This collect was quoted by Kyle Ritter in the May/June issue of the Journal of the Association of Anglican Musicians. It was composed by Ray Glover, the editor of the Hymnal 1982, and one of my predecessors at St. Paul's, Richmond.
O God, whose servant David played upon his harp, composed hymns for his people, and danced before the Ark to the glory of your holy Name: Guide and inspire the musicians everywhere who serve in your temple, that their offerings, like those of David, may be a sacrifice of time and talent worthy of your honor and glory. Al this we ask thorugh Jesus Christ, your only Son, our Lord. Amen.
Labels: church music, Collect, prayer, Ray Glover
The Gospel readings for last Sunday and next (namely John 6:51, which is read on both Sundays) bring to mind a particular line of music. At least they do for me. And perhaps they do for many of us who have been at Lake Delaware Boys' Camp in upstate New York.
Lake Delaware Boys' Camp (LDBC) is a remarkable place. Every morning before breakfast, the entire camp community gathers in the Chapel for Holy Eucharist. On Sundays, all would return for Evensong and Benediction in the afternoon. And one of the pieces of music used at Benediction was a little Mode 1 chant for the words "I am the living bread which came down from heaven" (John 6:51).
Because it was a regular part of daily life, everyone knew about chapel, and it was talked about throughout the day. Because it was only a part of weekly life, Evensong and Benediction held special place in the LDBC imagination. The regular music and chants of this service were extra special.
How special? Well, it wasn't surprising to hear "I am the bread of life" sung at any time and at any place. Maybe someone would remember it while walking to the swimming pool. Or on the soccer field. Maybe it was someone in the camp choir singing it, but maybe not. It was just another part of camp life.
I am the living bread which came down from heaven: if any man eat of this bread, he shall live forever.
It clearly sank in with me too, because, having been away from the camp for more than a decade, I can remember the music clearly.
The source appears to be an antiphon for the Magnificat. Here it is from a Dominican source:
The Rev. G. H. Palmer adapted it to English in his Antiphons Upon the Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis from the Salisbury Antiphoner, where it is sung on the Wednesday after Pentecost. And his rendering of the first phrase, at least, matches the one sung at LDBC.
Even though this is a highly particular instance, it's worth noting how scripture, music, and the liturgy work together to deeply ingrain sacred texts in the hearts and minds of a community. It can shape and transform that community and its members even as they go forth into the world.
Labels: church music, Evensong, Gregorian chant, LDBC, Proper 14B, Proper 15B
In the middle of last year, I introduced the Communion propers at the church where I serve as Director of Music. And I can now confidently say that the Communion proper should be widely sung at services of Holy Communion in the Episcopal Church.
What is a proper, you might ask? Propers are distinct from the ordinary of the Mass (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, Benedictus, Agnus Dei). Propers include the Introit, Gradual, Alleluia, Offertory, and Communion. It is something more specific to the particular service being offered.
In the practice of many Episcopal churches, there is no need to sing the Introit, Gradual, or Alleluia, as these moments in the liturgy are ably serviced by the singing of the hymn and a lectionary-prescribed Psalm. The Offertory proper has also widely been supplanted by a choral anthem (and possibly a "Presentation" hymn). The Communion proper, however, could still have a place in most parishes today, regardless of churchmanship.
If one of the propers is sung in a church, it is likely the Introit: a piece of music is sung just prior to or simultaneously with the entrance of the ministers who will lead the service.
The traditional form of the Introit is an Antiphon followed by a psalm verse (or more than one verse, as circumstances require). The Antiphon is then repeated. This past Sunday, the Fourth Sunday in Lent, the words were directly related to the idea of entrance: "I was glad when they said unto me: Let us go to the house of the Lord." (In other places, a relatively short piece of choral music may be chosen by the director and called an "Introit".)
The Communion proper takes this same form: an Antiphon followed by a psalm verse. Over time, the psalm verse was dropped.
But as an historic part of the Western Church's liturgy, these antiphons (and psalm verses) deserve our consideration, possibly over and above the creative whims of the director of music.
Furthermore, an important moment in the liturgy is often left unaccompanied by choral singing, which is a break from the tradition of the Western Church: the Communion of the Celebrant.
In the regular order of operations, the Canon of the Mass ends with the Lord's Prayer and is followed by the Fraction. In many Episcopal Churches a Fraction Anthem is then sung or said (perhaps the Agnus Dei, or another text). After this, the rubrics of the Episcopal Church's 2016* Book of Common Prayer require two things of the Celebrant: 1) the spoken Invitation to Communion and 2) the Communion of the Celebrant.
The rubric reads, "The ministers receive the Sacrament in both kinds, and then immediately deliver it to the people." While the rubric is a bit murky about who goes first, the Church's tradition is that the Celebrant receives first. And it is this moment at which Communion proper begins.
What happens in most churches? There is likely either organ improvisation or silence during this reception, as well as the movement of the choir, who usually arrive (a bit too early) at the place where they will receive Communion.
Using the Communion proper has led me to believe both practices are undesirable. The beginning of what the prayer book calls "the ministration of Communion" is a fitting time for music, especially so given that we have received from the tradition of the Church the perfect piece of music for this moment. Historically, the time at which the Communion proper should begin is the Communion of the Celebrant.
How, then, can the Communion proper be sung?
The words of the proper may be sung quite simply, or they could be sung in Latin in a traditional musical form that has been passed down through the centuries. Thanks to the work of Bruce Ford, they can also be sung in a kind of "Anglican compromise": to the traditional plainsong melodies adapted to English words. Some freely available resources for all three approaches are:
- Anglican Use Gradual - C. David Burt - English, simple chant tones
- Graudale Romanum (1961) - Latin, traditional chant melodies
- American Gradual 2020 - Bruce Ford - English, traditional chant melodies, adapted
Whether sung by a cantor, a portion of the choir, or the choir as a whole, I contend that the Communion proper should be employed in Episcopal churches today.
A rubric about music at Communion specifies: "During the ministration of Communion, hymns, psalms, or anthems may be sung." While it does not forbid organ improvisation, the prevailing practice in the Episcopal Church seems to use improvisation as a default during the ministers' reception of Communion. Organ improvisation can easily be delayed until a moment when it is more fitting: when the choir itself receives. It is easy to infer from the Prayer Book a preference for sung music over the strictly instrumental variety.
I have become increasingly fascinated by traditional plainchant, or what is often called Gregorian chant. Within the liturgical year, each Sunday has an associated set of melodies for each of the propers, including the Communion proper. I wondered what it would be like to engage with these traditional materials over several years.
Bruce Ford's American Gradual 2020 is a new edition of the work he began in his American Gradual (both freely available resources).
The musical experience has been a challenge. We have taught ourselves to read traditional neumes in four-line notation. We have familiarized ourselves with Ford's approach to the quilisma as outlined in his preface (the reverse of the prevailing practice). The musical demands of each Sunday's Communion Antiphon vary widely, ranging from the simple and direct to the florid and complex. The results have been hard-fought and, if we assess things honestly, a little rough around the edges in the liturgy on occasion.
