The Christmas Program Prelude

For some reason, lately I have been thinking about the Christmas program in my first parish.  It was on Sunday morning on the third or fourth Sunday of Advent.  Sometimes the Sunday School teachers would ask me for advice about the program;  was there a theme or a script that I knew about?  Sometimes they had their own idea, and I had very little input, except to open and close with prayer.

What I am remembering right now, though, is not the program itself, but the prelude.  No one asked me about this either.  The Christmas program prelude was a tradition that had begun long before I arrived, and it would continue whether I approved of it or not.  No one was asking permission.

The regular organist did not play the prelude on that particular Sunday.  Instead, the prelude was played by any chidden who were taking music lessons and wanted to play.  They ranged in age from four to twelve, and were all ability levels.  Some children played Silent Night with one finger.  Some children played a recital piece.  They were mostly piano students, but there was occasionally a flute, or a violin.

I keep thinking about the Christmas Program Prelude, and contrasting it with the impressive music at some of the larger churches around.   But I wonder if there is room for the Christmas program prelude.

Every church has different strengths and different faults.  But some churches have a particular strength:  the ability to recognize the gifts of all ages, and even welcome them.

"You Used to Sing to me"

So, I've only been here a couple of months:  not long enough to accomplish anything big or great.  That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.  I keep having to remind myself that I have only been here a couple of months.  I am just getting to know people.  It's too early to (for example) convert Texas, or even the greater Conroe area.

Mostly I have been doing the ordinary things of ministry, listening, meeting people, leading worship, writing and preaching sermons.  I have been going to the council meetings and giving my reports and I am in the process of putting together a series of house meetings for the fall, where we can get to know each other, the congregation and me.  We can find out our hopes and dreams and fears, and start to get glimmers of what we will do together.

I have only been here a couple of months, not long enough to accomplish anything big or great.

But on Sunday, a little girl came up to me after the second service.  I got to know her just a little over the summer, but hadn't seen her for a few weeks.  She and her dad and her little sister were standing around, and she said to me, "You used to sing to me, but now I go to a different school."

She and her sister have been part of our congregation's pre-school.  She graduated, which I suppose means she is in the first grade now.  During the summer, when she saw me on Wednesday at chapel, she would say, "I saw you in church on Sunday!"  On Sunday, she would say, "I saw you at school on Wednesday!"

But this time she said, "You used to sing to me."

It sounded odd, I'll confess.  Partly it was because, as I said, I've only been here a couple of months.  It's hard to imagine that I 'used to' do anything.  I don't have a history here yet.  But I have a history with this little girl, already.  I used to sing to her.

This little phrase made me consider my vocation.  It is clear that this little girl considers me to be her pastor, although she might not know that is what I am called.  How did she describe this calling?  What did I do that made me her pastor?

I sang to her.

I didn't know that was what I was doing, really.  I was there with the children, praying and telling the Bible stories and yes, singing, too.  We were just singing songs.  But she thought I was singing them to her.

 It is the way it always is.  It is not just the body of Christ, it is the body of Christ, given for you, put into your hands.  It is the blood of Christ, for you.  It is the song of God's love, sung into your ear, into your heart.

I've only been here a couple of months:  not long enough to accomplish anything big or great.  But long enough to sing.

Were We Right to Clap in Church Today?

Today was an odd non-liturgical occasion celebrated in main line congregations.  It is called "Rally Sunday." It is a day usually celebrated near the beginning of the school year, and marks the beginning of what we call the "Program Year."  Sunday School, Adult Classes, Choirs and other music groups begin to gather again for the purpose of singing and playing in worship.  People return from vacations and cabins and other summer retreats.  Although it never feels like the whole congregation is ever together at the same time (what would that be like?), there is usually a larger and more diverse crowd in worship than there has been during the summer.  Plus, at our congregation, there are a lot of colorful balloons.

It is not Christmas or Easter, but it does feel like a celebration.  It certainly felt like a celebration for me this morning, anyway.  Our congregation has been in redevelopment for a couple of years now.  We are still finding our way, re-defining our identity, learning to listen to the Holy Spirit in new ways.  There have been both growing pains and contracting pains as we have tried new things.

This morning we had a new interim organist playing for the first time, along with our gifted pianist.  We installed four staff in new positions.  The new director of children's and youth minister gave the children's message for the first time.  The choir sang "I Love to Tell the Story."  The Spirit Singers (our contemporary music group) sang an original song called, "Do Not Fear, For I am With You Now."  We had a soloist sing a song called "Amazed", one that we hope to teach the congregation later in the fall.

And we clapped.

Of course, we clapped during the original song, "Do not Fear."  I think I even snapped my fingers on that one.  It was a a hand-clapping sort of song,  and a number of the members of my congregation seemed happy to provide hand percussion.

Now I did not grow up with clapping in church.  Organ was the only acceptable instrument in my faith tradition at that time, and we same hymns.  We didn't clap.  It was not our style.

But somewhere along the line (probably first at summer Bible camp) I learned to clap in worship, at least during songs.  I still don't clap when the organ is playing hymns, but I like to clap along when the occasion allows.

Today, however, I believe we also clapped AFTER that particular song was done.  I remember that, and it was loud clapping too, because I was standing at the altar, getting ready to begin the communion liturgy.

It is twelve hours later, and I can't be sure now, but I think we clapped a couple of other times as well.  I think we may have clapped after the new staff members were installed.  And I am not sure, but it is possible that we even clapped at the end of the children's message.  It seemed natural as we had just finished singing a short phrase from Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus."

