30 November 2009
Why I'm glad I bought a radio
This morning I was listenin' to the ol' radio, when what should I hear but the dulcet tones of Mr Wendell Berry! On the Diane Rehm show, of all places. P'raps you might find it edifying to listen to the interview.
23 November 2009
But why are we singing, anyway?
It is a truth generally acknowledged that singing is a worthwhile pursuit. The Elizabethan composer William Byrd tells us, among other things, that “the exercise of singing is delightful to Nature”: “it doth strengthen all the parts of the breast, and doth open the pipes.”1 Moreover, Christian writers have intimated that singing can have a fruitful spiritual dimension. The quotation famously attributed to Augustine is that qui cantat, bis orat.2 Paul encouraged the Christians at Colossae to “sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God.” It is thus meet, right, and proper that a congregation sing within the liturgy. The implementation of this admirable objective has not been without problems, however. Both the position and realization of hymns within the Mass have been stumbling blocks for ministers and parishioners alike: good music can greatly enhance the celebration of the Mass, but poorly placed, poorly written, or poorly performed music can ruin it just as easily. To better the liturgy, then, it behooves us to consider the place of congregational singing within it.
Historically, Christians have sung hymns since the earliest days of the Church. (Indeed, hymnody predates the Christian tradition: both Jews and gentiles composed hymns of praise to the divine.) It is mentioned in passing in Matthew’s account of the Last Supper that Jesus and the disciples sang a hymn after the meal. We thus have precedent, going back all the way to the Gospels, that supports the use of communal song as part of the rite. As mentioned above, Paul encouraged the Colossians to sing; a similar passage of exhortation occurs in his letter to the Ephesians.3 Various New Testament texts may be transcribed hymn text fragments, such as the Philippians hymn (2:5-11), or parts of the Revelation of John (4:8-11, 5:12-13). A fascinating non-Christian perspective is that of Pliny the Younger, who, in a letter asking Trajan for advice on how to persecute Christians, depicts their habit of worship:
The earliest surviving Christian hymn fragment is preserved on third-century papyrus found at Oxyrhynchus in Egypt; another early hymn is the famous Phos Hilaron (“O Gladsome Light”), which Basil the Great already considered ancient in the fourth century. Both are hymns of invocation, which suggests they were used at the beginning of the liturgy. The latter, also known as the “Lamp-lighting Hymn”, was used at evening: it is possible that it dates back to the earliest liturgies, when Christians met on Saturdays for the Word. The beginning of the Oxyrhynchus hymn is missing, though it mentions “luminous stars”, which may also point to use at vesper time. It should be noted that both texts use the first person plural, indicating congregational use.
It can be reasonably said that, in the first several centuries of Christian hymnody, hymns had three key purposes. The first and central rationale is that mentioned by Paul: song is intended to praise God, that we might “be filled with the Spirit”. The second is that, in the communal joining of voices, hymns served to further Christian unity.5 The third purpose was to enforce orthodox views. The hymns of Hilary and Ambrose, for example, contain unambiguous refutations of Arianism.
[But where does that leave us? To be continued.]
[1] Byrd wrote this in the preface to his Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety (1588), perhaps hoping to boost sales. He doesn’t specify which pipes he is referring to.
[2] Though the sentiment almost certainly represents Augustine’s views on the matter, it occurs nowhere in his writings. In his commentary on Psalm 73, however, he wrote: Qui enim cantat laudem, non solum laudat, sed etiam hilariter laudat; qui cantat laudem, non solum cantat, sed et amat eum quem cantat. In laude confitentis est praedicatio, in cantico amantis affectio… To sing, then, is to show our love for Him to whom we sing.
[3] Ephesians 5:18-19 (NRSV): “be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts”.
[4] Justin Martyr, First Apology, LXVII.
[5] Basil the Great writes, “Psalmody—bringing about choral singing, a bond, as it were, toward unity, and joining people into a harmonious union of one choir—produces also the greatest of blessings: love.”
