All posts by Phil

Sunday Singing: How Can I Keep from Singing?

“How Can I Keep From Singing?” by Keith & Kristyn Getty

“How Can I Keep from Singing?” is an anonymously written hymn that began appearing in hymn books in the mid-1800s. That’s the report from my standard source on hymns, Hymnary.org. Some attribute it to Robert Lowry, but I see details suggesting he only arraigned the words with a melody and did not claim to have composed the whole work.

The video shared here is by modern hymn writers Keith and Kristyn Getty, who have spent years encouraging Christians to sing their faith in meaningful modern songs as well as traditional and ancient hymns. Ours is an ancient faith. Let’s join the faithful musicians of the past in singing of that faith and “catch the sweet, though far-off hymn that hails a new creation.”

Parents are Important; so is Charles Lamb

I’m still in a holiday frame of mind, so instead of pushing to get this post together for Saturday morning, I slept super late, tried to jump start the oldest of our cars, took the trash to the landfill (which I have done most Saturdays), and played around the whole afternoon. Taking trash and recycling to the county landfill is a chore I picked up years ago when our pickup service was increasing in price and my income was, if I remember right, nothing. I’ve been telling myself I can afford a service again, but we haven’t signed up yet. Even with trash pickup, we’d still have to take our own recycling to one of the area collection points, because that additional service is a bit much.

So many fans have asked me about this, I felt I could no longer put them off. A heart of kindness, that’s what I have. Here are a few links to better reading.

Faith: “Parents define for their children the role that religious faith and practice ought to play in life, whether important or not, which most children roughly adopt.” Of course, there are huge exceptions.

Reading through Bibliotheca, “an elegant, meticulously crafted edition of the Bible designed to invite the reader to a pure, literary experience of its vast and varied contents.”

Beauty in nature and art: “Fragrant grass, who knows who planted you,/ Already spread in several clumps there by the terrace?”

Charles Lamb: “‘[Y]ou never know exactly when [Charles] Lamb is speaking seriously.’ … The same applies to such Lambian literary cousins as Laurence Sterne, Max Beerbohm and P.G. Wodehouse – writers many readers will never get.

“Cleanliness” by Charles Lamb:

Come my little Robert near—
Fie! what filthy hands are here!
Who that e’er could understand
The rare structure of a hand,
With its branching fingers fine,
Work itself of hands divine,
Strong, yet delicately knit,
For ten thousand uses fit …

Photo: Look Sharp Barber Shop sign (painted 1969 Volkswagen), Yuma, Arizona. 2003. John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.

Boom in Antiquity discoveries during 2020

Detectorists for the win!

In England, people had more time to putter around the garden in the last couple years, and guess what? They uncovered old stuff. For example, Bob Greenaway from Oswestry in Shropshire found the Bulla sun pendant. “The retired engineer found the intricate piece while metal detecting in the Marches, unearthing one of the most significant pieces of metalwork ever discovered in Britain – around 3,000 years old.”

Loads and loads of stuff–one might even say hoards–have been found over the last few years.

But wait, there’s more. Two shipwrecks were uncovered off the coast of Israel and many coins, figurines, and other antiquities were recovered, including a gemstone with an image of the Good Shepherd on it.

Sunday Singing: Amazing Grace

Amazing Grace, sung by Carl Ellis with over 200 bagpipes

John Newton’s 1779 hymn is sung the world over. I believe some congregations sing it every Sunday. My congregation sings it after every communion, which we celebrate on the first Sunday of each month. Despite all of that singing, it’s still a good hymn for the new year.

The Hartford Selection of Hymns (1799) offers these three verses as 4-6, which may be where the most of the variations come in (they are not in the video above either).

The Lord has promis’d good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease;
I shall possess within the vzil,
A life of joy and peace.

The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who call’d me here below,
Will be forever mine.

I, Citizen, for the New Year

I have a lot of respect for Tony Woodlief, so I’m going to share his book promo video with no more knowledge of the book than what you see here. It’s probably a darn good book.

‘Thousand Cranes’ by Yasunari Kawabata

Had I opened Kawabata’s novel, Thousand Cranes, with the knowledge that the Japanese use a thousand cranes as a symbol for happiness or good fortune, I would have seen a moment sooner the disaster that was coming.

Kikuji Minari is a wealthy young man who lost both his parents four years ago. He responds to an invitation to attend a tea ceremony, something his father did for many years, because the invitation suggests he will be introduced to a woman. He notices her on his way in; she has a pink kerchief with a thousand cranes pattern on it. Plus, she’s attractive, graceful, and is willing to marry him with as little investment as a couple meetings. Smart money says he should receive her and make a good life with her.

But, no, he dwells on sordid details of two other women with whom his father had committed adultery years ago. Like an idiot.

Perhaps the natural outrage one feels as Kikuji indulges himself here and refuses someone there is what drives this story. He loves the wrong person effortlessly and constantly returns to the ugly when he has opportunity to hope. His father’s sins have bound him, and he doesn’t see it.

How much does the guilt of our parents’ sins define us? If it’s entirely their own, we can put it behind us when they pass away. If it clings to us and becomes part of our own guilt, what can we do to be free of it? Kawabata asks these questions but gives no answer to them in this work, no answer except perhaps the ruin Kikuji makes of his own life.

A Christmas Truce of 1914

Not long after WWI began, there was Christmas. Military units ran out of munitions and soldiers, and perhaps the will to fight over the holidays wasn’t quite there.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

“In The Bleak Midwinter”

“Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.”

This marvelous arrangement is not for congregational singing like I’ve been posting on Sundays. This composition comes from English composer Richard Allain, recorded by conductor Dominic Ellis-Peckham with the London Oriana Choir.

Advent Singing: Of the Father’s Love Begotten

The Azusa Pacific University Men’s Chorale in 2009

“Of the Father’s Love Begotten,” was originally a Latin poem by Aurelius Clemens Prudentius (AD 348-410), titled “Corde natus ex parentis.” It was translated by in the 1850-60s by J. M. Neale and H. W. Baker and paired with the Latin plainsong melody of “Divinum mysterium.”

Verse three of the lyric copied here is omitted in the video above.

1 Of the Father’s love begotten
ere the worlds began to be,
he is Alpha and Omega,
he the source, the ending he,
of the things that are, that have been,
and that future years shall see
evermore and evermore.

2 Oh, that birth forever blessed
when the virgin, full of grace,
by the Holy Ghost conceiving,
bore the Savior of our race,
and the babe, the world’s Redeemer,
first revealed his sacred face
evermore and evermore.

Continue reading Advent Singing: Of the Father’s Love Begotten

The Dreaded Trip

Bobby buries himself in the closet and puts his Hansel bear between him in the door. Mother won’t find him—won’t take him away.  

“Where are you, Bob?” she calls. 

He closes his eyes to make himself invisible, but the door slides open, she grabs his legs, and out he goes. 

“It’s time to go to Grandma’s, you plump kid.” 

Now bound in his car seat, whimpering, Bobby sees the fetid river, the deadened wood, and the approaching bread-colored, pock-marked house with striped poles and the billowing chimney of Grandma’s monstrous oven. His sister never came back. Why should he? 

(This flash fiction is part of Loren Eaton’s shared storytelling for 2021. Go there to read more 100-word, Christmastime, ghost stories.)