Gather us in, all peoples together, 
fire of love in our flesh and our bone.
- Marty Haugen

I first encountered this hymn in 2001 in a piano arrangement of it by Malcolm Kogut. Kogut's arrangement has a lot of shifts into asymmetrical meters such as 5/8 and 7/8, which give it lots of energy and is very fiery in that way. But fire is also a way of burning away impurities. We might prefer to look at fire as a tool or we might look at it as a thing of destruction. Our preference doesn't make fire any less one or the other. For one person the fiery arrangement may be a struggle as a tool for learning to play in these unusual meters. For another, it may simply be a lot of fun. But the piece is both. 

This song is so appropriate for this time of the church year as we move from the season of Epiphany into the season of Lent. And this image of fire gives us the light and energy we carry from Epiphany and sustains into the reflection of Lent where we seek not just to refrain from the things that might be hindering us in our relationship with God, but also seek to redirect that energy into the things that will bring us closer to God. God's love is energizing but also purifying and will cause us to continuously change into who we are called to be. 

As you sing this hymn on Sunday, think about all the images of the people God is gathering and who we are called to be through the lens of that image of the fire of God's love. Which images energize you? Which may be places where God is working on changing you to become who you are called to be? 

Marshall

​Called as partners in Christ's service, 
called to ministries of grace, 
We respond with deep commitment
fresh new lines of faith to trace. 
-Jane Parker Huber 
Used by permission. OneLicense.net # A-709014

It is always that last line that has been the phrase that sticks out to me. Tracing the work of something is often how we learn--we mimic what somebody else has put forth first. In 2018, I wrote a concerto for two saxophones and wind ensemble for a friend of mine who wanted such a piece that he could perform with his first saxophone teacher. I focused a lot of it around one saxophone beginning each melodic line in the same way as the other saxophone but each line veers off in a new direction. Unfortunately, his teacher passed before they were ever able to realize this piece. 

God gives us new lines of faith all the time. Sometimes through people with the boldness to look beyond what has been and is to what could be. Sometimes through circumstances and opportunities to reach beyond the safety and comfort of the walls of this building. But what is always clear is that the people God calls are not called into a place of comfort. How many prophets could not understand why God called them -- I  don't have the skills to do that -- people aren't going to listen to me -- and all the other excuses they tried to give. God didn't call them to speak like someone else (sing like someone else, play like someone else). God doesn't call us into the ease of simply tracing, but the anguish of forging new lines. 

God calls us to forge new lines of faith, but just as with those melodic lines in my concerto, those new lines don't come from out of nowhere. They begin from a place of tracing (recognizing what is good in that line being traced) and veering off to reach new places while retaining what is essential to the line in the first place. 

Are we ready to forge new lines of faith? Or are we too enamored with what makes us comfortable? 

Marshall

In this week's lesson from Luke, we encounter Jesus reading parts of Isaiah from a scroll, parts that were prophecy about what the Messiah would do: proclaim good news to the poor, setting prisoners free, giving sight to the blind, etc. 

You will see that theme running through the hymns this week, stated in different ways by the different authors of these hymns. In John Bell's "The Summons" he poses question essentially coming from Jesus throughout the Gospels and with the last verse gives what our response should be. The third verse directly speaks to some of the things addressed in the Isaiah text, but it is always this line that I think of as the highlight -- "Will you kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen." Imagine what is asked there and what an immense call that is, and to do it without the thought of being recognized for that sacrifice. 

Amanda Udis-Kessler in "Church Is More than Just a Building" extends the tasks that we see in that scroll from Isaiah to being what the church is and does. I especially like the ending phrase "It's our work toward a world made new." Rusty Edwards phrases it in a manner that has always caught my attention. While he focuses more on praising Jesus for doing all these things, he begins with the phrase that is the title of the hymn "Praise the One Who Breaks the Darkness."

