Names and Words– an end, for a while

It is not easy to characterize people by one criterion.  I spoke at the funeral of my friend Bill earlier this year and talking with the kids afterwards provoked the same thought in all of us. Bill had bought one of the first Apple ][+ computers in the late ‘70’s and one would have said he was technologically advanced.  However, to my amuse/amaze-ment and his children’s consternation/horror, he stuck with dial-up until his death.

Why do I bring this up here?  My last two posts have had opposite views on modern hymnody – gender neutrality in hymns is not an absolute for me – “give me that old-time hymn” expresses my view if the substitution upsets the textual flow.  However, I am willing to consider God both as masculine and feminine – far from that “old-time religion”.

Continuing in that line, in general I am not wild about (or to be more correct, I dislike, but not rabidly) the substitution  of “you” for “thou” – the latter is archaic but still easily understood and expresses to me a feeling that God is different than the ordinary people we know and consider.  As Brian Wren so nicely puts it (see previous post) “Great, living God, never fully known”.  This of course is contrary to the German usage, which uses the 2nd person pronoun “du”, which is normally only used for family, little children, animals, and close personal friends.

To me, a formality in worship helps separate worship from everyday life, in a way I suspect like some Catholics feel about the Tridentine Mass.  Worship is both part of  and separated from everyday life. As Moses was told to remove his sandals because he was on sacred ground, I like to think that going to worship requires some preparation and some focus.

A final thought to toss into this stewpot of ideas. Bishop Muskens has said:

“Allah is a very beautiful word for God. Shouldn’t we all say that from now on we will name God Allah?” he said.

“What does God care what we call him? It is our problem.”

I agree, it is our problem.  However because it is a problem to some of us, it will affect our worship experience and our response to God.  But, from the hymnody point of view, we could have more mellifluous hymns.

So what am I – conservative, liberal or what?  As a friend at our high school reunion commented; he would get together with two other friends from high school and one was very liberal and the other was very conservative.  My comment was “does that make you just right?”  Of course there is no just right – we all grow and develop in life in different ways. Hopefully my way is best for me (but possibly/probably not for you).

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An evening of song with Sylvia McNair

The area where I live has been privileged to have more than its fair share of Sylvia McNair concerts. My wife and I recently got another opportunity to hear her, and I thought I would share my thoughts about the evening.

At a previous concert, Ms. McNair spoke about beginning her undergraduate studies studying violin. But, like many college students, she changed her major. As I recall, she said there were multiple reasons for this, but one was that she found vocal performance to be more highly communicative.

At this stage in her career, she is undergoing another change. Her most recent bio states that she has “segued from opera and oratorio to the Great American Songbook, the music with which she feels most at home.” Again, I’m sure there are multiple reasons for this. For example, after an impressive 2-3 decades of singing professionally, some of the magic from the top of her range and her trademark sense of effortlessness has waned a bit. But, perhaps like her transition in college, her new repertoire seems to allow her to be more highly communicative than that of her classical days.

And she does seem at home in this genre; she puts her heart and soul into it. A few rather pedestrian songs come alive when with her masterful touch, and other well-known (and well-worn) songs sounded fresh and made to be her own. And I believe that her expressiveness, her phrasing, her charisma, her ability to communicate to and connect with the audience, and her ability to sell the texts she is singing are as good as or better than ever. She may at times reach to the audience as a dramatic gesture, but really her whole concert felt like a reaching to the audience — an act of giving.

The concert took place in a chapel, lending a sense of intimacy and also of the sacred. Furthermore, Ms. McNair’s spoken words and sincerity of delivery encouraged the audience to take the songs she sang as personal statements and not just performances. Given that, and given that she had a bout with breast cancer last year, songs like “O God Our Help in Ages Past” and this one seemed to take on some of the greatest meaning:

No storm can shake my inmost calm
while to that Rock I’m clinging.
Since love is Lord of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?

This is a strong statement indeed, and many of us would feel blessed indeed if we could make one like it after facing a serious trial.

Ms. McNair also made a case for looking in sacred not just in settings of religious texts like the Prayer of St. Francis, but also in more ordinary texts from Stephen Sondheim and Harold Arlen. This should not be a stretch as it sometimes is for those of us who believe that the God of heaven and earth was found as an infant by sheep herders amidst cattle.

For a few numbers, Ms. McNair invited a college choir to join her. That got me thinking: much of the training of a young artist is spent on technical development. This is reasonable, for without sufficient skill great art cannot be made. But I’m guessing that one strong lesson that many students in the choir will take from that experience is that artistry goes beyond the merely technical. An artist might even allow a little soul to creep into his or her work from time to time. And hopefully those students also would have picked up some of Ms. McNair’s spirit that can’t help but share the joy of life with others, and that can’t keep from singing.

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Symphonic Meditations for 9/11

I came across an informative piece on Aaron Copland, his politics and his music, titled, “Appalachian Autumn” written by Alex Ross in the August 27, 2007 issue of the New Yorker magazine (page 34). This article struck me personally as we approach the sixth anniversary of 9/11.In the days immediately following 9/11, numbed by the endless reportage on television, I turned to two American composers, Aaron Copland and Charles Ives. Their music not only soothed my soul but also helped me reflect deeply on the unique genius of America, and the problematic interpretations of that genius from inside and outside this country. I am forever grateful to these two American composers for assisting me to look more deeply into the significance of life after 9/11.So I was most interested in this Copland article. Copland realized that “a mood of suspicion, ill-will and dread that typifies the Cold War attitude” during his productive years stymied the artist. Yet he managed to create a body of work that continues to help me navigate life in this tender land today. Would Copland be able to create music today in the present atmosphere of suspicion, ill-will and dread that has been generated since 9/11?

I don’t know.

But this I do know: even though Copland is long gone, his sometimes deceptively simple music lives on, and reveals a complex mind who thought deeply about the American experiment. Ross ends his piece, “Copland conjures a perfect American Sunday in which the music of all peoples streams from the open doors of a white-steepled church that does not yet exist.”

Both Copland and Ives weave explicitly spiritual music in their various works. Yet their work is often categorized as secular. Certainly, for me, in the aftermath of 9/11, and now, six years later, their works function as sacred music for me.

What makes sacred music? What makes music sacred? Good questions for sure. Listen to Copland and Ives carefully before trying to answer these questions.

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