Desolate – RPC Music Notes, Sun 15 March 2020

Desolate is one of many words our language gained from England’s Norman conquerors in 1066. In English we tend to associate it with places, whereas its French antecedent desolée expresses more of a personal feeling of loss or regret. We see both meanings in today’s two choral selections, and we see two strikingly different musical portrayals.

The longing words of Psalm 42’s first three verses are in the voice of one spiritually bereft, perhaps feeling abandoned by God after daily mocking by those questioning his faith – perhaps questioning it himself all the while. The poetic image used is that of a thirsty deer longing for water, and Noel Rawsthrone’s musical depiction of this longing shifts sadly between solo and duet passages in weeping, descending melodies, and terse choral chant-like textures that bring the whole into the first person plural voice.

William Byrd’s anthem setting of Isaiah 64:10, Civitas sancti tui is a frank acknowledgment that the holy city has been made into a desert, a desolation.  The greater meaning here than the ‘mere’ physical destruction of the city cannot be understated: for God’s people Jerusalem forms the seat of faith, of power and of hope, a fact not lost on its Babylonian conquerors, now leading defeated Israel into exile. In the music, a short section expresses that simple fact, and then we hear Jerusalem and its more poetic name Sion along with the Latin words deserta and desolata repeated over and over in a strikingly serene, almost psychological way. As if to drive home the simplicity of this admission, the voices of the choir sound here for the first time homophonically, that is, at the same time rather than in alternation.

Rev. Kendall reminds us today of the sanctity of water – in the ancient world, yes, but no less in our own time and place: Canada, with its unparalleled wealth of fresh water continues to fail its First Nations in the provision of this basic life-critical commodity, and also faces the uncertainty of water sovereignty as its increasingly parched neighbour to the south increases pressure to have access within a deteriorating climate. Water gives life, gives sanctification through baptism, gives health, cleanliness and stability to individuals and nations – its loss is synonymous with desolation.

In March 2020 the world teeters on the brink of uncertainties such as a global disease outbreak and global climate emergency: let us remember that water, though plentiful in the way we know it, in many other places is already rare as music in the desert. Let us pray and work to maintain and remediate the people and places made desolate by us and our world.


Forty Days – RPC Music Notes, Sun 8 March 2020

The season of Lent

“The Glory of these Forty Days” hymn arrangement

Today the season of Lent lasts 40 Days from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. If you try to figure this out from a calendar you must not count the six Sundays, which are technically not part of the traditional Lenten observance (and for those of us who have chosen to ‘give things up’ – interesting to know that in some traditions, Sunday is the weekly day off from those commitments!)

Ever notice the prominence of the number 40 in the Bible? From the length of the flood (40 days and nights), to Moses’ days on Mount Sinai, the Israelites’ two periods of wandering in the desert (40 years twice), to the period of Jonah’s warning to Nineveh and the period of time in which Jesus appeared to the disciples after the Resurrection (both 40 days) the number is mentioned a striking 146 times in scripture. The Bible, as it turns out, was even written down by exactly 40 people, if you count them up.

The earliest recorded references to a pre-Easter season of self-denial, introspection and prayer date from the early days of the church, in the writings of Irenaus of Lyons (c.130-c.200), but at that time it was just a few days in length: sometime after discussion by the Council of Nicea (325) Lent eventually climbed on the bandwagon of the Bible’s seeming fascination with the number 40, inspired of course by the days Jesus himself spent fasting and praying in the wilderness.

In musical terms Lent can imply many things in addition of course to melodies and texts traditional to or thematically fitting the season. Music conceived with Lent (and especially Lenten texts) in mind can often have a reverent, sober and cerebral character not so suited to more festive seasons. In some very catholic-style churches an ironically Calvinistic texture is adopted without organs and other instruments, reverting to the austerity of unaccompanied singing by both choirs and congregations. And where instruments continue to be used through Lent there is often a culture of using them sparingly, more quietly, and – dare I say it – more humbly. Even the musicians’ most beloved ‘Hallelujah!” is often put away, as though its true meaning at Easter could ever be compromised by its release in the preceding weeks.

At RPC, in addition to following detailed sermon plans (you will always find these and complete musical details published on our monthly Word and Music List in the Music/Media section of the RPC website), Lent gathers many diverse genres and ideas into our musical life, including this year our ongoing winter/spring project to sing all seven movements of Johannes Brahms’ Ein Deutches Requiem‘ where they pick up on themes of the day.

As much as sacred music at RPC reaches far beyond our Presbyterian tradition, the true riches in our Lent are often found within our hymns. This is an expression of not only the basis of the Reformed perspective on literacy, on direct congregational worship and a metrical literary tradition, but also I think of the way hymns seek to collect together the immensity of self-introspection that is germane to a personal faith, rather than one perhaps more clouded by ritual, decoration, sense and experience, or on any other beautiful thing liable to be a target for idolatry.

After all, in some sense art may be thought to be true and beautiful only when it is seen, heard or otherwise experienced by people. We with good reason build cathedrals, paint and compose masterpieces to God’s glory – but, perhaps, they become art only through people.


