Admirable Words, Vol. IV

1. Antimacassar
   
2. Aumbry
   
3. Chrestomathy
   
4. Cumbrous
   
5. Filigree
   
6. Mezzanine
   
7. Obdurate
   
8. Panopticon
   
9. Sledge
   
10. Uxorious

Downton Abbey: the Interactive Fiction Video Game

Perhaps you, dear reader, like everyone else, are watching the television programme Downton Abbey? I saw the first season when PBS re-aired it back in December, and am currently in the midst of the second season (unlike the Limeys, who have already completed the second season, but like all the rest of the Americans who hesitate to watch it illegally on the series of tubes that is the internet). For those who enjoy costume dramas, the Edwardian era, Maggie Smith, and Anglophilia, as I do, it is the perfect storm. It is commonly observed that the first season is far better; indeed, it is nearly perfect. But the second season, so far, is still quite satisfactory, even though the plots feel far more rushed. I almost hesitate to recommend it, for everyone is doing that now and popular media usually drive me to be contrary, but Downton Abbey really is quite good and you should probably watch it. Start at the beginning, though.

There's already been some merchandising — observe the PBS store, should you need proof of that — but the obvious next step is Downton Abbey: the Text-Based Video Game. I am clearly the man to make this happen, but for the fact that I have only great ideas and no relevant skills to do so. (Such is the plight of the "Idea Man", as no doubt Newt Gingrich could tell you.) Nevertheless, a taste:

You are a DOWAGER COUNTESS.

You are in the library. There is a SWIVEL CHAIR here. There is a FOOTMAN nearby.
Exits are EAST, SOUTH, and WEST.

What do you do?
>


South Bend, Again

It was pleasant to visit South Bend for a few days this week. Officially, my stated reasons for the visit were gastronomical: Madame Chen's (the best Chinese food in the world, so far as I know) and the South Bend Farmer's Market. These were both worthwhile. But it was a pleasure to visit with friends as well, and to play the Fritts (oh, how I've missed playing a tracker instrument!), and to see campus. I was struck by how nice it was, just being in South Bend again. I assure you that the climate does not appeal to me, nor the charm of the city. More than anything it was like seeing an old friend again — not a particularly close friend, but someone worth seeing nonetheless. After a certain amount of time one becomes aware of those little annoyances (or indeed, great glaring flaws of personality) that have prevented closer friendship. But before that happens it is very pleasant, indeed.

Perhaps this goes some way towards explaining our culture's incurable mobility: we long to be somewhere else because we are constantly overstaying our welcome. What we must learn is how to be at home. To do this we must become comfortable not only with a particular place and its particular people, despite their flaws, but also with ourselves. Introspection requires a certain stability, and stability encourages a certain introspection. Doesn't it?

Upcoming Orgelmusik

Organ preludes and postludes through Quinquagesima, 2012:

1 January (New Year's Day; Holy Name):
J.S. Bach: In dir ist Freude, BWV 615
Johann Gottfried Walther: Das alte Jahr vergangen ist
6 January (Epiphany):
Dietrich Buxtehude: Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, BuxWV 223
Max Reger: Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern, Op. 135a, No. 29
8 January (Epiphany I, Baptism of the Lord):
J.S. Bach: Prelude and Fugue in G Major, BWV 541
Friedrich Wilhelm Zachau: Christ unser Herr zum Jordan kam, LV 3
15 January (Epiphany II):
Claude-Bénigne Balbastre: Fugue in D minor
Gerald Near: Alleluia. Laudate Deum omnes angeli eius
22 January (Epiphany III):
César Franck: Prélude, Fugue & Variation, Op. 18
César Franck: Andantino poco allegretto, in Eb Major (from L'Organiste)
29 January (Epiphany IV):
Friedrich Wilhelm Marpurg: O Ewigkeit, du Donnerwort
Johann Ludwig Krebs: Toccata in G Major
2 February (Candlemas):
Marcel Dupré: Élévation (Très modéré), Op. 32, No. 2
Marcel Dupré: Herr Gott, nun schleuss den Himmel auf, Op. 28, No. 31
5 February (Epiphany V; Septuagesima):
Clemens non Papa (tablature by Bálint Bakfark): Circumdederunt me
Anonymous (tablature by Jan z Lublina): Conradus
12 February (Epiphany VI; Sexagesima):
Domenico Zipoli: Canzona in C Major
Girolamo Frescobaldi: Preambulum tertii toni
19 February (Transfiguration; Quinquagesima):
Gerald Near: Visionem
Felix Mendelssohn: Sonata, Op.65, No. 2: II. Allegro maestoso e vivace

