Today, January 18, is the Confession of St. Peter the Apostle.
Confession is a dirty word to many modern people. For today to be called the Confession of St. Peter it almost makes it sound like Peter did something bad. Spoiler alert: he didn't.
Liturgical Calendar Joke If he did, the liturgical calendar would surely include the Punishment of St. Peter on January 19. You can check if you want to, but I'm pretty sure it's not there. Okay, I checked. Jan. 19 is Wulfstan.
Next week, on January 25, it's the Conversion of St. Paul the Apostle. This is a little bit easier to understand. Everyone knows what a conversion is, even folks who aren't particularly interested in having one.
Maybe you've heard of these two fellows in tandem, Peter and Paul. You might even know that they're commemorated together in the liturgical calendar on June 29.
The liturgical calendar's linking of these two saints is important and has a great deal to say about the nature of the Church. It's not just June 29 that they appear together. Their two flagship acts, one of confession and one of conversion, complement each other and are commemorated exactly one week apart.
“You are the Christ”
Peter's confession is about who Jesus is. When asked "who do you say that I am?" Peter confessed, "you are the Christ" (Matthew 16:15-16).
Jesus seems pleased with Peter's response, to put it mildly.
[Jesus is speaking:] "And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven." (Matt. 16:18-19; pictured above, Jesus hands over the keys)
“Who are you Lord?”
While Peter passes this pop quiz with flying colors, Paul, on the other hand, is thrown into a state of confusion. There's a blazing light that knocks him to the ground and then a voice which prompts him to ask the question "who are you, Lord?" (Acts 26:15).
These two four-word phrases, "You are the Christ" and "who are you Lord?", are responsible for the Church as we know it.
This can be seen clearly in the architecture of the Cathedral of Saint Peter and Saint Paul in the City and Diocese of Washington. The entrance of this massive building is flanked by two towers, one named for Peter and one named for Paul.
Supporting the doorway to Christian worship and Christian life are the two great acts of these saints. And the space inside the Christian Life is filled by those who confess (in the Peter sense) who Jesus is and those who ask who Jesus is. We each must do both. And the Church itself is a space where this activity occurs. They are like the two Great Commandments to the church.
"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind."
"Do you believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God?…"
“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”
"Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?…"
It's important to note that not even Peter could always confess who Jesus was. He is perhaps better known for his three denials of Jesus than he is for his Confession. But if the Church's very rock can waver we must know that the Church itself is a dynamic space which is supported by this ongoing movement of those who confess (in the Peter sense) and those who ask. It surely exists for both, just as surely as the cathedral entrance in Washington has two immense towers.
And just as the National Cathedral proclaims that it is "a house of prayer for all people" so the big-C Church must also strive to live in harmony with itself. At any given point in the life of the greater Christian community there are those who are able to confess who Jesus is and those who are asking the question "who are you"?
The international ecumenical observance of The Week of Prayer for Christian Unity" is held in the octave between the Confession of St. Peter and the Conversion of St. Paul. The point being, I think, that if the Church as a whole is formed by and for those who confess and those who ask, this same impulse is continually calling all Christians into communion.
O God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our only Savior, the Prince of Peace: Give us grace seriously to lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions; take away all hatred and prejudice, and whatever else may hinder us from godly union and concord; that, as there is but one Body and one Spirit, one hope of our calling, one Lord, one Faith, one Baptism, one God and Father of us all, so we may be all of one heart and of one soul, united in one holy bond of truth and peace, of faith and charity, and may with one mind and one mouth glorify thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP 818)
The liturgy has the power to bring us, relatively unencumbered by social expectations, to a place where we can hear God at the depths of our being. Often people confuse good liturgy with what is sentimental, faddish, or even cute. Good liturgy is more likely to be fearful and make us uncomfortable. Good feelings or a sense of security can often be the very antithesis of effective worship.
Holmes, Urban T. What is Anglicanism? Moorehouse Publishing. p. 43
This Christmas, for most of the U.S. (and it sounds like most of Europe as well), it was absurd to be singing about snow. There was a high temperature of nearly 70˚F in New York City! The climate is changing, and so let's focus for a moment on those carols that are particularly well-suited to warming weather.
