God with us

At Christmas, we hear the incomparable account of the Nativity according to St. Luke, or (in the third set of Eucharistic lessons, and on the First Sunday after Christmas) the prologue to the Gospel according to St. John. But we do not hear St. Matthew's account. Yes, we get chapter two at the Feast of the Epiphany. But what about chapter one? We get it in the Daily Office for the Sunday after Christmas in Year One, and the Feast of the Holy Name in Year Two; if it appears anywhere in the Eucharistic Lectionary, I cannot recall it or find it at present [Edited later: it does appear in the Sunday Lectionary on the Fourth Sunday of Advent, Year A]. It is not even the Gospel for the Feast of St. Joseph (Luke 2:41-52, the twelve-year old Jesus, who “must be about [his] Father's business.”).

What is St. Matthew's point with this important passage?

The first sentence of the Gospel according to St. Matthew is this: “The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” St. Matthew wants his readers to understand that Jesus is the Messiah, the Christ, and that in him are fulfilled all the promises made to Abraham (cf Genesis 22:15-18, “... and in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed”) and David (cf II Samuel 7, and the questioning of this promise in Psalm 89: “Lord, where are thy former lovingkindnesses, which thou swarest unto David in thy truth?" [v.49]).

It echoes also the similar “books of the generations” in the First Book of Moses: the “book of the generations of Adam” (5:1); the “generations of the sons of Noah” (10:1); “the generations of Shem” (11:10); “the generations of Isaac, Abraham's son” (25:19) and lastly “the generations of Jacob” (37:2). It places Jesus in the context of the Patriarchs; it further implies that he is not only the culmination of this long genealogy, but the beginning of something new, like unto Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

There would be many ways to trace the descent of a Jewish person from Abraham; all of them were his descendents, as were many others (e.g, the descendants of Ishmael). There would doubtless be many lines leading even from David to Jesus – St. Luke gives one which differs entirely from that of St. Matthew. But Matthew tracks the line through the kings of Judah. This is to show that Jesus is the legitimate Heir of David, “he that is born King of the Jews” (St. Matthew 2:2). But there is more: St. Matthew is reminding us of the Story. All of these people, from Abraham to Jechonias and his brethren at the time of the Exile, are known to us from the Old Testament. St. Matthew is making it crystal clear that Jesus is part of this Story and the culmination of it. In Jesus, the “author and finisher of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2) has himself entered the Story. Nothing can ever again be the same.

Now all this was done, that it might be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Emmanuel, which being interpreted is, God with us. (1:22-23)

One final thought: This passage is one of the few glimpses we get of St. Joseph, “a just man” (v. 19). The Church begins with Our Lady St. Mary, who believed the words that had been spoken to her (St. Luke 1:45) and was the God-bearer, the Theotokos. But she was not alone: there were Elisabeth and Zecharias – and there was, after his vision in a dream, Joseph. He was at her side on that holy Night in Bethlehem; Joseph was with her, and with Him, as long as he lived; their shared belief in what had been shown them, and what was before their eyes every day, strengthened them through what was often a difficult and uncertain path. So it is today: we believe, and in our shared belief we strengthen one another.

What shall we do, that we might work the work of God? Jesus answered and said unto them, This is the work of God, that ye believe on him whom he hath sent. (St. John 6:28-29)

... with giving of thanks

Rejoice in the Lord alway, and again I say, rejoice.
Let your softness be known unto all men: the Lord is at hand.
Be careful for nothing: but in all prayer and supplication
let your petitions be manifest unto God with giving of thanks.
And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,
keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesu. (Philippians 4:4-7, my emphasis)

I think that the above translation is from the Great Bible. It is certainly from the fine sixteenth century anthem on this text, which we sang for the Eucharist on Sunday, wherein this was part of the Epistle.

After Sunday's service of Lessons and Carols described in the previous essay, I was worn out and a little discouraged about my musicianship. Since then, four people whom I respect, all of them musicians or clergy, have expressed their thanks to me and the choir for the service, telling me that it was meaningful for them. Two of them commented particularly on the little instrumental arrangement that I mentioned.

While Pride is always a danger when people speak well of your work, it remains helpful to say “Thank you.” Hearing and reading those words helped me today; these words can help almost anyone.

