The Lily Pool beats the Banana Boat

In recognition of tradition, mothers, familial relationships, and hymns, I am sharing below a short section written more than 60 years ago by the late Kay Moser.  His book Thorn in the Flesh was a kind of fictional biography.¹  In this passage, two young college students at Harding are enjoying each other’s company and reminiscing.

“I wonder who ever thought about writing a song about Mary Ann playing in the sand by the seaside?” Bill diverted, after she didn’t speak for a while.

“I’m quite certain I don’t know.  The ‘Banana Boat Song’ isn’t much better when making sense is considered.  I like to hear them, though, don’t you?”

“I like ‘My God and I’ better.  That is a different world, though, I guess.”

“I, too.  That is the most beautiful song I ever heard.  It seems to purify you inside.  I have heard so many students at Harding say it was their favorite.  It’s almost a symbol of Harding to me.”

“I like that narration by Brother Richland,” Bill said, reminiscing, “especially when we were all around the Lily Pool.  Those hymns being sung in the lunch line and around the Lily pool was one of the most impressive things of the year, I think.”

– W. Kay Moser, Thorn in the Flesh, pp. 73-74

I share this beautiful vignette from Harding’s halcyon days on the day that would have been the birthday of a dear longtime family friend, Todd Thompson.  Almost a year ago, Todd passed away unexpectedly while completing outside tasks at home.  He left behind a loving wife and four children, and also a mother and a sister, with her family.

Todd was a lifelong friend.  He knew my family, and I, his.  His sister is married to one of my cousins.  I count his cousins as FB friends and would recognize them anywhere.  Todd’s mother, with whom I’m still in touch, loved my family and would have experienced “My God and I” at Harding Lily Pool devotionals like the one Moser referred to in his book.  Like his dad and mom, Todd had a beautiful voice and spirit.

Chuck Smith, Dirk Smith, Todd Thompson, Brian Casey

The “Brother Richland” in the above passage is unmistakably my grandfather, Andy T. Ritchie, Jr.  At this juncture in my life, such memories—even those experienced vicariously such as the Lily Pool devotionals—draw my heart.  Nothing in my life has arisen to serve a similar purpose recently.  Those in our circles would go to some lengths to sing together.  Here, I think first of the New Hardels²—an octet that comprised the Thompsons, Smiths, Hladkys, and Caseys.  The group loved each other deeply and sang together often.  Rehearsal times in all the families’ homes were filled not only with music but with laughter and God-oriented conversations.  For select wedding and funerals, that group was sometimes augmented by Duzans, Barkers, Harrills, and others.  By extension, experiences at Camp Manatawny (the above pic is of the 2nd generation New Hardels male quartet at Camp) and, later, with the Lights group come into my memory.  In more recent years, we have sung in three Smith living rooms.  Often, Tanya (the eldest child of the group) will speak of the rich heritage of Christian singing that we shared.  “We didn’t know what we had then,” she will say.  And she is right.  But now we know.  And we miss it.

The New Hardels and their children singing “The Lord Bless You and Keep You.”  Back row: Brian Casey, Todd’s dad Dwight, Roger Hladky, Chuck Smith, Todd Thompson, Gerald Casey, Dirk Smith, Dwight Smith.  Front row:  Laura Casey, Jana Thompson, Holly Hladky, Carolyn Hladky, Greta Casey, Bettye Casey, Mary Lea Thompson, Barby Smith.  Missing: Tanya Smith Valls.  All the first generation except for Carolyn and Mary Lea are now gone from this life.

Now, about the place of hymns.  First off:  I like some jazz and fusion jazz, some older pop-rock sounds,  I don’t gravitate to choral music, but I listen to classic/progressive rock fairly often, along with a more dietary standard of all-instrumental art music (chamber, wind, orchestral, piano, etc.).  Once in a while, musical humor such as PDQ Bach or even Homer & Jethro is cool, but few of my choices are sort of “Sally by the seashore” songs, in comparison to the “My God and I” ilk.  If I had to choose, the Lily Pool beats the Banana Boat hands down.

Todd, your funny bone seemed a lot like your mom’s.  Silly was a good thing sometimes, and I feel sure you would have laughed together about “Banana Boat” songs.  But I believe you are having “My God and I” and Lily Pool experiences now, like never before.  You might well be smiling, or gasping in awe, and I envy you.  On this Mother’s Day, also your birthday, I honor you, your dear mom, our families, and good things such as worshipful singing.

I am setting this to post at approximately the time I’ll be playing the principal horn part on Percy Grainger’s mother-honoring Colonial Song in the Pinnacle Winds concert in KC.  I wish my own mom, now gone from this life for almost two years, could be present physically, but I think she would like this content of this blogpost—including the family connections and the thought of singing hymns together—even better than the concert.

Bettye Casey with Mary Lea Thompson, on the occasion of the passing of Dwight Smith

---

¹ About Kay Moser:  I actually believe this book is autobiographical, but I’m not certain.  William Kay Moser, I think, was the “Bill” in the book.

I spent a little time with Kay and Annabelle Moser eight years ago.  The two had some fascinating life experiences, and I was so pleased to interview them, chiefly about having Kay’s having been jailed for being a Conscientious Objector.  That believe constitutes a relational point of connection with me and some of my family.  There is a transcript of the bulk of the interview in my book Subjects of the Kingdom.  That chapter is actually reproduced on my other blog, here.

² The group took its name from New Jersey, Harding, and Delaware.

Of takers and givers

 O Lord of heav’n and earth and sea,
To thee all praise and glory be!
How shall we show our love to thee,
Who givest all?