Now, some carols we could stand a bit more of:
Sed Angli points out that Wells Cathedral sang this carol twice on Christmas Day. They're on the right track! (Let's just agree to call it "I saw six ships").
The close flower contenders: One might be tempted by "Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming", but with the line "amid the cold of winter" the effect is lost. "A tender shoot" suffers from the same problem ("cold bleak winter"). And, heartbreakingly, "A spotless rose" is out ("amid the winter cold" -- twice!). We get it! It's amazing when flowers bloom in the cold. Well, guess what? It's not so amazing any more - BECAUSE IT'S NOT COLD AND IT NEVER WILL BE AGAIN! Where did that White Witch of Narnia go when you need her?
While our main interest on this blog is the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols itself, the service "Carols from Kings" which is recorded for television broadcast is certainly more internet-friendly. Here are the carols from this year's service.
As this year's Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King's College, Cambridge, England draws near (preview) it seems meet and right to delve a bit deeper into some of the music at this year's service.
This series began with Richard Causton's The Flight, and now continues with a look at the Processional Hymn
There's a famous discussion that happened when Gustav Mahler came to visit Jean Sibelius. The two composers discussed the nature of the symphony itself. Mahler argued for romanticism: for him, the symphony must be all-encompassing. It must be "the world". Sibelius, the modernist, disagreed. For him the symphony was about the "inner logic", the interconnection and interplay of ideas.
These two approaches need not be and, in fact, are not mutually exclusive. Mahler and Sibelius, if pressed, could probably find examples of their preferred creative world view in each other's work.
The discussion these composers had is instructive in naming parts of the particular liturgy that is Lessons and Carols. Given the nature of the subjects of religion, one would expect the catholic (romantic) view of liturgy: it must be "the world". And yet, for liturgy to be protestant (modernist) it must also provide an "inner logic".
“the Anglican Church's ongoing liturgical apotheosis is found in the service of Lessons and Carols”
And there is no greater flowering of the two streams of Catholicism and Protestantism than the Anglican Church.
And the Anglican Church's ongoing liturgical apotheosis is found in the service of Lessons and Carols (a service not found in the Book of Common Prayer!).
The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols at King's College, Cambridge, England on Christmas Eve begins with the processional hymn "Once in royal David's city" sung to the hymn tune IRBY. This tune was written by Henry John Gauntlett, and his original harmonization can be found in green Carols for Choirs 1 (Oxford Univ. Press).
Gauntlett claimed to have composed 10,000 hymn tunes, and this may explain the tune's success. Whether or not he composed precisely that high a number is irrelevant. What we see with the melody of IRBY is the steady hand of a master at work. One could imagine for this hymn tune a scenario similar to Beethoven's "Ode to Joy": draft after draft, revision after revision, until what emerges is as perfectly crafted as the parameters of acoustic science will allow.
Of course when we talk about IRBY we must talk about it's use, since 1919, as the opening hymn at the annual Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. While Gauntlett was able to refine this tune with pen and ink, it's modern performance practices have been forged from the particular alchemy of the stone of a gothic chapel, boys voices, and a small, significant red light from the BBC.
It is in the cool air of King's Chapel that the tune was first paired with its harmonization by Arthur Henry Mann. Mann, the Organist of King's College since 1876, had worked together with the Dean Eric Milner-White to direct the music at the very first service of Lessons and Carols at King's in 1918. The following year, the two settled on "Once in royal David's city" as the opening hymn, and it has remained the opening hymn of the service for the following 96 years.
Like Mann, attendees and listeners to this service first confront the tune itself, unadorned, and sung by a single treble voice. The red light comes on. The director nods. The chosen treble, who only moments before did not know for certain if he would be singing the solo verse, begins the story in the winter light of the chapel as millions around the world hold their breath to listen.
