Song

Sing a Song of Bethlehem: An Advent Series

III.  Song

Luke 1:46-56

Third Sunday in Advent

13^th December 2015

It’s music—the carols and anthems, bells and strings, brass and organ, piano—doing the preaching in the service today, giving witness to God’s good news.  Music is the medium of the message.  Sometimes music is the best way to get the message across.  Perhaps the most natural way our hearts respond to God’s love and grace is through song, music.  We want to cry out.  We want to sing.  We find ourselves becoming doxological.  We offer doxology, that is, words of doxa, meaning “glory”: glory, glory, glory to the goodness and faithfulness of God!

The Bible is loaded with examples of this happening, of people responding to God’s grace with singing and praise.  Mary’s Song here in Luke 1, also known as the Magnificat, is one of the best examples of this.[1]  And her song is modeled on an earlier song sung by Hannah (1 Samuel 2:1-11).  When Mary heard that she will bear a son who will redeem and heal the world, she said, “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior”—why?—“for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.  Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;…” (Luke 1:47-48).

Mary’s Song.  So simple.  So beautiful. So profound.  In medieval monastic and cloistered communities the Magnificat was read daily, during evening vespers (around 6 p.m.) in the week leading up to Christmas. And we know that these communities framed the reading of the Magnificat with a song, an antiphon, that is, a short sentence set to music.  These antiphons, known as the O Antiphons, eventually came to be the Advent hymn we know as “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.” The seven antiphons that make up this hymn, one for each day leading up to Christmas, were sung before and after the reading of Mary’s Song.  Each antiphon or stanza lifts up an image, rooted in Scripture, which describes Mary’s son:  O Wisdom (Sapientia), O Lord (Adonai), O Root of Jesse (Radix Jesse), O Key of David (Clavis David), O Radiant Dawn (Oriens), O King of all nations (Rex Gentium), O Emmanuel (Emmanuel). 

We’re used to singing, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, and ransom captive Israel…,” as the first stanza in the hymn, but this stanza was actually sung last, on the night before Christmas Eve.  Actually, the titles given to Jesus, Wisdom, Lord, Root, etc., in Latin, Sapientia, Adonai, Radix, Clavis, Oriens, Rex, Emmanuel form an acrostic; the first letters of each title together spell SARCORE, which when read in reverse spell the phrase Latin “ero cras,” which means,  “I come tomorrow” or “I shall be [with you] tomorrow.”[2]  Pretty cool, eh?  It sounds like something right of The DaVinci Code.  The hymn contains a hidden meaning.

The petitions or pleas found in theses antiphons, when combined with the Song of Mary, heighten the sense of imminence, expectation.  Something is about to happen.  Wake up.  Be ready.  Someone is about to be born.  Simeon later said to Mary, when Jesus was twelve, “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:34-35).

Yes, the Magnificat is a song of praise.  And there’s reason to rejoice. The Magnificat is also a song of protest—which is also a reason to rejoice.  Why?  Because his birth signals God’s grand reversal, it announces the great undoing, the falling and rising of many.  The halls of power, the kingdoms and governments and economic systems of this earth should tremble with his coming.  His birth puts the prevailing ways of the world on edge.  For, as Mary sang, he will scatter the proud, he will bring down the powerful from their thrones, and lift up the lowly—the lowly that have been put down, pressed down to the bottom by society; he will fill the hungry with good things, and will send the rich away empty, disappointed (Luke 1:51-53).  That’s why Mary’s rejoicing, because this one, this Jesus, this Yeshua, whose name means “Yahweh saves” will save us from all that binds and enslaves us; he will save us from all that separates us from God, our neighbor and ourselves; he will release us from all that oppresses and dehumanizes us, everything that causes us to be fearful and anxious.

Mary knew that his birth would mean the end to life as usual.  Nothing would ever, could ever be the same again.  His birth marks the birth of a New Age, a Radiant Light casting its rays upon a New Day.  The contemporary Advent hymn Canticle of the Turning, based on Mary’s Song, beautifully captures this idea (even if the tune is a bit tricky for us):  

My soul cries out with a joyful shout
that the God of my heart is great,
And my spirit sings of the wondrous things
that you bring to the one who waits.
You fixed your sight on the servant's plight,
and my weakness you did not spurn,
So from east to west shall my name be blest.
Could the world be about to turn?

My heart shall sing of the day you bring. 

Let the fires of your justice burn. 

Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near,

and the world is about to turn.

From the halls of power to the fortress tower,

not a stone will be left on stone. 

Let the king beware for your justice tears

every tyrant from his throne. 

The hungry poor shall weep no more,

for the food they can never earn; there are tables spread;

every mouth be fed, for the world is about to turn: 

My heart shall sing of the day you bring. 

Let the fires of your justice burn. 

Wipe away all tears,

for the dawn draws near,

and the world is about to turn.[3]

And we are waiting for that turn, eager for that turn.  Now, more than ever, we need to hear that the turn is coming.  We need to know the turn is coming, feel it coming.  Advent is always a dark time.  But it feels especially dark this year, given the events of the world and here closer to home in the last month. We wish God’s promised tomorrow would be today.