. . .

To thee from whom we all derive,
Our life, our gifts, our pow’r to give;
O may we ever with thee live,
Who givest all!

– Christopher Wordsworth, 1863

That song was a bit too poetically high-sounding for most leaders to choose it, but it was sung in my congregation a few times when I was young, and it still inspires.  How can we give to God?  As recipients of all good from God, we are forever in the spiritual position of the requiter.  But how can we really requite?

Indeed, how could anyone undertake to give anything to God?  He is the ultimate Source, the ultimate Giver.   Of course, we cannot in actuality give Him anything He needs, but we will still want to do for Him, to give to Him.

We give thee but thine own,
Whate’er the gift may be;
All that we have is thine alone,
A trust, O Lord, from thee.

– William How, 1858

We humans could and should be giving of ourselves to God and to others.

But we are takers.

And, man, there are lots of dyed-in-the-wool takers around me.  Mostly I think of a few parents, some of whom I’ve never met.  They seem just to take, take, take all the time . . . to reap the benefits of others who give, give, give to the idle takers’ children.  Ideally, sharing can occur.  Sharing of rides, reciprocation of gifts, meals out, and more.  But some parents never seem to realize what’s happening with their own children:  how much is given to their children, how much they are missing out on!  And how much the children too, are in a position of taking!  In this scenario we are talking about humans taking from other humans, and the humans are actually in a position to be able to give in return, to give something needed.

I try to be a giver, and I enjoy being able to be generous here and here, but sometimes it just feels that I’m being taken advantage of.  When a friend of my son needs something bought before her game, or needs a ride, I’m happy to provide if I can, but then I find out a parent is just sitting at home doing nothing, and I start to feel that parent is a taker.  And I hope the daughter learns to be a giver instead.  I want to be helpful, and I want to be an adult that can be depended on, but I don’t want to enable a behavior pattern that will create irresponsibility in the next generation.

A third song of which I’m reminded is from yet a third middle-19C poet.  (This concentration in another era leads me to wonder whether anyone thinks much about giving anymore.)  In my experience, this song was often used as a contribution-motivation song, and I rather wish this song were used more overtly as a catalyst for deeper thought about a deeper kind of giving.

 I gave My life for thee,
My precious blood I shed,
That thou mightst ransomed be,
And quickened from the dead;
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou done for Me?
I gave, I gave My life for thee,
What hast thou done for Me?

-Frances Havergal, ca. 1860

Truly, what have we done?  What have we given?  The prophet said all our righteous deeds, even, amount to nothing but “filthy rags.” (Isaiah 64:6)  The ultimate giver is God.  Both before Jesus lived and became Christ, and through Him now, we find the Example of giving.  We take from Him; we receive from Him.  And all we have to give is nothing  . . . and everything.

Whatever, Lord, we lend to thee,
Repaid a thousand fold shall be;
Then gladly will we give to thee,
Who givest all!

– Christopher Wordsworth, 1863

Reflections of a similar kind:

Of wine and whine

Less of self, and more of Thee

This past Sunday, we sang “None of Self” during a congregational assembly.  I don’t think I’ve heard or sung that song in a quarter-century, and this was a good “refresh” for me.  The song also provides teaching and personal devotional opportunities.

These days, I imagine most leaders pass over the song quickly because of the off-putting first line, which also serves as the title on some hymnal pages:  “O, the Bitter Plain and Sorrow.”  The space limitation on a hymnal page proves unfortunate, but there’s more here, if one looks further.  It is revealing to find that the “bitter sorrow” is experienced in looking back to the time when the writer said, in effect, that he was flatly interested in himself but not in Jesus at all.

O the bitter pain of sorrow
That a time could ever be
When I proudly said to Jesus,
“All of self, and none of Thee.”

A spiritual progression in the lyricist’s life is seen as the song progresses.  From “all of self and none of Thee,” he moves to “some of self and some of Thee” in the second stanza, so we’re moving in the right direction, but the best is yet to come.  It is the third stanza that is the most moving to me.  Surely this can touch the soul of any person who’s paying attention to what he’s singing:

Day by day his tender mercy,
Healing, helping, full and free,
Bro’t me lower, while I whispered,
“Less of self, and more of Thee.”

The final stanza proclaims that the depth and height of the Lord’s love has won the person over:  the once-proud, then-wistful, then-growing-and-whispering soul could ultimately proclaim, “None of self, and all of Thee.”  There are multiple ways to lead this progression in terms of musical dynamics.  I would be partial to singing more softly, not only in conjunction with the “whispered” words, but also as the soul acclaims the love of God at the climax.

There are seemingly more versions of this song (both words and music) than you can shake a stick at, but the form of the (fourth) chorus I knew and appreciated is this:

None of self, and all of Thee.
None of self, and all of Thee.
Lord, Thy love at last has conquered:
None of self, and all of Thee.

Each chorus repeats the state of the person’s spiritual growth in that manner.  The idea is asserted once at the end of the stanza, then three more times in the chorus.  It’s virtually impossible for the singer to squelch the thoughts when they are driven home like that!

Long live the idea of progressing in Christ.  And long live the possibility in me.  And may I not squelch that, so that I might teach my son and others.

A contemporary worship song

It has been a long time since I really dealt in contemporary Christian music of any kind.  All of CCM, worship music included, has been unsatisfying for years.  When I heard a relatively new song that seemed better than most, I decided to spend some time with it, thinking through its words and then commenting.