But even six months into this project, I can report that the benefits of engaging with this historic repertory far outweigh the costs. The words are those of scripture, and they often hold great significance at the moment of Communion. The melodies are those of the ancient church, removing us from the fallacies of preference and desire. The synthesis of the scripture and the music is often so great as to be undeniable. Even in its adapted form, these chants are remarkable aids in contemplating the Divine Mysteries.
In our present situation (and I suspect this would be true for the vast majority of places), the Antiphon alone is sufficient for the ministers to receive. After singing the Antiphon, the choir themselves then come forward to receive Communion. The Communion Antiphons vary in length; in some weeks, even the Antiphon alone is slightly longer than required. I do not believe that the clergy or musicians in the parish have lost any sleep over an extra 15 seconds at Communion every now and then.
We have yet to learn the Communion propers for this Easter season, which are, of course, replete with Alleluias! Many of the Communion propers we have learned lodge themselves quite compellingly in the mind, and I look forward to singing them again in future years.
While I am personally drawn to the historic plainchant of the propers, I know that their performance will not be possible or desirable in every situation. A simpler version of these propers could be used, say The Anglican Use Gradual by David Burt. The chant tone is easily learned and repeated from week to week. Specifically in these shorter versions, a psalm verse or two could then be added without fear of making the proper unduly long—and, indeed, the length of the form would be highly predictable from week to week.
My hope for the Episcopal Church at large is that church musicians will rediscover the Communion propers, notice how tailor-made our liturgy is for their insertion, and then create new musical forms so that a rich variety of material is available for use.
* yes, the Prayer Book was revised in 2016, and referring to it as the 1979 just causes confusion. Make sure you get your lectionary right, especially in Holy Week!
Labels: Bruce Ford, church music, Gregorian chant, liturgy
As of today, you can listen to the first episode of a new podcast that I'm starting with the Rev. Ian Lasch. It's about liturgy and music from our particular Episcopal/Anglican perspective called All Things Rite & Musical.
Of course, we've given this fledgling podcast every possible advantage:
- a website: riteandmusical.org, where you can always listen to the latest episode (no fancy podcast know-how required!)
- a Facebook page: facebook.com/riteandmusical
- a Twitter account @riteandmusical
And if you want to subscribe to the podcast, you can do that
We hope you'll have a listen!
Labels: ATRM, church music, liturgy
Read "Church Musician" for "Cantor" and I think you get a sense of what liturgical church musicians are engaged in this week:
Words die of routine. The Cantor's task is to bring them to life. A Cantor is a person who knows the secret of the resurrection of the words. The art of giving life to the words of our liturgy requires not only the personal involvement of the Cantor but also the power contained in the piety of the ages. Our liturgy contains incomparably more than what our hearts are ready to feel. . . . There is a written and an unwritten liturgy. There is the liturgy but there is also an inner approach and response to it, a way of giving life to the words, a style in which the words become a personal and unique utterance.
Herschel, Abraham Johsua. The Insecurity of Freedom: Essays on Human Existence, p. 251
Labels: church music, Holy Week
The idea of Lessons and Carols really has its genesis with Christmas services at the end of the 19th century. Then in the early 20th century Eric Milner-White started the very famous Christmas service at King's College, Cambridge. And this annual service, more than any other, is what many people think of when they hear "Lessons and Carols".
But there's more to its origin than meets the eye.
Milner-White had become convinced "that the Church of England needed more imaginative worship", but I think it helps to remember the context in which he was working. At the centuries-old choral foundation of King's there was no lack of opportunity for worship. There was Choral Matins (Morning Prayer), Holy Communion, and Choral Evensong.
And Milner-White also sought "more imaginative worship" through new music. He used a friendly wager to entice Herbert Howells to write the Collegium Regale Morning Canticles (Te Deum & Jubilate). And if these pieces aren't "more imaginative" I don't know what qualifies.
But I think Milner-White saw something else that a few others (like Bishop Benson in Truro) did. The specific possibilities for liturgy suggested by the genre of music specific to the Advent-Christmas season.
Here the music (carols) must have suggested its own liturgy. Rather than music being the "hand-maid" of the liturgy, a dubious phrase one often hears in regard to Church Music, Milner-White saw it as the other way around. Here was a cleric who was perceptive enough to realize that the established liturgical forms didn't allow for this music speak well or speak fully.
At Matins or Evensong maybe you could do a carol or two, but carols are so short. You would have to do a number of them for them to really add up to something substantial. And in this case they would needed their own service. So Milner-White designed it.
Not just two or three lessons, but more. No need for a psalm or canticles. No need for much of anything, really, except hymns, lessons, and carols.
After inaugurating the Christmas Lessons and Carols service in 1918, Milner-White added an Advent Carol Service to King's liturgical life in 1934.
Most Advent Carol Services take place in the evening and are therefore often substitutes for Choral Evensong. But the traditional canticles at Evensong (the Magnificat and Nunc dimittis) also have value in a Carol Service.
One place to connect Evensong to Lessons and Carols is St. John's College, Cambridge, just a short boatride away from King's. St. John's began a tradition of an Advent Carol Service a couple decades after King's.
The first Advent Carol Service was held on 2 December 1956. From the outset it had been decided to make this an 'admission by ticket only' event, and close on 1100 people attended what has now become an annual service. Since 1981 it has been broadcast, and is now relayed to many radio stations in the United States and Canada, as well as to other countries throughout the world.Guest, George. (1998) A Guest at Cambridge. Brewster, Mass.: Paraclete Press. p. 28.
At the traditional carol services at St. John's the two Evensong canticles take pride of place toward the end: the Magnificat at the Advent Carol Service; the Nunc dimittis at the Epiphany Carol Service. There's a wonderful logic to this. (There is no Christmas Carol Service at St. John's because 1) the college is not in session 2) there's a pretty famous one just down the road.)
St. John's has served as an inspiration for St. Peter's, St. Louis in the past: the installation of a Mander organ at St. Peter's was inspired by the very successful Mander installation in that college chapel.
And the Advent Carol Service from St. John's is not exactly a well-kept secret. It has been broadcast annually on the BBC since the 1980s. It's order has been printed in at least one past issue of The Episcopal Musicians Handbook. And another order of service from St. John's has been used at St. Peter's in the past.
Here's an explanatory note from the former Dean of St. John's.
