‘Blessèd Saviour, Christ most holy,
In a manger thou didst rest;
Canst thou stoop again, yet lower,
And abide within my breast?’
I suppose the time has come for the dénouement of all things, for the wrapping up of ends, for the unmasking of this whole project. It turns out… I was Lady Gaga all along, mwahaha! No no, serious times now. I probably should have written this before Christmas dinner…
It always astounds me that God loves, well, me. Or anybody for that matter. And more than that, God sent his son to show us that he loves us. And more even than that, this son died so that we wouldn’t be to blame for our sins. And still more than that, this son died so that we might have life. God sacrificed himself for us. For me. For you. I was seriously tempted to italicise practically every other word in this paragraph; I can’t emphasise enough how strongly I’d like to phrase these ideas.
The title of this blog picks up on the notion of being saved by another’s death. Barabbas was a notorious prisoner (either a murderer or a robber or an insurgent, the Gospels differ) who was freed instead of Jesus before His crucifixion. In this way, he was the first person to be saved by Jesus’ impending death. This on its own makes him a pretty good symbol of everyone saved by Jesus (i.e. everybody…), but there’s more. In the etymology of Barabbas’ name we find a beautiful intensification of this idea. In Aramaic, ‘Bar’ means ‘son’ (as in ‘Bar-Mitzvah’, or ‘Son of the Laws’) and ‘abba’ means ‘father’ (as in ‘Abba, Father let me be…’). Greek-i-fied into Barabbas, this name means Son of the Father.
Now there are two meanings of this phrase. It refers to us all, as children of fathers, not to mention children of God. In another way, the Son of the Father could well be a name for Jesus himself. Part of the beauty is that this name refers to all of humanity, which includes Jesus.
I am Barabbas. You are Barabbas. We as a human collective entity are represented here by Barabbas. What then is our carol?
I have chosen the above four lines from a not particularly famous carol because they struck such a massive chord inside me when I first read them on 30th November, preparing for this project. I knew even then that here was Barabbas’ Carol, a song of penitence and unworthiness. By singing these words we prostrate ourselves to be lower than the slop bucket of stabled animals, and we wonder at how even in our lowly hearts Christ can stoop to rest.
I’m a sentimental fool. This is exactly the kind of thing I cry at, too. Be it Eponine in Les Misérables, Aslan in The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe, or even Gurgi in The Black Cauldron, the sheer strength of such an action is humbling, and tear-jerking. Imagine now that the one being pardoned, the one being released, the one being saved is you. Well, I suppose you don’t really need to ‘imagine’. You just need to remember.
But enough of this paschal patter, why sir ‘tis Christmas Day! I do tend to get caught up in the mystical ties between the Nativity and the Passion. But maybe that’s the point. Merry Christmas to you all, and thanks be to God!
Saturday, 25 December 2010
Friday, 24 December 2010
[24] 123 Brightest And Best Of The Sons Of The Morning
‘Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
---Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
---Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
Cold on the cradle the dew-drops are shining;
---Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore him in slumber reclining,
---Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.
Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,
---Odours of Edom, and offerings divine,
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
---Myrrh from the forest or gold from the mine?
Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
---Vainly with gifts would his favour secure;
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration;
---Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
---Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
---Guide where our infant redeemer is laid.’
As an early Christmas present I give to you this whole carol, and it’s one of the most beautiful we’ve come across. Read through it carefully as if it were a poem and you’ll see how perfectly it unfolds.
The first four verses are distinct blocks presenting different, clear ideas, with the very final one being a recap of the first. This first verse is held together by ideas of light; Christ as the dawning sun (note the intentional homonym of son/sun in the first line), and then the light of the Guiding Star acting as a beacon to Bethlehem. Interestingly it’s referred to as ‘the star of the east’, when the Wise Men, according to tradition, were from the east themselves, which must have meant that the star appeared as a western one to them. It’ all about perspective. I’m sure that the carol-writer, Reginald Heber, meant that from our perspective the Nativity is in the east, thus our own pilgrimage to Christ is one eastwards.
