Music, Religion

A Christmas hymn I love and hate

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I’ve been writing for this blog so long that I think I can probably reanimate some of my old post topics. A search of our archives shows that it was in 2010 that I last wrote about the Christmas hymn, “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” I’m not going to denounce it. In fact, I kind of love it. But it’s not really a Christmas hymn. It’s more of a Christmas song, like “The Christmas Song” (the Chestnuts one, you know) or “Silver Bells.” Because it’s not about Jesus, and was never intended to be.

The putative hymn was written by Edmund H. Sears, a sensitive-minded Unitarian minister who worked in Toledo for a while, before suffering a breakdown (perfectly understandable, under the circumstances). In time he ended up serving a church in Wayland, Massachusetts. He wrote “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear” in 1849, and it was published with a tune by Richard Storrs Willis in 1850. His motivation seems to have been his depression over the Mexican War, which raised considerable opposition in the country (Lincoln famously voted against the war, and lost his seat in Congress because of it).

The hymn goes:

It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold;
"Peace on the earth, good will to men
From heaven's all-gracious King" –
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel-sounds
The blessed angels sing.

But with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring; –
Oh hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!

And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing; –
Oh, rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing!

For lo! the days are hastening on
By prophet bards foretold,
When with the ever circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When Peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.

Do you notice something missing in this so-called “Christmas Hymn?” It says nothing about Jesus. Not a word. You’ve got angels and peace, which hearken back to Luke’s account of the Nativity (verses 8-14):

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying,

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

So you’ve got the angels and you’ve got the peace, demonstrating that the poet had Christ’s birth in mind. So why didn’t he mention Christ Himself?

Because he was a Universalist. He didn’t really think Jesus was that important. He believed Jesus simply represented a universal principle of peace and love, which gives us hope for a coming time (“the age of gold”) when Mankind will have evolved to the point of outgrowing war.

In many more orthodox hymnbooks, the words have been altered a little. The changed lyrics substitute “the time foretold” for “the age of gold.” And they say “the new Heaven and earth shall own the Prince of Peace their King,” instead of “when Peace shall over all the earth its ancient splendors fling.” I don’t generally care for meddling with original texts, but I like those changes just fine.

Still, the hymn still leaves me a little melancholy.

Beautiful, though.

I looked for a good video of the hymn/song to embed above. But everybody had to get cute with it one way or another (worst are the English, who use the wrong tune!). So I had to settle (yet again) for the Heretic Tabernacle Choir. Which is kind of appropriate, I guess.

Publishing

Mind-boggling Lawsuit from Fan-Fic Author Fails

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A few years ago, a guy writes a sequel to The Lord of the Rings, which he hopes will be a collaboration with The Tolkien Estate. He solicits their support, gets nothing, so publishes his novel independently. He conceives it as the first of six books in The War of the Rings series.

Then, Amazon releases its Rings of Power series, and this guy, this fan-fiction author, sees it as a copyright violation of his work. He sues Amazon and The Tolkien Estate, claiming his work is “wholly original book and concept.” This is a work that begins with Sam and Rosie’s daugther, “Elanor Gamgee Gardner.”

That lawsuit is dismissed with a judgment that the fan-fic infringes on Amazon’s copyright. At this point, The Tolkien Estate sues the author, and this week, the judge on that case rules the original “lawsuit as ‘frivolous and unreasonably filed,’ and award[s] legal fees to the Tolkien Estate and Amazon in the sum of $134,000.” The fan-fic is to be totally and completely destroyed in print and in digital.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Inside Man,’ by M. A. Rothman

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The year’s almost over, so I think I can safely say that, in all likelihood, M. A. Rothman’s The Inside Man boasts the weirdest scenario I’ve come across in a novel all year. It’s effectively written and entertaining, but bizarre.

Levi Yoder, our hero, is a young man who was originally Amish. Somehow (I guess it’s explained in the first novel in the series – this is the second) he got involved with the New York Mafia, which became a second family to him. He was even declared a “made man,” an “honor” usually restricted to Italians. Then he got cancer, but had an unexplained remission. After that, he grew stronger, faster, and was endowed with certain extra talents, like eidetic memory. He continues to work with the Mafia, but he’s allowed to do only jobs he wants to do. He has a sideline in rescuing young girls from human traffickers.

A request comes to his bosses from the Japanese Yakuza. One of their leaders has an American granddaughter, a little girl. She has been kidnapped. The grandfather has heard of Levi’s skills, and will be very generous if he can find and rescue the girl. Levi is happy to take on the job.

But then there’s an interruption. Levi is arrested and interrogated by the FBI. He’s rescued by a shadowy figure who says he works for an independent, non-government agency that fights human trafficking by any means necessary. They’ll help Levi if he’ll help them.

He also meets – and cooperates with – a Chinese double agent, a beautiful woman with a penchant for nudity and a phobia about being touched.

I think this is what’s known as a “high concept” story. It takes place in the real world, but has over-the-top elements. The plot rolls right along, dispensing lots of action and suspense, but for this reader it had a kind of a Hollywood, CGI feel. I should probably have approached it more as fantasy than as an ordinary mystery/thriller.