In one way of considering worship, there are two angles or perspectives.  The foremost is the identity of God.  The other side of the equation is the human self—the identity of the one approaching God—and this also deserves space and time.

So, before we get to the main subject . . . I heard a second song while writing this.  Lyrically speaking, “Come As You Are” (Crowder) starts and then stays in a place of inviting the wounded, needy human to come.  In other words, it isn’t a song of worship, really.  While it starts with a kind of focus on the person coming for the purpose of worshipping, this is more a song of invitation.  It’s in the second person, spoken from brother to brother, or perhaps even from God to a person.  This song reminded me of the classic invitation song “Just as I am” (written 190 years ago).  And then the “as you are” notion also puts me in mind of the now-infamous Super Bowl ad with the “He Gets Us” message.  I would say that it is inherently good to be assured that we can come to God “as we are,” but that is not all there is to it.  It must not stop there.  That’s enough on that.  Now, back to the original focus.  It is good to consider the words we use to worship, so here are some thoughts about the MercyMe song “To Not Worship.”

1.        I’m losing sight of all that matters Blinded by questions I can’t answer I’m paralysed by what I don’t know That holds me hostage and won’t let go            2.       Breathe out, breathe in Raise my hands and remember             3.       You’re the one, You’re the one Who makes mountains move Stars will not shine Unless You tell them to, tell them to Conquered the grave To make all things new So, who am I, who am I To not worship You?                 4.       Ooh-oh-oh-oh Who am I, who am I To not worship You?                 5.       Remind me who I am because of You Tell me I’m not the man I once knew ‘Cause I still feel so undeserving What could You see in someone like me? [repeats some of previous] 6.       Holy, holy, You are God Almighty Who was and is, and will always be Holy, holy, You are God Almighty You are my song, You are my hope, my strength Holy, holy, You are God Almighty Who was and is, and will always be Holy, holy, You are God Almighty You are my song, You are my hope, my strength Let everything that breathes sing [repeat chorus]

1. We begin with statements that indicate the condition and consciousness of the human approaching God.  The human situation will naturally affect, or even determine, the nature and quality of the worship offered.  While the better starting point is arguably the identity of God, beginning on the human side is not bad.  The person recognizes his  needfulness and impotence and could be speaking meditatively to himself, or to other humans, or possibly to God.   2. Here, the worshipper more clearly speaks to himself rather than to a third party.  The order of the “breathing directions” (out, then in) is curious: (a) This choice might amount to nothing more than a poetic desire to end the line with the smoother, less sonically jarring word “in.” (b) Or, this sequence could be indicative of the more deeply felt need to shed the previously mentioned issues first (breathe out the frustration and questions and paralysis before attempting to “breathe in” God) 3. With the words “You’re the one,” the worshipper moves for the first time into the meat of the worshipful communication.  (Worship may be said to exist as communication, whether in word or wordless, only in one’s mind/spirit.  The worshipper clearly speaks to God, crediting him with creatorship and abilities and the power over death.  And this chorus constitutes the verbal strength of the song:  God, You are the one who can and does do all this, so who am I to avoid worshipping You? Here is a far less substantive comment on this chorus (and the very title):  there is a split infinitive, and those should be avoided wherever possible.  It was possible to avoid it here, yet the melodic line, lyrical direction, and, specifically, the vocal stop (“t” of the word “not”) collectively pack a small punch, so I understand the choice to write “to not worship You” instead of “not to worship You.” 4. Next:  not being a participant in much pop culture, and basically having detested pop music for several decades, I feel the “ooh-oh-oh-oh” outburst is an embarrassment.  I’m no full-on purist, but I suggest that such stupid, throw-away words as “ah-ah” or “ooh” or “yeah, yeah” can immediately disgrace an otherwise meaningful set of lyrics, whether by the Beatles, Billy Joel, or by Christian writers.  You won’t find such things in the Psalms or Isaiah or Paul.  “Ooh-oh-oh-oh” here manifests a lack of creativity or ingenuity, if not stylistic poverty.  It also reduces the lyrical power, because the listener is temporarily directed to the jarring interjection instead of to the lyrical flow.  Imagine putting a set of google-eye glasses over the focal point of a painting, or nailing a “Falling Rocks” highway sign onto the nose of Michaelangelo’s David. 5. The humbly interjected lines of verse 2 are more of a request-prayer than worship.  They seem to come organically, and the inherent sense of desperation is carried from the opening lines.  Overall, God is seen as the needed Source, which concept overlays these prayer-words with worship. 6. The lines that begin in asserting God’s holiness and timelessness are part of the musical bridge, and they also echo Revelation’s own picture of God on his timeless throne.  Specifically, the words “You are my song,” which appear in other songs, have never worked well for me.  They make me do a mental leap (more so than calling God “hope” and “strength”), but that’s just me.  The final line of this section is both musically and conceptually effective, broadening the perspective from the one to the whole creation, and leading back to the worshipful exclamations of the chorus. The overarching idea here is to credit the Almighty with infusing the worshipper’s spirit with music, with hope, and with strength for the journey.  We might now tie this to the opening lines, with this paraphrase of the opening verse through the chorus, and then the bridge: God Almighty, I have so many questions and problems as I live, but You are the One with lasting, effective power and ability, so who am I not to worship You?  You are, and always will be, the One who gives me a reason to get up, to sing, and to live in confident hope of what’s next.

