Shaping Black History – RPC Music Notes, Sun 2 Feb 2020

Wes’ sermon today, “Stirring the Pot” interrogates the always interesting, and never entirely simple question of what the church has to say to the Halls of Power. This aligns neatly with the topic of Black History, observed in Canada each year during February, and more locally in the treasure trove of Spirituals in the repertoire of the RPC Choir.

Before going further we must remind ourselves that the Spiritual, with its simple faith, undeniable passion, and infectious rhythm, is tainted goods.
It symbolises, yes, faith, hope and resilience under torment and enslavement, but also a colonial Christianity imposed upon those abducted from their homelands and then abused and exploited in the service of their abductors’ wealth and pleasure. Moreover our modern choral and hymn appropriations of these remarkable songs of work, of faith, of subversion and of celebration not only tames their violent and oppressive past for our consumption – it domesticates them, again, for our pleasure, and our inspiration.

Through the Spiritual’s complex cultural journey from the slave ships and pens of white Europe and America to the (currently, though not always historically) all-white Choir Loft of RPC runs that remarkable vessel of all things human, music. As our country struggles to come to terms with its own dark past, we of European descent have become accustomed to speaking, writing and publishing land acknowledgements. As western music has made its own cautious steps into the riches of melody, rhythm and ceremony that characterises the music of our First Nations, I feel a different sort of acknowledgment, with an eye to other appropriations of the past, may be in order:

As we hear, study, arrange and share the music of those we have oppressed, be they the African, Asian and other we enslaved, the First Nation we robbed, the Celt we conquered, or still others from across the world we share that we have failed to welcome into our bounty and instead may hold in suspicion and fear, we reach across time and space to you and your descendants:

We acknowledge that the melodies, harmonies, rhythms and genres we share are the traditional and sometimes sacred property of others. We hope to do so with the permission and blessing of those from whom they have come, both knowing the darkness of our shared past and committing to a just world in which all people and their songs are held as sacred, and in loving respect.

A draft music acknowledgment for consideration – C. Dawes

If you are reading this online or through social media, please weigh in with the discussion I hope will emerge from this idea.

If you are reading this at RPC on Sunday February 2nd, or will attend any of our services this month, we hope to offer in our full survey of the Spirituals we are fortunate to share in this way, not just beautiful and inspiring music from a tradition that we love. We hope also to offer up our sorrow for the injustice and atrocity locked into its history, our commitment to a just world that treats all people and their songs with due love and respect, and our wonder that somehow through God’s work a great evil gave us music of great beauty that inspires the faith we share.


Gifts & the Giver – RPC Music Notes, Sun 26 Jan 2020

“How lovely is thy dwelling place” – IV. from Ein Deutsches Requiem – Johannes Brahms
The Mormon Tabernacle Choir

“The idea comes to me from outside of me – and is like a gift. I then take the idea and make it my own – that is where the skill lies.”

– Johannes Brahms

Much thought has been expended, and ink spilled, on the question of just where creativity comes from, and Johannes Brahms, the composer of one of today’s anthems, is confident and clear that it emanates from outside of himself. Following the example of Bach (whom he idolised, and to whose some compare his genius) he dwelt much more in the category of humble craftsman than anointed artist (itself another paradigm well-known in the musical world of the late 19th century).

I find composer interviewers (especially when one extends the term ‘composer’ to include modern songwriters of many genres) often seem obsessed with this question, and the culture likes to place the source of inspiration squarely on the shoulders of the artist. Though like Newton who conceded “seeing further by standing on the shoulders of giants,” they are often effusive in acknowledging the support and influence of others, artists seem mostly happy with this view. Composers of sacred music on the other hand (with Brahms as a famously, although perhaps complexly atheistic outlier) tend to depart from it.

Stay with me here: Canada’s first Grey Cup game was not the only news of 1909: on January 24th a few blocks south of where, and a few months before, that historic game would be played, Rosedale Presbyterian Church met for its first service of public worship.

In honour of this 111th anniversary, Brahms’ beautiful setting of a few verses of Psalm 84 (a scripture passage long associated with church dedication and celebration) is offered in today’s service. It forms the brief central movement of his sacred masterpiece, Ein Deutches Requiem, the seven movements of which will all gradually appear in our services throughout this winter and spring.

It seems obvious that a worldview including an ultimate Creator would make one tend to ascribe the gift of creativity outside of oneself, and indeed to that Creator. Indeed Rosedale Presbyterian Church itself, despite its considerable achievements in over a century of ministry prefers to think of the grace of gifts it has received. But what, then are we to make of Brahms?