If the first verse is the glorious arrival of Jesus, then the second is one of those ubiquitous ones about the quiet aftermath. What I love here is the zooming-out throughout the verse (remember the one long camera shot in 82 Long Ago Prophets Knew, rushing into the stable? This is kind-of the opposite), which starts off soft and low, with the dew-drops on the manger. Practicalities time: it must’ve been freezing in the ramshackle shack, hence the swaddling clothes I guess. The next line draws out to the immediate onlookers, the ‘beasts of the stall’ (do the human onlookers fall into that category? See here). Then we zoom out to include the heavens where angels are watching over him, and finally we reach the most far-reaching ‘camera shot’. In a mystical mind-bender, we find that out here in the realms of incomprehensible ideas like ‘Maker’, ‘Monarch’ and ‘Saviour’ is Jesus, who was exactly who we started off with in this verse! We’ve come full circle! It’s as if we’re on Google Maps; having peered in through the stable window on Street-View we give a cursory scroll of the mouse wheel to zoom out to Global-View, finding that the self-same image is projected on the stars! Forgive the preponderance of exclamation marks. It is Christmas Eve, after all…
Verse 3 is the most beautifully worded description of ‘costly devotion’ that you’re likely to find. Bear in mind that ‘odours of Edom’ is phrase probably referring to frankincense, to go with the myrrh and gold in the fourth line. Notice the rapidly changing colours in lines 3 and 4; red rubies, the blue sea, green trees and yellow gold. Such is the splendour of all that we offer. Naturally, the next verse is the ‘don’t give him things, give your heart’ verse, which all good gift-giving carols include.
And then we have the recap of the first verse. This carol kind of trailed off, didn’t it? We were going great-guns, and then we had ‘love is better than gold’ followed by a verse we’ve already sung. Shame. Or is it? Obviously it isn’t, ‘cos I’ve got a few paragraphs left…
When a writer has put so much attention into the crafting of his words, he needs a reason to repeat them. This is not an arbitrary re-hashing of the first verse, but neither does it really sum up the carol, nor does it carry new meaning now that we’ve sung more verses. I’d suggest that it has to do with proportion. I don’t mean to go all Dan Brown on you, but there’s a structural clue that Heber has left for us. By giving us a verse that we didn’t need at the end, he is asking us to solve the puzzle.
Do you know about the Golden Section? If you don’t, or you need a refresher, take a look at the Wikipedia article here. When artists of any kind use this intentionally to plan the structure of their works, they place something important at roughly the 62% mark. This could be 62% of the way along a painting (check out the Mona Lisa), or through a piece of music (try Debussy), or even along the vertical beam of a crucifix.
62% through this carol is the gap between verses 3 and 4. This means Heber is highlighting the change from verse 3 to verse 4, he’s saying ‘look again, here is what’s important’. He adds that extra repeated verse to put the Golden Section emphasis onto the changeover, heightening the meaning of these verses.
I hope this goes some way to show how much care and attention has gone into the writing of this carol. Indeed, I hope that the whole Barabbas’ Carol project has done the same for the rest of our carolling heritage. Every year we blow the dust off these musical relics and recant them because it is the done thing. The act of writing a carol is to mirror the work of Jesus – it is to show mankind the glory of God in a form that is comprehensible. Perhaps me writing these missives is a second-hand way of doing the same thing. Goodnight for now, I’ll give you your last present tomorrow. Have a great Christmas night, and thanks be to God!
---Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
---Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid.
Cold on the cradle the dew-drops are shining;
---Low lies his head with the beasts of the stall;
Angels adore him in slumber reclining,
---Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all.
Say, shall we yield him, in costly devotion,
---Odours of Edom, and offerings divine,
Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean,
---Myrrh from the forest or gold from the mine?
Vainly we offer each ample oblation;
---Vainly with gifts would his favour secure;
Richer by far is the heart’s adoration;
---Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor.
Brightest and best of the sons of the morning,
---Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid;
Star of the east, the horizon adorning,
---Guide where our infant redeemer is laid.’
As an early Christmas present I give to you this whole carol, and it’s one of the most beautiful we’ve come across. Read through it carefully as if it were a poem and you’ll see how perfectly it unfolds.
The first four verses are distinct blocks presenting different, clear ideas, with the very final one being a recap of the first. This first verse is held together by ideas of light; Christ as the dawning sun (note the intentional homonym of son/sun in the first line), and then the light of the Guiding Star acting as a beacon to Bethlehem. Interestingly it’s referred to as ‘the star of the east’, when the Wise Men, according to tradition, were from the east themselves, which must have meant that the star appeared as a western one to them. It’ all about perspective. I’m sure that the carol-writer, Reginald Heber, meant that from our perspective the Nativity is in the east, thus our own pilgrimage to Christ is one eastwards.