It should also be added that St. Luke's Episcopal Church (Dixon, Illinois) will host Mr Kevin Vaughn for an organ recital on 29 January (at 4:30pm). It promises to be a worthwhile occasion; I am looking forward especially to his Howells and Reger.

In dulci jubilo

In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne liegt
in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O!

O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst' mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te!

O Patris caritas!
O Nati lenitas!
Wir wären all verdorben
Per nostra crimina
So hat er uns erworben
Coelorum gaudia
Eia, wären wir da!

Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da!

"The Blessed Son of God"

Listen: Ralph Vaughan Williams — "The Blessed Son of God",
Being the fifth movement from his Christmas cantata Hodie
Performed by The Tudor Choir on this CD.
Or, if you are averse to downloading, listen to a fine performance here.

The blessed Sonne of God onely
In a crybbe full poore dyd lye:
With oure poore flesh and oure poore bloude
Was clothed that everlastynge good.
Kirieleyson.

The Lorde Christ Jesu, God’s Sonne deare,
Was a gest and a straunger here;
Us for to brynge from mysery,
That we might lyve eternally.
Kirieleyson.

All this dyd He for us frely,
For to declare His great mercy:
All Christendome be mery therfore,
And geve Hym thankes evermore.
Kirieleyson.

— Myles Coverdale, after Martin Luther (a loose translation of selected verses of "Gelobet seist du, Jesu Christ")

St. Lucy's Day

The best method of getting into the mind of prehistoric man is to spend more time outdoors. Perhaps the first thing one notices, upon doing so, is that one becomes far more aware of natural cycles: the phase of the moon, the barometric pressure, the time the sun sets (or, if you are un buen madrugador, the time it rises). Around this time of year it is quite possible to believe that the days will continue to get shorter and shorter until some scientist finally notices that the Earth's axis has somehow started tipping and our hemisphere will never see light again. This is, of course, implausible, though stranger things have happened elsewhere in the galaxy. The worst-case scenario would be a tidally-locked planet, with constant light in one hemisphere and constant darkness in t'other. Another possibility is a fate like that of the planet Uranus, the axis of which is so tilted that each pole is in complete darkness for forty-two years; of course, its orbital period is also much longer than Earth's. Whatever our axial tilt is, for those of us sensitive to a lack of sunlight the solstice can't come too soon.

Coïncidentally or not, today is the feast of Saint Lucy, long thought to be the shortest day of the year. ("'Tis the year's midnight", as Donne says.) The saint's connection with light needs little explanation.

There are, as it happens, quite a few hymns appropriate for this time of year. Many are used at compline. Perhaps the best is Christe, qui lux es et dies. (If you ever get a chance to hear Robert White's four polyphonic settings, do so. Here are the first and last; I can't readily find the other two.) This hymn was, in turn, adapted into two German chorales: Christe, der du bist Tag und Licht and Christe, der du bist der helle Tag. Another compline hymn is Te lucis ante terminum; my favorite version is the mode VIII melody used on ordinary Sundays and minor feasts. Other hymns include Conditor alme siderum and Lucis creator optime.

Some might complain that we've become too accustomed to the dichotomy between light and darkness, with its implication that light is to be preferred. This does not bother me. As anyone who has woken before the dawn can tell you, it is natural for man to want light. Consider Psalm 130:

I wait for the LORD, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.
My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning: I say, more than they that watch for the morning.