© 2023 So Essential Tunes, Be Essential Songs, written by Tedd Tjornhom / Brown Bannister / Bart Millard et al

One of the writers, Brown Bannister (yep, that’s his given [middle] name!) is a Nashville icon with an impressive list of CCM credits as songwriter and producer.  Millard wrote “I Can Only Imagine.”  It’s no surprise, then, that this song caught my ear.  Here is the link to MercyMe’s “official lyrics video:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIFpkpHSjWA

Overall, this song is a good example of contemporary worship music.  It’s not stellar, but it has no glaring theological issues.  It’s not particularly creative musically, but that quality likely makes it better for a congregation (as though any congregations actually sing these songs anymore . . . they’d rather watch and listen to the stage performers!).  The song does not float my boat enough to bring me back to the world of contemporary worship, but it’s worthwhile for many and far above the current average for my own soul.  If this paragraph sounds negative, you should hear my soul spew and sputter most of the times I hear a contemporary song.  This was really quite a good one, in comparison to most!

Just as many resist the practice of digging deeply into scripture passages, analyzing them, breaking them down, considering their structure and meaning, and writing commentary, “I can only imagine” that some would look at my commentary on this worship song and say, “Good grief, Brian.  You’re ruining it.  Just sing the song!”  And I return with this:  I’m sorry you feel that way.  Different gifts and talents exist, and I think I have something of an ability to discern quality and meaning in worship material.   When I was at my height in congregational activity, leading often and inspiring others in various settings, I thought in this same vein a lot.  (What is this verse about?  Who is addressing whom, and why?  Is this line deep enough for today?  Does it move me,  or could it move anyone?  Does the song have some connection to the previous song or scripture passage?  Etc.)  I wanted to exercise some atrophied muscle in thinking through, and actually worshipping through, a contemporary worship song.  Put another way:  this is what I needed to do in order to be worshipful today. 

 

A carol

Most of the Christian music I’ve written is humdrum, and some of it is bad.  A small portion of my output is pretty good.  I’m sharing one of the good songs today.  My mom and dad liked this song, and it’s been sung in at least two churches, but no one really cares anymore, so I have to toot my own horn!

Here are the words.

Emmanuel
A Carol to Our Lord Inspired by the Writings of John

1.  Emmanuel—God with us—we honor Your name.
You came to earth and lived with us, dwelling in a human frame.
Since time began, You lived as God and as one with Him were known.
You willingly descended, leaving Your eternal throne.

[Chorus[
Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Master and Lord!
You’re Eternal God, our Morning Star, by our hearts adored.

2.  The world You made rejected You when You appeared as man.
So full of grace and truth, You came as God the Father’s plan.
Some saw You, and they touched You, and they heard You speak God’s love,
Believed in You—the Word of Life—and lifted hearts above.

Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Master and Lord!
You’re Eternal God, our Morning Star, by our hearts adored.

3.  Emmanuel—God with us—You illumine all the earth.
Your light dispels our darkness since Your humble, human birth.
Your Kingdom came to earth with pow’r; by faith we’ve crowned You King.
Our hearts await the coming day when eternally we’ll sing . . .

Emmanuel! Emmanuel! Master and Lord!
You’re Eternal God, our Morning Star, by our hearts adored.

Words and Music by Brian Casey (CCLI, ASCAP)
© 1991 ENCOUNTER Music

I’m one post away from #2000 on this blog.  Living in the past as I sometimes do, it is natural that I look to something good in my past as I near such a milestone.  It also makes sense that music should figure in prominently at this juncture.  A carol is appropriate for the season, of course; in addition, posts #1,000 and #2,000 also have to do with the gospel of John.  The icing on the Christmas cookie would be if a few readers would use these words in private worship.

Paradigms: sputterings on seminaries and song selection

The Harding Graduate School of Theology is moving from Memphis to Searcy.  I noted two unsurprising facts in an article in the 9/23 Christian Chronicle.

1. There is a shortage of ministers that Harding president Mike Williams has called “epidemic.”
2. There is a decline in seminary enrollments, including that of Lipscomb’s recently closed Austin program, and probably others outside the CofC.

While I applaud Williams for making a tough decision¹ as an institutional leader, I ask a deeper question:  if ministers are in short supply and people are not enrolling in training programs, shouldn’t the whole model be changed?  Why must churches be on a locked-in path, sometimes even desperate, to look for a minister when they should be looking more intently to engage themselves?

Speaking of models that deserve new attention, the “praise team” model, in my experience, no longer meets decades-old expectations for revitalizing corporate worship.  Moreover—and this is not only the fault of praise teams—the very idea of corporate singing continues to decline.  The music and worship literacy of leadership is pathetic in many locations, and overly high-church-liturgical in many others.  For those a cappella Churches of Christ that maintain good congregational singing efforts and that use relatively capable song leaders, the selection of songs is both art and science (just like programming for a wind band or orchestra).  People need training, perhaps even being apprenticed to an experienced, effective leader.  The selection of songs is of course only one aspect, but it’s an important one if the congregational paradigm is to be upheld

Below are links to two posts from 14 years ago about a city-wide “unity” time of singing.  They describe both positive and negative aspects of song selection and execution.  Today, on this “Lord’s Day,” my assemblies of believers are not the traditional variety, but I wanted to take these moments to ponder the past.

The 70s, 80s, and 90s

Follow-up: unity singing event

---

---

¹ Some college friends and others I know are deeply troubled, even wounded, by the decision to close/move the HUGSR.  I empathize with them.  I do not know the specifics in terms of dollars & cents, enrollments, projections, facilities costs, faculty salaries and overload, etc., but I must trust that it was a decision that had to be made.

Some things are just wrong

Some things are just wrong.  See below.