If the first verse is the glorious arrival of Jesus, then the second is one of those ubiquitous ones about the quiet aftermath. What I love here is the zooming-out throughout the verse (remember the one long camera shot in 82 Long Ago Prophets Knew, rushing into the stable? This is kind-of the opposite), which starts off soft and low, with the dew-drops on the manger. Practicalities time: it must’ve been freezing in the ramshackle shack, hence the swaddling clothes I guess. The next line draws out to the immediate onlookers, the ‘beasts of the stall’ (do the human onlookers fall into that category? See here). Then we zoom out to include the heavens where angels are watching over him, and finally we reach the most far-reaching ‘camera shot’. In a mystical mind-bender, we find that out here in the realms of incomprehensible ideas like ‘Maker’, ‘Monarch’ and ‘Saviour’ is Jesus, who was exactly who we started off with in this verse! We’ve come full circle! It’s as if we’re on Google Maps; having peered in through the stable window on Street-View we give a cursory scroll of the mouse wheel to zoom out to Global-View, finding that the self-same image is projected on the stars! Forgive the preponderance of exclamation marks. It is Christmas Eve, after all…
Verse 3 is the most beautifully worded description of ‘costly devotion’ that you’re likely to find. Bear in mind that ‘odours of Edom’ is phrase probably referring to frankincense, to go with the myrrh and gold in the fourth line. Notice the rapidly changing colours in lines 3 and 4; red rubies, the blue sea, green trees and yellow gold. Such is the splendour of all that we offer. Naturally, the next verse is the ‘don’t give him things, give your heart’ verse, which all good gift-giving carols include.
And then we have the recap of the first verse. This carol kind of trailed off, didn’t it? We were going great-guns, and then we had ‘love is better than gold’ followed by a verse we’ve already sung. Shame. Or is it? Obviously it isn’t, ‘cos I’ve got a few paragraphs left…
When a writer has put so much attention into the crafting of his words, he needs a reason to repeat them. This is not an arbitrary re-hashing of the first verse, but neither does it really sum up the carol, nor does it carry new meaning now that we’ve sung more verses. I’d suggest that it has to do with proportion. I don’t mean to go all Dan Brown on you, but there’s a structural clue that Heber has left for us. By giving us a verse that we didn’t need at the end, he is asking us to solve the puzzle.
Do you know about the Golden Section? If you don’t, or you need a refresher, take a look at the Wikipedia article here. When artists of any kind use this intentionally to plan the structure of their works, they place something important at roughly the 62% mark. This could be 62% of the way along a painting (check out the Mona Lisa), or through a piece of music (try Debussy), or even along the vertical beam of a crucifix.
62% through this carol is the gap between verses 3 and 4. This means Heber is highlighting the change from verse 3 to verse 4, he’s saying ‘look again, here is what’s important’. He adds that extra repeated verse to put the Golden Section emphasis onto the changeover, heightening the meaning of these verses.
I hope this goes some way to show how much care and attention has gone into the writing of this carol. Indeed, I hope that the whole Barabbas’ Carol project has done the same for the rest of our carolling heritage. Every year we blow the dust off these musical relics and recant them because it is the done thing. The act of writing a carol is to mirror the work of Jesus – it is to show mankind the glory of God in a form that is comprehensible. Perhaps me writing these missives is a second-hand way of doing the same thing. Goodnight for now, I’ll give you your last present tomorrow. Have a great Christmas night, and thanks be to God!
Thursday, 23 December 2010
[23] 91 All My Heart This Night Rejoices
‘Hark, a voice from yonder manger,
-----Soft and sweet,
-----Doth entreat
---“Flee from woe and danger;
Come, O come; from all that grieve you
-----You are freed,
-----All you need
---I will surely give you.”’
Well, yesterday we had the silliness of a silent Baby Jesus, and today we have the equal silliness of this child talking to us. Ironic. Or is it? I’m never quite sure… But semantics aside, this conceit that Jesus could speak from the manger is not supposed to be taken seriously. Although it does present a pleasing symmetry: Christ speaking to us from both cradle and grave…
How much attention do you pay to punctuation in carols? If you’re singing with a particularly uppity choir, then you may well be sticking to only breathing at commas and semicolons. Bear in mind that in this carol you would have to glue two instances of the word ‘you’ together (line 5-6), so that might sound odd. The important punctuation here is the speech marks. I’ve been putting single inverted commas around all the carols so far so I’ve stuck to that above, but notice the double ones from ‘flee’ to the end. This is the ‘voice from yonder manger’, i.e. Jesus’ voice.