"Introduction to the Advent Carol Service"
by The Rev. Andrew MacIntosh, Dean of St. John's College
In the past quarter of the century, the colleges of Cambridge, and St. John's in particular, have developed special forms of service to mark the beginning of Advent; and these are widely called Advent Carol Services. Since Christmas falls in University vacation, there was a natural desire to anticipate Christmas by singing carols. At the same time, the instinct for good liturgy meant that we wanted to keep the specifically Advent themes of solemn preparation for the coming of Christ. In St. John's College, since 1956, these two elements have been combined to effect a successful liturgical experiment. This success derives, perhaps, from the tension between the two elements. Thus the form of the service is essentially linked to Advent. The Collects for the four Sundays in Advent suggest the main themes which are explored and illuminated in the scriptural lessons. The plainsong settings of the Advent Prose and "O" Antiphons, dating from the eighth century, express most poignantly in words from the prophesies of Isaiah man's deep yearning for salvation and redemption. The carols, in a joyful and earthy way, look forward to the mode of that redemption in the circumstances of the incarnation and the person of Jesus. Finally, the service reaches its climax in the words of the Christmas collect and in the singing of "Adeste Fideles.""
The service is rich. You can view this year's service booklet for yourself. You can also listen to this year's service for the next 26 days after this article's publication.
There's so much to love about this liturgy beyond the lessons and the music: the sentences; the versicles and responses at the head of each section (my favorite being "Prepare ye the way of the Lord / Make his paths straight."); the collects.
The service is in four sections:
- The Message of Advent
- The Word of God (which includes the wonderful passage from Luke of Jesus reading from Isaiah in the synagogue)
- The Prophetic Call (which features a hefty dose of John the Baptist)
- The Christ-Bearer (including Mary and her Magnificat)
But one thing that I chose not to incorporate at St. Peter's for our service is the seven O Antiphons. Don't get me wrong; I love the O Antiphons. But their inclusion in this already rich service seems like an "everything but the kitchen sink approach". (Besides, St. Peter's has already offered a simple service focusing on the O Antiphons this year).
The collects in the service provide a nice bridge to the historic collects found in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer.
The collect for section two, the Word of God, is the collect for the Second Sunday in Advent (note that in the 1662 book the preposition is different than it is in the 1979 book). This prayer finds a place in the 1979 book as the collect for Proper 28 (the Sunday closest to November 16).
Blessed Lord, who hast caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that, by patience and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Savior Jesus Christ; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The collect for section three, which does not appear in the 1979 book at all, is specific to John the Baptist.
O Lord Jesu Christ, who at thy first coming didst send thy messenger to prepare thy way before thee: Grant that the ministers and stewards of thy mysteries may likewise so prepare and make ready thy way, by turning the hearts of the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, that at thy second coming to judge the world we may be found an acceptable people in thy sight, who livest and reignest with the Father and the Holy Spirit, ever one God, world without end. Amen.
The collect for section four, at least in the present service, is not the collect for the Fourth Sunday in Advent, but can be traced to an Anglican Altar Services (1941) collect for the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary (August 15). Using a Marian collect here is congruent with the focus on Mary in the Gospel lessons for the Fourth Sunday of Advent in the Revised Common Lectionary.
Almighty and everlasting God, who didst stoop to raise our fallen race by the child-bearing of blessed Mary: Grant that we, who have seen thy glory manifested in our manhood [St. John's substitutes "flesh"], and thy love perfected in our weakness, may daily be renewed in thine image, and conformed to the likeness of thy Son; who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.
Finally, a note about the music itself. It should be noted while the informal name of this service is the "Advent Carol Service", the title page actually reads "A Service for Advent with Carols". I believe that this name is deliberately chosen to not limit the music solely to "carols" but to allow for all kinds of liturgical music (including hymns and canticles, which were part of the original design).
As with the Christmas Lessons and Carols service at King's College, the Advent service at St. John's includes a heavy dose of new music, especially new music written for carol texts.
But with the doors thrown open to all types of music (assuming at least two carols, to stay true to the plural in the service's title) we see the full flowering of Lessons and Carols as one of the great liturgies of the Anglican church.
What started as music begetting it's own liturgy has now come full circle. This elegant liturgy is now inspiring new commissions and compositions.
I find Lessons and Carols so fascinating because the realm of creative possibilities within its fixed structure is so immense.
This is Church Music at it's finest: not as a hand-maid of the liturgy, but a full partner with it.
Of course there are always other Advent Carol Services to consider, too!
- New College, Oxford added 7 December 2016
- St. Thomas, New York
- Trinity College, Cambridge
Labels: Advent, Andrew MacIntosh, BCP, church music, Collect, Eric Milner-White, Guest, Howells, King's College (Cambridge), Lessons and Carols, St John's (Cambridge), St Peter's (St Louis), the Blessed Virgin Mary
“Music was invented in heaven, which resounds with the song of the Heavenly Hosts; our singing is nought but an echo, an imitation of the songs the angels sing.”John Chrysostom (c.349-407 AD)
Labels: angels, church music, John Chyrsostom, music
The descant is a high line for the trebles of the choir that soars above the melody of a hymn – a melody that everyone has already sung three, four, five, or even seven times in a row already.
In writing a descant, sometimes you need to leave a word or two out for the music to flow. The work of the descant is done by the notes, and the words can be an unnecessary encumbrance. If you do use words, you might not necessarily use all of them. Or you might use just "alleluia", or even "ah".
So it is no surprise that the great composer Herbert Howells takes some liberties with texting his own descant to his glorious hymn tune MICHAEL.
Here is a spectacular recording of this hymn sung by the Choir of King's College, Cambridge. It's an arrangement brass, percussion, and organ by Christopher Palmer, but the harmonization and descant are Howells's own. Hear the whole thing below, or just go straight to the final stanza to hear Howells's descant.
It's really lovely, I think. And not every church musician seems to be aware that this is out there!
A couple points: the descant seems especially strong because it begins as a modified canon at the fourth. It's a highly effective way to draw the ear, and it staggers the descant away from the beginning of the melody. It's almost a surprise when it comes in. As in, "Oh, a descant too!". This technique is probably not used often enough in our hymn singing.
Furthermore, Howells does something rather interesting with the words. The descant is initially texted with the first stanza of Robert Bridges poem:
All my hope on God is founded; he doth still my trust renew, me through change and chance he guideth, only good and only true. God unknown, he alone calls my heart to be his own.
While the choir and congregation have progressed to the final stanza:
Still from man to God eternal sacrifice of praise be done, high above all praises praising for the gift of Christ, his Son. Christ doth call one and all: ye who follow shall not fall.
But it should be said that the descanters sing only an abbreviated version of the first stanza. After the first two verses they skip to the fifth and then to the first part of the seventh for the peculiar turn of phrase: "God unknown calls my heart."
This really jumped out at me this last time I read it. I suppose it's not all that strange given that the only missing phrase here is "he alone". But it got me thinking about our unknown God.
What is it to say that God is "unknown"? We know him to a degree in the person of Jesus Christ. And so isn't it fascinating that these words about "God unknown" are paired with praise "for the gift of Christ his son"?
And the arrival of the descanters to the words of the final stanza pack a particular punch as they pivot on the word "call".