The tune begins on one note (the dominant, the fifth scale degree), rises a bit (to the leading tone), and then resolves just higher than that (to the tonic). The first two notes are readily heard as members of the Dominant (V) chord, especially in the ample acoustic of King's Chapel. In conventional harmony, the V chord always resolves itself to the Tonic (I), as it does here.
“these three notes succinctly resolve our waiting for the Incarnation to arrive”
The question must be asked -- and we at Sinden.org cannot readily find the answer -- when did the excellent custom of presenting this tune unharmonized and sung by a solo treble begin?
It is an understated elegance with which the tune unfolds. As it is St. John himself, later in the service, who "unfolds the mystery of the Incarnation", these three notes succinctly resolve our waiting for the Incarnation to arrive. Together, they are the unequivocal end of Advent.
From it's arrival on the tonic, the rhythm picks up steam. The arrival is weighted so that the first tonic pitch lingers over the next beat, resulting in a succession of five eighth notes and a melodic turn and cadential appoggiatura. The rhythm is repeated exactly in the consequent phrase.
It's the kind of thing that in a very sprightly tempo (and with the right kind of instrumentation) would make for a rather convincing country dance. In a slower tempo, as it must be sung, it becomes quite regal, as befits the word "royal" in the first line.
Mann's harmonization, found in the orange Carols for Choirs 2 and most hymnals that carry the tune, is heard on the second stanza when the choir enters. It complements the shape of the tune's "unfolding". Harmonized not with a V chord, but with only scale degree three in the bass. This gives more than a hint of the tonic chord for a melody that is about to outline V, but the tonic chord is not heard in root position on a strong beat until the tail end of the consequent phrase phrase. This is a sophisticated harmonization with narrative power.
After this, beginning at the third stanza, the organ and congregation join the festivities.
The words of the hymn work to tell this story beautifully. Cecil Frances Alexander was a story teller of a hymn-writer. See, for instance, her lyric opening "There is a green hill far away / without a city wall". You may also know her work from the hymn "All things bright and beautiful". Alexander, a Victorian hymn-writer, had a particular fondness for the word "little", using it almost as much as the Book of Mormon uses the phrase "and it came to pass". But here, she seems to be at the height of her powers, giving the narrative a "rare clarity and dignity" (J. R. Watson, The English Hymn).
The notes tell a story just as much the words do. The opening pitches of the melody are well-matched to the words' "Once upon a time" aesthetic, but they also have the effect of a more famous set of blue words on a black screen. This story is an epic tale that many are drawn to and love hearing hearing year after year. This story is "the world", or at least a key part of it.
Taken together, the words and the tune of this opening hymn have set the stage for this service for over nine decades. Perhaps there is contained in the implied harmonies of opening melodic motive (V-I) the possibility of a kind of reverse liturgical Shenkarian analysis of the pattern of the whole service: longing and fulfilment; tension and release; sin and redemption.
Like the unexpected beginning to Beethoven's First Symphony (V7-I), in the pattern of lessons we hear a repeated V-I resolution, in different keys, and within a larger scheme.
And let's note that in a contemporary world where the concept of sin is mocked, and confession is increasingly ignored, it is helpful that this origin story is preserved in this liturgy at Christmas. Sin is properly understood as separation from God, and Christmas can change this. Through another famous hymn we sing, "cast out our sin and enter in". (See a rather beautiful essay on these things at Sed Angli "Confession and Grace")
The Ninth Lesson provides the massive crashing resolution of the entire thing, including that niggling part about the apple in the First Lesson ("to them gave he power to become the sons of God"). Christ is the Second Adam. Like the exuberant "Ode to Joy" in Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, the Ninth Lesson is the Incarnation as Easter story. A fitting resolution if there ever was one.
Make no mistake: "O come all ye faithful" after the Ninth Lesson is sung in the same key as "Once in royal David's city" because there is an "inner logic" to this service.
Tracing back before the "Easter" moment we hear in the prologue hymn to John's Gospel, we have Incarnation, the Annunciation, prophecies, covenants, and an apple.
And before that apple, how did it all begin?
Ah, yes. "Once in royal David's city..."
It's not an Amen (IV-I), but it is a very inspired and inspiring place to start (V-I).
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