So, church, how do we break the darkness by shining our light? We do those things in that scroll from Isaiah, not alone, but as a church we "kiss the leper clean and do such as this unseen."

Marshall 

Psalm 139 carries with it this sense of intimacy with God---that God knows us better than we know ourselves.

Howard Helvey really captures that sense of intimacy in the dialogue between the choir and the violin in "Lord, Thou Hast Searched Me." Bernadette Farrell captures that in the words she chooses in the song "O God, You Search Me" to take this psalm into language more useful in today's society: "Before a word is on my tongue, Lord, you have known its meaning through and through." What an image! And yet, what a scary thought. For an introvert like me, the idea of even having someone be that close is something straight out of a horror movie, yet as Farrell writes later: "For the wonder of who I am, I praise you: safe in your hands, all creation is made new."

Let that sink in and maybe become a mantra -- "For the wonder of who I am, I praise you." 

Marshall

This week I will take my cue from the silent stars and let the words by Herman G. Stuempfle Jr. for one of my favorite Epiphany songs do the talking through its rich imagery.

Thomas Keesecker portrays this imagery beautifully in the accompaniment for his choral anthem that weaves this text with three tunes associated with other hymns for Epiphany. 

We see the star the wise men saw and hope again is stirred. 
We track the footprints left in time by your incarnate Word. 
We see them climb a lonely hill where Love is left to die--
the Love that formed the farthest star and hears the faintest cry. 
-Herman G. Stuempfle Jr. © 1997 GIA Publications Inc. 
          Used by permission. OneLicense.net # A-709014

Marshall

This week I will just share the text of my favorite Christmas hymn. It is one that encapsulates what Christ's birth means so eloquently. The text is by Jaroslav J. Vajda. He was a Lutheran pastor in the Cleveland area whose translations of Slavic hymns have been in widespread use in hymnals of various denominations. This one is not a translation, but one of the hymns Vajda wrote that is often paired with the tune SCHNEIDER by Paul Manz, a well-loved organist who also was from the Cleveland area. No pomp and circumstance or the mess we've made of it through layers of traditions for tradition's sake, just a poignant text to a lyrical tune that truly speaks to the heart of what Christmas means. 

Peace came to earth at last that chosen night
when angels clove the sky with song and light
and God embodied love and sheathed his might--
Who could but gasp: Immanuel!
Who could but sing: Immanuel!

And who could be the same for having held
the infant in their arms, and later felt
the wounded hands and side, all doubts dispelled--
Who could but sigh: Immanuel!
Who could but shout: Immanuel!

You show the Father none has ever seen, 
in flesh and blood you bore our griefs and pains, 
in bread and wine you visit us again---
Who could but see Immanuel!
Who could but thrill: Immanuel!

How else could I have known you, O my God!
How else could I have loved you, O my God!
How else could I embrace you, O my God!
Who could but pray: Immanuel!
Who could but praise Immanuel!

Marshall

Permission to print lyrics obtained from One License (A-709014)
​and Christian Copyright Solutions (11133). 

Love has come a light in the darkness! 
Love shines forth in the Bethlehem skies. 
See, all heaven has come to proclaim it: 
hear how their song of joy arises: 
Love! Love! Born unto you, a Savior! 
Love! Love! Glory to God on high. 
- Ken Bible

My heart shall sing of the day you bring. 
Let the fires of your justice burn. 
Wipe away all tears, for the dawn draws near, 
and the world is about to turn. 
- Rory Cooney

I often think about the title of the poem "13 Ways of Looking at a Blackbird" and how the music in worship should similarly explore several ways of looking at our scripture readings.

For this week, our reading is the Magnificat -- Mary's song we find in Luke 1:46-55. Mary has a lot to sing in this song that really hits at the heart of our world today.

The gathering hymn, "My Soul Gives Glory to My God," is worded in such a way that it emphasizes the God keeping promises and calming fears while paired with a gentle Appalachian tune, MORNING SONG. Later in the service there will be an arrangement of this tune that infuses it with some urgency.

