Come Into the Daylight's Splendor

We’ve gone through some rather dark days lately. I’ll admit, I often misappropriate Wordsworth, but I think the palpable evil of our age easily supplants the industrialism that bothered him, “The world is too much with us,” indeed.

George Herbert begins the last stanza of his poem, “The World,” with the allegorical destruction of the house, or our death: “Then Sin combined with death in a firm band, / To raze the building to the very floor; / Which they effected,--none could them withstand […]”

How are we to respond to this death and destruction? Lately, I keep going back to our Bishop’s galvanizing assertion that our exigent role in the Great Commission is to invite the hungering and thirsting to the feast of the Eucharist. How urgent the need is now for a missional Church, for we know the end of the story. Herbert’s turn ends his poem: “But Love and Grace took Glory by the hand, And built a braver palace than before.”

As we consider this invitation to the feast of the Eucharist, my thoughts turn to my favorite hymn, “Deck Thyself, My Soul, With Gladness,” which we got to sing again yesterday. I say my favorite, but I have yet been able to sing it in its entirety with my fellow congregants — the depth of the text and the accompanying melody grab hold of me every single time.

And so, I thought I’d delve into it for this posting. I don’t have anything against Wikipedia, indeed I often turn to it for quick info. I did that just now to explore Johann Franck’s hymn, “Schmücke dich, O liebe Seele” (1649), but was shocked by a couple of statements, that seem almost stupidly glib and unsubstantiated to me.

The first surprise came in the statement that Franck is comparing the unity between Jesus and a Christian receiving communion to the closeness of a bridegroom and bride. ? (The footnote source was no longer accessible.) This notion has never occurred to me and after a careful reading of Franck’s text, this is nowhere implied. Feast and banquet images abound, along with our being the invited guest, but bridegroom and bride? No.

Talking about Johann Crüger’s hymn tune, “SCHMÜCKE DICH” (1649), Wikipedia also notes: “It has been described as joyful and dance-like […]” (The footnote references hymnary.org as the source, but I can’t find any reference there for this quotation.) In unmistakable contrast, the 1940 Hymnal, whose tempo suggestions always tend to bring a smile to my face!, suggests “moderately slow.”

Let’s consider the three stanzas included in the 1940 Hymnal.

Here’s Catherine Winkworth’s translation (1863):

Deck thy­self, my soul, with glad­ness,
Leave the gloomy haunts of sad­ness;
Come in­to the day­light’s splen­dor,
There with joy thy prais­es ren­der
Unto him whose grace un­bound­ed
Hath this won­drous ban­quet found­ed;
High o’er all the heav’ns he reign­eth,
Yet to dwell with thee He deign­eth.

Sun, who all my life dost bright­en,
Light, who dost my soul en­light­en;
Joy, the sweetest man e’er know­eth;
Fount, whence all my be­ing flow­eth;
At Thy feet I cry, my Mak­er,
Let me be a fit par­tak­er
Of this bless­ed food from heav­en,
For our good, thy glo­ry, giv­en.

Jesus, Bread of Life, I pray thee,
Let me glad­ly here ob­ey thee;
Never to my hurt invited,
Be thy love with love re­quit­ed;
From this banquet let me mea­sure,
Lord, how vast and deep its trea­sure;
Through the gifts thou here dost give me,
As thy guest in heav­’n re­ceive me.

(Franck’s original text his here:

1. Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele,
    laß die dunkle Sündenhöhle,
    komm ans helle Licht gegangen,
    fange herrlich an zu prangen!
    Denn der Herr voll Heil und Gnaden
    will dich jetzt zu Gaste laden;
    der den Himmel kann verwalten,
    will jetzt Herberg in dir halten.

5. Jesu, meine Lebenssonne,
    Jesu, meine Freud und Wonne,
    Jesu, du mein ganz Beginnen,
    Lebensquell und Licht der Sinnen:
    hier fall ich zu deinen Füßen;
    laß mich würdiglich genießen
    diese deine Himmelsspeise
    mir zum Heil und dir zum Preise.