 

If I tell you this hymn is in the key of C, and if you are a second-year music theory student, you might recognize the secondary dominant just before the refrain.  Moreover, pretty much every musician who has gone through one year of theory will recognize the error in the tenor part on the dotted-half note just before the double bar.  That note should be a B, not a G.  How do I know, you ask?  And why is it that important?

Well, some things are just wrong.  And it sounds bad.  There are three specific reasons that the tenor note should be a B.

1. The lack of a third in that chord.
2. The parallel octaves that exist between the tenor and the bass (two Gs to two Cs).
3. Perhaps not as strong as the other two reasons is the poor voice leading from F# to C, then to G. 

The G dotted-half note in the tenor is just incorrect, and it shouldn’t have gotten into the Trinity Hymnal that way. 

I ignored the G dotted-half note and sang a B, anyway, not letting the issue obscure the words, which focus on Jesus as King.  I was very glad we sang that song.  While it is musically wrong to avoid a third in a hymn-style, tonal piece, it is certainly not wrong to acclaim the Lord Jesus as Sovereign!

Rejoice, the Lord is King:
Your Lord and King adore!
Rejoice, give thanks and sing,
And triumph evermore.
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

Jesus, the Savior, reigns,
The God of truth and love;
When He has purged our stains,
He took his seat above;
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

His kingdom cannot fail,
He rules o’er earth and heav’n;
The keys of death and hell
Are to our Jesus giv’n:
Lift up your heart,
Lift up your voice!
Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!

– Charles Wesley, 1744

Sister Joan, little Johnny, and brother Jones

The vocal quality of sister Joan

Twice recently, we’ve had the unpleasant experience of sitting in church near a woman with a peculiar, grating voice quality.  For two people with (a) musical ears and (b) just-under-the-surface anxiety, it’s not an easy thing to deal with.  Of course we don’t fault her for singing; she absolutely should.  But for the two of us, the efforts to focus were no good.

The piercing vocalization of little Johnny

I know not what “little Johnny” looks like, because I never saw his face.  I know that both of us nearly jumped off our chairs when the child screamed loudly, within two feet of the backs of our heads, during a quiet moment in the assembly.  He had apparently ventured a few feat from his mom.  My son did seem him and believes the child is autistic.  Of course such behaviors may be excused, but we had anxiety reactions that lasted several minutes.  It was difficult to recover.

The ear and heart of brother Jones¹

My family possessed a copy of a poem.  It’s not available on the WWW, so I had to dig it up in a file and type it out again for posterity.  Its importance resurfaces in my heart every now and then.

The Song Brother Jones Sang
[Author unknown]

Poor Brother Jones! He couldn’t sing a note worth calling right,
And yet he joined in everything and sang with all his might.
As loud as anybody ‘round, as far as I could see—
Poured forth his soul upon the air, but always off key.

The leader’d say, “Let’s all join in and sing hymn 92,”
Then Brother Jones would brace himself, prepared to see it through.
The leader then gave out the pitch, and maybe hummed a bar.
The church arose, serene and proud as songsters sometimes are,

And sang with care the opening note, or maybe three or four,
And then burst forth from Brother Jones that celebrated roar.
His heart was full of joy, and so of joy he had to shout;
For singing was the only way he had to let it out.

But as the top sopranos glad gave forth their highest E,
He would let loose with all he had and counter with a D.
I’ve often wondered which the more was heard around the throne—
The E of the sopranos or the D of Brother Jones.

Our brother sang—he had to sing! His soul was full of grace!
And that’s what counts in everything as well as every place.
Our brother’s joy the heavens shook, and not the singer’s art;
The songsters?  They sang from the book.  Our brother?  From his heart.

I think it is important to understand both sides of these audio scenarios.  In no sense do I fault the sources of ear offense.  I have no ill will toward (and no ill will exists inside) the severely autistic child, the woman with a strange voice, or the bellowing man who couldn’t match pitch.  Their hearts are what matters to the Lord, not their lack of capacity to contribute nicely to euphony.  On the other hand, there is no question that I cannot be very near them if I’m going to focus on worship, God, or singing.  It simply isn’t possible for some of us to have such audio interference and anxiety.

---

¹ Another brother Jones—this one, not a typification, but a very real person, unfortunately—was a member of my congregation for a few years, in the 90s.  One Wednesday night, he taught his conviction that instrumental music in church was sinful.  This was the only time I remember such a thing’s being taught so blatantly at our church, although the assumption was there among a strong proportion.  We fortunately didn’t deal in such low-level teachings often, if at all; I was blessed with a deeper, more thoughtful congregation than most.  At any rate, this Brother Jones was approached after his class with a challenge:  “Do you really believe people who use instruments in music are going to hell?”  Without batting an eye, he replied, “If they don’t repent.”  I heard it with my own two ears.

Other places and spaces (3 of 3)

On May 4 and 27, I shared the first two parts of a personal travelogue, describing some places and spaces important to me in terms of focused worship and devotion.  The first installment dealt with significant church buildings, and the second, with other types of buildings.  This final installment will primarily deal outside of buildings per se.  Why write about these things? I ask myself.  I think the purpose is twofold:  (1) to record some personal history for posterity, and (2) to stimulate thinking—(a) my own, and perhaps (b) that of some readers.  What is worship, and where does it occur?  What experiences have figured into my Christian worldview and Godview (and yours)?