"My Soul Proclaims" is a much more reflective setting that comes from Behold Our Light, one of my favorite settings of music for evening prayer that runs the gamut from a psalm setting that sounds like it could be straight from the band Muse at their heaviest (such as some of the songs on their Absolution album) to this reflective setting of the Magnificat that focuses on the ways God has delivered us in the past.

"Canticle of the Turning" focuses more on the aspects in the Magnificat of overturning power structures.... "From the halls of pow'r to the fortress tow'r, not a stone will be left on stone."

Then we get to "O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing," which may seem like a strange choice; but that second verse calls on God to assist us in proclaiming God's glory in all these ways in which God turns the world around.

And the postlude is based on the hymn "Hark! A Thrilling Voice Is Sounding," which references the words of prophets like Isaiah, but I think gives us an opportunity to reflect on the prophetic voice of Mary and the joy that comes from different aspects of the Magnificat that we have heard in the 4 different ways throughout worship. 

Marshall

In deepest night Christ's coming shall be, 
when all the world is despairing, 
as morning light so quiet and free, 
so warm and gentle and caring. 
One without voice breaks forth in song, 
a lame one leaps in wonder, 
the weak are raised above the strong, 
and weapons are broken asunder. 
- Marty Haugen

We managed to skip the planned hymn "Awake! Awake! and Greet the New Morn" this past week. Never fear, however: as we go through Advent, we are adding a verse each week. We started with the second verse, and on the last Sunday of Advent we will finish up by adding that first verse, with its references to Jesus being born. The images of Isaiah that are used in this text are rich with contrasts to what would be expected. The Pharisees would have expected the pomp and circumstance of brass and festivities at an event where everyone is putting their best foot forward. Yet here we hear about Christ's coming into the point of most despair in the dark of night. It conjures up a cold, chilling image; and yet we have the contrast of morning light that begins to turn us back to warmth and light. And it isn't done with the fanfare of brass or the spectacle of a great show that the world would tell us is needed to gain people's attention. 

In the same sense, worship is not a performance but is a place where we grow as we participate. It isn't a concert to showcase the choir or bells or soloists, but a place where we simply offer our best. Note that is OUR best, not the best of some other church or some other person, or even this church (as seen through the distorted lens of nostalgia). And in the process of sharing those gifts, God speaks. Sometimes to us, as we offer the gift. Sometimes through the gift offered to someone else. My hope is that people will be quicker to listen to how God is speaking through what was offered, than to respond as to a performance in a concert. Share with others how God spoke through what was offered. 

Marshall

Cure your children's warring madness; 
Bend our pride to your control. 
Shame our reckless, selfish gladness, 
Rich in things but poor in soul. 
Grant us wisdom, grant us courage
Make our broken spirits whole. 
-Harry Emerson Fosdick

The alteration we find in the last line in our hymnal was an attempt to avoid the patriarchal language of Fosdick's original "lest we miss thy kingdom's goal," but in many ways it misses the same point that I think Fosdick may have intended. These are a number of things that get in the way of who we are called to be in the Kin-dom of God. And each of us struggles with them. If we look at the third and fourth phrases..... it always brings to mind this thought: Can I see a person in a third-world country being upset about the thing I am upset with. If not, then it probably is a symptom of being rich in things but poor in soul. 

This may seem an odd hymn in Advent, but this week we have Isaiah 2:1-5 which is rich in imagery, but the preponderance of music written in connection with this passage is centered around verse 4 and the image of swords being turned into tools and the idea of nations not being at war with other nations. Another song this week, "Plowshare Prayer," extends that idea of things being used as weapons to include words, actions, and systemic injustice. And yet another one of our songs with a text written by William Reid a pastor in Wyoming in 1958 reminds us of a lot of the things Fosdick holds up "search for wealth and power," "bitter threats," and "bombs that shower destruction" being what contributes to our "blindness to [God's] way." 