In the first stanza God "calls my heart to be his own". In the final, "Christ doth call" – and it should be noted that it is the same Christ for whom we praise the unknown God.
The cascading spirals of ascending praise are already rapturous at this point, and Howells's text setting makes them even more so.
But does it help us know God any better? Are we supposed to? Or is the person of God to be mysterious, and known, as his Christ, by his "call"?
We also often sing of "love unknown", as it is in the beginning of the anonymous 18th century hymn "Come, thou almighty king":
Come, thou almighty King, help us thy Name to sing, help us to praise. Father whose love unknown all things created own, build in our hearts thy throne, Ancient of Days.
And in the famous Samuel Crossman hymn that bears the phrase in the first line:
My song is love unknown, my Savior's love to me, love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.
"Pop" Music Tangent: See also: Coldplay: "A Message" - relation to "My Song is Love Unknown"
And again in Charlotte Elliott's beautiful hymn "Just as I am, without one plea"
Just as I am, thy love unknown has broken every barrier down; now to be thine, yea, thine alone, O Lamb of God, I come.
But one of the most fascinating "unknowns" in Christian hymnody is that of the unknown Traveler. Charles Wesley's hymn picks up on the anonymity of Jacob's wrestling partner in the hymn he called "Wrestling Jacob".
Come, O thou Traveler unknown, whom still I hold, but cannot see; my company before is gone, and I am left alone with thee. With thee all night I mean to stay, and wrestle till the break of day.
And so it is that Jacob does engage in a prolonged stalemate with the Traveler, despite injury, and then the sun rises on the scene. It is the Traveler who asks to be let go in the story from Genesis, "for day is breaking". (I suppose that the rising sun would "shine too much light" on this conflict!)
And then there is the great ordeal of naming and identity. Jacob demands a blessing. The Traveler asks his name. Jacob gives it. The Traveler says, "now you shall be called Israel".
Then, in the Genesis story, remarkably, Jacob asks the Traveler's name. He seems to have forgotten for a moment that he really just wanted a blessing. Or, maybe he thinks knowing God in this way would be a greater blessing?
The Traveler responds, "why is it that you ask my name"?
In the story, we never get a name for the Traveler, but in Charles Wesley's hymn, there is a profound poetic resolution to all this wrestling.
... Speak, or thou never hence shalt move, and tell me if thy name is Love. 'Tis Love, 'tis Love! Thou diedst for me! I hear thy whisper in my heart: the morning breaks, the shadows flee. Pure Universal Love thou art; thy mercies never shall remove, thy nature and thy name is Love.
God may be "unknown", but we know enough.
"God is love", or even better, "Pure Universal Love".
And what about us, called by God? How are we known?
If the spiritual has it right, and we do too, "they'll know we are Christians by our love".
Labels: Charles Wesley, Charlotte Elliott, church music, Howells, hymns, Jacob, Robert Bridges, Samuel Crossman
Something about the Very Rev. Neal Michell's easy dismissal of traditional sacred music in "A call to common prayer" is troubling, especially when held in tension with his points about a common rite. Music, I think, cannot be fully separated from the rite.
- If "we a church under authority", who holds authority over the music. (Answer: rectors and deans. Question: what is the scope of their musical training? Does it compare to the rest of their liturgical training and practicum?)
- "We are a church of common prayer." Yes we are. And is not service music and hymn singing a part of that common prayer? Are we singing the same corpus of hymns (i.e., are we using the Hymnal 1982?). Are we disproportionately using hymnal supplements? Are we singing the real Gloria and not just a reader's digest version?
- "Using non-authorized rites is a bad idea" because "doing so exhibits an individualism that is antithetical to a church aiming to be catholic." Okay. So how is using "non-authorized" music any different?
Music, of course, should not be uniform, but neither should liturgy. Context is important.
I'm being naïve, surely. And yet I wonder if there isn't a double standard here.
My expereince leads me to believe there are probably just as many (if not more?) violations against "common music" than there are against "common prayer".
Labels: BCP, church music, liturgy
Leo Sowerby was affectionately known as the "Dean of American Church Music". He was an incredibly prolific composer of music in many genres, including choral anthems.
Here are five Sowerby anthems that every church musician should know.
1. I will lift up mine eyes
This is probably the most popular of Sowerby's anthems. While employing a good bit of chromaticism this anthem is well within the grasp of many church choirs. It requires an alto soloist.
2. I was glad
If Sowerby's setting of Psalm 121 (above) is rather constrained in scope, some of his music takes place on a somewhat larger scale and can unfold rather deliberately.
His setting of Psalm 122 ("I was glad") begins with a grand organ introduction and declamatory singing from the choir. Several minutes in a more lyrical, imitative section begins with the words "O pray for the peace of Jerusalem". The music picks up in intensity again at the concluding section, "For my brethren and companions' sakes".
Hallmarks of Sowerby's anthem writing are on display here with lyrical, soloistic organ interludes and a quiet, ecstatic organ coda.
3. Eternal light
Among his shorter works, the unaccompanied "Eternal light" is a work of near perfection, with shimmering harmonies at key moments. Most performances are around two minutes.
4. Now there lightens upon us
A passionate panegyric for the Epiphany season. This work unfolds slowly and smoothly, like a brilliant sunrise. The recording from St. Mark's Cathedral, Seattle gives the organ solo line to a viola, adding even more expressive possibilities.
5. Come, Holy Ghost
A freely composed work for Pentecost. Sowerby is unwavering in his 5/4 time signature.
Labels: church music, Sowerby
I'm going to set down some scattered thoughts on a subject that has preoccupied me for a week or so: how do we sing the Lord's song in the face of the graphic, violent acts of murder in our society?
This question has come to me from colleagues both this past week (as the country witnessed the real-time murders of Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, and five policemen in Dallas) and last month (after the mass shooting in Orlando).
The United States is no stranger to mass shootings, and clergy and church musicians naturally turn their attention to the question of an appropriate liturgical response.
An obvious answer is prayer. As Christians we are called to pray all the time. I think Christians find themselves praying as they learn of violent events and in the days and weeks that follow. Surely collecting this desire to pray around these events in the Prayers of the People is a good thing.
And I don't want to put words in the mouths of the clergy, but the sermon is also a possibility. Though not a requirement, I don't think. I do know Karl Barth is said to have drawn attention to the intersection of the Bible and the newspaper, and this certainly holds great homiletic potential. But this isn't really my area, so I have to leave it to the professionals.
But then what about the music?
Well, maybe after a mass shooting we could change a hymn to something meaningful. Like "Amazing Grace". That would be nice.
According to one definition not a week would go by without us needing to sing that hymn. And our call as church musicians is not to annoy people with the same hymn.
Or maybe we could find a few other options, but is having a "tragedy" hymn list really necessary?
Please don't get me wrong. I am not insensitive to the very real problem and pain of violence. And liturgical responses in the streets and cities where these events happen are absolutely necessary. But I think we must be rather more thoughtful about the intersection of our weekly Sunday worship and the CNN Breaking News banner.