Historically, Christians have sung hymns since the earliest days of the Church. (Indeed, hymnody predates the Christian tradition: both Jews and gentiles composed hymns of praise to the divine.) It is mentioned in passing in Matthew’s account of the Last Supper that Jesus and the disciples sang a hymn after the meal. We thus have precedent, going back all the way to the Gospels, that supports the use of communal song as part of the rite. As mentioned above, Paul encouraged the Colossians to sing; a similar passage of exhortation occurs in his letter to the Ephesians.3 Various New Testament texts may be transcribed hymn text fragments, such as the Philippians hymn (2:5-11), or parts of the Revelation of John (4:8-11, 5:12-13). A fascinating non-Christian perspective is that of Pliny the Younger, who, in a letter asking Trajan for advice on how to persecute Christians, depicts their habit of worship:
They were accustomed to meet on a fixed day before dawn and sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a god, and to bind themselves by oath, not to some crime, but not to commit fraud, theft, or adultery, not falsify their trust, nor to refuse to return a trust when called upon to do so. When this was over, it was their custom to depart and to assemble again to partake of food.This account from AD c.110 suggests, then, that (antiphonal) singing was already part of Christian worship, along with a meal—most likely an early form of the Eucharist—and that, if Pliny is to be trusted, it was the first part of the Sunday morning rite. (It is unclear whether the Saturday evening service of scripture readings had been joined to the meal by this point.) Several decades later, Justin Martyr describes a Sunday liturgy of both Word and Eucharist, with communal prayers beforehand, but he neglects to mention singing.4
The earliest surviving Christian hymn fragment is preserved on third-century papyrus found at Oxyrhynchus in Egypt; another early hymn is the famous Phos Hilaron (“O Gladsome Light”), which Basil the Great already considered ancient in the fourth century. Both are hymns of invocation, which suggests they were used at the beginning of the liturgy. The latter, also known as the “Lamp-lighting Hymn”, was used at evening: it is possible that it dates back to the earliest liturgies, when Christians met on Saturdays for the Word. The beginning of the Oxyrhynchus hymn is missing, though it mentions “luminous stars”, which may also point to use at vesper time. It should be noted that both texts use the first person plural, indicating congregational use.
It can be reasonably said that, in the first several centuries of Christian hymnody, hymns had three key purposes. The first and central rationale is that mentioned by Paul: song is intended to praise God, that we might “be filled with the Spirit”. The second is that, in the communal joining of voices, hymns served to further Christian unity.5 The third purpose was to enforce orthodox views. The hymns of Hilary and Ambrose, for example, contain unambiguous refutations of Arianism.
[But where does that leave us? To be continued.]
[1] Byrd wrote this in the preface to his Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs of Sadness and Piety (1588), perhaps hoping to boost sales. He doesn’t specify which pipes he is referring to.
[2] Though the sentiment almost certainly represents Augustine’s views on the matter, it occurs nowhere in his writings. In his commentary on Psalm 73, however, he wrote: Qui enim cantat laudem, non solum laudat, sed etiam hilariter laudat; qui cantat laudem, non solum cantat, sed et amat eum quem cantat. In laude confitentis est praedicatio, in cantico amantis affectio… To sing, then, is to show our love for Him to whom we sing.
[3] Ephesians 5:18-19 (NRSV): “be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts”.
[4] Justin Martyr, First Apology, LXVII.
[5] Basil the Great writes, “Psalmody—bringing about choral singing, a bond, as it were, toward unity, and joining people into a harmonious union of one choir—produces also the greatest of blessings: love.”
21 November 2009
Saturdays; Ecumenism
If there is one regard in which South Bend is better than home, it is the farmers' market. (I suspect that this is the only regard in which South Bend is better than home.) I will here vociferously recommend their café (which, logically, serves local fare), as well as the pastries made by some nice Polish ladies. (The pączki are good, but the poduszki are better, I think.)