And yet the seeds of hope are planted in each... as Reid states it in his hymn, "Keep bright in us the vision of days when war shall cease, when hatred and division give way to love and peace." 

Marshall

Now thank we all our God 
with heart and hands and voices
- Martin Rinkart, tr. Catherine Winkworth

It has always struck me in Catherine Winkworth's translation that "heart" is singular while hands and voices are plural. I think it can be a great moment of growth for us to reflect on why that may be. Catherine Winkworth is the primary reason so many of these German hymns have come to us in the 19th and 20th centuries. Her careful skill in wording not exact translations, but translations that carry the meaning in a way that is poetic and singable was unparalleled in her time. And despite the German "Herzen" being the plural, she chose specifically to translate it as the singular. 

Martin Rinkart is another interesting figure. He was a Lutheran Pastor in the walled city of Eilenberg, Germany. Because it was a walled city it became host to a lot of refugees during the Thirty Years' War. Because of the overcrowding and famine inside the walls, many people died from hunger and disease. Eventually, he was the only pastor left within the walls and was conducting as many as 50 funerals a day as people were dying around him. Rinkart was also the one person who left the safety of the walls to negotiate with those who had the city under siege. And yet through all this, he managed to write these words handed down to us today through Winkworth's translation.

I'm sure the second verse of this hymn makes more sense in light of where this hymn came from. "And keep us still in grace, and guide us when perplexed, and free us from all ills in this world and the next."  

Marshall

I'm sure you have heard the word peal and associated it with bells (or out of context and thought it was a banana), but a peal is a very specific thing very tied to the history of handbells.

Handbells descended from the big tower bells in cathedrals where several people would stand there in the cold in the tower pulling the rope that would ring their particular bells out of all the bells in the tower. One of the techniques used to create melodic patterns is what is called change ringing. In change ringing, you would start out with a simple pattern. For instance, if you had 8 bells you would ring them in this order: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8. Then someone would call out a change that would switch the order of the bells, so the next time through the sequence would be possibly: 1 3 2 4 5 7 6 8. A sequence of these changes would ensue until the ringers got back to the original sequence constitution and entire peal. The more bells involved in the change ringing, the longer the peal might be, sometimes lasting several hours. When bell teams (accurate terminology because change ringing is much more like a marriage of math and sports) would practice, the townsfolk would get upset about all the noise. So eventually the handbell was developed to allow teams to practice at the pub without disturbing the whole town. Over time bell foundries began to tune handbells so that the overtones were more compatible with other Western instruments and people began to ring melodies rather than changes. Some more information into change ringing can be found here: https://www.bells.org/change-ringing

So when the Plymouth Ringers ring Michael Helman's "A Jubilant Peal" as the prelude this Sunday, there is this tie in the melodic line throughout the piece to the changes that would be seen in change ringing and hence the history of handbells. At the same time, this piece uses many more recently developed techniques such as martellatos, echos, thumb damping, and more. Helman has directed handbell ensembles for several decades in Delaware and Florida and certainly has cemented a place in the history of handbell ringing with his compositions and advocacy for pushing the art of handbell ringing in new directions. Some may find joy in just the timbre of the handbells. Others might find joy in the intellectual challenge of tracing the changes through the sequence of bells that form the melodies in each section of the piece. But most of all, I hope we take a moment to thank God for the gift that Michael has been to handbell ringing over the last several decades, and for the gift that all LGBTQ+ people like him have been to the church as a whole and to our understanding of the multiplicity of ways in which God is at work in this world. 

Marshall

Here in this place new light is streaming, 
Now is the darkness, vanished away, 
See in this space, our fears and our dreamings, 
Brought here to you in the light of this day. 
- Marty Haugen

The prelude this week is James Biery’s Galliard on “Gather Us In.” The first question that will pop into most people’s head is “What the heck is a Galliard?” A Galliard is a dance from the renaissance period for two people that was known to be in a fast triple meter and have some very complicated steps. Biery’s setting of this tune captures that dance character very well in the opening section. Maybe some of you will dance your way down the aisle as you gather for worship?!?! 

