on wrong,
urging with heaven’s pure rays love’s atmosphere!

Aesthetic Bliss

Last week the Master Singers of Milwaukee gave their second concert of the season, titled “The Seven Joys of Christmas.” This is the first time I have been part of a truly high-level performing group. We sang first in St. John’s Military Academy Chapel in Delafield, which was charged with thrilling acoustic capabilities. We opened the concert with a Mendelssohn motet, “Frohlocket, ihr Voelker, auf Erden,” written for choir in eight parts and well-suited to showcase our sound. What pure joy, to stand in the very midst of that great, gorgeous wall of sound, to be present at the birth of such beauty. I could feel my own high soprano blending perfectly with the fine tenor voices beside me; it was as if we had caught the updraft of the musical line; we soared and swung in that great height, carrying the audience with us.

I knew in that moment what a rare privilege it was to be a skilled artist, an apostle of the performing arts. I did not have to sit looking on; I stood there creating the sound that brought people joy. For this cause I was born.

We continued with traditional carols, mostly in English, but also in French, German, Russian and Haitian. We sang both well known and obscure compositions, including a medieval English carol, This is the Truth Sent from Above. I was glad above all else that the celebration of Christmas has so firmly entrenched itself in Western culture that we must needs sing the ancient truths of sin and redemption—without eliciting protest. Those old carols, both primitive and polished, presented God’s ineluctable truth in a glorious and lucid manner.

It amazes me that all that painstaking rehearsal culminates in an experience like this. Sometimes it seems as if the reality of music transcends the Fall of Adam. This reward exceeds all expectations; it is one of the greatest joys this world can offer.

HEIRLOOMS AND TRADITION: Tangible Links in the Line of Succession

“Tradition is not the worship of ashes; it is the lighting of new fire.” –Gustav Mahler

Who among us would deliberately drop a ruby down a street drain? We may reasonably assume that anyone born into western civilization knows the value of such a stone, and the damage such a loss would bring. However, our western civilization is in the process of losing its cultural gems at an alarming rate, as they fall into the hands of a generation that cannot value them.

Heirlooms are precious things handed down from one generation to another. Family heirlooms, like rings or vases, are objects that remain within a circle of people closely related by blood. The heirlooms of society, such as museums, the performing arts, or cultural tradition, are the possession of the public at large, of anyone who wishes to enjoy them. Western society, especially within the sphere of the Christian church, runs the risk of losing its cultural treasures by not teaching posterity to properly value them. Sound doctrine, beautiful liturgical traditions, and quality music should be seen as precious heirlooms of the visible church which are not to be trifled with.

Sound Biblical doctrine is the heirloom of highest value, because man’s eternal destiny is at stake in its transmission. Christians must remain ever vigilant in preparing the next generation of ministers to be the bearers of normative doctrine. Upcoming generations need to be taught the value of doctrinal content and its divine preservation. They need to learn about the saints who “fought the good fight, kept the faith,” and shed their blood as a seal to its truth; for with understanding comes the emotive appreciation.

Contemporary, cutting-edge churches tend to treat ecclesiastical liturgy as if it were merely a dead formal structure, like the exoskeleton of some curious insect. Cool, hip attendees behave as if the liturgy were a dreary duty to mumble through before being free to go home and absorb televised sports, if only because our society promotes what is lowbrow and informal. But formal liturgy requires no apology in any culture. We must remember what omnipotent God it is we propose to worship, and treat Him accordingly. Liturgy acts as a powerful unifying factor in the visible church and brings the tenor of corporate worship to a level compatible with a right view of God, who is a great king above all gods.

The ancient liturgy, taken from the Bible, begins with a reminder that we are importunate sinners entering the presence of a Holy God, in dire need of the forgiveness and reconciliation which Christ has won. Few who call themselves Christians give heed to this matter in these days. Moreover, the traditions of liturgy, ancient as they are, become a tangible connection with saints over all the earth, out of every nation and every era who have ever worshipped their common Lord in this manner. How could we trade this treasure for the breezy, informal, unplanned, insecure atmosphere of a modern evangelical church?