I also have to admit I have trouble with the depiction of Mafiosi as decent, honorable fellas. I believe that tradition is long past, and was grossly exaggerated even in the old days.

You may like the book, though. It certainly was entertaining. The Inside Man earns full marks as a page-turner.

Uncategorized

Advent Singing: From Heaven Above to Earth I Come

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Today’s advent hymn is not one I’ve sung before, but the video above recommends it well. The text is originally from the great Martin Luther (1483-1546), translated in 1855 by a woman who brought many German hymns into English, Catherine Winkworth (1827-1878). The Psalter Hymnal Handbook notes Luther wrote this “for his family’s Christmas Eve devotions,” and “intended that stanzas 1-7 be sung by a man dressed as an angel and stanzas 8-15 by children.”

The video has only five verses, but I’ve copied the text from the 1918 Evangelical Lutheran Hymn-book so you can get the full piece.

“And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger” (Luke 2:12 RSV).

1 From heaven above to earth I come
To bear good news to every home;
Glad tidings of great joy I bring,
Whereof I now will say and sing.

2 To you this night is born a child
Of Mary, chosen virgin mild;
This little child, of lowly birth,
Shall be the joy of all the earth.

3 This is the Christ, our God and Lord,
Who in all need shall aid afford;
He will Himself your Savior be,
From all your sins to make you free.

4 He brings those blessing, long ago
Prepared by God for all below,
That in His heavenly Kingdom blest
You may with us forever rest.

5 These are the tokens ye shall mark;
The swaddling-clothes and manger dark;
There shall ye find the young child laid,
By whom the heavens and earth were made.

6 Now let us all with gladsome cheer,
Follow the shepherds, and draw near,
To see the wondrous gift of God,
Who hath His own dear Son bestowed.

Continue reading Advent Singing: From Heaven Above to Earth I Come →
Creative Writing

A Warning, an Advent Ghost Story

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He sees you when you’re sleeping. You say that in a song.  

I’d think you’d take the hint by now. It shouldn’t take this long. 

You’re not going to catch him.  You don’t know where to start. 

You think you can, but you don’t know the secret to his art. 

He’ll dodge a fire roaring. He’ll see the traps you make. 

He’ll swap your poisoned Christmas treats with ones your kids might bake. 

And then he’ll drag you from your bed and put you in his sack. 

He’ll take you to his workshop. You’re never coming back. 

Good night now. 

This bit of silliness is a 100-word story for Loren Eaton’s Advent Ghost Story fest. Click that link for more and better tales by other writers.

Photo: “Cookies” by Katrin Gilger is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Fiction, Music, Non-fiction

Christmas Ghost Stories, Music, and Bad Ideas

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Frittering. I’ve been sitting here frittering like a River City school boy at a pool hall. It often goes this way, even when I have a good idea to write about. This time I didn’t have a good idea, so let’s share some links.

Christmas Carol: Hope Media Group and Compassion International have produced an audio adaptation of A Christmas Carol with the voices of Sean Astin and John Rhys-Davis. Find it on your podcast platform of choice or on the official website. (via World News Group)

Ghost Stories: Loren Eaton is hosting a storytelling fest for Christmas-related ghost stories. The stories are flash fiction, only 100 words each. My contribution is in another post.

Musical Delight: “What do Armstrong and Waller have in common? Both are artists who dispense joy without compromising their art.”

Machen’s Classic Book: “On topic after topic, Machen demonstrates liberalism’s misunderstanding of the enormity of sin: ‘If sin is so ­trifling a matter as the liberal Church supposes,’ Machen writes, ‘then indeed the curse of God’s law can be taken very lightly, and God can easily let by-gones be by-gones.’ But if God is holy and sin is as the Bible describes it, the state of the sinner is desperate.”

Photo: University of Washington Libraries, “Two skiers on Lyman Glacier near Red Mountain, northwest Chelan County”/ Unsplash

Fiction, Reviews

‘Paris In the Present Tense,’ by Mark Helprin

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Music asked nothing, required nothing, needed nothing, betrayed nothing. It appeared instantly when called, even in memory. It was made of the ineffable magic in the empty spaces between – and the relation of – its otherwise unremarkable components.

“Wow,” I thought. “There’s a Mark Helprin novel I haven’t read yet.” A bargain deal had appeared, and I checked on Amazon and found I hadn’t bought it. So I did. Only then did I discover that I’d read Paris In the Present Tense before. I must have gotten a free review copy or something. However, I was only briefly discomfited by this. A Helprin novel always bears – and rewards – re-reading.

Jules Lacour is a septuagenarian Jewish music instructor in Paris. He is neither rich nor famous, though he is one of the geniuses of his generation – because this generation cares nothing for genius. But Jules has lived content with his art, except for missing his late wife.

But now his grandson has leukemia, and Jules wishes he had money to get him treatment. An offer from an American insurance conglomerate, to write them a signature tune, gives him brief hope, which they then dash callously.

