St. Paul's remembers The Fallen

To mark the centenary of WW I, on Nov. 7 St. Paul’s Cathedral broadcast a live evensong service as part the incomparable BBC Radio 3 series of Choral Evensong. As with all broadcasts, it will be available for a month (i.e. until Dec 11) and then never again.

The program included one English composer who died in the Great War:

St Paul’s Cathedral, London

Choral EvensongLive from St Paul’s Cathedral, London, to mark the centenary of the end of the First World War.

Introit: When you see the millions of the mouthless dead (Macmillan)
Responses: Radcliffe
Psalm 85 (Hemmings) 
First Lesson: Isaiah 57 vv.15-19
Canticles: William Denis Browne in A
Second Lesson: John 15 vv.9-17
Anthems: Lord, let me know mine end (Parry); For the fallen (Blatchly)
Hymn: O God our help in ages past (St Anne)
Voluntary: Chorale Fantasia on ‘O God our Help' (Parry)

Andrew Carwood (Director of Music)
Simon Johnson (Organist)

These composers (all English except for the Scottish MacMillan):

• Sir James MacMillan CBE (1959- )
• Philip Radcliffe (1905-1986)
• Alan Stephen Hemmings (1934-) — not to be confused with singer David Hemmings
• William Dennis Browne (1888-1915), who died in the battle of Gallipoli
• Sir C.H. Hubert Parry (1848-1918), a fan of German music who died in the great influenza epidemic
• Mark Blatchy (1960- ), best known for this war remembrance anthem

The service was not from the (1662) Book of Common Prayer, so presumably it was from the contemporary language Common Worship (2000).

The BBC series broadcasts confirm what is customary for a cathedral evensong: the only piece sung by the congregation is the closing hymn. In this case, it was all six verses of  “O God our help in ages past” (1719) by Isaac Watts with an earlier tune believed composed by William Croft.

A Cause for Caroling: BBC Reprises Xmas Radio Series

Back in December 2013, the BBC 4 radio ran a 10-part series entitled “A Cause for Caroling.” Hosted by Oxford choir director (and former choirboy) Jeremy Summerly, it traces the history of Christmas carols. It was really interesting, and — allowing for the strong point of view – I learned a lot.

Under the BBC business model, it was only available for a 30 days on BBC.co.uk and then blocked in favor of selling a two hour CD on Amazon’s UK or US website. However, it came back in December 2015 — and starting on Dec 11, the BBC began making the episodes available for 30 days each.

Below I provide the official abstracts of the series and the ten 15-minute episodes. The BBC also originally released two one-hour “omnibus” episodes — which separately summarize week 1 and week 2 — but these have not been available since 2013.

Below are the abstracts for the 10 episodes

1. A Carol’s a Carol, to Begin With

The first programme in a ten part series in which choral conductor and scholar Jeremy Summerly tells the story of the Christmas Carol in Britain. He begins by trying to capture something of the caroling traditions of today and then heads back into the misty caroling past discovering what he believes is the first carol in the English language.

2. Spreading the Medieval Word Made Flesh

The second programme in Jeremy Summerly's ten part series tracing the history of the Christmas Carol in Britain. Today he discovers the impact of the Franciscans in using the carol to make the birth of Jesus a focus for the church and harnessing the energy of popular music to that end.

3. From Coventry to Agincourt

In the third programme in the series Jeremy finds a developing professionalism in carol singing and writing in the details of a manuscript held by Cambridge University, and he reveals the background of the Coventry carol's mystery play setting. The combination of energetic drama and more refined singing men makes this period a caroling golden age but with clouds on the horizon.

4. Carol Crisis? What Crisis?

In the fourth programme in the series Jeremy describes the impact of the Reformation and later Puritan attitudes to music in general and carols in particular. The development of the Medieval carol may have been arrested but there was never a serious threat to folk caroling and it wasn't long after the Commonwealth that carols, or rather one particular carol, was back in church.

5. The Ghosts of the West Gallery

In the fifth programme of his series telling the story of the Christmas Carol Jeremy Summerly visits Dorchester where Thomas Hardy captured the caroling tradition that had matured through the 17th and 18th century but which faced extinction in the 19th. The West Gallery tradition of musicians and singers in parish churches was an integral part of community life in Hardy's Wessex as elsewhere. Jeremy explains the origins of that tradition and the fuguing carols so beloved at the time and why it was that their days were numbered.

Along with folk musician Tim Laycock he gets to see the carol manuscripts from which Hardy's great grandfather played and sang on Christmas night in 1800.

6. A Second Golden Age

In the sixth part of his story of the Christmas Carol Jeremy Summerly reaches the 19th century and publications of old folk carols from what was thought to be a dying tradition. However, by mid-century, with the Tracterean movement in the Church of England at its height the carol and the singing of carols was once again hugely popular. It was the publication of a 'Christmas Carols New and Old by Henry Ramsden Bramley and John Stainer in 1867, that marked the height of another caroling golden age. However, it was now big business and there were reputations at stake when folk carol collectors saw their work hoovered up by the might of Bramley and Stainer. Jeremy also tells the story of the little 16th century Finnish manual 'Piae Cantiones' that provided a series of memorable re-workings of fifteenth century words and melodies, including In Dulce Jubilo and Good King Wenceslas.