Camp and retreats have long been important parts of my life.  Camp Gander Brook, Camp Hunt, and Camp Shiloh figured prominently in the lives of my parents and grandfather, so “I come by it right.”  From age 9 through 17, I looked forward in every way to being a camper and staff member at SE Pennsylvania’s Camp Manatawny.  At Manatawny, awards in several categories were part of my experience, but it was not achievement or games and campfires and girlfriends and Bible memory work that formed the heart of it.  All of that was peripheral around the spiritual growth I experienced at Camp.  I sang, I learned, I led, I conversed, I encouraged others, and they helped me . . . and those experiences fed into (1) my life membership in the Camp Manatawny association, (2) my brokering a significant donation to the camp, and (3) my returning as a cabin counselor and hymn sing leader for four important years in my late 30s.

I had been a staffer at one other camp in GA somewhere, but I don’t really remember that, other than having written a brief song for the occasion.  Young adults shared a retreat at Camp Red Oak Springs in the piney woods of Southeast Texas, and that was a nice time.  Many years later, an all-adult retreat in Colorado’s Poudre Canyon State Park was a wonderful experience that led to the composition of a worship song.

More significant retreats came as a part of several years of work with the Cedars Church youth group.  For several years running, the Cedars fall retreat was held at a Mennonite camp in southeastern PA.  It wasn’t a terribly picturesque place, but some very important things happened there, notably including out-of-the-box worship with instruments and the Lord’s Supper observed in special ways.  There was also the time that I provided the impetus for teenagers to write their own worship lyrics.  I set four of the poems to music (and later, a few more).  The youth group was already worshipping enthusiastically and with heart.  Having lyrics written by their own, set to music by an adult they knew and trusted, catapulted us into a new era of worship and devotion.

I have often taken advantage of city, state, and national parks for hikes, general relaxation, prayer, and personal devotion.  One of the fondest memories of my only set of in-laws is that they honored my wish to be in the mountains alone with God:  after some sight-seeing in nature together, on the final morning of our trip in the Rockies of Colorado, they drove me to a beautiful vista so I could hike out onto a mountainside for one more hour with my Bible and my thoughts.

Also around that time, I remember driving through Zion National Park, having been primed by my dad to see the “great white throne” (Rev. 20).  Such expansive splendor can spawn a creature’s adoring thoughts of the Creator.  I suppose Glacier National Park is my favorite so far, but I have spent many more hours in Rocky Mountain National Park, frequently taking a Bible, trail mix, and water bottles on hikes of moderate to moderately strenuous nature.  Every time I have driven up Trail Ridge Road or the Old Fall River Road to the Alpine Visitor Center, I have made it a point to ascend another half-mile on foot to the nearby summit, some 12,000 feet above sea level.  I always look out and around and imagine the creative hand of God who created the glorious grandeur.  I have also summited two of the easiest 14ers (14,000+ feet high), but those experiences were more about trying to make it up than pondering the majesty of the Maker.

Several important, worship-related efforts occurred during the 90s, in addition to the youth work mentioned earlier.  Reading, gleaning, and sharing always fostered a worshipful heart in me, and I published almost single-handedly a digest of worship articles and blurbs.  I also planned a contemporary music worship session for like-minded believers every couple of months, and I founded and led the Cedars Worship Team.  This group was not a worship or praise team in the contemporary sense but was more of a think tank that considered and experienced things together periodically.

Brandywine Springs Park, New Castle County, Delaware — once a resort

Before the first meeting of the CWT, I made it a point to take an afternoon off from work and went for personal meditation and worship alongside the creek at Brandywine Springs Park.  I wrote a worshipful, beseeching poem that afternoon.  All of the important efforts in leading and ushering others were also significant in my personal worshipper’s head and heart.

Also during the 90s, I was the music director, arranger, and vocalist in a Christian a cappella band called Lights.  I poured countless hours into that, and the group flourished over time.  We sang at youth events, church gatherings, the aforementioned camp, and more.  These efforts, too, were significant in my personal devotion and inspiration, and also in my work with others, attempting to usher them along—according to my understanding of the way of the Lord.

I sincerely believe what I was doing was full of good intent, sound concepts and practice, and deep commitment.  But then tragedy struck.  All kinds of group worship leadership, writings, youth work, and Lights creativity—all very significant in my personal life with God and my sense of calling to work with and for Him—were met with severe trials that had their genesis at the same time.  The trials were no mere coincidence.  It was the Adversary at work.¹

In my current environs, I make it a point to hike on nearby trails periodically, but I have been less focused on worship and more on physical exercise, simply getting away, and being in nature instead of in numbers and discouragements.  Another favorite spot is next to the nearby Amelia Earhart Airport runway, where there are peaceful, almost idyllic views . . . and not a lot of air traffic, although the occasional crop duster taking off is pleasant.

In one sense, the endpoint of my worship/devotion travelogue was my two-volume book set on the assembly and worship (#2 shown here).  But in a more important sense, I will be on this journey eternally.  These days, I can sometimes provide for personal devotion and worship within my home, i.e., without traveling anywhere.  Musical instruments have often played important roles for me—particularly, the piano, although the guitar and brass instruments have given me important mediums for expression and participation, both privately and in corporate worship.  The piano bench or the antique piano stool can be quite significant when I am lost in thought and wish to express myself in song.

Certain chairs in my house have provided comfortable spots, and it is here that I recognize once again, as many times before, the tremendous significance of small groups that have met in my home for study, worship, and general Christian togetherness.  Memories of these groups bring painful, mixed emotions.  I do long for more of that kind of thing.  It is lifeblood for me, and I’m afraid I will never again have it.  I can always have times in my car, on the open road, with a hymnal, though.

