“Who Shall Ascend the Mountain of the Lord” performed by The Redeemer Choir of Austin, Texas
This week’s hymn of ascension is a new one, as hymns go. Edmund P. Clowney (1917-2005) taught practical theology and was the first president of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia. He published this hymn, based on Psalm 24, in 1987.
The tune, about a hundred years older, is by the Irishman Sir Charles Villiers Stanford. You’ll notice it’s different than many hymn tunes in its triumphal openness. Each verse ends on a high note, perhaps to lift our heads up to Christ above us. With that it doesn’t feel neatly wrapped. It feels as if it anticipates more to come.
The words are under copyright, so I will copy only the first verse here.
Who shall ascend the mountain of the Lord, to search the mystery in heaven stored, the knowledge of the Holy One adored? Alleluia!
This week, I had one of those frequently repeated conversations about what we mean when we greet others with “Hello” and “How are you?” An earnest person might think it’s dishonest to ask someone how they are doing without expecting an answer and may feel a burden to share transparently when others ask them. You may have heard someone argue that Christians shouldn’t say they are fine when they aren’t fine; they shouldn’t paint on a smile when they’re going through a hard time.
But honesty doesn’t require complete transparency. That would expose us all to the fixers, who don’t know when to listen and when to advise. Greeting one another with a word or phrase is essentially verbal acknowledgement. We see and maybe recognize each other. We ask each other how’s the day or the doing or life at large as a way of well wishing. If we’re close to each other, we’ll want more than that, but even then, it may not be the time for it.
We can thank Thomas Edison for popularizing the word helloas a good way to answer the phone. Alexander Graham Bell (why do we give his full name so often? why not Alex Bell or Alexander G. Bell?) wanted us to us say ahoy, as if we were called out to someone in the distance. Prior to the phone, hello was a common word of surprise, which I suppose is the reason Bertie Wooster and co. say, “What ho!” regularly. The Online Etymology Dictionary says there are records from 1849 that show hello, the house as “the usual greeting upon approaching a habitation” in the American west.
Yes, yes, I suppose we should get on to other things, shouldn’t we?
Journalism: News outlets aren’t dead, but their owners may be trying to kill them. Ted Gioia has a compelling piece on news sites that wanted our clicks so bad they killed themselves, and now big news outlets appear to want to die the same way. “The company tried to maximize clicks with shallow gimmicks, when it should have been worrying about the articles themselves.”
Conservatism: A right-wing movement wants a big reset. John Ehrett says critics label it different things, but vitalism is a good name for it. “In place of Ronald Reagan’s famous ‘three-legged stool’—free-market economics, military interventionism, and religious conservatism—the new vitalists would burn the place down altogether, and host a festival around the pyre.”
Bruce Springsteen: “He paints his masterpiece of America as a brand and what it does to people. To me, Nebraska is an album-length description of how America has struggled to find its soul, has never had much of an identity beyond the brand that’s been sold over and over again to people living here. But lives are lived behind the brand, and Springsteen is unearthing them, exposing them to the light.” That storytelling was formed by a love of Flannery O’Connor.
I’m quite taken with Colin Conway’s The 509 series of police procedurals, set in eastern Washington state. It deals with cops in the Spokane area, and the cast of officers tends to change from book to book. In The Value in Our Lies, we have a new hero – or at least a new main character. If he’s shown up in the series before, it was only as a minor player.
James Morgan works on the Spokane PD Criminal Task Force. He’s corrupt, but not by his own standards. If he pockets some of the drugs found at a crime scene, it’s not for his own use or profit – it’s to pay off informants. If he takes a sexual favor from a prostitute, who does that hurt? If he cuts procedural corners, that’s just part of the game. In his world there’s only Us and Them – working cops vs. the crooks (and often the Brass). For Morgan, there’s pretty much nothing in his life but the Job.
Word on the street says a new gang has moved into town, but nobody seems to know anything tangible, not even his snitches. A prostitute informant of his is being beaten by her pimp, and Morgan cares about this more than he ought to. A friend of a friend is getting blackmailed and comes to Morgan to get him out of the jam. And Internal Affairs is giving him heat.
Morgan is a liar. Lying is part of the way he does his job. But the lies are starting to pile up on him. Will they get somebody killed?