7. Folk Carol Survival and Revival

In the seventh programme in his series describing the gathering history of the Christmas Carol in Great Britain Jeremy Summerly returns to the Gallery tradition that was squeezed out of 19th century Church worship but steadfastly refused to die. It's now in rude health in several parts of the country but nowhere is it more energetically sustained than in South Yorkshire and Derbyshire. With the guidance of Dr Ian Russell who holds folk carol festivals and the enthusiasm of pub carolers who sustain the tradition Jeremy shares a pint and a clutch of fuguing carols which flower happily in the 21st century while having roots in the 18th and 19th.


He also finds out about an American offshoot of the gallery style that's been preserved in the icy blasts of Pennsylvannia USA since it was first seeded there in the middle of the 19th century.

8. The Birth of Nine Lessons with Carols

In the eighth programme of his series charting the development of the Christmas Carol in Britain Jeremy Summerly reaches the critical moment at which the 19th century enthusiasm for carols sung in church resulted in a vehicle in which they could take a leading role. It was developed by Bishop Benson of Truro who, in 1880 found himself holding services in a huge wooden shed while a new cathedral was being built next door. To celebrate the new diocese and capture the enthusiasm he recognise in the nonconformist tradition of carol singing in Cornwall, Benson developed a narrative service running from Adam's original sin to the birth of Christ and the impact of the word made flesh.

Jeremy visits Truro and then follows Benson's service to the moment in 1918 when a war-wearied Dean of King's College Chapel, Cambridge, Erich Milner-White decided to use the service as part of his college's Christmas celebrations. The changes he made survive to this day.

9. Import and Export

The penultimate programme in Jeremy Summerly's series tracing the history of the Christmas Carol in Britain. Jeremy picks up the story in the first half of the 20th century with carols from all over the world becoming more popular in this country much to the irritation of Ralph Vaughan Williams who continued to champion the folk tradition, albeit in a refined choral form. This was a time when the grandeur of Victorian caroling gave way to a leaner aesthetic with the Oxford Book of Carols being published in 1928, the same year in which the BBC broadcast the King's College, Cambridge Nine Lessons and Carols for the very first time. As it became an established favourite the carols used, gathered in many cases over centuries, become known both nationally and indeed internationally.

10. Ring in the New

Jeremy Summerly concludes his history of the carol in Britain pondering the success of new carols over the last century. While King's College, Cambridge organist Stephen Cleobury insures a supply of newly commissioned carols for his massive international audience Jeremy wonders whether the popular songs from Berlin's 'White Christmas' to Slade's 'Merry Christmas' don't help sustain a more genuine caroling tradition.

He also recalls his own first experience of carols at Lichfield cathedral where John Rutter's 'Shepherd's Pipe Carol' was an astonishing discovery for the eager young chorister.

And Jeremy also ponders the continued appeal of the carol and why, while it's been in decline throughout its history, it continues to thrive.

What is Anglicanism Without Doctrine?

In the US, we have seen the successive separation from ECUSA of the the REC, Continuing Anglicans, AMiA and then the various factions that make up the ACNA. All were over doctrinal issues, and none of those who left are officially recognized by Canterbury as part of the Anglican Communion.

Now, with the last Lambeth conference a failure, Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby has announced a conference of global Anglican leaders that (for the first time) includes the spiritual leader of the ACNA. The Daily Telegraph reports:

The Archbishop of Canterbury is preparing to gamble his legacy on a high-stakes plan to overhaul the 80 million-strong worldwide Anglican church in what he sees as a “last throw of the dice” to avert a permanent split over issues such as homosexuality.

His aides liken it to a plan to have “separate bedrooms” to stave off divorce within the AC, allowing different factions to have different doctrines while retaining some ties to the CoE.

ACNA Abp. Foley Beach says he’ll decide whether or not to attend after consulting with the other GAFCON allies. However, journalist David Virtue argues that going would be a mistake:

First of all, if there is no "common doctrine," Anglicanism itself is meaningless. What does it mean to be Anglican if two different versions of the same faith are tolerated! To be an Anglican means a specific identity, a specific theological outlook. The Scriptures and the Gospels, the Apostolic Church, and the early Church Fathers are the foundation of Anglican faith and worship that make up the Anglican Communion.