Miserere Mei – RPC Music Notes Sun 1 March 2020

Miserere Mei (original Latin text) – Gregorio Allegri
(performance unattributed, but sounds like King’s College Cambridge)

Gregorio Allegri’s famous setting of Psalm 51, composed for Holy Week Tenebrae services at the Sistine Chapel, is thought to date from the 1630s, and other than the distribution of three authorised copies was for almost a century and a half expressly forbidden to be transcribed or sung anywhere else. According to a popular story (supported by family letters, but challenged by some historians), a 14-year-old Mozart heard it there in Holy Week 1770 and later wrote it down from memory, providing it eventually to English historian Charles Burney who had it published in London in 1771.

Neither Mozart nor Burney was ever censured in any way for defying the papal transcription ban and disseminating the precious Miserere – indeed in 1771 Mozart was summoned to Rome and awarded the Order of the Golden Spur for his feat of musical genius and service in propagating the Catholic faith. The mystique of the Allegri Miserere continues to this day, although beyond the Catholic tradition its veneration is now more associated with the beginning of Lent than the end.

Works of art are altered by the context of their reception – how might 21st century Presbyterians ‘hear’ the Miserere differently from, let’s say, 17th century Roman Catholics or for that matter 18th century Londoners? For one thing our denomination (not so much RPC itself) has tended to frown on service music sung in languages other than English – and particularly in Latin, the signature tongue of the Catholic church. Surprisingly the RPC Choir library has full sets of copies in both English and Latin, but I chose English for the power of the words not just comprehended, but actually heard in the language we speak.

Our usual length of Sunday service has some trouble accommodating 11-12 minute anthems designed to accompany rituals we no longer observe, so some form of abridgment seemed appropriate – but how exactly to do this? The beautifully balanced work shares the 19 verses of Psalm 51 between three sets of choral forces: male cantors, and two choral ensembles (one of which is often sung by soloists): so to maintain its regular, almost hypnotic sequence of these shifting forces verses must be omitted not individually, but in groups.

But which verses? Scripture in general, and the Psalms in particular, are frequently excerpted for our services both for reasons of length and for theological focus – but occasionally certain verses – penned by David in reference to his acts of sin with Bathsheba and her husband Uriah the Hittite – also grate against our general sensibilities (‘Behold, I was shapen in wickedness, and in sin hath my mother conceived me’, for example).

Through – and in at least some sense over – the Word and tradition of this piece runs its beautiful music, and the emotion it has the power to elicit. In this way at least despite the changes in us and its context, it functions as it always has, seeking to draw us closer to God, and Jesus’ work of salvation – and even if simple choral beauty is what draws you to it, as with many others, remember my old mantra of beauty as a kind of window upon truth.


Liminal Glory – RPC Music Notes, Sun 23 February 2020

A theme running through today’s service at Rosedale Presbyterian Church is what is sometimes known in psychology as ‘liminality.’ The story of the Transfiguration and the sacrament of Communion share in common a holy encounter beyond the normal. The latin root ‘limen’ means “threshold” – liminal places and experiences connote crossing boundaries and barriers.

According to the rite of consecration the bread and wine of communion are ‘set aside from all ordinary uses’ in order to be symbolic of the body and blood of Jesus (indeed in some traditions they are thought to be not just symbolic, but actually transformed into the holy Body). Either way Communion is known almost universally as a sacrament, or sign of God’s direct presence in our world, and taking the elements in the Holy Eucharist is nothing less than an encounter with God Godself.

In the Transfiguration story Jesus and three of his disciples ascend an unnamed mountain, whereupon Jesus appears transfigured from his normal self: “His face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as the light.” (Matthew 17:2). Then Jesus is joined by the prophets Moses and Elijah, moving Peter to offer to build dwellings for Jesus and the prophets. Then a cloud gathers and a voice recalling that present at Jesus’ baptism years earlier issues forth: “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased. Listen to him!” (Matthew 17:5). To the disciples this remarkable series of events must have had life-changing proportions.

Music, one of worship’s most powerful and poignant voices, can offer us liminal experiences too… even singing spiritual arrangements throughout the month of February the anthem “Go where I send thee!” offers a number of remarkable departures from our more usual musical offerings. It is an exuberant gospel-style paraphrase of God’s call to us, and it is a counting song, teaching or reinforcing the number system with biblical amounts in similar fashion to meaning some attach to a Christmas song you might previously have thought was entirely secular, The Twelve Days of Christmas. From its style and character to its traditionally constant changing keys to its closing repeated ‘groove’ it leaves behind many conventions to both spirituals and sacred music writ larger. In this regard I must also mention the remarkable expansion of our usual Choral Amens tradition by Jester Hairston’s arrangement!

There is good reason to believe that liminal experiences draw us from habit, from complacency and boredom into a world of sharper relief, even if it is unfamiliar, unsettling, and perhaps even dangerous. Liminal experiences offer unquestionable value, and should be sought out, in music as well as in all parts of life – they have immense potential not just to surprise and challenge us – but indeed to teach and change – to transfigure – us.