I know, you had to be there.

At the time, I remember thinking that there was this great, affirming, celebratory spirit in worship this morning.  The clapping seemed to me to be saying, "We are all so happy to be here, in the presence of God."

Later on, I suspected that not everyone shared this interpretation.  In some worship circles, it is not considered appropriate to clap after the special music, not matter how glad it makes you feel.  The music is an offering to God, not a concert, they would say, and I suppose they have a point.  But still, what do you do if the music makes you feel so glad that you want to do something?  What if you want to clap, not because you think you are at a performance, but because the music makes you want to DO something?

I always thought that the Pentecostals dealt with this admirably by encouraging people to give what they called "a clap offering to the Lord."  If the music makes you feel like doing something, they said, go ahead and do it, but remember to do it for God.  Once, when I told a non-Pentecostal this, she looked at me as if I was trying to sell her some questionable real estate in Florida.

Perhaps one of the first things to do (and not just with regard to clapping) is to take a deep breath and realize that we don't know why someone does what they do during worship.  Actions that are normal for one set of worshippers seem odd or even inappropriate to others.  Yes it is true:  clapping is an act of worship.  (The Psalms even say so.)  Kneeling is an act of worship.  Making the sign of the cross is an act of worship.  Silence is an act of worship, reverent and full for some, odd and maybe even inappropriate for others.

A couple of years ago during the offering, our gifted pianist accompanied himself in a heartfelt version of the gospel song, "To God be the Glory."  It was electric.  He sang and played full of spirit and emotion.  After he was finished, I expected people to clap.  They often do.  But there was silence -- full, reverent and yet somehow also uncomfortable.  One person even asked me after the service, "Why didn't we clap?"  It was as if they did not totally understand their own actions.

It was an act of worship.

It was an act of worship, just like clapping, and the Spirit moved us, just as the Spirit moves us to put our hands together, because we are full of joy, and we want to do something.

Perhaps the question is not whether to clap or to keep silence, but to listen to the Spirit, who is inviting us to do both, and even more: to live to the glory of God.

Elijah without Exegesis

I learned the story of Elijah before I ever studied it from a Bible.

This is not because I grew up unchurched and never opened a Bible.  Indeed, I was very regular in worship and went to Sunday School every week, although I really don't remember ever getting to the prophets.  (I feel like our Old Testament study sort of stalled out over Solomon.)  I may have heard the story of Elijah on Mount Horeb in worship, but, if I did, it didn't make an impression on me.

I learned the story of Elijah in public school, when my high school choir sang Mendelssohn's oratorio, "Elijah."

My high school choir's tradition was to learn an oratorio every winter.  When I was in tenth grade, we sang great excerpts of Hayden's "The Creation."  (I used to love to walk into my English class right after lunch, turn on the light, and sing, "AND THERE WAS LIGHT!")  My junior year, we sang the "Messiah."  My senior year, we learned The Elijah.

We did not learn the whole oratorio, but we learned and performed a pretty impressive chunk of it, enough to get the gist of the story, enough to perform for our winter concert.  We also joined area high school for a mass performance later in the spring.

There we were, thousands of high school students, singing about the prophet Elijah and the prophets of Ba'al, wicked King Ahab and his even more wicked wife, Jezebel.  It boggles my mind even to think back on it.

What a way to learn the Bible, going over and over difficult musical interludes, listening to soloists practice soliloquies, going into section rehearsals.  I still remember that the first Chorus begins with the word, "Help Lord!  Wilt thou quite destroy us?", and that our choir director warned us to make sure we pronounced the 'p' on Help.  I remember that a wonderful baritone from our school sang Elijah's part (although we had professionals for the mass choir).  Elijah's solo, "It is enough" was so heart-rending.  The song "He watching over Israel" was one of my favorite pieces.

But the action between Elijah and the prophets of Ba'al was the highlight of the piece for me.  We played the prophets of Ba'al, with our increasingly frantic prayers, while Elijah taunted us between our outbursts.  The choir director let us in on the secret meaning of some of Elijah's Ba'al insulting taunts. The piece where Elijah meets God on Mount Horeb was also dramatic, the music matching the words in tension, the voices sounding like wind and chaos and -- eventually -- peace.

I went out and bought the three-album set of the whole oratorio.  Eventually I even bought my own copy of the music and looked up Bible references in my Bible concordance (I found out that they aren't all from 1st Kings; not even all from the Old Testament).

I know, it was geeky way to learn a Bible story.  I mean, how many teenagers that you know are interested in singing huge sections of scripture to tunes written in the 19th Century?

We did.  I didn't learn about Elijah first from a Bible story.  I didn't learn about Elijah first from a sermon.  I learned about Elijah without anyone telling me what it meant, or what it was supposed to mean, or where it fit in the great narrative of the Bible.  I didn't think about what it might mean that the Lord was not in the wind or the earthquake or the fire.

It was a good story, and I was in it.  We were inside the story.  We were playing the people of Israel, and the prophets of Ba'al, the bad guys and the good guys, the saints and the sinners, the doubters and the believers.  We were inside the story, not understanding it, just singing it.

But the thing is, later on, I got curious.  It made me want to study, even.

I know.  It's a geeky way to learn a Bible story.  But still, it makes me think:  being curious is more important, in some ways, than understanding.  And being inside the story, however you might manage it:  is the beginning of wisdom.

Walking Down the Street By a River on New Years' Eve

It was early in the evening still.  Later on, there would be loud bands playing music, and vendors selling food, and the street would be one big New Year's Eve party.  But the darkness was still gathering, and the vendors were just starting to set up, and we were walking down the street.