As I’ve said, I don’t think that the carol-writer means for us to take this literally. Perhaps instead it can be a poetic way of saying that these words are what’s implied by the birth and very presence of Jesus. Rather than physically speaking these words, Christ means them by his coming.
The best part for me is line 5. Cast your minds back to the very first of Barabbas’ Carols, number 85; O Come, O Come Immanuel. The lyrics to this song entreat Jesus to come down and ransom Israel and ourselves. How glorious then is the verse given above, when He is entreating us right back! Even the words ‘Come, O Come’ are used – after we have invited Him down to earth, Jesus invites us back with Him, beyond the bonds of earthly grief.
As a direct response to our cry for help, Christ offers us refuge, freedom, and provision for our needs. Thanks be to God!
-----Soft and sweet,
-----Doth entreat
---“Flee from woe and danger;
Come, O come; from all that grieve you
-----You are freed,
-----All you need
---I will surely give you.”’
Well, yesterday we had the silliness of a silent Baby Jesus, and today we have the equal silliness of this child talking to us. Ironic. Or is it? I’m never quite sure… But semantics aside, this conceit that Jesus could speak from the manger is not supposed to be taken seriously. Although it does present a pleasing symmetry: Christ speaking to us from both cradle and grave…
How much attention do you pay to punctuation in carols? If you’re singing with a particularly uppity choir, then you may well be sticking to only breathing at commas and semicolons. Bear in mind that in this carol you would have to glue two instances of the word ‘you’ together (line 5-6), so that might sound odd. The important punctuation here is the speech marks. I’ve been putting single inverted commas around all the carols so far so I’ve stuck to that above, but notice the double ones from ‘flee’ to the end. This is the ‘voice from yonder manger’, i.e. Jesus’ voice.
As I’ve said, I don’t think that the carol-writer means for us to take this literally. Perhaps instead it can be a poetic way of saying that these words are what’s implied by the birth and very presence of Jesus. Rather than physically speaking these words, Christ means them by his coming.
The best part for me is line 5. Cast your minds back to the very first of Barabbas’ Carols, number 85; O Come, O Come Immanuel. The lyrics to this song entreat Jesus to come down and ransom Israel and ourselves. How glorious then is the verse given above, when He is entreating us right back! Even the words ‘Come, O Come’ are used – after we have invited Him down to earth, Jesus invites us back with Him, beyond the bonds of earthly grief.
As a direct response to our cry for help, Christ offers us refuge, freedom, and provision for our needs. Thanks be to God!
Wednesday, 22 December 2010
[22] 94 Away In A Manger
‘The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,
And stay by my bedside till morning is nigh.’
What’s with this Victorian obsession with children being silent and obedient? Silent Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Once in Royal David’s City, and of course Away in a Manger all talk about things being quiet; perhaps out of a perceived need for reverence and awe. Retrospectively forcing silence onto historical events is of course ridiculous: imagine a silent labour, a silent new-born, a silent father-to-be! This just wouldn’t happen – Mary must have screamed in pain, Jesus must have bawled with his first gulp of air, and Joseph must have paced the stable floor like a mad man. All this on top of the lowing cattle!
My main problem with imposing gentle quietness onto the infant Jesus is that it seems to set a precedent for a pure and meek Christ which is also not true. Reading the gospels we find occasions over and over again where He breaks the rules, acts against the norm and even plain gets it wrong. I love the image of Him turning over tables in the temple (Mt 21:12), he goes against one of the commandments by acting against his mother’s wishes (Lk 2:48-50), and then there’s one of my favourite passages in the bible (Mk 7 25:30). This is the occasion of the Syrophoenician asking Jesus to heal her son. Jesus refuses angrily, and goes as far as to throw in a racial slur. She bests him with a clever remark, and he changes his mind. He learns. He becomes better than he had been. This is so far from a perfect Christ.