Saturdays are fast becoming my favorite day of the week. My routine is as follows: I awake, listen to Car Talk, and attempt to conquer swathes of France. Around noon I wend my merry way over to the farmers' market, a pleasant two-mile walk across the river, and soak in the ambience there. After a lazy afternoon, I listen (that is, I am currently listening) to Mr Keillor on that radio show of his. I shall be early to bed to rise early for Mass tomorrow.
Speaking of Masses, or, at least, of religioussy things, perhaps you've heard of that whole Roman Catholic maneuver to assume disaffected Anglicans into the Church? It's an interesting strategy. (I do wonder what's uniting R.C.s and conservative Anglicans, though: it is a commitment to shared values or merely shared distastes?) Of course, it's causing some friction, as the Vatican was rather uncommunicative about this to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He and da Pope met today. Quoth the BBC, "The meeting between Pope Benedict and the Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams had been billed as something of a showdown." This leads me to wonder who would win in a fight. Dr Williams is younger, yes, and probably more limber, but Benedict looks meaner. Over at America Magazine, the Jesuits are speculating that we're entering a new era in reconciliation between different Christian churches. I remain cautiously pessimistic.
Saturdays are fast becoming my favorite day of the week. My routine is as follows: I awake, listen to Car Talk, and attempt to conquer swathes of France. Around noon I wend my merry way over to the farmers' market, a pleasant two-mile walk across the river, and soak in the ambience there. After a lazy afternoon, I listen (that is, I am currently listening) to Mr Keillor on that radio show of his. I shall be early to bed to rise early for Mass tomorrow.
Speaking of Masses, or, at least, of religioussy things, perhaps you've heard of that whole Roman Catholic maneuver to assume disaffected Anglicans into the Church? It's an interesting strategy. (I do wonder what's uniting R.C.s and conservative Anglicans, though: it is a commitment to shared values or merely shared distastes?) Of course, it's causing some friction, as the Vatican was rather uncommunicative about this to the Archbishop of Canterbury. He and da Pope met today. Quoth the BBC, "The meeting between Pope Benedict and the Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams had been billed as something of a showdown." This leads me to wonder who would win in a fight. Dr Williams is younger, yes, and probably more limber, but Benedict looks meaner. Over at America Magazine, the Jesuits are speculating that we're entering a new era in reconciliation between different Christian churches. I remain cautiously pessimistic.
11 November 2009
1909
"Death and disease stalk the land, like two giant stalking things." I make this quotation from Blackadder not to be glib (though the sentence pretty consistently makes me chuckle). Nationally and internationally, all sorts of disasters have transpired. Worse, bad things seem to be happening all around me: friends and colleagues are struck with misfortune. My choir director, who happens to be the wife of my organ instructor, is battling cancer. (It's not exactly an even fight.) It'd be nice if you could keep her in your prayers. (Hopefully, praying for "that one choir director of Ross's" will be specific enough for the Powers that Be.)
But enough of that. In other matters, I have determined that I was born a century too late. I'd do much better as an Edwardian. I assume that, in 1909, every day was like living in The Music Man, or, in the U.K., My Fair Lady. I would have a red-and-white-striped suit, I would, and a straw hat, and on feast days a monocle, and I would ride a penny-farthing bicycle. When courting lady-friends I would wear a daffodil in my buttonhole and be ever so dapper. I would exchange correspondences with G.K. Chesterton and Edgar Lee Masters. I would disdain those radical suffragettes, as I would surely be thoroughly reactionary.
Yes, in 1909, life would surely be much better than the wretched present.
But enough of that. In other matters, I have determined that I was born a century too late. I'd do much better as an Edwardian. I assume that, in 1909, every day was like living in The Music Man, or, in the U.K., My Fair Lady. I would have a red-and-white-striped suit, I would, and a straw hat, and on feast days a monocle, and I would ride a penny-farthing bicycle. When courting lady-friends I would wear a daffodil in my buttonhole and be ever so dapper. I would exchange correspondences with G.K. Chesterton and Edgar Lee Masters. I would disdain those radical suffragettes, as I would surely be thoroughly reactionary.
Yes, in 1909, life would surely be much better than the wretched present.
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