Shortly, our choir will sing the anthem Carol of Joy, composed by Dan Forrest and set to the poetry of Eileen Berry.  The choir first sang this piece three years ago, the Sunday after the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut.  This piece was a gift to us that morning.  So much has changed in the world since then, but also, sadly, so little. 

The Carol of Joy is beautiful; it’s honest, yet hopeful.  Like Mary’s Song, it’s filled with joy, tinged with pain and sorrow.  We must remember that the Savior was born to a world such as ours, for people in need of healing, for people who are broken and fearful and fallen and friendless.  I’m grateful that Greg Knauf chose to use it again today.  We need to hear its message.  It gives expression to what many of us are feeling these days—and it reminds us, as Christians, as people of faith, of our responsibility in these dark times to bear witness to God’s light and joy and love.  Mary’s song is your song.

__________

“Carol Of Joy” by Eileen Berry

Green leaves all fallen, withered and dry;
Brief sunset fading, dim winter sky.
Lengthening shadows,
Dark closing in...

Then, through the stillness, carols begin!

Oh fallen world, to you is the song--
Death holds you fast and night tarries long.

Jesus is born, your curse to destroy!
Sweet to your ears, a carol of Joy!

Pale moon ascending, solemn and slow;
Cold barren hillside, shrouded in snow;
Deep, empty valley veiled by the night;
Hear angel music--hopeful and bright!

Oh fearful world, to you is the song--
Peace with your God, and pardon for wrong!
Tidings for sinners, burdened and bound--

A carol of joy!

A Saviour is found!

Earth wrapped in sorrow, lift up your eyes!
Thrill to the chorus filling the skies!
Look up sad hearted--witness God's love!
Join in the carol swelling above!

Oh friendless world, to you is the song!
All Heaven's joy to you may belong!
You who are lonely, laden, forlorn--
Oh fallen world!
Oh friendless world!

To you,

A Saviour is born!

See also Dan Forrest's website for other recordings of this anthem. 

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[1] This sermon series is designed to complement our adult education series, written by Mary Louise Bringle & Beverly Howard, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel: Reflections on Four Seasonal Hymns, Resource for Advent I. (The Presbyterian Publishing Corporation: The Thoughtful Christian, 2015).

[2] Bringle & Howard.

[3] Roy Cooney, Canticle of the Turning, set to the tune STAR OF THE COUNTY DOWN. 

Silence

A Song of Bethlehem: An Advent Series

II. Silence

Philippians 2:1-13

Second Sunday of Advent

6^th December 2015

Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper

I have this problem. I’m in a predicament. It’s a problem, a predicament of my own making.  I put this Advent sermon series together around four hymns and came up with one word titles for each week.[1]  Today’s hymn is “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence.”  Today’s title is “Silence.”  As I worked on the sermon this week it became clear that something was not quite right. There was something odd at work, something ironic: I was searching for words in order to talk about, preach about silence.  Here I am, now, using audible sounds, words, to say something about the importance of silence in the Christian experience.  I should just shut up and be quiet.

I’m good company here, though.  Diarmaid MacCulloch is Professor of Church History at Oxford University.  An extraordinary scholar, author of weighty tomes—both figuratively and literally speaking, his books usually average 900 pages, MacCulloch recently Silence: A Christian History, a 240-page book on the history of silence within the Christian tradition. It’s obviously a story worth telling.[2]

And, yet, for all its importance within Christianity, as well as Judaism, there’s certainly not enough of silence in our lives.  As Protestants, as Presbyterians, we’re an especially wordy bunch of Jesus freaks.  We love words, spoken or written.  We are people of the Book and of books. Yes, we’re a wordy lot.  Primacy is given to the power of the spoken word to transform hearts and minds, even the world.  In fact, the Reformed tradition believes that when a minister stands to preach the words, via the Holy Spirit, actually become the Word of God.[3]  Our worship is full of words.  Just look at the bulletin.

However, the prophet Habakkuk reminded us, centuries ago, “Yahweh is in his holy temple; let all the world keep silence before him” (Habakkuk 2:20)!  There’s a time and place for music and song in the worship of Yahweh, a time to hear holy words, a time for prayer, for ritual, for sacraments.  But all of this must not be done at the expense of silence. 

Sometimes silence is the only appropriate way to worship God, because as many mystics have taught us, in both the Judaic and Christian traditions, silence itself is holy.  Some have even suggested that God is experienced most profoundly in silence, because God is silence. 

St. Augustine (354-430) in the fourth/fifth century said going deep and discovering the different levels of silence is what it means to “Enter into the joy of your Lord” (Mt. 25:21).[4] 

St. John Climacus (d. 606), the seventh century monk at St. Catherine’s monastery in the Sinai, said, “The friend of silence comes close to God.”[5] 

The German mystic Meister Eckhart (1260-1328) said, “The noblest attainment in this life is to be silent and let God work and speak within.”[6] 

The Spanish mystic John of the Cross (1542-1591) said, “The Father spoke one Word, which was His Son, and this Word He always speaks in eternal silence, and in silence must It be heard by the soul.”[7] 

Angelus Silesius (1624-1677), priest and physician, said, “God far exceeds all words that we can here express.  In silence he is heard, in silence worshipped best.”[8]

From very early in our history, Ignatius, bishop of Antioch (c.50-c.98-117) confessed, “God revealed himself through Jesus Christ his Son, who is his Word that came forth from silence…”[9]

Did you catch that?  Jesus Christ is God’s Word “that came forth from silence.”  In other words, the Word became flesh (John 1:14) from out of the silence that is God.  Before the Word there is silence.  The Word emerges from the silence. Silence is holy. 