A story about this: several years ago I had finished the Thursday night choir rehearsal for the Third Sunday of Advent ("Gaudete Sunday"). This particular Sunday comes at the midpoint of the Advent season and is typically marked by joy (Gaudete is Latin for "rejoice"). The music chosen for the day certainly relied on this. But the next morning 20 elementary school children were dead at wrong end of a gun. Other than the Virginia Tech shooting, this was the most deadly mass shooting in the United States. This was awful, even 400+ miles away.
And still, the music was chosen, the services were set. I remember that I made a remarks to the choir on Sunday morning before rehearsing the music again. I said something to the effect that "yes, we are all deeply troubled by the news this week, and, yes, this music is all quite joyful in tone, I know, but here's the thing -- this Advent waiting that we're engaged in, we know the result of this, and the result of this is the coming of Jesus, our Redeemer, who wipes away all tears. So, no, even in light of this kind of news, we're not going to be any less joyful in our Salvation. And this kind of joy doesn't make our grief at what happened unchristian."
As it turned out, there were extensive remarks and prayer planned for the beginning of the service toward the young children of the parish, including the reading of the names of the dead. And while I can't comment on the act's appropriateness, I do not think that it quite extinguished the liturgical ethos of the day. The pink candle was lit, the Word was preached, the Bread was broken and shared.
I've turned to an essay by James Alison called "Worship in a Violent World" which I think has something to say about all of this.
The true worship of the true God is in the first instance the pattern of lives lived over time, lives which are inhabited stories of leaving the world of principalities and powers, and gradually, over time, giving witness to the true God in the midst of the world by living as if death were not, and thus in a way which is unmoved by death and all the cultural forces which lead to death and depend on death.
As I do this church music thing a bit more, and as these violent events occur more and more frequently, I find that I have less interest in trying to reinvent the hymnody or the choral music to "fit the bill". I am beginning to believe that the Church's best response to events like these is to be the Church–in a way which is unmoved by death!
There are those who seek an alarmingly high degree of specificity in their church music in response to violent events.
One hymn writer promptly provided lines in response to last week's news. The first stanza reads:
When people die by hatred, when people die by fear, When people die defending our right to protest here, When young black men are murdered, when heroes die in blue, When people die for justice, O God, we cry to you.
http://www.carolynshymns.com/when_people_die_by_hatred.html
But I wonder if James Alison doesn't point out the problem with this kind of creativity:
He writes of liturgy being "an ordered and relaxed way of habitually making ourselves present…to the one who is just there"
[worship] is an orchestrated detox of our mimetic fascination with each other which is the only way we are going to be able to glimpse the other Other who is just there, and who has been inviting us, all along, to his party.
If we bring in images of our mimetic fascination into our hymn singing wholesale, does this not work at cross purposes with our being able to "glimpse" God, the forgiving victim? The hymn above might be just the thing for a prayer or memorial service in Dallas, but is it appropriate at a Sunday gathering of a faith community in Detroit? I wonder if it isn't better to speak to it without needing to speak about it? The old English teacher's "show, don't tell".
Again, I am not advocating that church musicians adopt the familiar posture of the ostrich and bury their heads in the sands of complacency, but I think that the same kinds of questions we raise for our church generally should be asked of "current event" music, even if the timetable is hours instead of weeks.
And yet sometimes something else does feel needed. The the mass shooting in Orlando was at a gay nightclub. I don't even know how to speak to this. Many of my fellow church musicians are LGBT and I believe they experienced this more profoundly and personally than I did as a straight person. We musicians are not cogs in a wheel, we are people too. Our own responses must take different forms. And we must minister to each other and ourselves.
I was grateful this past week for the gifts given in two twentieth-century hymns that I had chosen weeks earlier: "Where cross the crowded ways of life" (to give credit where credit is due, this is listed among the "tragedy" hymn list from Ponder Anew) and "When Christ was lifted from the earth." And the gifts of a shared lectionary and shared hymnal meant that these lines were sung by many in the Episcopal Church this past Sunday.
O Master, from the mountain side,
make haste to heal these hearts of pain;
among these restless throngs abide,
O tread the city's streets again;–Frank Mason North
Reading "restless throngs" I could not help but see the images of the Dallas protest scattering in the streets when the first shots were fired.
Where generation, class or race
divide us to our shame,
[God] sees not labels but a face,
a person and a name.–Brian Wren
And what more can be said about this stanza but that it may as well be the anthem of Black Lives Matter?
Finally, I think Rowan Williams and James Alison have both written elsewhere on the meaninglessness of violence. It is truly demonic in that it has no meaning.
Meanwhile, the dying and rising of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ is rich with meaning, and it is this that we must place at the center of our liturgy and music.
If I may quote the words of Presiding Bishop Michael Curry
…there’s a side of me that says we’ve got work to do…I really do believe that Jesus Christ changes lives. If I didn’t believe it, I wouldn’t be here… Change of heart is very much what I think Jesus was getting at when he said to Nicodemus, “You must be born again to see the kingdom.”So the more I lament, the more I’m ready to go preach and go live and go help the church be the church and do our work.
Curry: ‘Jesus doesn’t allow us the option of self-righteousness’ Episcopal News Service. 11 July 2016.
I'm ready to help the church be the church too, through our song, for the sake of the world.
Labels: Black Lives Matter, Brian Wren, church music, Frank Mason North, Gaudete, Hymn 603/4, Hymn 609, hymns, James Allison, racism, violence
This is what makes Leighton's settings so oddly brilliant, so highly charged. He is not content to leave the words as they are, to let them speak for themselves. Instead, he will disrupt the natural rhythm of a line, jolting it with his syncopation, bending syllables in extended melismas. There is an unsettling way in which he subjects even the most familiar words of the Anglican liturgy to ceaseless scrutiny by showing them in different aspects, where a melisma or a rhythmic accent voices a phrase in a new of forgotten way. By summoning up a swirling storm of music, Leighton demands that we look and listen to the words with greater attention, to examine them more closely.Ted Tregear, liner notes to Crucifixus, sung by the Choir of Trinity College Cambridge, Stephen Layton directing.
Labels: church music, Leighton, Stephen Layton, Trinity College (Cambridge)
“Although [the Offertory] has come to be a traditional place for an anthem, an anthem in this place tends to stop or delay the flow of action. What is required is 'cover' music, not a performance piece. Communion is a better time for a choir anthem. The custom of using both an anthem and a presentation hymn should be avoided.”Stuhlman, Byron D. Prayer Book Rubrics Expanded. New York: Church Publishing Inc., 1987. Page 128.
Labels: church music, Communion, hymn, liturgy, Offertory, Stuhlman
Today I'm going to say something that no one seems to have the courage to say: there is nothing wrong with "The Doxology" in the liturgy of the Episcopal Church. Let me be clear on this point. I'm talking about the words "Praise God from whom all blessings flow" by Thomas Ken sung to the tune of OLD 100TH at the Presentation.