Previous generations had high expectations for music within the church. Most people understood and appreciated the skill of the organist and the art of choral music, and expected to hear music of some class and distinction in church. There was a clearly defined perimeter of what was appropriate to that setting. Before the advent of mass media, the school and home provided the setting in which children learned hymns and folk songs in a participatory, not spectatorial, manner.

For many years now, leaders and educators have blindly adopted the doctrines of multiculturalism. They accepted musical works of varying qualities as if all were equally appropriate to the classroom, concert hall or choir loft. I propose that music is not created equal, as cultures are not created equal. Among ethnic cultures there are to be found elements of high and low culture in nearly every country. High culture maintains elements that are more elevating to humans than low culture, and quality music requires vastly more skill to perform and appreciate than music created by amateurs.

For several generations now, public schools have cut back and cut out music programs, leaving children to imbibe popular culture with no filter of discernment. Generations of children grew up with no real idea of what constituted quality in music or art; they were told that “art” is whatever one feels like putting on paper, and “music” is what one hears on the local pop station. They were never taught objective standards in aesthetics; indeed, they believe aesthetics are purely subjective. Because the majority of their exposure to humanly organized sound centers on ill-crafted, emotionally-imbalanced “music” doomed to planned obsolescence, they prefer that to the classics of our western tradition, which stimulate the intellect as well as the emotions. When a society loses the ability to appreciate the performance of music at the highest levels, the motivation to perform it wanes, and thus the art dies.

The creators of American popular culture have systematically dismantled the aesthetics of beauty and durability (hallmarks of western civilization) by means of the media. Surely this is no accident. What the modern church attendee hears during the week on his iPod he now expects to hear in church; after all, this is what he knows as “music.” Within the church culture, we have broken down the perimeters of quality and appropriateness. We import music alien to the church culture, but laden with worldly entertainment associations. Who can focus his thoughts on holy matters while expecting to see the von Trapp family dancing onstage?

The premise of “church music” is actually antithetical to the goals of entertainment. While entertaining is hardly a sin, neither is it appropriate to the church setting. The best organ and choral literature brims with intellectual content, and for good reason. High culture produces “serious” music suitable for a formal setting. Serious music is distinguished from popular music by its superior intellectual content. Surely this is the music that belongs in church; it focuses the thoughts on serious matters, and ministers to the mind as well as the heart. Artists know that to produce great art, neither the technical mastery nor the flame of passion can be wanting. Conspicuous by its absence is the intellectual content of modern evangelical Christianity, characterized mainly by a highly emotive expression. While this may be attractive to some, I predict the pendulum will begin to swing in the opposite direction very shortly.

My plea to liturgical churches is that you would not be tempted to give up your ancient traditions, but rather seek to inspire a love for them in the generations that follow you. I beg you, do not trade your birthright for a mess of pottage; do not dispense with your precious heirlooms so quickly just because the world says they are outdated. Modern man may suffer from a tragic amnesia, but the heirlooms and sacraments of the church will never cease to be relevant as long as men are born in sin.

Hurrahing in Harvest

by Gerard Manley Hopkins

Summer ends now; now, barbarous in beauty, the stooks rise
Around; up above, what wind-walks! What lovely behaviour
Of silk-sack clouds! has wilder, wilful-wavier
Meal-drift moulded ever and melted across skies?
I walk, I lift up, I lift up heart, eyes,
Down all that glory in the heavens to glean our Saviour;
And, éyes, héart, what looks, what lips yet gave you a
Rapturous love’s greeting of realer, of rounder replies?
And the azurous hung hills are his world-wielding shoulder
Majestic - as a stallion stalwart, very-violet-sweet! -
These things, these things were here and but the beholder
Wanting; which two when they once meet,
The heart rears wings bold and bolder
And hurls for him, O half hurls earth for him off under his feet.