In discussing some of these things with a friend who has also been through sore trials, I have been confronted with a challenging idea.  While I have labored for 30 years under the assumption that I have been personally attacked by Satan while doing distinctly valuable Kingdom things, and while I have become reluctant to commit to new things for God now, perhaps it is just as true that all those personal spiritual devotional and worship activities were bringing me close enough to God that I would be carried through.

---

¹ Another attack from the Adversary would occur in 2015-2016, as I was doing something else significant for God’s reign.

Bernard’s bidding

Now it’s time for some inspiration from an ancient.

Dry is all food of the soul if it is not sprinkled with the oil of Christ.  When thou writest, promise me nothing, unless I read Jesus in it.  When thou conversest with me on religious themes, promise me nothing, if I hear not Jesus’ voice.  Jesus—melody to the ear, gladness to the soul, honey to the taste.  – Bernard of Clairvaux, 12th century CE

This centered request might be said to constitute “Bernard’s bidding.”  In essence, through these words, an ancient believer has poetically asked any reader to concentrate on the Lord Jesus Christ.

This focus reminds me of a song I learned and loved in a college choral setting, later coming to appreciate it anew in a more earthy setting by Fernando Ortega.  “Give Me Jesus” was apparently originally known in the 1800s as a Negro spiritual, but the words have changed through the years.  It doesn’t matter.  Whatever dialect, whatever lingo, the sentiment is still a beautiful, important one:

In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus.

Later stanzas of “Give Me Jesus” begin with “And when I am alone, . . . ” and then “And when I come to die, . . .”  In each case, the need and the ultimate request are the same:  “You can have all the rest; give me Jesus.”

Back to Bernard of Clairvaux.  He lived nearly a thousand years ago and is known as a co-founder of the Knights Templar and of the Benedictine monastic order, but those mentionables don’t pertain to Bernard’s contributions to hymnody.  I’ve known this ancient man’s name since my teens, since I grew up with true hymns as a staple in my spiritual diet—in the large-church gathering, in family settings, special hymn sings, and more.  Bernard’s most widely known hymn is the ardent, adoring “O Sacred Head.”  I’ve also been privileged to sing three other Bernard hymns, all focused on Jesus Christ  Here is one of my two favorites:

Jesus, Thou joy of loving hearts,
Thou fount of life, Thou light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts,
We turn unfilled to Thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;
Thou savest those that on Thee call;
To them that seek Thee, Thou art good,
To them that find Thee, all in all.

We taste Thee, O Thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon Thee still;
We drink of Thee, Thou Fountain-head,
Whose streams each thirsty soul shall fill.

Our restless spirits yearn for Thee,
Where’er our changeful lot is cast;
Glad when Thy gracious smile we see,
Blest when our faith can hold Thee fast.

O Jesus, ever with us stay,
Make all our moments calm and bright;
Chase the dark night of sin away;
Shed o’er the world Thy holy light.

– Bernard of Clairvaux

Give me Jesus, the Joy, the Fountain, the Bread, the everlasting Presence.  Amen.

Liturgical music

I’m glad I posted something nice about church tradition yesterday—Vacation Bible School.  Today, not so nice.

The first seven words of the poster below are fine with me, but not much else is.  The very notion of “liturgical music” brings on serious questions, and the word “sacramentalizes” immediately begins descending down a theological staircase—not a majestic, grand one accompanied by the “song of heaven” (whatever that is), but a broken, spiral one made of rusty metal, accompanied by chaotic, random, atonal sounds.

Take a few moments to scan this poster.

I can’t imagine how long it would take me to deconstruct everything there, so I’m not going to try.  My quick exit from this may be viewed as anemic, but also as an evidence of lack of interest in the whole ball of assumptions.  Ever try to explain fresh strawberries or cilantro to someone who eats only fish sticks and french fries?  Or to communicate the beauty of a lake on a pine-covered mountainside to someone who has lived all his life under a cloverleaf smelling diesel fumes?  In this poster, there is just so much unfounded assertion and assumption that the deconstruction would have to start millions of miles back on the highway.

To boot, “Angelico Fellows,” while euphonic and assonant, is just funny, especially when girls are “fellows.”  I guess that’s par for the course, when “sisters” are named “Mary Peter” and “Mary Ambrose” and such.  I respect the heart-intent of anyone who wants to worship God, but the peripheries, which I find all over this poster, create too much obstruction.

Places and spaces

I’ve recently closed a chapter in my life.  The last few “paragraphs” were written over a period of years.  The assembly area of my Christian life has dried up, so I stopped posting on ChristianAssemblyAndWorshipBlog.wordpress.com, acknowledging that I have no current, recently past, or near-term-future reason to write much about Christian assemblies proper.

Now, I have little interest in “proper,” and it’s not as though I’m going to stop thinking and writing about God, worship, or Christian gatherings.  On the other hand, blog- and book-related dialogue and positive effect were never even 10% of what I’d hoped they’d be.  My books on those topics—books which led to the creation of the blog in the first place—are pretty much dead, and they’ve been comatose throughout their nearly seven years.

With that said, I am continuing here with a residual piece I’d planned for the aforementioned site, posting it here instead.  (After all, I have more readers here!)  I want to describe some places and spaces—waypoints, if you will, on my personal journey.   This is an abbreviated travelog through special places related to worship and personal inspiration.

I’ll start with bricks-and-mortar church buildings—buildings which, as knowing readers might suspect, have not consistently proven very helpful or meaningful. Certainly they might be seen as monuments, but I often felt that I had to grow and be inspired in spite of them, not because of them.  Later, the second installment will deal with miscellaneous other non-church buildings; the third will be about other, personal “devotional” spots outdoors.  I hope that some of these thoughts on the places and spaces of worship and devotion will inspire you.