The much-maligned Thomas Ken
(1637-1711), born in the same
year as Buxtehude
Here's the problem: the anger that many objectors feel is actually misplaced frustration at an element of Anglican liturgy that Americans have hopelessly corrupted.
Here's the story.
Once upon a time there was the Western Liturgy what with its Mass and its Divine Office and its Liber Usualis and all that. At the time of the Offertory of the Mass, a chant was sung: the Offertorium. During this time the bread and the wine were presented to the celebrant by the people and prepared for the eucharistic celebration. At the conclusion of this chant, the Eucharistic Prayer was begun.
Zacchaeus stood forth, and said unto the Lord, Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor; and if I have done any wrong to any man, I restore four-fold.
St. Luke 19.
Offertory sentence from the 1662 Book of Common Prayer
Eventually Anglicans got a hold of this liturgy and adapted it for their own devices. The traditional Offertory chants were not subsumed into Anglican worship, but rather new sentences, largely from the New Testament, were prescribed to be read aloud (note, not sung) by the celebrant. The 1662 rubric for the celebrant reads
Then shall the Priest return to the Lord's Table, and begin the Offertory, saying one or more of these Sentences following, as he thinketh most convenient in his discretion.
The rubrics direct that the alms are taken up while these Offertory Sentences are read aloud and then be brought to the celebrant.
Meanwhile, Anglicans adapted the offices of Vespers and Compline into Evensong with its famous Church-Musick rubric after the third collect, "In Quires and Places where they sing here followeth the Anthem."
What's an Anthem? Well, it's an elaboration of the Antiphon, like we have in that old Offertory chant. Some of these historic antiphons were developed by composers into polyphonic settings (much to the benefit of humankind) and they served to embellish the Roman Catholic liturgy.
The antiphon and therefore their polyphonic treatments were not translated into the Anglican liturgy wholesale (though the torch for them burned rather brightly at the Chapel Royal). And yet many Anglicans had already developed a choral tradition. So what to do? The "Anthem" at Evensong was a solution. Note, however, that this mention of an Anthem does not appear in the Eucharist.
But at the instigation of ever-ambitious musicians, Anglicans soon looked for ways to infest the new Prayer Book liturgy with music. Furthermore, there was serious uneasiness with church music in Latin, so in most places new English language music was desired. These two forces combined to see the writing of "Anthems" based on the Offertory Sentences and other comparable pieces of scripture. With this music, the drab spoken part of the celebrant could be handled rather deftly by the choir.
So, to review, here's how things stood around the time of the 1662 Prayer Book.
- Anthems permitted at Evensong, not explicitly permitted at Eucharist
- Offertory Sentences to be read by celebrant could be sung by choir
But if we jump ahead quite a bit to, say, this coming Sunday and check in on two branches of the Anglican Church, the one in England and the one in the United States, we see that practices have generally diverged.
In England
- Evensong is sung in many places
- At Eucharist
- Emphasis on Mass setting
- At Offertory, hymn sung by all (not anthem)
- Eucharistic Prayer follows immediately
In the United States
- Very few places sing Evensong
- At Eucharist
- Mass parts are mixed, omitted, or sometimes replaced by a hymn
- At Offertory, an anthem
- After the anthem and before the Eucharistic Prayer, some kind of Presentation Hymn (not mentioned in 1979 Prayer Book)
Rubrical Clarification: I'm reading the rubric on p. 361 at face value: "During the Offertory, a hymn, psalm, or anthem may be sung."
The key points being that during the Offertory:
• One piece of music is permitted, be it a hymn, psalm or anthem. So to sing an Anthem and a hymn or a fragment thereof would be a violation of this rubric.
• Music may be sung, but there may also be no music.
• Incidentally, I don't see permission here for exclusively instrumental (organ) music.
What becomes clear is that English churches have largely retained the historic shape of the Western liturgy, the Offertory Hymn taking the place of the Offertory Chant and serving the same function. American churches, meanwhile, have conflated the anthem of Evensong with the Eucharistic liturgy at the expense of its integral parts, seriously confusing the liturgical shape of the Offertory. (In both places there is ample room for music at Communion, but this is beyond the scope of this article).
To see how confused the present situation is, one need only look at the most ignored rubric in the 1979 American Prayer Book.
Representatives of the congregation bring the people's offerings of bread and wine, and money or other gifts, to the deacon or celebrant. The people stand while the offerings are presented and placed on the Altar.1979 BCP, p. 361, emphasis mine
In how many places do the People stand while the bread and wine are presented? Note that the rubric seems to assume that the gifts are presented together. I'll address this below.
The presentation of the bread and wine is on behalf of the entire gathered assembly. These gifts, which are offered from the People to God, are then given by God back to his People. It is interesting then that this initial stage of the journey of the Eucharist elements is so ignored.
I would posit that in the vast majority of Episcopal churches the congregation sits while the elements are presented and the choir sings an anthem. Am I wrong?
This poses multiple problems
- The rubric instructing the People to stand is ignored. If the presentation of the bread and the wine is a liturgical act, done on behalf of all the People, the assembly should be standing to enact this.
- The Anthem takes on more "concert hall" importance as people sit to hear it. It also probably grows in length.
- If the money offering is collected during the Anthem then it, too, must be presented to the Celebrant. This is either done
- during the singing of the Anthem, which poses a minor logistical challenge in terms of timing
- after the conclusion of the Anthem, which then leaves open the question of what musical activity, if any, will cover the action.
Note that in either case, the money is separated from the bread and the wine, making two presentations of the Offering. You could argue this is good, bad, or ugly, but if modern people are more attached to their own cash than the bread and wine that are provided on their behalf, I would wager that it helps the sensation of Offering if these things are Offered simultaneously as part of a single procession.
So here, at last, we arrive at the liturgical opening for the Doxology (point 3.2 above). As you can see, the merits of running the liturgy this way are questionable at best, but it is the practice in most Episcopal congregations (as best I can tell).
Whatever is sung or played here, it need be short.
Some possibilities
- Have the choir sing the Offertory Chant - in English or in the original Latin - though at this point the People have been silent musically since the announcement of the Gospel. It's probably time to have them sing again.
- Have the People sing a hymn. Really?! You've already got an Entrance Hymn, a Gradual/Sequence Hymn, probably a hymn at the distribution of Communion, and more than likely an extra-rubrical Postcommunion Hymn (again, beyond our scope here). Does the liturgy really gain from multiple stanzas sung by the people here? At some point we need to admit that this radically prolongs the very simple liturgical shape of the Offertory: present the bread, wine, and money.