We were looking for a place to have a little dessert, that's all.  We don't do big new years' celebrations any more.  So we walked up and down the street in the darkness, peered into restaurant and closed shop windows, and listened.  The big bands would not start for awhile, but there was still music.

We walked down the cobblestone streets, all the way up and all the way back.  There was an unaccompanied soloist, singing hits from the 50s in perfect pitch.  "Darling, darling, stand by me," he sang out.  "I'd like to buy him a band, just for an hour," my husband said.  Still, we admired his guts.  A little later on, we came across a guitarist, accompanying himself.  He was singing "What a wonderful world", in the style of Louis Armstrong.  Then we thought, he's the best one, so far, which was no small feat.  We walked on a little farther, noticing the partiers with their plastic cups and party hats starting to appear.  

I stopped into one open shop.  They were selling incense and peasant shirts.  They admired my homemade scarf.  

We rode the elevator up to a restaurant where they were serving an elegant five course dinner.  A woman was singing Jazz.  We just wanted dessert, so we rode back down.  But we did stop for a moment, just to listen.

We walked back up the street, where a trumpeter stood, playing bright snatches of melodies.  We recognized a little bit of the "Bonanza" theme.  People clapped.  He seemed to be in love with his own sound, the echoing reverberation of it.  And then we finally found the place where we could have a little New Years' dessert.  

And music.  There were two young women playing guitar and singing harmony.  "While My Guitar Gently Weeps", they sang.

We just sat there, for a little while, when we were done eating cocoanut cream pie and peach cobbler.  It was the music.

It was the music.  On New Years' Eve, it wasn't the noise, or the toasts, or the crowds of people, or the countdown, or even the darkness, or the dinner.  It was the music.

It has always been the music.

Happy New Year.

Tiny Dancers and Children in Church

We held very simple Advent services on Wednesday evening this year.  We used Holden Evening Prayer, read an Old Testament Reading and read a children's story.  We worshipped around tables in our Fellowship Hall rather than in the Sanctuary.  We had confirmation students bring in the cross and candles and had candles at every table.  We had a few small children take the offering.

I loved hearing the congregation singing together in the round, even in a room with not the best acoustics in the world.  We know the liturgy well enough now that some people felt bold to sing different parts on the canon, even if they were sitting right next to each other.

We had hoped that the service would be short and engaging for families with small children.  But, truth be told, there were only a very few small children (all of the confirmation students came every week).

On the last Wednesday, there were a few more small children.  They were all pre-school age.  One of them had been coming every Wednesday with her grandmother.  Another one was the daughter of our children's ministry coordinator.

Though they were glad to be with us for worship, I could tell that they were also excited and antsy.  They had a hard time paying attention to the story.  It had pretty pictures, and there were opportunities to count down the Advent candles, but other parts of the story were too hard for them to understand.

Toward the end of the service, though, we began the prayer litany.  With piano and violin accompanying, we began to sing, "God of mercy, hold us in love."  The soloist also began, "In peace, in peace, we pray to you."

And two of the little girls began to dance.

They put out their arms as if they were ballerinas; they bumped into each other a couple of times.  They did not understand the words, but they understood the music.  If they had been a little older, I would have said they were tiny liturgical dancers.

Their parents were understandably chagrined.  Children need to learn how to behave in church.  This was a time of prayer, after all.  We were praying for the sake of the world.  And their daughters were dancing.

Yet, I thought that their dance was beautiful.  They were graceful in their smallness, arms flung out, listening to the violin as if it were the voice of God.  They were praying, too, even though they didn't know it. Perhaps we can teach them:  not to sit still, but to believe that all of their movements, their tears and their laughter, are sent up to God, as an offering, as incense.

Perhaps we can teach them, but then we would have to know it too:  we would need to know that church is for sitting still and for dancing, for weeping and for laughter, and that all of it, all of us, is offered up to God, as incense.

Perhaps we can teach them.  Perhaps they can teach us, too.

Voice

For about a year or so, I've been having problems with my voice.

Not big problems, just little problem, just enough to make me worry neutorically on occasion, as I am wont to do.

Mostly, I've had this off-and-on cough.  When I'm coughing, people will say, "you sound awful!", and think I must be really sick.  I don't have any other symptoms, though.  I just cough sometimes.   But then there are lots of times when I'm not coughing, and even when I am, I don't feel sick in any other way.

But I've noticed that there are times when I just don't have the singing-voice-power that I used to.  I went to a funeral recently, and I just felt sort of squeaky and weak on all of the hymns.  The older lady sitting in front of me said, "why didn't you sing out like you usually do?"  So, I've been wondering.

Maybe I am just getting older and my range is getting lower.  I hear that it happens.

Anyway, we have been singing Holden Evening Prayer during Advent.  I have known this service for a long time, and even taught it to my internship congregation.  I love to lead the singing.  Last week, it was my turn to chant, but I was a little nervous because of the squeak in my voice.

I practiced in the afternoon.  I drank plenty of water, and that tea that is supposed to be good for you.  And when I started singing, I felt pretty good.  But as I went on, I could tell that I was starting to get hoarse.

When I got to the litany, I just squeaked out the high note on the first petition.  I felt sort of in despair, but I kept going, and I did get a couple of the high notes, but others I just squeaked on.  At the end of the service, I left feeling a sort of lostness, wondering if I should just stop singing Holden, if those notes were just gone forever.