So when Jules discovers that he has a previously undiagnosed brain aneurism that could kill him at any moment, he concocts a plan to make the company pay, and thereby to give his grandson a chance at life.

My big problem with Paris In the Present Time, you’ve probably guessed, is that our hero is an unapologetic fraudster. I don’t approve of fraud, no matter how bloated and greedy the target. However, that’s a question the book scarcely considers. The story is about love – Jules’ love for his parents, murdered by Nazis. His love for his wife, who died too soon. For his daughter and his grandchild. For a beautiful young student who is transparently smitten with him, and for a woman of more appropriate age whom he meets too late. But equally it’s about his love for Paris, and especially his love for music. The book is lush with gorgeous description and meditations on the meaning of it all. This is a book for reading slowly and savoring. It sweeps the reader into realms of transcendence.

Also, it meshed with – and helped to feed – my recent delusions of glimpsing some kind of Unified Theory of Existence. Helprin seems to have had some of the same thoughts I’ve had – maybe I stole some of them from him.

Insurance fraud aside, Paris In the Present Tense is a wonderful book. You ought to read it.

Religion

It’s all music

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I may be achieving a breakthrough. Or possibly I’m losing my mind. Or it could be the new medication I just started taking…

I got up this morning to put in my two hours of writing (okay, it’s more like an hour and a half when I deduct bathroom and tea-making time). Then I went to the gym, as usual. And while I was driving there, I had this epiphany. It rose, I’m pretty sure, partly from the lingering effects of reading Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything. And from Mark Helprin’s Paris In the Present Tense, which I’m re-reading. It’s a novel about a musician, with all kinds of metaphysical implications.

Anyway, it occurred to me that (as best I understand physics, which is probably not as well as I think) the universe is made up of atoms, which are made up of particles and charges and empty space and stuff. Every solid thing is actually just energy in motion. What makes things exist is movement and attraction and repulsion and waves and so on.

In other words, the universe is music.

Which works just fine with my theology. The Bible says that God said, “Let there be light.” The light – energy – was spoken by God. Light is energy in a pattern. That’s pretty much like music.

Tolkien used this metaphor in The Silmarillion.

After I thought, “The Fall introduced discord into the music,” I found myself shouting out loud (in my car): “CHRIST RESOLVED THE CHORD!”

Well, it seemed profound to me at the time.

Of course I used this space not long ago to explicate a theory that the universe is a Story.

So which is it, Walker?

Maybe the universe is a ballad. No metaphor is every perfect.

Above, a little music from that most theological of composers, the Lutheran J. S. Bach.

Fiction

Mary Is Truly Wonderful in George’s Life

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Clare Coffey talks about the annual criticism people shovel at one of the best Christmas movies of all time, Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life. She said she could dismiss most of it as small-minded or stuck in its own bitter slough from which no reply could deliver. But one criticism, that of Mary’s role, seemed to stick. Why did Mary need George to save her from a single life? She was a vibrant young woman in her own right. If George hadn’t been around, she would have chosen another path for herself.

But after seeing the film on the big screen, Coffey noticed something that changed her mind.

The scenario that the counterfactual world presents us is explicitly foreshadowed by Mary’s playful, obviously ridiculous rejoinder, “to keep from being an old maid.” Once I realized this, it became my interpretive key to the problematic later scene.

From the beginning, it is Mary who chooses George, not the other way around. 

Music, Religion

Sankta Lucia and Christian beauty

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It’s been a few years, I think, since I’ve mentioned the Sankta Lucia celebration. “Sankta Lucia” is Saint Lucy of Syracuse, a virgin martyr of the early church. A Sicilian legend says that once when there was famine, ships appeared in the Syracuse harbor on St. Lucia’s Day, loaded with grain. Thus there came to be a tradition of eating whole grains on December 13. Somehow this tradition evolved in Scandinavia (especially in Sweden) into eating a particular kind of bun on that day. The girls of a household would rise early, prepare the buns, and then march in procession, led by one girl portraying Lucia, wearing a crown of candles (Lucia means light, after all), and wearing a red sash to symbolize martyrdom. They would sing a version of the Italian Santa Lucia song (as above) and serve the buns for breakfast, to general celebration.

It’s a lovely tradition (I’ve observed recreations a few times) and seems to be gaining in popularity even in these secular times.

One thing I love about it is the fact that it’s a revival of tradition. In spite of the growing hostility to Christianity in our culture, genuine beauty still appeals. That’s worth remembering, even if we Protestants are forced to do some borrowing from the Catholics (that’s less a problem for me as a Lutheran than for some). But maybe we need to question the emphasis on stark simplicity in our worship. We seem to have won the argument over pomp and ceremony so well that many churches have proceeded to embrace pure ugliness. And ugliness ages poorly.

I’ve been thinking about art recently, for reasons I won’t go into here. It seems to me that – though there are many ways to divide up the world – one way we can categorize people today is by whether they are pro-beauty or anti-beauty. As far as I can observe, the Progressive movement has turned aggressively anti-beauty. Our side isn’t necessarily pro-beauty, but I think we ought to make that an issue.

Because I think beauty will win, hands down.