6. Jesu, wahres Brot des Lebens,
    hilf, daß ich doch nicht vergebens
    oder mir vielleicht zum Schaden
    sei zu deinem Tisch geladen.
    Laß mich durch dies heilge Essen
    deine Liebe recht ermessen,
    daß ich auch, wie jetzt auf Erden,
    mög dein Gast im Himmel werden.)

Winkworth’s translation is strikingly beautiful and true to the original. The text admonishes us to leave the gloomy haunts of sadness and come into the daylight’s splendor. The German literally says, “leave the dark cave or cavern of sins.” Yes, these are dark days for our society, but we can’t dwell in the gloom. Sometimes on a personal level, I also tend to linger in the gloom and this hymn convicts me deeply every time.

sorry, but can’t help to return to the Wikipedia article — that hymnody.com quotation supposedly continues: “... the joyful intimacy and wonder expressed by the text. 'Leave the gloom haunts of sadness'; in other words, avoid the funereal tone that sometimes characterizes Reformed observances of the Lord's Supper–this is dance music for a feast!" [???] I see absolutely no rationale for this interpretation. In contrast, Crüger’s music is beautifully affective and has no implication of a “dance” for me…

Why should we come into the daylight’s splendor? God in his grace, invites us to his wondrous banquet as the Lord of Hosts chooses to live in us. “Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen” (BCP).

Winkworth says, “let me be a fit partaker,” but Franck says, “let me worthily enjoy” this blessed food from heaven. Franck doesn’t explicitly talk about obedience, but I appreciate how Winkworth notes our response should be just that. I used to wonder about Winkworth’s line, “never to my hurt invited,” but it’s not saying that God doesn’t come to us in our hard times, rather God’s invitation to his banquet will never be in some way detrimental for us, indeed, it promises a hope and a sustenance for our way. This eternal banquet begins now and assures us of his love for us in this world with the promise of also being his guest in heaven.

We’ve supped at the feast, now it’s time to get back to work.

[…] And we humbly beseech thee, O heavenly Father, so to assist us with thy grace, that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory, world without end. Amen (BCP).

Deck thyself, schmücke dich — both imperatives appropriately evoke the Feast of the Nativity of our Lord or the Birthday of Christ. The German is the same for decorating a Christmas tree, deck the halls — darkness is turned to light, go and tell.

Cold are the people, winter of life,
We tremble in shadows this cold endless night,
Frozen in the snow lie roses sleeping,
Flowers that will echo the sunrise,
Fire of hope is our only warmth,
Weary, it's flame will be dying soon (Daniel Kantor).

Ora Labora and Spurring Saints on through Song

Our branch of the Church celebrated our annual Synod Eucharist yesterday. Our town got to host this year, so I was able to attend. It was a Mass for Missions. The richer the moment, the more we tend to associate other things with it and yesterday brought a host of thoughts.

As we sang Charles Wesley’s text “O Thou who camest from above” about the “fire celestial” coming down, I thought about Bishop Chartres’ opening to his sermon on the occasion of William and Catherine’s marriage: “‘Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.’ So said St Catherine of Siena whose festival day this is. Marriage is intended to be a way in which man and woman help each other to become what God meant each one to be, their deepest and their truest selves.”

Chartres’ admonitions to the bride and groom hold true for us as well as we consider our role in the mission of God’s kingdom. When we come to our true selves in Christ, we can set the world on fire.

Wesley’s text resonated in new ways yesterday: “Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire To work, and speak, and think for Thee […]” My limited understanding of “missions” has always included working for Him, maybe even speaking for Him, but thinking? I need to ponder what that even means.