So here's the thing:

Some people have mentioned the squeak, and said that they could tell I was still fighting a cold last week.

But others have said that they thought my voice was exceptionally strong.

But we have this treasure in earthen vessels....

"What language will we speak in heaven?"

 I wrote this for the funeral of a church member.  I was not able to be at the funeral.  Writing this helped some.

Someone posed this question in an on-line conversation group, “What language will we speak in heaven?”  There were several good responses, I thought.  One person said that we will speak “with one voice”, another that we will speak the language of the angels.  Someone else said that we will not need language, and yet another person said that we will speak the language of love.  But the answer that most stuck with me is this one, ‘Music.”  In heaven we will speak music.

I suppose this answer stuck with me because last Thursday afternoon, I went to visit C.and A (his wife), and members of their family at Nursing Home, where he lived.  It was immediately obvious when I walked in the door that this was a place where C was known and loved; it was familiar and beautiful and filled with people he loved.  And I must confess that, though I have been in many nursing homes and many hospitals rooms, and I’ve prayed with many people, I had a moment of shyness when I saw C.  What kind of prayers should I pray?  What should I say?  Because of his Alzheiemers, C had not spoken for a while, and I didn’t know what he would understand.  I realized how much I depend on words to communicate.   What language will we speak in heaven?

For some strange reason (perhaps the Holy Spirit) I had picked up my small red hymnal when I left the church.  I sort of wondered if we should sing.  A thought we should sing.  So we sang – A's choice – “Beautiful Savior”  -- and everyone was singing, in harmony.  And about halfway through the song C was singing too.  After that we sang “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” in harmony, and some other hymns.  We closed with ‘You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,” although I do believe that there were a couple of encores.

I thought I was hearing the language of heaven that day.  Just a few people, gathered around a bed, singing songs of love, and C was singing along on every one.  You can forget a lot of things, but it turns out that music, like God’s love, gets so far down inside you that even if you forget, it won’t let you go.  It’s an imprint on our soul, like the sign of the cross is an imprint on our foreheads, “Child of God, you are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked by the cross of Christ forever.”

I thought I was hearing the language of heaven that day.  I came to minister to C and A, and they ministered to me.  I thought about all of the times I have heard C and A sing duets, at Sunday worship, for funerals, at Matins.  I have been humming some of those songs these past few days, the language of heaven, which, as it turns out, is also the language of love, imprinted on our souls, that God won’t let us forget.

Yes indeed, music is the language of heaven, and, as it turns out, that is a language that C spoke well.  He spoke it so well he taught it to his family and he taught it to many, many children, including children in this congregation.  He taught it to me, too.

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.”

You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you….”

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

What language will we speak in heaven?

Praise God from whom all blessings flow

Praise him all creatures here below

Praise him above you heavenly host

Praise Father Son and Holy Ghost.

My Problem

When I start thinking about it, there are several things I would really like to do:

1.  Learn to play the recorder that I bought several years ago in Tucson.  It's a really pretty wooden soprano recorder.  It is not the most expensive, but not the least expensive either.  I can play a C scale, Amazing Grace and the Water is Wide. 

2.  Learn some Spanish.  I am not saying I want to be an expert, reading novels or anything.  But I'd love to be able to converse a little in Spanish, understand and speak a little.  I did buy some flash cards, but that's about all.

3.  Learn to make hand-sewn books.  At this point, I'm not interested in making my own paper.  but I really really want to learn how to make books.  If I ever write anything worthy of publication, I would love learning to print an art book (with some illustrations and perhaps prayers or poetry, maybe).

4.  Become better at knitting.  Make more complicated sock patterns, particularly lace.  By the way, I am still working on the sweater.

5.  Get a Doctor of Ministry in Preaching.  I do have an idea for a theme (and maybe even a book), but I'm not divulging it publicly yet. 

6.  Do a lectio divina retreat at the Benedictine Center in St. Paul.

7.  Take a writing class at The Loft Literary Center, or do one of the Iowa Summer Writing Workshops.

Right now, I am not doing any of these things.

The 99%, Singing

It wasn't long ago that my husband and I were watching (again) the quirky little picture, "Four Weddings and a Funeral."  I'm not going to say that this is one of my favorite films or anything, but it was on, and I do kind of like the whole idea of the action and plot revolving around these rituals.  Near the beginning, during the first wedding, actually, there's a great scene of the congregation SINGING.  And some of them, when they zoom in, are singing quite badly, which, I suppose, is meant to be funny, but I found it to be charming.  I noticed this little moment more than usual, because it is really quite unusual for people to be singing at a wedding anymore.  There have been lovely exceptions, in my experience as a pastor, but those singing weddings have been the exception, and not the rule.

It's not just at weddings that people don't sing.  People just don't sing together like they used to. (Do they?)   We had a piano in my home growing up, and my mom and dad used to sing while my mom played standards from their era.  We used to sing songs while we were traveling in the car together -- you know, Row, Row, Row Your Boat, Are You Sleeping?, Down By the Old Mill Stream.  And at the church we visited last weekend, a lovely church by many accounts, mostly the people stood and remained silent during the hymns (some of which I didn't know, either), except for "O Come, O Come Emmanuel." 

Church used to be the last refuge of group singing, except that people don't even sing in church the way they used to.  Maybe it's the numbers of people getting smaller, or maybe it's the songs getting newer, or maybe it's the loud bands, or maybe it's just that people think that, except "Happy Birthday" and "Take Me Out To The Ball Game", singing is for professionals, not for them. 