- Have the People sing one stanza of a hymn. That's a great idea. Why not have the people say one verse of a Psalm instead? Or perhaps say one line of the Athanasius Creed? Hymns are not meant to be mincemeat to be picked apart and spread willy-nilly throughout the Divine Offering. One of the great joys of hymn singing is allowing the tune to become second-nature as the verses move by. To sing only a single stanza makes the endeavor halting, disorienting, and repugnant. And if it changes week to week it's even worse.
- Wait a minute though, isn't the Doxology just one stanza of a hymn? Okay, you got me there. Yes, it is. So I suppose that I could suggest signing the final Doxological stanza of a hymn. Many hymns have these.
- Have the People sing the final Doxological stanza of a hymn Great. Let's do it. And let's not change it week to week either, please.
And let me ask you, could there be a more genuine text of praise in English verse than this? (Well maybe "Awesome God" by Rich Mullins, but I digress...)
Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.
A penultimate point: the bifurcation of the elements of the bread and wine from the money may not be the central issue at all. For better or worse the Anthem at the Eucharist has become part of the Offertory theology of the Episcopal Church. We've made our bed, so let's lie in it, but first let's put on the silk sheets. Having the People join in a regular musical response after a more elaborate choral offering by the choir is highly appropriate (I believe the credit to the phrase "Musical Offering" must largely be given to J. S. Bach). It joins the assembly in worship in the same modality just offered by the choir. The effect of this can be clarified through careful planning of the Doxology—either by transposition or transition, or both. Gerre Hancock was a master of this. It's good Anglican musical theology.
Finally, there is nothing wrong with repetition in the liturgy. We repeat the words of the Gloria in Excelsis, the Sanctus, the Benedictus, whatever our parish sings at the Fraction.
I had the experience recently of the Rector of a parish asking me if the RSCM-affiliated Choristers could come into a meeting being held concurrently with our rehearsal to lead the people in the Doxology. Fantastic, I thought. "Yes," I replied. "We would love to do that."
I told the Choristers that we would be singing the Doxology. "The what?", they asked.
No problem. These Choristers were more than capable of singing a hymn. So we opened the hymnal to 380 and took a look at stanza 3.
“Are we really so elitist that we think that we're above the Doxology?”
It was fine. They could sing it. But it didn't resonate yet. It didn't roll off the tongue. Not as it did for me, and not as it did for the Rector. And not as it did for a large gathering in the Diocese who elected a bishop later that year. And not as it does for many gatherings in the Anglican Communion where a short, joyous outburst of praise is desired by all. ("Let's sing the Gloria in Excelsis!" said no one at a meeting, ever.)
I think we overlook the merits of the Doxology as a catechetical tool for young people at our peril. It is easily learned at a young age. It is the connective tissue between Sunday School, Vacation Bible School, the home, and liturgical worship.
More to the point, the Doxology is already known widely, not just by many Anglicans (admit it, you know it by heart), but by Christians around the world.
Are we really so elitist that we think that we're above the Doxology? Is it really "You must give me the Venite sung to my favourite single Anglican Chant and pass the sherry, and then give me Howells Magnificats and pass the single malt, but please, not Thomas Ken!"
No, I don't think so. And I'm rather fed up with people who think that they are above this.
Because the Doxology is not Welch's as so many fear. It is a fine Cabernet, rich and full.
It is one manifestation of the Christian unity that we so sorely need.
And it is available in equally attractive non-alcoholic options for our young people and our Baptist brothers and sisters.
Labels: Bach, BCP, church music, Doxology, Episcopal Church, Gerre Hancock, Hymn 380, liturgy, Offertory, Thomas Ken
American composer Samuel Barber was born on this date in 1910. One of my favorite pieces of his is Knoxville: Summer of 1915, which, in a way, celebrated a kind of centennial last summer (even more so if you happened to be in Knoxville then).
Here's a (slightly revised) excerpt of a piece I wrote for the St. Paul's, Richmond June/July 2015 edition of The Epistle, the parish newsletter.
Knoxville: Summer of 1915, Op. 24 by American composer Samuel Barber isn’t a piece of sacred music, and you won’t hear it in church any time soon (at least, not that we have planned!), but there is a deep sense of sacredness within.
The piece, scored for voice (usually sung by soprano) and full orchestra, sets an excerpt of prose by James Agee. What I love about how this all comes together—the words, the voice, the orchestra—is that Barber creates the summer in Tennessee 100 years ago. You can hear the passing cars: the “loud auto” and “a quiet auto.” You sense the still, humid summer air. You feel the presence of many people lingering, on their stoops, on their porches, on their lawns at “that time of evening”—all of them trying to escape the heat.
Halfway through the piece, it draws inward. The soprano, who sings from the perspective of a small boy, tells of the people in his life, lying on quilts in their backyard: “All my people are larger bodies than mine.” And these people talk “of nothing in particular.” I am chagrinned to note that among the people in this gathering “one is an artist” and “one is a musician” both of whom are “living at home.” But then the bottom drops out of the music for a moment of great emotional intensity, as the soloist declaims with great love “one is my mother, who is good to me.” And the music contracts again to give the inevitable resolution to this melody as the soprano affirms “one is my father, who is good to me.” And then Barber pivots the music, this time with unsettled harmonies, and the boy realizes the cosmic implications of human existence itself.
“By some chance, here they are, all on this earth; and who shall ever tell the sorrow of being on this earth, lying, on quilts, on the grass, in a summer evening, among the sounds of night.”
There is, to my ear, a deep kind of sacredness that I don’t think we often encounter in our typical church music.
Labels: Barber, church music, St Paul's (Richmond)
This video "Paul Mealor - The Reason for Choir" is making the rounds today.
In the video, Mealor says:
When something is right, when something is the truth, when something is beautiful, it carries on because it has people to fight for it.
He probably knows this, but he's paraphrasing the Apostle Paul:
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.Philippians 4:8
Labels: church music, Paul Mealor
Two years ago, I enjoyed listening to the recording of the Salisbury Cathedral Advent Service called "From Darkness to Light".
Images from this candlelit service are always stunning. See this combination of two long exposures by Matt Cardy, for instance.
Now the entire recording can be heard in a number of places online, including YouTube -- though I hasten to add that if you have a way to listen to this without advertising interruptions I strongly advise you to do so.
Here are my reflections from two years ago after my initial hearing:
At first it sounded a bit slow. But as I listened more, I realized that it was all of a piece. The music, the liturgy, and the prayer is all so incredibly intentional, deliberately paced, and rich with meaning. I was particularly struck with the loud introduction of the organ in the service for the appearance of John the Baptist and his infamous cry. And to my listening ear Jeremy Davies's inimitably gracious precenting cannot help but draw one deeply into the liturgy. I found the closing blessing particularly beautiful.
I'm struck by the power of this remarkable service -- and I've only listened to it. I can only imagine what the sheer drama of this liturgy would be like in person.
This is the kind of experience that makes me so very grateful for the rich heritage of organ and choral music in the Anglican tradition.
This is the kind of thing that makes me very glad to be a Christian.