We are made in the image of God. One cannot take the converse very far without wandering far astray, but it is not too much of a stretch to think that God is likewise pleased when we say “thank you” (cf. St. Luke 17:11-19, the ten lepers). He does not need our encouragement – or does he? As the Body of Christ, I wonder whether we have some part in “fill[ing] up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ” (Colossians 1:24). Might it be that our poor efforts and prayers – and giving of thanks, most of all in the Great Thanksgiving, the Holy Eucharist – have helped our Head, the Lord Jesus Christ, through the dark places in his journey, in a manner not altogether foreign from the way in which we “bear one another's burdens” by encouraging each other in the dark places in our journeys?

That is probably indeed too much of a stretch; God is immutable, and the work of Christ is entire and complete without anything from us – indeed, we have nothing to offer. Still, it doesn't hurt to leaven our prayers and our lives “with giving of thanks,” both to God and to the people we encounter every day.

Lessons and Carols

Our annual Advent Service of Lessons and Carols was tonight. It is a Big Deal, at least for me, and I suspect for the choir. There are nine Lessons and a lot of music: this year there were eight congregational hymns and five choral pieces. It went well, some of it very well indeed.

One of the pieces was “Who is this?”, by John Ferguson. A performance by the composer and his choral ensemble, the St. Olaf Cantorei, is here. This was one of several moments during the service that I came unglued emotionally. We had a young undergraduate violist for the obbligato part, and I think she took it as seriously as I did.

Something that was more of a mixed result was the first movement of Cantata 140, “Wachet auf,” which we sang for Evensong a fortnight ago. Not having anything remotely approaching the funds needed to hire the orchestra for this, I tried an experiment, something I had wanted to do for years with an appropriate piece: we had the wind parts played on the organ, and I played the string parts on the piano. In our first piano-and-organ rehearsal, it became clear that we also needed the continuo line, so I engaged a cellist and bassist. The choir had sung this years ago under my predecessor, who taught them well; many of them still had it memorized.

At Evensong, I was pleased with how it turned out. But I received an e-mail indicating that two musicians in the congregation gave the opinion that the instruments were too loud, and the choral diction unintelligible. After bristling more than a little (I do not take criticism well, I wish I were better at it), I had the organist replace the Octave 4' with a softer Flute 4', I toned it down on the piano, and we worked on diction in rehearsal. In tonight's reading of the piece, most everything went well enough, but not my part of it; my playing was nowhere near an acceptable standard. Lesson: don't try this again. Or if we do, hire a pianist and limit my role to that of conductor. Second Lesson: if I am going to attempt ensemble playing, I had better work at it a lot more. I cannot say that my faulty playing was from sloth; I worked hard on this piece, harder than I have worked on anything that I have played this fall. But it was still crap. I was as much as one or two beats off from the ensemble at times, and there were several places where I completely missed some of my lines. Such an experience is unfortunately part of being a musician; when you play badly, you must simply let it go and move on to the next piece.

The school shooting in Connecticut on Friday put the Lesson from Isaiah 11 in a different light:

The wolf also shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and the calf and the young lion and the fatling together; and a little child shall lead them.... They shall not hurt nor destroy on all my holy mountain: for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD, as the waters cover the sea.

It seemed appropriate to add an instrumental coda to the hymn that followed the lesson, “Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming,” in order to try and add some additional weight to this lesson in the service. More than appropriate: “inescapable” might be more accurate. On the bus yesterday morning, it came to me what to do. I wrote it out after Matins, and finished extracting the parts shortly before this afternoon's rehearsal. It was not much, just a little twenty-two measure coda for the instruments at hand: Flute, Viola, Violoncello, Contrabass. But I was very pleased with how it turned out; this was another moment where I came unglued. Our clergy responded well to the challenge of ministering to this congregation today in light of the shooting, which was much on people's minds. This little instrumental coda was my equivalent, such response as I could offer for the community. May all those little children, and the adults who sought to protect them, rest in peace.

Because I spent so much time on this, I hardly prepared the hymns at all. Several of them I did not play through even once. But they turned out well enough, by God's grace.

Near the end of the service, there comes the Collect for Advent:

Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility, that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

We sang a fine choral setting of this by Craig Phillips for flute, organ, and choir – a setting commissioned by this parish. Last year I had the bad idea of laying the piece aside, for we had done it several years in a row. We all missed it, so the Phillips was back this year. It was a fine way to conclude the service, and was another moment when I came unglued.