You know, the 1%.  The wealth of singing is being re-distributed upwards.  And that's as much a shame as our other forms of wealth being re-distributed upwards.  Because there's a poverty in losing our singing voices and our songs, and there's a power in singing.

I was so excited this year that one of the new features at the Minnesota State Fair was the "Great Minnesota sing-along."  The idea was there was this list of 100 favorite songs and a specially designated area for people to stand and sing along while the words were posted for all to see.  But the song that played while we visited?  "Benny and the Jets."  Now, I have nothing against this song as a SONG, but it really isn't a sing-along type of song.  It's a song for soloists to shine while people maybe join in on that fun little phrase, "B-B-
B-Benny and the Jets."  And Elton John, the star, plays that mean piano.

Like I said, the 1%.

When I was in high school, I sang in the choir.  I never got into the choir in college, but I enjoyed singing in choir in high school, and in church, and on other occasions.  And of course we weren't the 99% but we were more the 1%, those of us who took the course and learned to read music and sing in harmony.  We were a choir, but still a bunch of amateurs who did the best we could.  Even though there were mistakes when we got to the concert, I experienced this great power in singing together, in breathing in and out and hearing the sound come out of all of us.  Afterwards, I would go home so high on singing that I would go downstairs and play the piano and sing for another hour or so, until I was hoarse. 

There's a power in singing.  I can't grasp it with my hands, or explain it entirely.  Singing makes you feel like you can do things that are impossible.  Singing unites people, while respecting their individuality.  Each voice particular, but singing songs about Jesus, about love, about justice -- together.  Singing expands you.  The things you sing get way down into you.  Sometimes it's the blues.  Sometimes it's a song of thanksgiving.  Sometimes it's a vision of a better world.    But the wealth of singing is being re-distributed upward, and there's more than one kind of poverty among us. 

There's a place for soloists, and a place for good singers, too.  I'm no singing socialist.  But there also needs to be a place for everybody to sing, and to know the power in singing, even badly.   It's not all about the perfect soloist and the band that never makes mistakes.  It's about us, in our imperfect lives and voices, reflecting God.   The church could lead the way, help people to open their mouths, expand their lives and find out how powerful they are. 

Since it's Advent, maybe we can start with "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel."    What do you say?

Consumers or Producers

My husband, a musician, likes to talk about different ways people love music.  Most people love music of some sort or another, but they love it mostly as consumers.  In other words, they are listeners.  They turn on a radio, or pop in a CD or love sorting the tunes on their ipods by genre, or creating a nice "mix" of music to listen to. 

There's another way to love music, though, and that is as someone who makes music.  You can write songs, or you can play music, but in either case you are choosing not just to consume but to produce.  You can use your voice or piano keys or a rhythm instrument, you can play a flute or a kazoo, you can be a professional or a rank amateur, but if you play, you are producing something rather than just consuming it.

Both consuming and producing are normal activities.  We do both of them in our lives, although it seems to me that we are beginning to skew more and more toward the consuming side.  If you buy, cook and eat your supper, you're both a producer and a consumer -- producing a nice meal and then eating it.  If you put something in the microwave or go out to eat (and we do this more often than I care to admit) you're just a consumer. 

My mom sewed a lot of our clothes.  Now I mostly go shopping, reserving my limited sewing skills and patience for hems and mending.  I do find a strange attraction to knitting, partly because, I think, I can produce something for someone else (or me!) to wear.    We used to get most of our books out of the public library, reading the book being the most important thing at the time.  I wrote reams and reams of short stories and poems and one acts plays on lined notebook paper.  A friend and I would read our work to one another.  Now for some reason it seems important to own the book, whether I get around to actually reading it or not. 

Then I turn to worship.  It seems to me that the idea has developed that the clergy and other professionals are the producers of worship, and that the congregation are consumers of worship.  Some people critique congregation members for this, but I think that clergy and other worship leaders can be as much to blame.  If it is true that we are all worshipping, with our voices, with our hearts, with our lips, we are all producers of worship, and we're all consumers as well.  If we "get a lot out of worship," it may be just because we put our hearts, souls and minds into worship.

It's true that we consume the Word which is given to us, something we did not produce ourselves.  But as we chew and swallow and ponder what we freely receive, we do go out to produce, to create, to produce fruit, to create community, to do justice and to love kindness.  We are not simply collectors or appreciators of fine Bible verses, putting them in order by genre. 

Rank amateurs we may be, but somehow we start playing those verses with ours lives, producing melodies and harmonies based on "Love one another as I haved loved you," or "The Lord is my shepherd", or "The Lord has risen."

Tomorrow the bread is broken, the songs are sung, the word comes into our ears, into our hearts.  We take and eat.  We go and live.

The Woman at the Well, and all That

Maybe it was a wave that started yesterday when I met with seven of the 5th graders who are preparing for first communion.  One of them is also preparing for his baptism.  Two more young people are preparing on their own, as they were out of town this weekend.  They got some materials and started studying on their own.

I walked into worship and saw one of my old worship professors sitting in a pew.  "What are you doing here?" he asked me.  Seriously.  I've been serving here for several years.  He was here to observe our interim organist, who's in a degree program at our local seminary.  All of a sudden I was all in a dither, more nervous than usual, even though I wasn't being observed. 

So, worship today:  I preached.  My sermon title:  "Give me a drink," and how Jesus' request becomes the woman's request, his thirst reveals our thirst.  It's such a great story, and so rich, I wanted to keep the sermon pretty simple.  I hope I succeeded. 