Labels: Advent, church music
A lot of people wonder what it's like to take a new job as a church organist.
It's exactly as you see in this wonderful 44-minute independent film on YouTube: The Organist.
Enjoy. Oh, and happy Halloween.
Labels: church music, organ music, organists
So last week, when we were all watching the consecration of Immanuel Chapel at Virginia Theological Seminary, there was a wonderful anthem by David Hurd.
Then this happened on Twitter
@nelsojl that really was lovely. I didn't know it.
— David Sinden (@sinden) October 13, 2015And then, this:
@nelsojl do we know you're top ten favorites? Because you need to blog that or something.
— David Sinden (@sinden) October 13, 2015So, today, we welcome Jessica Nelson, guest blogger, with a top ten list (in no particular order) of her favorite carols and anthems for Advent and Christmas.
- Philip Stopford, Lully, Lulla, Lullay (pub. Hal Leonard)
This makes me have all the feelings. Minimalism & some sexy suspensions, but not so long that it gets tedious.
- Jan Sandström, Es ist ein Ros entsprungen (pub. Gehrmans, Stockholm)
It's like a modern choral chorale prelude. A post-modern take on Praetorius. Some really good prickly moments. I first heard this on a recording from Clare College that my fourth-favorite alto lent me. She has now been promoted to third-favorite alto.
- James MacMillan, O radiant dawn (pub. Boosey & Hawkes)
My favorite of the Strathclyde Motets. Furthermore, I could listen to James MacMillan read his grocery list all day long. He is also not terrible to look at. AND! You can follow him on the Twitter @jamesmacm.
- Richard Felciano, The Eyes of All Hope in Thee, O Lord, (pub. ECS)
(The title of this YouTube video reads, "...hope in Three, O Lord." I feel like that Means Something.)
The alleluias remind me of Rejoice in the Lamb, but only a little.
- Elizabeth Poston, Jesus Christ the Apple Tree (pub. ECS)
Purely, purely sentimental reasons. Millsaps College Singers. Every single year.
- Herbert Howells, A spotless rose (pub. Galaxy, I think?)
Because it's Howells. And the magnificent text painting. And because it's charm lies in that it's absolutely no longer than it is. It's like a little perfect pearl.
- Cesar Carrillo, O magnum mysterium (pub. earthsongs)
The sonic equivalent of Scotch. It makes you feel warm from the inside out.
- Philip Ledger, Advent Calendar (pub. Encore)
I have been totally smitten with this text by Rowan Williams for a couple of years. This is the best setting of it I've encountered so far. I wish more folks would set it. I think the possibilities are endless.
- Abbie Betinis, arr., In the bleak midwinter (pub. Abbie Betinis)
This, like the Stopford setting of the Coventry Carol, is one of the few settings of either of those carols that isn't overly sentimental, but instead captures the gravitas that those texts really demand. It's just nice to hear someone (and a young female composer, especially!) writing music for Advent/Christmas that isn't like listening to a Thomas Kinkade painting.
- David Hurd, A stable lamp is lighted (pub. GIA)
I think Hurd's writing just so masterfully captures the text. And it's just as much a Palm Sunday text as a Christmas one.
[Editor's Note: This setting also appears at Hymn 104 in the Hymnal 1982]
Honorable mentions:
- Mark Schweizer, The Stars Looked Down (pub. St. James Music Press)
I love G.K. Chesterton almost as George Herbert. Almost. - Randall Thompson, Nowel from The Nativity According to St. Luke (pub. E.C. Schirmer)
Like his "Alleluia," only different. And really beautiful.
Jessica Nelson lives in Tupelo, Mississippi, where she is organist/choirmaster at All Saints' Episcopal Church. In her spare time, she composes a little and watches Netflix a lot. You can follow her on the Twittergram @nelsojl.
Labels: Abbie Betinis, Advent, Cesar Carillo, Christmas, church music, Felciano, Howells, Hurd, Jessica Nelson, MacMillan, Mark Schweizer, Philip Ledger, Poston, Randall Thompson, Sandström, Stopford
Why should you return to a church on a Sunday evening (assuming you were there that very morning) to attend the service of Choral Evensong? If you ever find yourself moved by the choral music you hear in worship on Sunday mornings, you will find an abundance of sacred choral music offered to the glory of God in this shorter candlelit service.
Dale Adelmann's article at the Cathedral of St. Philip in Atlanta speaks to this well: "Think Evensong isn’t for you? Well, if you ever resonate with the choirs’ musical offerings on Sunday morning, you will find Evensong to be an especially rich revelation of the glory and presence of God."
"Have you ever been to Evensong?" 13 September 2015
Evensong (the service of Evening Prayer, sung) is drawn almost entirely from the Bible and has been sung regularly in the Anglican Church since the sixteenth century. Its purpose is to give thanks in song and sight to God, the Giver of all beauty. This service brings together many elements of the older monastic offices of Vespers and Compline, particularly their respective canticles the Magnificat (Luke 1) and the Nunc dimittis (Luke 2). There is wide variety of music spanning four centuries that has been written specifically for this evening liturgy.
“We live between the act of awakening and the act of surrender”
You may find that Evensong the ideal place to introduce a friend or colleague to the rich liturgical and musical heritage of the Episcopal Church. With neither sermon nor Eucharist, the more contemplative atmosphere at Evensong can be a wonderful experience for a new or returning Christian.
Furthermore, there is an indescribable quality to worship at the time of the sun’s setting. The energetic quality of the morning liturgy is familiar to American Christians; the contemplative quality of Evensong, less so.
The service in the morning is a ready complement to our addiction to busyness (cars!), need for control (iPhones!), and love of energy (Starbucks!).
This service in the evening helps us to turn our attention away from ourselves to remember many different aspects of our relationship to God: including the act of surrender.
“We live between the act of awakening and the act of surrender. Each morning we awaken to the light and the invitation to a new day in the world of time; each night we surrender to the dark to be taken to play in the world of dreams where time is no more. At birth we were awakened and emerged to become visible in the world. At death we will surrender again to the dark to become invisible. Awakening and surrender: they frame each day and each life; between them the journey where anything can happen, the beauty and the frailty.”– John O’Donohue, quoted from "Between Awakening and Surrender: John O’Donohue on Beauty, the Enchantment of Falling in Love, and the Vortex of Desire" Brainpickings 21 September 2015.
I invite you to frame your day with worship, including Evensong. Seek out an Evensong if you can. Or gather with others and read Evening Prayer (use Rite I if you wish to use the language often heard at Evensong) from the Book of Common Prayer.
Further Reading
- Hough, Stephen. "'Do not touch me': the wisdom of Anglican thresholds". The Telegraph 25 January 2012.
- Mead, the Rev. Andrew C. "What is Evensong?". A sermon preached Sunday, October 30, 2011 at St. Thomas Church, Fifth Avenue, New York City.
Labels: BCP, church music, evangelism, Evensong, John O'Donohue
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