My mentor, James Loder (1931-2001), was fond of saying that we go from silence to silence.[10]  All truth emerges from silence and before the awesomeness of truth, especially before the truth of God, we are silenced, rendered speechless.  Because all the words in the world are inadequate before the mystery of God’s incarnation, when the Word became flesh, or, as they sang in the early Church, “when God emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness” (Philippians 2:7). 

What can be said before such mystery?  How do we find words to articulate this truth?  We will try, because language is also holy. That’s what theology is for: theos (God) + logos (word) = God words.  But there comes a time when we must reframe from speaking, when we need to be silent and stand in awe before this mystery.  Indeed, before such glory, before and under the weight of this glory it might be difficult to stand.  You might find yourself slowly falling down, down on your knees in praise, “so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue” confess him Lord (Phil. 2:10).

Yes, the poet T. S. Eliot (1888-1965) was right about the meaning of the Christian life.  He said:

You are not here to verify,

Instruct yourself, inform curiosity

Or carry report. 

You are here to kneel….[11]

This is the movement or direction of the hymn “Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silence,” which leads us directly into the mystery of the incarnation and cautions us to approach with silence, with fear and trembling, with awe.  It invites us to kneel before the mystery. 

We often sing this hymn in Advent.  In The Presbyterian Hymnal (1990) the hymn was placed in the Advent section.  However, the hymn lost its Advent status in the new hymnal Glory to God (2013); it’s now situated in a section titled “Christ’s Return and Judgment.”  The text actually comes out of the Eastern Orthodox Church, from the fourth-century Divine Liturgy of St. James, the oldest liturgy of the Christian church (around 275), a liturgy used on Holy Saturday, between Good Friday and Easter.  These words are sung during the “Great Entrance,” when the bread and wine are processed into the sanctuary during the Offertory before the celebration of the Eucharist.  The hymn, or troparian, is a call to be silent and to venerate the elements of Communion, the mystery of God in the flesh.

And so we will sing this ancient hymn today, to the modern French melody PICARDY, we will sing it before we approach the Lord’s Table.  Let us sing it, not in veneration of the elements, but with holy awe before the Real Presence of the Lord, whose birth—whose flesh and blood—embody the wisdom and love of God.  Let us sing in veneration of the mystery of the incarnation—the Word made flesh—the Word that came forth and continues to come forth—from silence.

____________________________

Let all mortal flesh keep silence,

And with fear and trembling stand;

Ponder nothing earthly minded,

For with blessing in His hand,

Christ our God to earth descending

Comes our homage to demand.

King of kings, yet born of Mary,

As of old on earth He stood,

Lord of lords, in human vesture,

In the body and the blood;

He will give to all the faithful

His own self for heavenly food.

Rank on rank the host of heaven

Spreads its vanguard on the way,

As the Light of light descendeth

From the realms of endless day,

Comes the powers of hell to vanquish

As the darkness clears away.

At His feet the six winged seraph,

Cherubim with sleepless eye,

Veil their faces to the presence,

As with ceaseless voice they cry:

Alleluia, Alleluia

Alleluia, Lord Most High!  

-Trans. from the Greek by Gerard Moultrie (1829-1885)

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[1] This sermon series is designed to complement our adult education series, written by Mary Louise Bringle & Beverly Howard, O Come, O Come, Emmanuel: Reflections on Four Seasonal Hymns, Resource for Advent I. (The Presbyterian Publishing Corporation: The Thoughtful Christian, 2015).

[2]Diarmaid MacCulloch, Silence: A Christian History (New York: Viking, 2013).  See also Christianity: The First Three Thousand Years (New York: Penguin Books, 2011), at 1184 pages, and The Reformation: A History (New York: Penguin Books, 2005), at 864 pages.

[3] See, for example, the Heidelberg Catechism, 1563.

[4] St. Augustine, Confessions, IX, 10.

[5] St. John Climacus, The Ladder of Divine Ascent, Step 11, 4 (5), cited in Martin Laird, Into Silent Land: A Guide to the Christian Practice of Contemplation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 23.

[6] Meister Eckhart, Sermon I, in Sermons and Treatises, vol. 1, cited in Laird, 23.

[7] St. John of the Cross, Maxims on Love, 21, cited in Laird, 23.

[8] Angelus Silesius, The Cherubinic Wanderer, I, 240, cited in Laird, 23.

[9] Ignatius, Magnesians 8.2, cited in MacCulloch, 49.

[10] For more on Loder, see Kenneth E. Kovacs, The Relational Theology of James E. Loder: Encounter and Conviction (New York: Peter Lang, 2011).

[11] T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding,” Four Quartets.