At the second service, I had the children come up and told them about wells and water jugs.  One of my points was that a water jar would have been heavy.  So I had a big pitcher filled with water, and had them try to pick it up.  I myself thought the picture was pretty heavy, but the five year old boy who tried it thought it was not heavy at all.  Oh, well.

I seriously underestimated the time it might take to give every child a small cup of water (after all these years!), but thought at the last minute to just have the people start singing the song, and continue pouring water.

At the second service, I poured water into the baptismal font during the last paragraph of my sermon, while I said,

"If you had known the gift of God, and who it was that was asking you, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water -- gushing up to eternal life, running down over your face, running down into your life.  He is the water that covers us, that gives us life, day after day.  He is the water that refreshes us at the top of the day, that cleanses us, that makes us new.  give us a drink."

During communion at the second service, the congregation sang the chorus "Taste and See the Goodness of the Lord" while our Spirit Singers choir sang the verses.  I can't even describe the sense of well-being I felt from hearing that.

(after worship I bought popcorn from the Boy Scouts, met with a couple preparing for their wedding, visited my mother-in-law in the hospital). 

Taste and see, taste and see the goodness of the Lord

I keep thinking about the people who were there, and the people who were not there.  I know that some people are on spring break, and some people are traveling, and there are many reasons for not being around on one particular Sunday or another.  And I know that some people come to worship and they find it a place where there is bread for the journey, and the water of life, and others think it's boring, or perplexing, or a waste of a perfectly good Sunday morning.  I take that seriously, by the way. 

Sunday Sermon

"Seeing God’s Big Picture: From Whom All Blessings Flow"
Ephesians 5:15-20

In my family, one of our favorite stories is about the time when a bunch of us cousins all went to the old TV show "Dialing for Dollars" sometime during the Christmas season.
We got to be in the studio audience that day, a very big deal indeed – I think my sister, my cousin and I all harbored secret dreams of being discovered in some way or another.
Lo and behold, the host was asking children in the audience to get up and sing a Christmas song that they knew by heart.
My sister, my cousin and I sat there, thinking about raising our hands while other little kids raised their hands and pretty much all sang the same song: "Jingle Bells."
We knew plenty of other Christmas songs! Why wouldn’t they pick us?
We raised our hands, but not very high, probably, and we were sitting in the middle to the back of the audience.
Then, much to my surprise, my little brother, who was about 4 years old at the time, and was sitting in one of the front rows with my dad, raised his hand.
The host picked him.
He stood up under the bright lights of the TV studio, and belted out the song: "Santa Claus is coming to Town." He knew all the words. I mean – ALL the words.
And he won a prize – which made us jealous enough to think to ourselves – we didn’t want one of those plastic horses and cowboys, anyway.

Let me testify here for a moment – music and singing is important in my family, have always been important in my family – although there is not one professional musician among us.
Since I was a little girl, I remember singing songs around the piano, singing songs in the car, singing songs along with the records that played on the record player.
And music and singing are important for my life of faith, too, from the songs and hymns I learned in church and at home, to the songs learned around the campfire at church camp, to the Christian popular music that started to take shape when I was in college.
That’s how it has been for me, at least – music and singing have been an integral part of practicing my faith – how has it been for you?
There are certain songs and certain melodies that I have known for so long that even though the words might change a bit, I still know them, and can join in when I hear

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise God all creatures here below
Praise God above ye heavenly host
Praise Father Son and Holy Ghost

The apostle seems to have a similar view. After spending three chapters of Ephesians reminding us and extolling us and painting a picture for us of God’s great vision,
God’s great love which is going to bring all things together, all things in heaven and on earth – the apostle gets practical.
He starts teaching the Ephesians about what it means to practice our faith.
He wants us to know that practicing our faith has much to do with our relationships with other people – how we treat each other, how we great the strangers among us, how we treat our enemies.
So, today, he also urges us to "Make the most of the time that we are given."
Important words from the apostle, who was sure that the world was going to end soon – and for us,
for every time we live in is an important one, and every time we live in has urgent issues,
and in every time we live there is the threat that evil might overcome us, and there is the opportunity to overcome evil with good.
So, he says – don’t get drunk, that’s a waste of our time, but instead – sing. Sing songs to God. Sing songs to one another. Sing songs to yourselves, even. Does this strike you as odd in any way? Singing is an essential activity?

That is not the way many of us would imagine it, these days.
Oh, music is still important, music is background music for our lives, and it’s everywhere – in our offices while we work, in our car, on elevators.
But listening to music, as important as it is, is not as important as singing, actually lifting our voices out loud, whether we sing in tune or not, whether we are confident or not, whether we sing soprano or bass or don’t know what part we sing.
As the apostle writes: "be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts."
This is an important, a crucial, an essential activity even. Something happens to us and in us when we come together and sing

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise God all creatures here below
Praise God above ye heavenly host
Praise Father Son and Holy Ghost

It does seem that, like with so many other things, though, we don’t sing together much any more.
We mostly let the "experts" do our singing for us – the people who we listen to on the radio, on our ipods, on our CDs, or even live in concerts.
They do most of the singing any more, except in church.
Oh, there are a couple of exceptions, of course: you can usually get a rousing chorus of "Happy birthday" going no matter where you are – and there’s also usually a good response to "Take me out to the ball game" during the seventh inning stretch.
But other than church, those are the only times I can think of that people get together and sing any more.
We go against the grain, it seems, in more ways than one here.
We go against the grain in our singing, and we go against the grain in our living, in the values that we hold, values that call us out of isolation into community, and our of our fear into a greater hope.