I don’t have the theological knowledge to argue that Jesus wasn’t perfect and sinless, so I’ll stop far short of that, but to me it seems to me that a perfect Jesus is completely not the point. He came down to experience human life and pain, fully human as well as fully divine. I don’t want to present this as the only interpretation, or even a thoroughly researched one, but rather this is how I feel. If you do consider Him sinless, as the Victorian hymn-writers probably did do, then why are these same writers implying that, as a sinless being, Jesus shouldn’t cry? Are crying children sinning?
I reckon that this romantic notion that children should be silent is actually quite pernicious: it creates a picture-postcard idealised notion of Christ, which goes hand-in-hand with other false Christmas-isms, such as Holy-Land snow.
Must admit I’m finding it difficult to turn this one around and find something to redeem this carol. Perhaps by making us look into the background more closely, it has helped us examine our faith more frankly. For that at least, thanks be to God!
But little Lord Jesus no crying he makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus! Look down from the sky,
And stay by my bedside till morning is nigh.’
What’s with this Victorian obsession with children being silent and obedient? Silent Night, O Little Town of Bethlehem, Once in Royal David’s City, and of course Away in a Manger all talk about things being quiet; perhaps out of a perceived need for reverence and awe. Retrospectively forcing silence onto historical events is of course ridiculous: imagine a silent labour, a silent new-born, a silent father-to-be! This just wouldn’t happen – Mary must have screamed in pain, Jesus must have bawled with his first gulp of air, and Joseph must have paced the stable floor like a mad man. All this on top of the lowing cattle!
My main problem with imposing gentle quietness onto the infant Jesus is that it seems to set a precedent for a pure and meek Christ which is also not true. Reading the gospels we find occasions over and over again where He breaks the rules, acts against the norm and even plain gets it wrong. I love the image of Him turning over tables in the temple (Mt 21:12), he goes against one of the commandments by acting against his mother’s wishes (Lk 2:48-50), and then there’s one of my favourite passages in the bible (Mk 7 25:30). This is the occasion of the Syrophoenician asking Jesus to heal her son. Jesus refuses angrily, and goes as far as to throw in a racial slur. She bests him with a clever remark, and he changes his mind. He learns. He becomes better than he had been. This is so far from a perfect Christ.
I don’t have the theological knowledge to argue that Jesus wasn’t perfect and sinless, so I’ll stop far short of that, but to me it seems to me that a perfect Jesus is completely not the point. He came down to experience human life and pain, fully human as well as fully divine. I don’t want to present this as the only interpretation, or even a thoroughly researched one, but rather this is how I feel. If you do consider Him sinless, as the Victorian hymn-writers probably did do, then why are these same writers implying that, as a sinless being, Jesus shouldn’t cry? Are crying children sinning?
I reckon that this romantic notion that children should be silent is actually quite pernicious: it creates a picture-postcard idealised notion of Christ, which goes hand-in-hand with other false Christmas-isms, such as Holy-Land snow.
Must admit I’m finding it difficult to turn this one around and find something to redeem this carol. Perhaps by making us look into the background more closely, it has helped us examine our faith more frankly. For that at least, thanks be to God!
Tuesday, 21 December 2010
[21] 104 Good Christians All Rejoice
‘Good Christians all, rejoice
With heart and soul and voice!
---Now ye need not fear the grave;
---Jesus Christ was born to save,
Calls you one and calls you all,
To gain his everlasting hall.
---Christ was born to save!
---Christ was born to save!’
Last night was the first big family gathering of the season, with four out of five siblings on my mother’s side gathering to celebrate, amongst other things, Grandad’s birthday. A good time was had by all; it’s always nice to catch up in particular with my cousins who live far away on Anglesey. Festivities continued late into the night, which is why this post is later than usual (sorry!).
Unfortunately, one person was noticeable by his absence, this was Grandad himself. A spate of recent illnesses coupled with the bad weather and Granny’s deteriorating health meant that they just couldn’t make the long trip from Morecambe to Manchester.
The party continued – it had to, since there are so few occasions to meet up with such a large family. At least for me it had a certain sadness, lacking the grandparents who are so important at this time of year.
Oh… the carol. The words throughout resonate with the Good News of Jesus’ birth, heightened by the sprightly music in a 6/8 feel, to the tune of In Dulci Jubilo. This final verse however broaches a less comfortable subject, ‘the grave’. I guess my point is that even this hugely happy carol has a point of sadness to it, just as Christmas itself.