The writing in The Value in Our Lies is sometimes rough. An editor would be a good investment. But the characterization in the book is big league. Morgan isn’t a likeable character, and he’s clearly self-destructive. But one can’t help sympathizing with him sometimes, and occasionally he even earns our fleeting admiration. The plot was pretty gripping too.
I recommend The Value in Our Lies, with cautions for language and mature subject matter.
Sean Freeman, a central character in Kerry J. Donovan’s police procedural Perfect Record, is a master locksmith, one of the best in spite of his youth. He also has computer skills. So when he arranges to come to the attention of DB Parrish, a London gangster with a weakness for diamonds, Parrish quickly recruits him as his security chief. Sean has personal reasons for needing the kind of money a job with Parrish’s organization will bring in. But he soon learns that working for Parrish means selling your soul. He’ll be required to do things way beyond the limits of his fairly flexible ethics, and the price of failure is a serious beating – if he’s lucky.
So he starts putting out clues for the police, hoping there’s a detective out there smart enough to figure them out. Finally this brings him to DCI David Jones of the Birmingham Serious Crimes Unit. They begin a cautious dance in which jewelry of great value – and innocent lives – are at stake.
I wasn’t entirely happy with Perfect Record, but that was for purely personal reasons. The character of our hero, DCI Jones, is an interesting one (all the characters are good, in fact), but he’s supposed to be an aging curmudgeon and Luddite. The kind of man who won’t have a computer in his home and dislikes the new building he works in out of loyalty to the old one, despite the fact that it’s more comfortable and efficient than its predecessor.
And yet when it comes to Political Correctness, Jones toes the line. He will stand for no sexist language or use of unenlightened titles (like Mrs.) among his officers. If you’re looking for crude cop banter, á la John Sandford, you won’t find it here. I think I can speak with some authority on the subject of curmudgeons as a class, and PC talk is one of the things we tolerate least in real life.
Nevertheless, I have to admit the story is neatly told, with some very nifty (and delightful) surprises at the end. Neat twists generally involve diminished believability in any story, which is the case here. But as pure entertainment, Perfect Record is very close to perfect. The language is relatively mild.
I heard recently that after the Civil War, Americans began using Psalm 23 in funerals and it took on nostalgia for many people. Believers were in the habit of singing psalms back then and were moving toward hymns.
When you think of a traditional melody for Psalm 23, what do you think of? Is this Crimond? The wedding of Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten in 1947 put that tune on the world stage. Donald Keddie writes:
The music director of the Royal Wedding, William McKie (1901–1984), visited Balmoral in Scotland and heard one of Princess Elizabeth’s ladies-in-waiting, Lady Margaret Egerton, singing a descant of Psalm 23 to CRIMOND, accompanied by Princesses Elizabeth and Margaret. McKie wanted to include something Scottish in the Royal Wedding, and Psalm 23’s pastoral imagery fit the bill perfectly.
Unable to find the music for the descant and with two days to go to the wedding, McKie wrote down the music himself shorthand and taught it to the Abbey Choir. The composer of the descant, William Baird Ross (1871–1950), was later surprised to hear his arrangement on the radio broadcast.
The fame of the Royal Wedding made Psalm 23 to CRIMOND a Christian pop song of its era. The brighter, more joyful tune gave new life to the psalm. As a result, American Protestants of all denominations began singing Psalm 23 to this tune, and American Presbyterians embraced a metrical psalm from their own tradition again.
I suppose it’s a lack of imagination that drives me more and more to YouTube for videos these days. I could probably think of some contemporary issue to complain about, but… what’s the use? As far as I can tell, we’re dancing on the edge of the volcano. I have lots of opinions, but little cheerful to say.
Anyway, I don’t think I’ve shared this old, old video before. Didn’t actually know it was out there. It’s a video produced by a brewing company (not sure what the connection is), offering footage of my Viking group’s combat activities in several locations on several occasions. This was back when I was new to “live steel” combat. Since then I’ve declined, retired, and sold my mail shirt (you can recognize it at the beginning and end of this video by the red material around the collar, where my padded gambeson protrudes) to a younger man.
Most of the guys in this video, to the best of my knowledge, have retired from the sport, like me. Some are old friends who are no longer friends. One that I know of is dead.