Lately, though, even singing together in church has gotten more difficult.
It’s partly that everybody doesn’t know the same songs any more.
Maybe in this age of recording perfection, we are more self-conscious about our singing voices. I recently worshiped as a guest at another Lutheran congregation.
We attended the late service, which was the contemporary worship one.
There were many things wonderful about the service: great music, good preaching, friendly people – but we noticed that many people didn’t join in on the congregational songs.
I’m sure it wasn’t the intent of the very excellent worship team to intimidate people by their excellence, but people just weren’t joining in as enthusiastically as I expected.
Even in the church, people are starting to get used to music being a professional activity, not an act of the gathered community.
But just like our faith is not a spectator sport, all of us and each of us practice living out our convictions about God’s grace and justice – so also music and singing is not just for professionals, but it is for all of us to lift our voices, because something happens to us and in us and among us when we sing:

Praise God from whom all blessings flow
Praise God all creatures here below
Praise God above ye heavenly host
Praise Father Son and Holy Ghost.

Yet the apostle warns "do not get drunk with wine.... but be filled with the Spirit, singing songs and hymns and spiritual songs...."
Now I don’t think the apostle means to say that abusing alcohol is the only thing he is worried about, or that singing is the only good.
But I think he means something like this – People sometimes say that they "drink to forget".... but singing helps us to remember.
The apostle believes that in these important times, we cannot to afford to forget – who we belong to, where our true hope lies, and what is the purpose of our lives.
And so he urges us to sing, for when we sing the truth from outside us gets way down inside us, forming us and giving us hope and comfort and yes, even courage.
Singing forms us as individuals in the life of faith, and singing forms us as a community, a community who can stand up together for the truth of God’s love for us, and for the truth of God’s justice and the truth of God’s mercy for all people.

I recently had the opportunity to talk with one of the older members of our congregation, a mature Christian with much to teach and share.
This person has had his share of ups and downs in life, his share of times of blessing and also times of grief.
He shared with me the importance of the old hymns, especially times when he was feeling low.
He said he knew all of the words to "Love divine, all loves excelling" by heart, and sang the verses to himself when grief threatened to overwhelm him.
Think about the message of that hymn, learned by heart and taken to heart over many years, and think about how the words become part of us, giving us comfort and courage at the times when we need:

Come, Almighty, to deliver, let us all thy life receive
Suddenly return and never, never more thy temples leave.....

They are words from outside us, it is hope from outside us, but over the years and years of singing this melody and these words, they have gotten deep inside us, and transformed us more and more into the kind of person God wants us to be.
We learn scripture verses and we learn about the kind of God we have when we sing, and we share this with one another.

I also had the opportunity recently to be a part of a group that went to the State Capital together.
I mentioned how as we advocated for transportation jobs for women and minorities, we also sang songs together, songs about God, but also songs about our resolve to keep working for justice and dignity for all people.
And I thought about how many of the Civil rights songs were first gospel songs, church songs: "Keep your eyes on the prize.... Hold on, hold on,",
the people sang as they marched to places like Selma and Montgomery and Washington, DC
and as they remembered that they were God’s children and that the work they were doing was important work.

Do not get drunk with wine, but be filled with the spirit...singing songs and hymns and spiritual songs.
Sing songs and hymns and spiritual songs, the apostle urges.... because, one day, perhaps soon, perhaps not, the lights will be on us, and we’ll want to raise our hands.
Someday, perhaps soon, perhaps not, we’ll be called upon to speak, or to act the wide wide love and mercy God has for us.
Someday the lights will be on us and someone will ask us to stand up, and we’ll stand up ... and the song and the words will come out from deep inside us, and we’ll know that the saints from all of the ages of ages sing with us, but, most of all, we’ll know that it is the love of God that carries us, we’ll be able to stand up and sing. ....

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,
praise God all creatures here below
praise God above you heavenly host
praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost. AMEN

What a Wonderful World

This morning between the two services I caught the Contemporary musicians practicing the offertory for the 10:00 service. This is the song they were playing:



I realized that this sort of popular song would not fly in many churches (to be honest, it would probably not fly in our church on many occasions.) But I caught myself smiling when I heard it. As I went over the order of service with them, we realized that they did not know that there were two baptisms this morning. However, they were quite pleased -- they thought that their selection was especially appropriate for the day.

This got me thinking about the recent acclaim and controversy over the joyful wedding dance on YouTube. Some focussed on the dancing; others worried that others would request this sort of thing, but not be able to do it as well; others were pleasantly surprised that something like this could go on in a church.

This morning's local paper weighed in on all of the variety of opinion, especially among clergy and church goers. I especially took notice of those who had been long away from the church, but thought they might give it a second look, based on this video. It made me think that the pastor's decision in this case might have been a wise one, despite my misgivings about the content of the Chris Brown song. (In the interest of full disclosure, I'll just say that I'm not a big fan of recorded music of any form, sacred or secular, in a church service. I'll also disclose that I had an outdoor wedding a couple of years ago where the "Austin Powers Movie Theme" was used for the recessional and where each couple made up their own dance steps as they walked back up the "aisle." I thought it was cute and especially appropriate for the close of the wedding service.)

I'm wondering more and more about the strict line we sometimes keep in the church between sacred and secular, between holy and profane. I wonder if sometimes we don't miss opportunities to speak God's truth because we are unwilling to start where people are -- whether that place is Louis' Armstrong singing What a Wonderful World, or Bill Withers singing Lean on Me.