I’m sorry if this is incoherent dribble, I don’t feel I’m expressing myself very well. I think I need to man-up and realise that even this partial sadness is a joy. Nothing (NOTHING) can be sad with Christ, even/especially when finally we are called ‘to gain his everlasting hall’. Thanks be to God.
With heart and soul and voice!
---Now ye need not fear the grave;
---Jesus Christ was born to save,
Calls you one and calls you all,
To gain his everlasting hall.
---Christ was born to save!
---Christ was born to save!’
Last night was the first big family gathering of the season, with four out of five siblings on my mother’s side gathering to celebrate, amongst other things, Grandad’s birthday. A good time was had by all; it’s always nice to catch up in particular with my cousins who live far away on Anglesey. Festivities continued late into the night, which is why this post is later than usual (sorry!).
Unfortunately, one person was noticeable by his absence, this was Grandad himself. A spate of recent illnesses coupled with the bad weather and Granny’s deteriorating health meant that they just couldn’t make the long trip from Morecambe to Manchester.
The party continued – it had to, since there are so few occasions to meet up with such a large family. At least for me it had a certain sadness, lacking the grandparents who are so important at this time of year.
Oh… the carol. The words throughout resonate with the Good News of Jesus’ birth, heightened by the sprightly music in a 6/8 feel, to the tune of In Dulci Jubilo. This final verse however broaches a less comfortable subject, ‘the grave’. I guess my point is that even this hugely happy carol has a point of sadness to it, just as Christmas itself.
I’m sorry if this is incoherent dribble, I don’t feel I’m expressing myself very well. I think I need to man-up and realise that even this partial sadness is a joy. Nothing (NOTHING) can be sad with Christ, even/especially when finally we are called ‘to gain his everlasting hall’. Thanks be to God.
Monday, 20 December 2010
[20] 86 Tell Out My Soul, The Greatness Of The Lord
‘Tell out, my soul, the greatness of his might!
---Powers and dominions lay their glory by;
Proud hearts and stubborn wills are put to flight,
---The hungry fed, the humble lifted high.’
There are many ‘songs’ in the Bible. There’s the Song of Solomon, the song of Moses, the Song of the Well, the Last Words of David (also known as the Favourite Song of David) and, of course, the Psalms. This carol is a setting of the Magnificat; Mary’s song in Luke 1:46-55, which we looked at from a gender perspective in [11] 87 The Angel Gabriel From Heaven Came. Far from sticking to the text, lyricist Timothy Dudley-Smith bends certain bits to keep to metre and rhyme, and also he magnifies (sorry for the pun…) Mary’s reference to her soul, by wording it as ‘tell out, my soul’. This conjures an over-flowing, bursting image, as if her/our hearts are so swelled by joy that we can’t help but sing.
I want to draw your attention to another song in the Bible, that of Hannah, in 1 Samuel 2:1-10. Have a quick read and you’ll instantly see the parallel between this and the Magnificat. Hannah, who was barren, asked the High Priest Eli to grant her a child whom she would devote entirely to God. Her wish was granted, and on the occasion of her presenting her child Samuel to the priest, she sings her song. Much like the Magnificat, Hannah’s Song deals primarily in the inversion of status; ‘The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength. Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry have ceased to hunger.’ (1 Samuel 1:4-5). Her main point is that she who was barren has now given birth, through the Lord’s mercy. Does that make Jesus the new Samuel? Yes, to some extent. Luke wants us to connect the two in our minds (remember that he probably put lyrics in Mary’s mouth after the event, since he didn’t witness it, since he was possibly quite busy being born himself…), and indeed Jesus is compared with and connected to many other Old Testament characters. Perhaps a more direct connection would be Samuel and John the Baptist, because both of their mothers (Hannah and Elizabeth) were said to have been barren.
God’s work is to turn everything upside down; to right wrongs; to forgive sins; to topple kings and lift up the oppressed. Jesus is a shining example of a theme that runs throughout the Bible: a radical idea of destruction of constructed hierarchies, of liberation. The two women whose songs we are considering are sending us a political and personal message of freedom; how apt that they are female, given the oppression at the time! The fact that they have been remembered for this idealistic stance is liberating in itself.