But on the bright side, I finished my translation job — for which I turned in a substantial invoice — and now they want a little more work, on some touching up they’re doing on the script. Happy to oblige, friends. Happy to oblige.
You’ve been devoted to the Church. As you know, we like to say that we don’t have followers. We have lenders. You give us your love and passion devotion, and we’re obligated to pay back the debt.”
Lars reviewed Jonathan Leaf’s debut novel, City of Angles, earlier, and with it being a mystery novel, that’s about as much of the plot as you’ll want to know before reading. What you don’t get from reviews is the style of humor Leaf employs.
[Disclaimer: I picked up the novel in response to the author’s request, having seen a friend’s referral days before.]
City of Angles isn’t a dark story. It’s standard fare for a character-driven murder mystery, and from almost every character you read something like the quotation above: “We don’t have followers. We have lenders.” Also from this same church context, we get this: “Selva had attained the status of FUP. This mean a fully unrepressed person. Those who opposed the Church were EMEs, or enemies of man’s emergence.” An FUP. That’ll catch on.
This actually rings true with my experience, in that some folks like to make acronyms and others like to use terms, and the Church of Life in this story resembles Scientology, which is probably just as debauched and oppressive as the Church is depicted. But in a way, everyone in this novel is debauched. Everyone is friendly, while it serves their purpose, and they drink sexual allure from the tap. Everything they can control they will try to control. And when a character finds himself at a dead end with all of his plans disassembled, he tells himself all PR is good PR and begins to wonder if he can sell his story. Even the cops are thinking this next thing could be their big break.
I enjoyed reading this book and look forward to Leaf’s success with it.
Kormak, as this old illustration shows, was not shy about public displays of affection, even with married women.
When the brothers put out from their place of anchorage, a walrus surfaced beside the ship. Kormak fired a weighted staff at it, hitting the animal, so that it sank. People thought they recognized Thorveig’s eyes when they saw it. The animal did not surface from then on; and it was reported of Thorveig that she was dangerously ill, and people say that she died as a result.
When we think of troubled poets today, we tend to imagine languid aesthetes wasting away with alcoholism or drug addiction. Troubled poets in the Viking Age seem to have been rather different sorts – pugnacious types and psychopathic killers. We discussed the greatest of them, Egil Skallagrimsson, a little while back. Today our topic is a lesser poet in a lesser saga, Kormak’s Saga, as published in The Complete Sagas of Icelanders, but available in other formats as well.
Kormak’s name, I might mention, is the same as the Irish name Cormac. This is yet another testimony to the heavy infusion of Irish and Scottish elements into Icelandic society and culture (the same is true of the saga hero Njal’s name, which is the Irish Niel). Like Egil, Kormak is big and strong, though less ugly.
Kormak first notices Steingerd Thorkelsdatter of Tunga when he catches a glimpse of her foot through a doorway. Immediately he dedicates a poem to the foot, and when he sees the rest of the girl he’s not disappointed. He pursues her, and their marriage is arranged. However, when the wedding day occurs, he doesn’t show up. Yet when her family tries to marry her off to other men, Kormak routinely makes war on them – in some cases killing them. This behavior looks like prolonged adolescence and fear of commitment to the modern reader, but the saga explains it as the consequence of a witch’s curse. One looks in vain here for the kind of psychological insight we find in Egil’s Saga.
The most interesting character in the saga, in fact, is not Kormak himself but Bersi the Duelist, who dominates the middle part of the story. Though a famous man-killer, he’s far more sympathetic than Kormak, something like the Old Gunfighter trope in Western movies.
Kormak’s Saga is believed to be one of the oldest ones that’s been preserved, but that’s no guarantee of artistic quality. The episodes in the story appear to have been reconstructed (rather freely) from hints in the poems the hero left behind. And the hints look very much as if they’ve been misinterpreted a fair amount of time. Many of the incidents, frankly, make little sense.
Kormak’s Saga is interesting for its age, and also – in particular – for accounts of dueling customs in the Viking Age. As a piece of art, it’s fairly middling.
I should mention that a couple of Kormak’s love poems include pretty explicit descriptions of sexual organs.
A new form of religious community appeared for the first time in history: not a nation celebrating its patriotic cult, but a voluntary group, in which social, racial and national distinctions were transcended, men and women coming together just as individuals, before their god.
