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I know that is probably obvious to you, but it was a point that was driven home in a hymn sung in many parishes.

Maybe you caught it? It was in the list of negatives that we sang in the opening of Hymn 259 in the Hymnal 1982: “Hail to the Lord who comes.”

Hail to the Lord who comes,
   comes to his temple gate;
not with his angel host,
   not in his kingly state;
no shouts proclaim him nigh,
   no crowds his coming wait;

John Ellerton (1826–1893), alt.

In this hymn’s first stanza, John Ellerton gives us four consecutive negative images to let us know what the Presentation is not.

It’s not like the Second Coming when Jesus will come in glory with his “angel host.”

And, notably, it’s not anything resembling the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday when the crowds lining the streets of Jerusalem acclaim Jesus with shouts of “Hosanna!”. These very roads lead toward the temple, and at least in Mark's Gospel, Jesus’ arrival in Jerusalem culminates with his entry into the temple.

For Ellerton, it is important to stress that the Presentation is not that kind of arrival. This is a quiet, unheralded entry—at least on the outside. The acclamations and epiphanies about who Jesus is come from Simeon and Anna once the infant Jesus is inside the Temple.

Defining something by what it is not strikes me as an unusual maneuver in hymn writing, but not a unique one. We find other examples of this in our hymn repertoire.

Request for rhetorical vocabulary: If there is a useful rhetorical term for this, I would be eager to learn what it is!

Not here for high and holy things
   we render thanks to thee,
but for the common things of earth,
   the purple pageantry

Hymn 9, st. 1, Geoffrey Anketel Studdert-Kennedy (1883–1929)

When this old world drew on toward night,
   you came; but not in splendor bright,
not as a monarch, but the child
   of Mary, blameless mother mild.

Hymn 60: "Creator of the stars of night," st. 3, Latin, 9th cent. ver. Hymnal 1940, alt.

He sent him not in wrath and power,
   but grace and peace to bring;
in kindness, as a king might send
   his son, himself a king.

He came as Savior to his own,
   the way of love he trod;
he came to win us by good will,
   for force is not of God.

Not to oppress, but summon all
   their truest life to find,
in love God sent his Son
   to save, not to condemn mankind.

Hymn 489: "The great Creator of the worlds," st. 3, 5, 6, Epistle to Diognetus; ca. 150; tr. F. Bland Tucker (1895–1984), rev.

for not with swords loud clashing,
   nor roll of stirring drums,
but deeds of love and mercy,
   the heavenly kingdom comes.

Hymn 555: "Lead on, O King eternal," st. 2b, Ernest Warburton Shurtleff (1862–1917)

Labels: hymn, Hymn 259, Hymn 489, Hymn 555, Hymn 60, Hymn 9, John Ellerton, Presentation

Of the hundreds and hundreds of settings of the Magnificat and Nunc dimittis, one genuinely scares me. I am afraid to perform it, either as a conductor or as an organist.

And it’s not that this piece is overly technical. Indeed Herbert Howells has written more difficult settings of the Evening Canticles (the Dallas Service comes to mind).

But there is a unique difficulty in this music written for King’s College, Cambridge, in 1945. Like no other piece I can think of, the “Collegium Regale” Evening Canticles seem to demand perfection.

I recently pulled out my copy of the piece to accompany the canticles this past Sunday at Evensong. I found myself briefly second-guessing the composer at the slurring of the word “lowliness,” but quickly realized that Howells got it right (of course). It is also the first slur in the piece that somehow feels as if it was already full of them.

I can study the notes, I can sing them, I can play them, and yet, these pieces somehow remain a mystery. The kind of alchemic liquidity that Howells achieves is impressive. The culminating Gloria Patri seems to transcend time and space every time we encounter it, and blissfully, it comes up twice when these canticles are sung at Evensong.

I realize need to get over my fear which has resulted in a kind of reluctance to program these canticles. They must always remain special, but Howells has done that work for us. I relished the chance to accompany these on Sunday. They cry out to be performed, not kept under glass.

Labels: Howells, King's College (Cambridge)