An aside if I may:

I recently came across a curious little publication written evidently by Lutherans about church music in the U.S. in 1898 and it includes a short chapter about the Anglican tradition. My reaction was almost visceral as I read:

“Coming to the period of the English Glee, say from about 1750 to 1830, the tunes produced are found to be less strong and more flowing in style. The modern tune, with few exceptions, is in the free style, often reminding one of the part-song, and not infrequently abounding in chromatic progressions. Though perhaps none of the English tunes are comparable with the melodies from the classical period of Lutheran Church song, having as a rule a totally different character, yet many of them are so infinitely superior to the light and sentimental tunes and adaptations so often heard in churches using the English language, and have such a noble dignity of their own, that we make no mistake in recommending their use. But here again intimate acquaintance with the true Church style and with the old treasures of Church song is absolutely necessary in order to choose wisely.”

I can’t / won’t even comment — partly because I can’t figure out what he’s saying — does he mean “them” being English tunes as compared to American tunes using the “English language”? And, what, pray tell, is “the true Church style”? (But since the “fact” remains that none are comparable, one can only conclude that this true style must be Germanic…)

But suffice it to say, it was pure delight yesterday to join my voice with other congregants as we lustily sang Samuel Sebastian Wesley’s hymn tune, HEREFORD (1872), to his grandfather Charles’ text. Almost laugh out loud funny is the designation in the 1940 Hymnal to sing this hymn “in flowing style!” Here’s the text and a recording from Hereford Cathedral (S.S. Wesley’s first post after his education). (It’s the final hymn in their service and an improvisation by organist, Peter Dyke, follows.)

1 O Thou who camest from above,
The fire celestial to impart,
Kindle a flame of sacred love
On the mean altar of my heart.

2 There let it for Thy glory burn
With ever bright, undying blaze,
And trembling to its source return,
In humble prayer and fervent praise.

3 Jesus, confirm my heart's desire
To work, and speak, and think for Thee;
Still let me guard the holy fire,
And still stir up the gift in me.

4 Still let me prove Thy perfect will,
My acts of faith and love repeat,
Till death Thy endless mercies seal,
And make the sacrifice complete. (Charles Wesley, 1762, alt.)

(I had forgotten, but Robert Bridges also talks of this “celestial fire” along with God’s grace and love in his poem, “My Eyes for Beauty Pine.”)

My intention here is most certainly not to pit Lutheran church music against Anglican, but another genius hymn tune was included in our service yesterday, namely David McK. Williams’ MALABAR. How appropriate is this text translated from a Syrian liturgy in turning our hearts and thoughts towards the mission of the Church!

1 Strengthen for service, Lord, the hands
that holy things have taken;
let ears that now have heard thy songs
to clamor never waken.

2 Lord, may the tongues which 'Holy' sang
keep free from all deceiving;
the eyes which saw thy love be bright,
thy blessed hope perceiving.

3 The feet that tread thy hallowed courts
from light do thou not banish;
the bodies by thy Body fed
with thy new life replenish.
Syriac, Liturgy of Malabar; Tr. C.W. Humphreys, alt. Percy Dearmer, 1906

Interestingly enough, just the other day, I was listening again to John McDonough’s reading of Jan Karon’s A New Song and Fr. Tim asked Miss Bridgewater during her organ audition for his new parish to play this hymn. It’s one of his favorite texts, “a communion hymn worth its salt and then some” — he especially appreciates the line “to clamor never waken,” but McDonough sings the alternate tune, ACH, GOTT UND HERR (taken from the Neu-Leipziger Gesangbuch, 1682). The meter for both tunes is 8.7.8.7, but the text, esp. stanzas 1 and 3 lend themselves more to 15.15. And in my opinion, Williams’ MALABAR’s long, flowing lines are wonderfully suited to bringing out the complete ideas of the text.

Hymn tunes aside, though, what was particularly meaningful about the day, was how our Bishop brought the crux of the Great Commission back to the altar and how the goal of the Gospel, this side of Heaven, is to invite others, the hungry and thirsty, to our union with Christ in and through the Eucharist: “Drawn by thy quick’ning grace, O Lord, In countless numbers let them come, And gather from their Father’s board The Bread that lives beyond the tomb” (P. Doddridge, 1755, alt.).