It’s done at last. I have successfully worked my way through the Marathon length of Paul Johnson’s A History of Christianity. And I have to tell you from the start, it wasn’t what I expected or hoped for. The late author, of whom I’m a big fan, started out (like many thinkers on the right) on the left, and gradually worked his way to conservatism. This book was an early work, published in 1975 when he was (I assume) still in transition. And conservative politics doesn’t necessarily entail Christian faith – I don’t know what Johnson believed. This book didn’t give much clue.
Also, the book is somewhat misnamed. It’s not a history of Christianity, but of western Christianity. Once Rome breaks with Constantinople, the Eastern Church (as well as all the smaller eastern groups) drops off the stage except for when they interact with the West.
He starts well, arguing that it’s silly to question whether Jesus actually existed. Even better, he seems fairly sure that we have a fair idea what He taught. But his description of the formation of the canon and of orthodox doctrine is thoroughgoingly naturalistic. By this account, the scriptures were assembled through chance and politics out of a selection of wildly variant alternate manuscripts (I’m pretty sure this is not true). And the fights over doctrine were wholly political, decided in the end by brute power. The author’s greatest admiration seems to be reserved for certain heretics and the marginally orthodox – Arian, Pelagius, Erasmus. “Sensible” Christians who concentrated on good works rather than abstract doctrine and faith.
Then follows the long, sad chronicle of how the persecuted church (not so much persecuted most of the time, he insists) gradually rose to imperial power in Rome, and organized – on a model invented by St. Augustine – a unitary civilization in which Church and State were one thing. And corruption inevitably set in. The system gradually broke down, leading in time to the Reformation and the Enlightenment, and to the decline and challenges of the modern world.
It’s a depressing read, to be honest. Which is not to say I didn’t learn valuable stuff. I was particularly interested in the account of the decline of papal power in the 12th Century. It helped illuminate my reading of Norwegian history and the way King Sverre was able to ignore a ban and excommunication (as his contemporary King John did in England).
He ends in the “present” (1975), expressing optimism that the ecumenical movement can lead to a more flexible, dynamic church in the world (and we all know how well that’s worked out).
The oddest part, for this reader, was the author’s epilogue, in which he explains that he actually does consider Christianity a force for good in the world:
The notions of political and economic freedom both spring from the workings of the Christian conscience as a historical force; and it is thus no accident that all the implantations of freedom throughout the world have ultimately a Christian origin.
My big problem with A History of Christianity is that it takes him 516 pages to get around to mentioning that. The impression the reader gets from plowing through his long catalog of persecutions, heresy trials, witch hunts and religious wars must certainly be that Christianity has been a greater force for suffering and evil than Nazism and Communism combined. And I’d wager most readers have quit before they get to that epilogue.
Near the beginning he tells an anecdote about Bishop Stubbs, professor at Oxford, who, when he met a young historian, noticed he was carrying a book of which he disapproved, and said to himself, “If I can hinder, he shall not read that book.” He emphasizes the importance of not being like Stubbs, of listening to all ideas and making up one’s own mind.
That’s a noble sentiment, and I approve as a reader. But as a Christian concerned with souls, I would have to say, “Keep A History of Christianity out of the hands of young and impressionable Christians. If they’re looking at all for reasons to walk away from the faith, they’ll find plenty of them here.”
“A Hymn of Glory Let Us Sing,” performed by the congregation of the Church of Saint Michael in Stillwater, MN
For the majority of May, our theme will be Christ’s ascension. Ascension Sunday is May 21. The text was written by The Venerable Bede, “Father of English History.” He died on Ascension Day in 735. Benjamin Webb originally translated it for The Hymnal Noted in 1852.
The words here were copied from the Evangelical Lutheran Hymnary, 1996.
1 A hymn of glory let us sing! New songs throughout the world shall ring: Alleluia! Alleluia! Christ, by a road before untrod. Ascendeth to the throne of God. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
2 The holy apostolic band Upon the Mount of Olives stand. Alleluia! Alleluia! And with his followers they see Jesus’ resplendent majesty. Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
3 To whom the angels, drawing nigh, “Why stand and gaze upon the sky? Alleluia! Alleluia! “This is the Saviour!” thus they say, “This is His noble triumph-day.” Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