I'm not suggesting replacing Hymns with Beatles songs or Scripture verses with self-help books. But if we allow ourselves the creativity in our sermons to compare and contrast the world of the Scripture with the world we currently live in, why not in our music too?

I'll admit, I don't have this all figured out; I know that not every song is the Lord's song; I know that God's grace and truth are often strange, and not familiar. And yet.... and yet....

It's a wonderful world, and it's a heartbreaking world, a world of hurt and of grace, of terrible evil and redemption behind our imagining. But above all else, the greatest mystery of all is this: it's a holy world, and it's God's world, every single last secular and sacred molecule of it.

Unanswered Questions

So we went up to the City by the Great Lake on Sunday afternoon. We went to see Earnest Younger Stepson, a serious sociology student at the University by the Great Lake.

On Monday, we made stops at a couple of local antique stores that we like to haunt. They know us so well at one of the stores that they asked where our partner was (they meant Scout.)

I had a good time looking through old children's illustrated books. I was this close to getting a hardcover copy of Elizabeth Enright's book, Thimble Summer. And there was a cute children's picture book, so exactly post-war, called "Betty and Bob Go to Church." I wish I had a picture of the dust jacket. Alas, I did not purchase that one either.

One of the proprietors, a bookseller who thinks I have good taste, took down some of the names of the authors I was looking for: Ingri and Edgar D'Aulaire, Maud and Miska Petersham, Masha, Pelagie Doane. I especially like to find Bible Story books and prayer books.

At one point in our conversation he looked at me and said, "Are you a minister?" When I answered in the affirmative, he asked, "What has happened to the church lately? It seems that young people don't like the old songs any more. They want all this praise music."

My husband writes contemporary church music, so I am somewhat of an apologist for new music in church. He said he doesn't have a problem with new music, but ....

".... why forget about 20 centuries of tradition?" I completed his question for him.

He is a member of a small main-line congregation in town. I can tell he loves his church. They are wondering about their future. I would have loved to stay and talk more with him about 20 centuries of church tradition, about the growth in both the Pentecostal churches and also the growth in unbelief, otherwise known as "atheism."

(This could be a whole separate post, but Pentecostalism is the fastest growing religion in the world. We have to stop considering people like Sarah Palin out of the mainstream.)

I would love to have talked more about the mission of the church, and how in the era of "Betty and Bob" it was just assumed, and how we can't do that any more. I would have loved to tell him that 20 centuries of church music, prayers, literature and art are a part of a vibrant faith that is worth passing along.

The truth is, I don't have all the answers. But I think being part of the conversation is a great first step.

In those 20 centuries of tradition, what do you value, and why? What songs, prayers, and works of art live for you?

I thank you god....

Tomorrow at church we are installing our new music director and organist. There will be no sermon, but plenty of music tomorrow, at all services. Even our contemporary worship service will have a mini hymn sing, featuring the organ.

Between the hymns or songs, the other pastor and I will have short reflections. I decided to read e.e. cummings poem, i thank you god for this amazing day. When searching the internet for it, I found this marvelous choral version I'd like to share with you.



Personally, I need a break from "other news" these days."

The Music Gene, part II

This is my nephew playing the piano, his own composition. It is called "Dead War -- Acoustic".




What do you think?

The Music Gene

I have a nephew, C, my brother's son, who I will always picture in my mind as a cute blonde boy who looks exactly like my brother did. So, these days I'm always a little shocked when I see him: he dyed his hair deep black and wears it in spikes, so he looks a lot different. I am sorry to say that I have a hard time getting used to his "new" look, even though it's not so new.

On Sunday, he was at the reunion with my brother, and he started playing the little piano out in the foyer. He was playing his own compositions, jamming on the piano, playing by ear in a kind of a jazz style. Not longer afterward, one of my elderly aunts came in, her daughter pushing her wheelchair. "Who is that?" she called out. "Is that C? I didn't know he was so talented!" She had my cousin push her over while she listened to him play in rapt attention.

We found out that one of my Massachussetts cousin's boys is also musical. He also played a little for us, later on in the afternoon. And my cousin took out his video camera at one point and videotaped my nephew, the one with the spiky black hair, playing and singing an acoustic version of one of his own songs.

In an odd sort of way, this brings me back to my childhood, and one of my uncle's rare visits. At some point we would gather around the piano, and he would entertain us with the many classical pieces that he knew by heart. He always closed the "program" by playing "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" in the style of every famous composer we could think of, from Bach to Gershwin. Everyone in the family was in awe of his musical talent; everyone in the family also developed a love and appreciation for music, just because of my musical uncle.

My uncle became a pastor, not a musician, but I don't remember hearing him preach much. I do remember, however, listening to him talk about Bach and Chopin, Brahms and Schubert and Strauss. Even now, I'm told he knows a lot of music by heart.

So yesterday we were gathered around a piano once again, not listening to Bach, but listening to and admiring the talent of a spiky-haired young man, who sang and played the same instrument as my uncle, but in such a different way. The music gene has somehow been passed along, from one generation to another.

Thank God that we have been given the eyes to see it, the ears to recognize it, and the hearts to receive it.

Beautiful Goodbye

This is a music video dedicated to a victim of domestic violence.

The Leader of the Band Has Died

Sad news: I just learned that Dan Fogelberg died yesterday. His music provided meaningful foreground and background at certain periods of my life, but my friend Crysta has said it much better than I could over at her place.

Plus, she provides a snippet of his music.

Pay her a visit today.

Picture is album cover of Souvenirs. I found it here