Can you think of a place in your life where a wrong needs righting? Where a king needs toppling? Where a hungry person needs feeding? Where a table needs throwing over in a temple? Christmas may just be the perfect time for that. Let’s set our ‘proud hearts and stubborn wills’ to flight these coming days, so that we might lift the humble high. Thanks be to God!
---Powers and dominions lay their glory by;
Proud hearts and stubborn wills are put to flight,
---The hungry fed, the humble lifted high.’
There are many ‘songs’ in the Bible. There’s the Song of Solomon, the song of Moses, the Song of the Well, the Last Words of David (also known as the Favourite Song of David) and, of course, the Psalms. This carol is a setting of the Magnificat; Mary’s song in Luke 1:46-55, which we looked at from a gender perspective in [11] 87 The Angel Gabriel From Heaven Came. Far from sticking to the text, lyricist Timothy Dudley-Smith bends certain bits to keep to metre and rhyme, and also he magnifies (sorry for the pun…) Mary’s reference to her soul, by wording it as ‘tell out, my soul’. This conjures an over-flowing, bursting image, as if her/our hearts are so swelled by joy that we can’t help but sing.
I want to draw your attention to another song in the Bible, that of Hannah, in 1 Samuel 2:1-10. Have a quick read and you’ll instantly see the parallel between this and the Magnificat. Hannah, who was barren, asked the High Priest Eli to grant her a child whom she would devote entirely to God. Her wish was granted, and on the occasion of her presenting her child Samuel to the priest, she sings her song. Much like the Magnificat, Hannah’s Song deals primarily in the inversion of status; ‘The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength. Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry have ceased to hunger.’ (1 Samuel 1:4-5). Her main point is that she who was barren has now given birth, through the Lord’s mercy. Does that make Jesus the new Samuel? Yes, to some extent. Luke wants us to connect the two in our minds (remember that he probably put lyrics in Mary’s mouth after the event, since he didn’t witness it, since he was possibly quite busy being born himself…), and indeed Jesus is compared with and connected to many other Old Testament characters. Perhaps a more direct connection would be Samuel and John the Baptist, because both of their mothers (Hannah and Elizabeth) were said to have been barren.
God’s work is to turn everything upside down; to right wrongs; to forgive sins; to topple kings and lift up the oppressed. Jesus is a shining example of a theme that runs throughout the Bible: a radical idea of destruction of constructed hierarchies, of liberation. The two women whose songs we are considering are sending us a political and personal message of freedom; how apt that they are female, given the oppression at the time! The fact that they have been remembered for this idealistic stance is liberating in itself.
Can you think of a place in your life where a wrong needs righting? Where a king needs toppling? Where a hungry person needs feeding? Where a table needs throwing over in a temple? Christmas may just be the perfect time for that. Let’s set our ‘proud hearts and stubborn wills’ to flight these coming days, so that we might lift the humble high. Thanks be to God!
Sunday, 19 December 2010
[19] 118 See Him Lying On A Bed Of Straw
‘See him lying on a bed of straw;
Draughty stable with an open door,
Mary cradling the babe she bore;
---The Prince of Glory is his name:
O now carry me to Bethlehem
To see the Lord appear to men,
Just as poor as was the stable then,
---The Prince of Glory when he came.’
I had a tiring, energetic, physically challenging but thoroughly excellent day today, rehearsing for and performing a gig in Manchester. It was with a Latin Fusion band called Diàspora, playing music from across the New World. This was the first time I’ve performed with this band, so I was excitedly nervous, and to tell the truth I was quite on-edge at all times, and anxious to make a good impression. This fizzy mix of emotions, music and carbonated drinks made me think of ‘See Him Lying’; possibly the brightest of all the songs in my hymn book.
I just want to concentrate on one line today; ‘O now carry me to Bethlehem’, and from that just one word; ‘carry’. Have you noticed that before? I hadn’t until I looked just now. Why on earth has hymn-writer Michael Perry decided to use that turn of phrase?
I think we can solve this by considering who it is that we are asking to carry us. We aren’t given a person to aim our demands at in the first lines of the first verse and chorus (‘see’, ‘carry me’), since Mary and Jesus are being viewed, not taking part in the action, so it’s a bit of a problem.
In verse two, we sing imperatives to the guiding star, and to the shepherds. Perhaps we are here situating ourselves as onlookers to the shepherds, asking them to physically take us to the stable. Perhaps, by singing to the star, we are asking the same of the wise men.