Peace, Goodwill, Christmas Hymns

I was once on the verge of becoming a Christmas fundamentalist. So obsessed was I with the idea of reclaiming Advent (which is, after all, a wonderful season that is overlooked by far too many) that I became a bit angry at the thought of putting up Christmas decorations before The Day Itself. Christmas music pumped out over the loud speakers at sundry public places was cause to avoid going anywhere. The Feast of the Incarnation, I was at pains to remind everybody, is properly speaking the start of the Christmas season, which lasts until Epiphany (though one could leave up Christmas decorations until the Feast of the Purification of Mary, Candlemas, on the second of February).

Whether it is a sign of the abandonment of principle or merely the mellowing of age, I am no longer quite so angry to see people celebrating Christmas weeks before the Holiday itself. Advent, after all, is only one of the casualties of liturgical ignorance. (I don't think I'll ever understand Christians whose only vestiges of the church year are Christmas and Easter. But then, they are no doubt bewildered by the sort of High Church pageantry that I enjoy.)

I appreciate, at least, that some people are more pleasant during the Christmas season; there is a general feeling of goodwill that makes it more difficult to be purposefully unpleasant. I suspect this is due, in part, to the music. This is the only time of year when we are permitted to like music written before we were born. This should only be encouraged: Christmas music is perhaps the last widely-known musical repertory that links us to a bygone age. Incidentally, this is also the best model for a body of hymnody: people should be taught all the good old hymns. Anyone advocating all new music in church should observe the emotional connection people have to all their favorite Christmas hymns, and ponder this in their hearts.

This is not to say that all old music, or all music that induces nostalgia, is good music. Consider "The Little Drummer Boy", written in 1941: it is one of the perversely worst-written songs ever made, from a compositional standpoint. But then, nostalgia is not a particularly logical impulse.

Rite, Meaning, Continuity

Mr Dreher has some good points about the power — and importance — of good ritual:

There is something enchanting, in the literal sense of the word, about having the reality of the Divine encompass one through one's senses. It is possible, of course, to be present in such a place and to shut oneself off from the presence of the Holy Spirit. But for me, I find it much more difficult to resist entering into a state of openness when there are so many sensual reminders — the incense, the vivid icons, the ritual motions — of the unseen reality around us, and within us.

If you read Bellah's book, "Religion in Human Evolution," you understand why ritual is more important than theology. No doubt that ritual completely disconnected from theology is empty. But humans never outgrow the deep need for ritual. It's built into the biological fabric of our being. You mess with that, you're messing with things you ought not touch.

Yes. We must, of course, address the the danger of rite displacing God from the center of worship. But this is only a danger because ritual is so important; it does serve such a important function in our lives. To devalue meaningful ritual (which is, by its nature, something inherited, something that has been a part of a given community for a significant amount of time) is to deprive ourselves of a powerful means of communion.

Perhaps the most common argument at any church is "But we've always done it that way!" This is not, in and of itself, a good argument. (It is, however, far preferable to that other common argument: "We need to change x to get new members!" These words portend doom.) We shouldn't appeal to tradition simply because it is tradition. We appeal to tradition because we trust that our forebears did things for good reason, because tradition acquires richer meanings with time, because tradition connects us to believers dead and yet unborn.

Augustana, Revisited

This evening I attended the Augustana Choirs and Orchestra Christmas concert. What's that, you well may ask, a Christmas concert in the first week of Advent? Madness! you may correctly observe. But it was an enjoyable concert, for the most part, nonetheless. There's a certain percentage of Christmas schlock that is required to satiate the blue-haired little old ladies, but fortunately there was some real repertoire as well. My favorite was Respighi's L'adorazione dei magi, part of his triptych on Botticelli themes. I do believe the more I hear Respighi the more I like him.

Returning to Augustana, whatever the circumstances, has always been pleasant for me: I feel at home there in a way I never will feel anywhere else. Notre Dame had its benefits, of course, but I never felt like a part of that community (if such a large school can be called a "community" at all). The arguments I heard — and took part in — there could interest me intellectually, but there was ultimately a disconnect somewhere: what is it to me, if the Basilica uses chant or guitars? It's not my Basilica. It was easier to take a step back and observe the pettiness and uncharity at Notre Dame. There's no less pettiness and uncharity at Augustana, of course — indeed, there may be more, per capita — but it is somehow more tolerable because it is a place I think worth fighting for; it is home. And home, for all its frustrations, is still preferable to anyplace else.