The next section takes the melody and still retains its dance character but begins to layer fragments of the melody in increasingly complex and dissonant layers with the quiet intensity of a tango building to what amounts to a bursting scream of tension. There is a pause, and then it returns to the original dance, but now with new chordal structures formed from the some of the layers that created the dissonance in the middle. The ending winds down to a final fragment that layers both an idea from the dissonant section and the first section, but never fully resolves in as concrete an ending as one might expect. 

I see Biery alluding to the complicated dance between people in larger contexts with this setting. Maybe it’s the Galliard of the Church. If so, at what point are we (Plymouth) called to be in this dance? The first section? Somewhere in the second? Letting out the scream of all that layered dissonance? Beginning the return to the dance with new harmonic structures formed from the dissonance? The ending with its unresolved fragments? 

(Interesting side note: a lot of what creates the dissonance in the second section is formed out of the whole tone scale. Let that marinate in your mind for a moment.)

Marshall 

I once was asked if planning music for worship was like a composition for me. The answer is a resounding yes! The title above might be the title for the composition of worship this Sunday, Nov. 2nd.

While there will be some old favorites among the hymns we will sing, there is also that glimpse into the future. During the Time for All Ages, I will be working on a song that is based on our scripture reading that comes from a wonderful children’s music curriculum called Growing in Grace. One of the best things about it is that there are options to include some bells and other instruments, but also that they are songs that are much more geared to where children are now and are approached in a way that is more about faith formation and less about performing. Truly, that is the way we should approach all music in worship--talking about how God spoke through what we sang or played because that is what creates community and helps us grow. How did that song shed a new light on this familiar reading? How did God show me something new about my neighbors? About myself?

We will begin our song of the month that we will slowly learn over the month of November. It is a bilingual song that will have us singing a repeated phrase in Spanish with a section in English in the middle. Again, that focus on connecting to the whole church--around the world and throughout time.

I will also be playing a handbell solo, and while for many that may be a very new thing to imagine, for me it also brings up memories of those that I’ve served in a previous church where I helped a 15-year-old ringer ring that same solo both as a challenge for themselves and a gift to their dad.

As we remember those who have departed, we will have multiple ringers of various ages and backgrounds building up a chord as more names are read symbolizing how both those whose name was read and those ringing a bell all are part of the chord of the church throughout time.

Lord, may we not look at our past only through a lens of nostalgia, but rather as children discovering it, sifting through it, and deciding what needs to become something new.
 
Marshall

For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of our mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
is most wonderfully kind.
But we make this love too narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify its strictness
With a zeal God will not own.
- Frederick W. Faber

I think this verse of the hymn “There’s a Wideness in God’s Mercy” speaks volumes every time I read it, hear it, sing it, etc. In 2007, I arranged 2 of the 14 different tunes often associated with this text in various hymnals. This is the only verse of text I left out. On purpose. Not because we don’t need to hear it, read it, and sing it, but because to try to contain this text to a melody or harmonization developed within my mind created some cognitive dissonance for me.

So while we might find it paired with the tune WELLESLEY in the United Methodist Hymnal or with IN BABILONE in our hymnal, each tune does capture some of this text, but not all. The tunes it is paired with in my arrangement are the New York City organist Calvin Hampton’s tune written in the late 1970’s, ST. HELENA, and the 19th century North American tune LORD, REVIVE US. Where ST. HELENA is very introspective, LORD, REVIVE US is somewhat loud and brash. I hope that as the choir sings this arrangement, you will hear in the two tunes the wideness of God’s mercy, and in the harmonization of those tunes the following line from the hymn:

Marshall