Brahms would never up to his death in 1896 be any clearer on from just where, if not from God, the gift of inspiration flows. But one notes it was gradually premiered from 1866-1868 (five movements in Vienna, six in Leipzig and finally seven in Bremen) – it was a sort of ‘revelation.’ If despite Brahms’ insistence, it was indeed somehow God that led him gradually to its final form, and especially the completing fifth movement with soprano solo dedicated to his late mother who had died back in 1865, it seems as though the journey may have continued to his Opus 122 choral preludes for organ on Lutheran hymns, his final compositions before he died.


The Unity Light – RPC Music Notes, Sun 19 Jan 2020

The Amen from Bach’s Advent Cantata BWV 61 “Now come, saviour of the nations” is based not on that tune, but on the Epiphany Hymn “How brightly shines the Morning Star.”

It is no coincidence that, around the world, festivals of light like Christmas, Hanukkah, Divali, Kwanzaa (and many more) cluster around the time of the winter solstice – the emerging return of light to a world that has descended into darkness.

Epiphany, both the 6th of January and the following season, ends the classical twelve days of Christmas. Along with its traditional focus on the learned Magi from eastern lands who seek a newborn king in Palestine, another icon has emerged in the themography and music of Christian Worship – the star that led them on their journey, and more broadly the image of light as antidote not just to darkness, but to a host of other woes (including, but not limited to, evil, ignorance, paganism and atheism).

Epiphany, the beginning of Jesus’ mortal ministry, like the Day of Pentecost that ends it, represents the expansion of the faith of Israel into the broader world. The star’s emergence in heathen lands has long been employed as a symbol of evangelism. Ironically our December Christmas is likely because of a world already celebrating the light of winter solstice (rather than newly receiving the Light of Christ) at this time.

A musical incarnation of this we see today at RPC is Bach’s choice to end his Advent Cantata BWV 61 “Nun komm der Heiden Heiland” with a beautiful Amen based on the Lutheran chorale “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern,” prominent throughout today’s service. In the title of the Cantata’s foundational hymn Jesus is identified as “Saviour of the Nations” (in older translations it goes so far as to say “Saviour of the Heathen”), and so the connection to the arrival of the Magi at Jesus’ birth is unmistakable, as Bach, a devout Lutheran, sought musical symbolism to accompany text settings in all of his church music, and the Cantatas in particular.

Viewing all this it also seems no coincidence that the International Week of Prayer for Christian Unity also falls in the Epiphany Season. First proposed in 1908 but really emerging on the international stage in 1948 with the founding of the World Council of Churches in the aftermath of World War II, it gathers notoriously divided Christians in the service of an annual theme of prayer and action. As we observe this remarkable occasion, let’s remember the growing light shining down upon, not just upon us hopefully united Christians, but also upon those of many other faiths in this holy season.


In dulci jubilo & 1st person – RPC Music Notes, 12 Jan 2020

In dulci jubilo arr. Pearsall/Jacques
Choir of King’s College, Cambridge under the late Stephen Cleobury

One of the most ignored factors in the culture of song is voice. When lyrical content is considered by the average listener (or singer, or critic), the significance of just who is understood to be speaking, and to whom, is often ignored.

An anthem entitled something like “Oppression shall be overcome” might have helped in the 1960s struggle for civil rights, but would it have been the same rallying cry as the self-implicating “WE shall overcome”? Or would a hymn entitled “Jesus loves us, this we know,” have represented the same comfort and security to millions as one sung in their personal voice (1st person singular), “Jesus loves me, this I know?”

Let’s consider a medieval Germanic carol melody prominent in today’s service, whose original Latin text “In dulci jubilo” has in English long given way to a different text, “Good Christians all, rejoice,” (BOP #141) composed in the imperative voice, that is, an autonomous voice giving to someone else an exhortation or command.

“Now give heed to what WE say:”

“Now YOU hear of endless bliss:”

“Calls YOU one and calls YOU all,
To gain His everlasting hall.”

For whom are we proxy in our singing of these words, and to whom are we addressing them? Is it us, the ‘Good’ Christians, addressing others we hope are, or wish were, likewise?

Now look back at the original Latin text (shown here in a common macaronic English translation), written entirely in the first person, both singular and plural:

In dulci jubilo [‘in sweetest joy’], let US OUR homage show:

OUR heart’s joy reclineth in praesepio [‘in a cradle’].

MY prayer, let it reach Thee,
O princeps gloriae! [‘Prince of glory’]
Trahe me post te! [‘draw ME unto thee’]

The purpose here is not to judge or critique choices in authorship, translation and ecclesiology – but rather to draw attention to the role of voice in the words we sing and to engage with their meaning, for those who hear, AND for we who sing. In a sense we grant words an awesome responsibility when we choose to enliven and empower them by the addition of music in our own singing – so such questions are not trivial.