20/20 Hindsight, our Frailty, and God's Succor

This past month or so has brought with it a lot of self-reflection about parenting, teaching our young people, and our society at large.

Jonathan Haidt’s The Anxious Generation and other concerning studies have sparked some very worthwhile professional discussions at school about students and cell phones.

Last week at church we heard about a new boys’ boarding school, St. Dunstan’s, whose goal will be to integrate life, school, and work with the rhythms of liturgical life. Grades lose their meaning and instead, getting the trig problem right means building a secure roof versus one that falls on your head. There’ll be no cell phones or social media. We were confronted with a real indictment of our society and how unique we are in allowing little to no independence along with little to no “curated” culture — such an apt description. We also no longer have any real rites of passage for our boys, especially.

Shaking our heads, we wonder how in the world we’ve gotten to where we are today — so many things to reconsider — so many things to question — so many decisions that missed the mark. How did our lives become so disjointed? But, the reason “hindsight is 20/20” has reached cliché status is because it’s so often true. We do the best we can in the moment and try to move forward with God’s grace.

I’m finding some encouragement in the Collects from last week and today: “Keep, we beseech thee, O Lord, thy Church with thy perpetual mercy; and, because the frailty of man without thee cannot but fall, keep us ever by thy help from all things hurtful, and lead us to all things profitable to our salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen” and “O Lord, we beseech thee, let they continual pity cleanse and defend thy Church; and, because it cannot continue in safety without thy succour, preserve it evermore by thy help and goodness; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen”

There are a lot of hopeful truths here as we look to God’s mercy and pity for His cleansing, defending, and succor.

Another aspect of life that needs some serious reflection is our society and its understanding of (the) Church. We’re grateful for the path our lives have taken, but, again, we are almost dumbfounded at why it took us decades to realize the riches of Anglicanism.

We need to look to the whole of life as we integrate worship with our everyday lives. G.W.O. Addleshaw reminds us that we can’t separate our worship from the dogmatic truths that undergird it; he summarizes: “The liturgy is vitally connected with everyday life; it presupposes that the body, whose voice it is, should embrace every side of man’s life, and that the life of the body in all departments should reflect the justice and charity proclaimed by the dogma.” He asserts that we will never recover the “wholeness of life” unless “in the liturgy of the Church the Eucharistic sacrifice is given that emphasis and centrality which is its due.” Addleshaw concludes his work with this insight: “It is in the Eucharist that the community expresses itself according to its true nature, that which in the divine purpose it is meant to become; here it is offered in union with Our Lord to the Father and takes its place in the divine order; here it most truly adores the eternal Trinity for whose honour and glory it exists.” Here is the wholeness of life, the union between heaven and earth, God and man, eternity and time. Succor indeed.

The Liturgical Life

As I meditate on the truth of Christ in me (see my last post), E.L. Mascall’s rich understanding of the Eucharist and its transformative nature comes to mind. Directly related to Grafton’s thoughts, he writes:

“So, then, the Eucharist is the one perfect act of worship that we can offer to God. And far from Eucharistic worship being a matter merely of the sanctuary and the sacristy, it is of direct relevance to the world in which Christians live and work and love and die. For the Body which appears in its sacramental form upon our altars is the same Body which in its mystical form is at work in the world and of which we are members, in a quite true sense, therefore, what Christians do in the world, in their work and in their play, is identical with the offering made upon the altar and with the act of worship made by Christ in heaven. That is to say, for the Christian as a member of the Body of Christ, his whole life is liturgical […] For the Christian, then, in the Mystical Body, life and worship are but two elements in one great act, the self-offering of Christ the God-man to the Father in heaven. Life itself is liturgical, for whether the Christian serves God or whether he sins against him, he is acting as a member of the Body, and it is in the Eucharist that his life is given true interpretation as not merely his life, but the life of Christ in him: ‘I live; and yet, no longer I, but Christ liveth in me.’”