May the music we have made this day be acceptable in the sight of the Lord, and beneficial for his people.

And he shall purify...

"And he shall purify," from Handel's Messiah

But who may abide the day of his coming? And who shall stand when he appeareth? For he is like a refiner's fire, and like fuller's soap. And he shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he shall purify the sons of Levi, and purge them as gold and silver, that they may offer unto the LORD an offering of righteousness. (Malachi 3:2-3)

For other foundation can no man lay than is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is. (I Corinthians 3:12-13)

We heard a fine sermon this morning from J., one of the handful of people who read these pages, based in part on the Old Testament lesson from Malachi, and the quotation from Isaiah incorporated into the day's Gospel account, St. Luke 3:1-6. She described how gold and silver are refined by fire, and how wool is “fulled” (and yes, I looked it up on Wikipedia as J. suggested: here is the link. In ancient times, it involved slaves walking on the woolen cloth ankle-deep in tubs of urine, which cleansed the raw wool from dirt, oils, and impurities.)

As J. said, none of this sounds easy if you are the silver ore being refined, or the wool being soaked in urine and beaten or trampled upon. But “he is like a refiner's fire, and like fuller's soap.” There is no getting around it; one way or another, all of us must be cleansed of everything that stands between us and God. It is not an easy process. All of this was in J.'s sermon.

I would add that when one starts with an ore that contains gold and silver, only a small fraction is precious metal, for example a quartz rock with a few tiny flakes of gold. That is how we are too – there is some “gold” in us, but there is a whole lot of other stuff.

St. Paul describes the work we do in apt terms: “gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble.” When it seems that we are working hard but making little or no progress, it is well to remember this passage. Most of what we do will not stand the fire – but by God's grace there may be a tiny bit of it that does. Rarely will we know which is which, except sometimes in hindsight. But God knows, he who is “like a refiner's fire.”

Music-making is one aspect of such work. We practice, we do our best, and it is never sufficient: most of it is “wood, hay, stubble.” But there is often “something” there, some element of true Music that shines like gold. If we persist, and if God persists with us, we improve; some of the dross is burned away, and we become better musicians. Someday (probably not in this life), he will have purified us completely, so that we “may offer unto the LORD an offering of righteousness.”

Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

Rosalynn and Jimmy

I received my annual Christmas Card from Rosalynn and Jimmy Carter the other day, and put it on my desk at home, right under the portrait of George Washington.

Yes, I know that the Carters send these Christmas cards out by the thousands, to all who donate to the Carter Center's work with tropical diseases and the monitoring of elections, and perhaps to Habitat supporters as well. But it is still a treat to hear from them every December. The card is always a print of one of Jimmy's oil paintings; this year, a dove on a blue background. He is not a great artist; this is just a hobby for him, and it gives their Christmas greeting a homespun touch.

The current president has embraced the social media: Facebook, Twitter. He doubtless has many thousands of "friends." Rosalynn and Jimmy are from another generation; they send Christmas cards. And thank-you notes: after my mother died, I sent a part of my inheritance to the Carter Center in her honor, a check that was for me a substantial sum, for my mother respected him every bit as much as I do. In due time, I received a short handwritten thank-you note from Jimmy Carter. I do not think that this was something a secretary did for him; I think that he took the time himself to write it.

He is a Good Man.

Some would say that he was not a good president; I would say that he was perhaps the last good president (as is morally good, not necessarily "good" in the sense of "successful") that we will have in this country. He was elected in the wave of revulsion over the moral bankruptcy of Richard Nixon, and times have changed; someone like Carter could never be elected now.

I send Rosalynn and Jimmy my heartfelt good wishes for a blessed Christmas and a happy and healthy New Year. May God's blessings be with them.

I ain't got long to stay here

This day, the First Sunday of Advent, in all of its Lessons and Music, is what the song describes: “the trumpet sounds within my soul.”

Our time here is short; we had best make the most of it. And it is not just our individual span, our “threescore years and ten.” All things shall come to an end, and after that, the judgment. The Bridegroom has tarried long. But he is coming.

Almighty God, give us grace that we may cast away the works of darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the quick and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost, one God, now and for ever. Amen. (BCP p. 159)