Embedded – RPC Music Notes, Sun 16 Feb 2020

In recent decades the term ’embedded’ has been used to describe a situation where journalists are integrated into political, humanitarian and military operations in order to bring stories from distant, unpleasant and dangerous places back to the comfortable media consumer. Crucially it connotes the agency of higher authorities that perceive power in the narrative that reaches us, and value in being able to control as well as facilitate it.

Music and text offer an interesting parallel to this practice: both can carry embedded ideas and images of great power – sometimes placed at the behest of authority, and sometimes of the creator(s) (if indeed they are not one and the same). Today, let’s look at two strikingly different examples within our Black History Month-long focus on the Spiritual.

‘The Lily of the Valley’, a serene, and wistful testament to Jesus’ beauty, heaven’s riches and the seemingly mundane subject of shoes(!), is almost seemingly a propaganda piece for the slavery institution. It bears the striking allegory of Jesus as a pure, white flower (the lily is associated with beauty and purity both within and outside of the Biblical tradition, but its Easter connotation appears to be a 19th century invention), of heavenly riches beyond imagination, and the suggestion of shoes (typically denied to slaves for the enablement they provide to escape) as a mark of elective holiness and obedience.

In contrast ‘Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho’ might seem nothing more than a well-loved rock-’em, sock-’em Old Testament story of God’s triumph on behalf of his people. But burrowing a bit deeper it is a striking tale of a hopeless-looking attack and surprise vanquishment of a greatly-fortified enemy, wrapped up in the blasting of judgment-day-style trumpets. No ‘gospel shoes’ for the submissive subject here! The story of course came to enslaved Christians from the imposed Bible, but it is interesting to look at that story from their perspective, and perhaps imagine them daring to identify with the Israelites freed from bondage and led to victory.

In most cases music supports the embedded power and purpose of text; in the serenity of the ‘Lily’ example geared perhaps at submissive passivity, or the vigorous rhythms of ‘Joshua’ conveying the sound and feelings of battle.

We have become accustomed to suspicion of the authority-crafted narratives embedded journalists bring us from troubled places; music too deserves our scrutiny, especially where (as in the church) we seek to take it on as an expression of ourselves. Keep this in mind the next time you see war reporting broadcasts in western media – the reporting may be telling you what to think, while the music tells you how to feel about it. If ‘The Lily’ contains some sort of hidden agenda it in no way invalidates the notions of Jesus’ beauty and purity, heaven’s riches or the value of wearing figurative ‘gospel shoes’ – but, as music often does for me and I hope for you, “It makes you think.”


Preacher & People – RPC Music Notes, 9 Feb 2020

“Fix me”, arr. J. Hairston – soprano Kathleen Battle in a Philadelphia choral performance

Every churchgoer, and for that matter nearly everyone else, is familiar with the concept of the lone preacher with the gathered congregation. But if you have heard choirs sing spirituals or sung them yourself, and have noticed the preponderance of soloists as compared with other styles of anthem, have you ever connected the dots?

As we consider Spiritual arrangements such as those heard at RPC throughout this Black History Month, we must try to untangle the sources and intervening factors that gave them shape. This is a complex fusion of a variety of African cultural building blocks, the imposed Christian faith both in African mission and American enslavement settings, and of course the omnipresence of struggle, suffering and oppression. But for the present we will consider just one obvious aspect, the Preacher and People.

Leaders, and the musical incarnation known as “Call and Response” is a cultural trope that spans the songs and societies, sacred and secular, of the globe: thus it is a simplification to suggest that the paradigm of the Preacher can explain entirely its presence in the modern Spiritual arrangement.

Practically any leader facilitates learning: cantor/choir forms the basis of the Hebraic and monastic chants that in turn founded all Western sacred music, but it is of obvious value to all cultures, allowing ideas and traditions to be led now, and passed on to the future.

The modern Christian Preacher finds their roots in the teachers and leaders of ancient faiths, and most recently Judaism and Islam. Through the lens of colonial Christianisation of African slaves, he adopts older known leader roles to teach the new faith, reinforce behaviors such as obedience and productivity, and strengthen a new stratified community model.

But in the Spiritual we find another dimension that stretches back thousands of years earlier into the songs and practices its founders brought with them: and followed richly into Gospel, Soul and arguably other genres: the role of emotional inspiration. When a soloist sings “Fix me Jesus, fix me” in the first person they are not really even preaching – they implore us, in a deeply personal way, to pray as they do. While a choir repeats John the Baptiser’s sober warning to “Don’t you let nobody turn you ’round”, in great authority the soloists recount his story and call the faithful to unity.

Indeed in our Presbyterian tradition, along with interpreting and sharing the scriptures the speaking Preacher, Wes Denyer and Seaton Brachmeyer as two fine examples, appeal to us in a deeply personal and often autobiographical way. And RPC’s long tradition of fine soloist leadership within its Choir offers a unique gift of beauty and humanity that goes far beyond the musical.

When you hear a voice raised in leadership, in teaching, in prayer or in community rest assured, both you and it are in an ancient social contract with a rich and powerful history – and continuing great potential for grace.


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.