Verse 3 addresses the angels, maybe going one step further on from asking for human guidance and going for heavenly help. The ‘carry me’ in the subsequent chorus is therefore addressed to them; I’m imagining again a physical carrying, a flight-footedness granted by the angels.
Verse 4 really comes out and says it. The words talk to Jesus directly, glorifying the righting of wrongs and the dualities of the Nativity. How beautiful then is that fourth chorus, when we ask Jesus himself to take us to see his birth! Remember that the aim of our journey, for which we are asking help, is to see for ourselves the wonder of Christ’s coming. Also remember that Christ was born for carrying; bearing our sins, bearing our selves.
The problem of the initial ‘carry me’ still remains. There is no one in the first verse to direct it to, since we’re telling them to ‘see’ all the characters we mention. May I humbly put my two-penneth in. ‘O now carry me to Bethlehem’ is a request to be brought closer to God by better understanding the Nativity tale. I see the first chorus as an invocation of the very story itself – we’re asking the legend to take us back to that one night in Judah. By ‘legend’ I’m referring to the ‘draughty stable with an open door’ for example, which aren’t ideas specified in the Bible. The stable may have been perfectly well insulated! The ‘open door’ is part of the folk-lore of Christmas.
It’s the narrative, the characters, the structure, the seemingly unnecessary detail, that we are hoping will ‘carry us to Bethlehem’ in this carol. The telling of the story is important, as well as the facts it contains. Thanks be to God!
Draughty stable with an open door,
Mary cradling the babe she bore;
---The Prince of Glory is his name:
O now carry me to Bethlehem
To see the Lord appear to men,
Just as poor as was the stable then,
---The Prince of Glory when he came.’
I had a tiring, energetic, physically challenging but thoroughly excellent day today, rehearsing for and performing a gig in Manchester. It was with a Latin Fusion band called Diàspora, playing music from across the New World. This was the first time I’ve performed with this band, so I was excitedly nervous, and to tell the truth I was quite on-edge at all times, and anxious to make a good impression. This fizzy mix of emotions, music and carbonated drinks made me think of ‘See Him Lying’; possibly the brightest of all the songs in my hymn book.
I just want to concentrate on one line today; ‘O now carry me to Bethlehem’, and from that just one word; ‘carry’. Have you noticed that before? I hadn’t until I looked just now. Why on earth has hymn-writer Michael Perry decided to use that turn of phrase?
I think we can solve this by considering who it is that we are asking to carry us. We aren’t given a person to aim our demands at in the first lines of the first verse and chorus (‘see’, ‘carry me’), since Mary and Jesus are being viewed, not taking part in the action, so it’s a bit of a problem.
In verse two, we sing imperatives to the guiding star, and to the shepherds. Perhaps we are here situating ourselves as onlookers to the shepherds, asking them to physically take us to the stable. Perhaps, by singing to the star, we are asking the same of the wise men.
Verse 3 addresses the angels, maybe going one step further on from asking for human guidance and going for heavenly help. The ‘carry me’ in the subsequent chorus is therefore addressed to them; I’m imagining again a physical carrying, a flight-footedness granted by the angels.
Verse 4 really comes out and says it. The words talk to Jesus directly, glorifying the righting of wrongs and the dualities of the Nativity. How beautiful then is that fourth chorus, when we ask Jesus himself to take us to see his birth! Remember that the aim of our journey, for which we are asking help, is to see for ourselves the wonder of Christ’s coming. Also remember that Christ was born for carrying; bearing our sins, bearing our selves.
The problem of the initial ‘carry me’ still remains. There is no one in the first verse to direct it to, since we’re telling them to ‘see’ all the characters we mention. May I humbly put my two-penneth in. ‘O now carry me to Bethlehem’ is a request to be brought closer to God by better understanding the Nativity tale. I see the first chorus as an invocation of the very story itself – we’re asking the legend to take us back to that one night in Judah. By ‘legend’ I’m referring to the ‘draughty stable with an open door’ for example, which aren’t ideas specified in the Bible. The stable may have been perfectly well insulated! The ‘open door’ is part of the folk-lore of Christmas.
It’s the narrative, the characters, the structure, the seemingly unnecessary detail, that we are hoping will ‘carry us to Bethlehem’ in this carol. The telling of the story is important, as well as the facts it contains. Thanks be to God!
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