Cedars
The church building in which I’ve spent the most hours and years is that of the Cedars Church in Wilmington, Delaware.  I was raised there, I was immersed into Jesus there, and I returned there as a young adult, staying for 13 more years. That building was a significant place for growth and for the acquisition of some lasting relationships.  I had many opportunities to lead worship and thought in my teens and then in my late twenties and early thirties.  The Cedars church was labeled “cerebral” by the late Lynn Anderson when he was a guest speaker, and I suppose he was right,¹ but there was also some heart in pockets of the group!  Not that I was all heart myself, by any means, but I had more then, and when I led, I believe I inspired a good number, and they often inspired and affirmed me.

After my freshman year in college, I vacuumed this building weekly as a summer part-time job, so I knew its spaces well. I tried to keep the vac-tracks looking neat when I was finished each week.  The building, built in the ’60s, had some odd, angular architecture and pointy structures that led to unique hazards for the head and certain other parts of the body.  I remember well the steps that led down the side of the stage, and the unattached center step that was a bit awkward to step onto from around the huge, white, oddly shaped pulpit.

I recall rather vividly the feeling of moving to different spots for effect, while leading songs, reading aloud, and making exhortatory comments.  While I might typically stand behind the large pulpit for a staid, somewhat formal opening song, for the next song, if I wanted to draw more out and increase the energy or volume, I would often step out onto the lip of the stage and employ a more engaged stance, closer to the people. Then, I might step down toward the spaceship-looking table that was used for communion paraphernalia as I led a softer, more intimate, Jesus-focused song such as “Fairest Lord Jesus” or “Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee.”

There were the classes and teen devotionals in the so-called Blue Room, the conversations and togetherness with many people of like mind before and after the assembly, and some reasonable Bible study experiences in various spaces around the building.  A few summers included parking-lot volleyball, sometimes with my car as an anchor for one side of the net, and rushings into the lobby for cold water, then some sitting around on the floor where there was A/C.  The building had not been air conditioned at first:  the thought was that that money could be spent on the Ghana mission, and I remember our sweaty backs on summer evenings, sticking to the pews, as a point of pride for some, until we finally got with the times and had A/C installed.  All in all, time in Cedars spaces was reasonably positively formative, although that place would not be the same for me today, for more than one reason.

Mount Pleasant
About 15 miles away stood a more historic building.  I don’t know that history, but I remember feeling that it was kind of a neat place.  At least for several years, it stood unlocked all the time, open for meditation and prayer.  I took advantage of that once or twice, but more notably in my personal life, this was the place I confronted two people one fateful morning in 1993.  I drove calmly.  I remember how I felt, and I can only imagine how the people felt.  I sat down with the two of them about two pews from the back and told them it was over.  I took control, as it were, and I don’t care who thinks that was “controlling” or a manifestation of “control issues.”  Others would naturally have performed differently, I was acting rightly under God, and I remember well the feelings in that semi-sacred space.  (This mini-event was part of a cataclysmic happening in my life, or I likely wouldn’t have mentioned Mt. Pleasant.)

Arkansas

While in college, my congregation was the West Side Church of Christ.  I became attached there early in my first semester, involved in Bible classes, and leading worship in song about once a month.  The building was unremarkable—a typical design, with classrooms alongside the mid-sized auditorium (CofC-speak for “sanctuary,” and both terms have their issues) that could seat 300+.  Another building in Searcy housed the College Church.  College was home to both sets of my grandparents, and my parents were married there.  I knew the feeling of the entryway and the pathways to the pews, and I went there with Grandmother Casey on occasion—perhaps only during special meetings, or when I wasn’t accompanied by a girlfriend.  The College building was too large for my taste.  It could seat perhaps 2,000.  The singing was full and impressive back then (but not so any longer).

Texas and the West

The “church growth” experts used to tell you that if you reached 75-80% of capacity, you should build a new building or split into two gatherings.  The Kingsville, Texas church certainly didn’t have that problem.  That dwindling congregation should have sold its building long before my year there, but the large structure remained, an artifact of a prior era in which more people and more employers were active.  The building was largely unused.  By that I mean that if it had 15 classrooms, only 4 or 5 were used; moreover, the auditorium was never even close to full:  perhaps 50 or 60 people in a hall that would seat 400.  It’s actually kind of depressing to be in a huge space with only a tiny group of people.  The next building I spent time in was more right-sized, but it, too, was unremarkable.  The Ridgewood building in Beaumont was right-sized, I’d say—a nicely built structure for its time that also housed the elementary side of the Christian school in which I taught.  I visited that church again a few years ago and found that it, too, had dwindled, though.  Buildings can be albatrosses!

Conclusion
There are many more church buildings, but those are the main ones.  In sum, I would say the buildings in which I spent the most time in the past led to some very special experiences—particularly at Cedars.  Worship occurred, and partnership with others could be experienced.  I was a real part of that at times, and then things began slipping away.

In future installments, I’ll describe non-church buildings and outdoor spaces where I experienced significant depth and breadth of activity and spiritual growth.

---

¹ Cedars had quite a few people with doctorates—primarily in chemistry (duPont company employees), plus others in sociology, psychology, and history.  My dad had a master’s in education plus 30 hours or more, and he was the least educated of the four elders.  The church had some blue-collar workers and sub-median incomes, too, but the brain orientation of the church was definitely on the upper end.