“… Not in that poor lowly stable …”

“Christmas is coming, the goose (gander?) is getting fat …” It is an interesting time of year.  Without going into details, December always feels two-faced to me – an ideal image of warm sentimentality and good-will juxtaposed against a more realistic frenzy of greed, being overcommitted, and exhaustion.  I’m sure everyone deals with these or similar emotions; but this season takes a unique toll on musicians (and especially church musicians).

While I’m fond of our Christmas hymns, I often have difficulty enjoying them, because in my mind they’ve become associated with stress, panic, and quite frankly, fear (fear of playing something wrong, omitting that special carol and therefore ruining someone’s holiday, or not playing it “the way it’s supposed to be played”.)  Eventually, we musicians build up defenses to help deflect the stress and keep our sanity.  This can take the form of alternate words to carols, hilarious Facebook posts about playing “The Nutcracker” 19 times in 12 days, or being able to play Handel’s “Messiah” in retrograde inversion.  (I can completely play Bach’s “Wachet auf” with the right hand starting one eighth-beat behind.  In college I would sing “All We Like Sheep have Gone Astray” one beat behind and a whole step down (under my breath and only in rehearsal, of course)).

So how do I deal with the season?  I reckon that I’ve performed “O Come All Ye Faithful” over 500 times, and that’s not an exaggeration.  It’s become difficult to enjoy the more sentimental carols.  And what’s worse, I get a sick sense of superiority when I point out that “We Three Kings” is incorrect, as the Magi were in fact not kings, and that there’s actually no biblical reference to three of them (just three gifts).  I also love to roll my eyes when the angels appear “singing sweetly through the night”, because if the heavenly host appeared before me I would probably need a new pair of underpants.  And of course, there’s the countless references to snow, which rarely falls in Bethlehem.  (but it does on rare occasion, and when it does, it’s beautiful.)

Again – I love these hymns and the cultural train which flows from them.  But my eyes will be dry when we sing “Hark the Herald Angels Sing” or even “Silent Night” (if these give you tears of joy, that’s wonderful.)  HOWEVER – there still are a few Christmas carols that can strike me in the heart; these usually go far beyond the image of a cuddly baby in a snow-covered manger with cherub angels hovering around.

Everyone knows the iconic first verse of “Once in Royal David’s City.”  But this hymn is less about the birth of Christ, and more suited to Christ’s second coming:

And our eyes at last shall see him, through his own redeeming love;
For that child who seemed so helpless is our Lord in heaven above;
And he leads his children on to the place where he is gone. 

Not in that poor lowly stable, with the oxen standing round,
We shall see him; but in heaven, where his saints his throne surround:
Christ, revealed to faithful eye, set at God’s right hand on high.

A modern hymn by American composer David Hurd, “A Stable Lamp is Lighted” is in our hymnal (#104) – the text is written by Richard Wilbur (© GIA Publications). Again, the first verse paints a gentle image of the stable, but the hymn is really about Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross (maybe this is why this hymn struggles to become a popular Christmas carol?)  What strikes me most is the subtle change in the meaning of “and every stone shall cry”, from verse to verse: 

A stable-lamp is lighted whose glow shall wake the sky;
The stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, and straw like gold shall shine;
A barn shall harbor heaven, a stall become a shrine. 

 This child through David’s city shall ride in triumph by;
The palm shall strew its branches, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, though heavy, dull, and dumb,
And lie within the roadway to pave his kingdom come. 

Yet he shall be forsaken, and yielded up to die;
The sky shall groan and darken, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry for stony hearts of men:
God’s blood upon the spearhead, God’s love refused again. 

 But now, as at the ending, the low is lifted high;
The stars shall bend their voices, and every stone shall cry.
And every stone shall cry, in praises of the child,
By whose descent among us, the worlds are reconciled.

Finally, although Christina Rossetti’s most famous hymn begins with a very English (ie: not Middle Eastern) “earth stood hard as iron … snow had fallen, snow on snow”.  The last verse is simply perfect: 

What can I give him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a wise man, I would do my part;
yet what I can I give him: give my heart.

- Erik Meyer

Don’t Take, Don’t Eat: A Case for Adoration

For our 20^th Anniversary my wife and I went to New York City and indulged in a few of our favorite things. We ate good food, spent an evening at the Metropolitan Opera, and immersed ourselves in art museums. My wife and I have the same approach to art museums. Our pace is lugubrious; we spend up to 10 or 15 minutes with a single painting, relating to it from different distances and angles. Our attitude is reverent and our experience is a quiet form of ecstasy, a communion with God mediated by beauty. Just try to pry me away from a Rothko.

What was new for us on this pilgrimage to MOMA was the inability of our peers to also be present in the moment with the art. We were shocked by the number of people recording the art with cameras and phones. There in front of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” patron after patron stopped only long enough to take a ‘selfie’* with the masterpiece. Others stalked the gallery and only observed the painting through their view finders. 

The new cultural practice on display seemed profoundly sad to me. Why record your presence with this great artistry if you were never present to it in the first place? The cultural practices of consumerism and individualism had decidedly invaded the place. The point of viewing art had been transformed from a perspective of revelation from beyond ourselves that draws us into a new space of thought, feeling, and spirit to a perspective of documenting the fact that “I was present here,” and “I saw this” and “I have this to take home.”

The goal was to take and to have. The significance came from showing I was present to an absent audience. 

Maybe I am a premature curmudgeon, but I found this behavior appalling and deeply concerning. When a man took video of Monet’s “Water Lilies” by panning across the room-sized panels, I said to myself, “Do you know what you are missing?” Others in the room were slowed down and almost forced to sit in awe of Monet’s rendering of time and eternity, heavens and earth comingled on the radiant surface of his pond at Giverney.  

The room with the “Water Lilies” was a thin place of transcendent possibility. There is no taking or having or inserting self, there is no capturing, not even in words or music. There is experiencing, being present, being captured by the art and taken away by it, beyond ourselves.

This is adoration. Adoration is a form of prayer where we are pulled from our pre-occupation with self and occupied with love and awe for what gestures toward God. In the Church of the Middle Ages the consecrated bread and wine of communion were often reserved for adoration and most regular folk only adored the host and did not consume it all. Being in relationship with the gift Christ gave – the gift of his life – was enough inspiration and nurture for the adoring soul.

Now, this path of adoration was fairly alien to me until I had my experience at MOMA, where taking and consuming had become the dominant patterns of relating. It made me think; what if adoration is good medicine for our consumption-sick souls and society? We certainly need alternative ways of behaving that are not so fiercely desirous of satisfaction by possession and which almost always cause us to feel emptier in the end.

There is that brief moment where taking and having give us a great rush of pleasure. Our will to power is effective and builds up our ego. Almost always the feeling wears off as one more form of false transcendence. Indeed, the possessing often becomes a burden or only is reactivated as a pleasure when another person notices what we own and gives us a flash of pride.

Don’t take, don’t eat. Jesus says the opposite when he offers himself to us in the meal that remembers his sacrifice for us. He says, “Take, Eat, this is given for you.” We are blessed to take and eat every Sunday and to be fed by Christ, reminded that our life is a gift given and not our possession. However, just as I am suspicious of middle class/bourgeois folks claiming, “God is with me” in an easy way, I am suspicious of folks addicted to consumption adding Christ to the list of things we consume. What if the path and prayer of adoration – not taking, not eating – could be a corrective spiritual path for what ails us?

- The Rev. Jarrett Kerbel

*A ‘selfie’ is when you extend your camera out from your body and take a picture of yourself with another person, alone, or in a special place.