The Church of England is part of the One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church. It worships the one true God, who is Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It professes the faith that is uniquely revealed in the Bible and set forth in the Catholic Creeds (the statements of faith developed in the Early Church that are still used in the Church's worship today). The Church is called to proclaim that faith afresh in each generation.
…
So the question must be asked again, can the two groups, orthodox and heterodox, live under the same roof and still call themselves Anglican? I think not. It is impossible. Most TEC bishops have denied the creed in one form or another, the worst case being John Shelby Spong who was never disciplined for his outright heresies. Walter Righter, Gene Robinson, and Katharine Jefferts Schori -- the latter has denied the bodily resurrection of Jesus and calls personal conversion a Western heresy.
…
For nearly two decades, the Global South primates and the GAFCON bishops have argued, pleaded, and fought with TEC to repent of its heresies. They have steadfastly refused to do so.

Without a confessional (like Lutherans or Presbyterians) or a central authority (like the RCC), the Church of England and its children have been notoriously squishy on doctrine throughout their 450+ year existence as a Protestant church apart from Rome. Some of this was the direct consequence of efforts to end civil war after the conflicts over the Tudor succession.

Our central doctrinal statement — the 39 articles — reflect the famous “Elizabeth fudge” of trying to be both Reformed and Catholic. Since that time, the (latitudinarian)  “broad church” was an attempt to hold together a range of Christian beliefs. However, in the 16th century, both the Reformed and Catholic faith were recognizably Christian and (largely) based on Biblical teaching, as were the subsequent evangelical and Anglo-Catholic interpretations of Anglicanism.

Virtue is right that the doctrinal innovations of the past three or four decades are not the same church as those who hold to the earlier interpretation of the Anglican faith. We no longer share a prayer book, ecclesiology or governance, so if we don’t share a doctrine, how is this “one faith”. So while the current (and previous and next) archbishop don’t want the divorce of the Anglican Communion to fracture on their watch, they are powerless to mend the irreconcilable differences.

The Telegraph makes clear that some of the Church of England will be leaving to join ACNA, GAFCON and the majority of the world’s Anglicans. If the modernists get Canterbury, perhaps the traditionalists can claim York, the other historic see of the CoE. From an architectural standpoint, it would be more than a fair trade, and the seat is currently held by an Africa-born bishop sympathetic to the Global South.

Will 2067 be the end of British Christianity?

Many bloggers last week posted a link to a provocative article in the Spectator by Damien Thompson (a Ph.D. sociologist who until last summer was an online editor for the Telegraph):

2067: the end of British Christianity
Projections aren't predictions. But there's no denying that churches are in deep trouble
Damien Thompson 13 June 2015

It’s often said that Britain’s church congregations are shrinking, but that doesn’t come close to expressing the scale of the disaster now facing Christianity in this country. Every ten years the census spells out the situation in detail: between 2001 and 2011 the number of Christians born in Britain fell by 5.3 million — about 10,000 a week. If that rate of decline continues, the mission of St Augustine to the English, together with that of the Irish saints to the Scots, will come to an end in 2067.

That is the year in which the Christians who have inherited the faith of their British ancestors will become statistically invisible. Parish churches everywhere will have been adapted for secular use, demolished or abandoned.

Our cathedral buildings will survive, but they won’t be true cathedrals because they will have no bishops. The Church of England is declining faster than other denominations; if it carries on shrinking at the rate suggested by the latest British Social Attitudes survey, Anglicanism will disappear from Britain in 2033. One day the last native-born Christian will die and that will be that.

I think a linear decline is not realistic — as with radioactivity (or rust), it will more likely be an exponential decay. Still, for Anglicans in North America, the news is daunting:

Anglicans in particular are abandoning their faith at a rate that (in more ways that one) defies belief. According to the British Social Attitudes surveys, their numbers fell from 40 per cent of the population in 1983 to 29 per cent in 2004 and 17 per cent last year.
…
Lord Carey of Clifton, a more formidable figure in retirement than he was in office, last month warned the C of E that it was ‘one generation away from extinction’. The new Social Attitudes figures support his conclusions.

Thompson offers a series of explanations, but they basically boil down to the psychological-social processes of secularization by the children of the Christian faithful:

You go away to university and suddenly almost nobody believes what you do, or did. Your siblings move to different towns, so you won’t see them in church any more. Your laptop plugs you into any social network that takes your fancy. Even if you’re born again as an evangelical Christian, life pushes you from one congregation to another. Many Evangelicals get bored and turn into nones.

The mainstream churches can’t cope with this explosion of choice. Also, as you may have noticed, they’re led by middle–managers who are frightened of their own shadows. They run up the white flag long before the enemy comes down from the hills.

This gives me new respect for the ACNA catechesis process. However — unlike the stated goal of evangelization — it seems crucial to use the catechism process not just on new converts, but on cradle Anglicans being confirmed as teenagers. If we don’t build and pass along a bullet-proof faith, there won’t be anyone left.

A funeral for a Baroness

Wednesday was the funeral for Margaret Thatcher (1925-2013), Britain’s second greatest prime minister of the 20th Century (after Churchill), who in her three consecutive terms transformed the British economy and society.

The service for Baroness Thatcher of Kesteven was held at St. Paul’s Cathedral, which lacks the official history of Westminster Abbey but makes up for it with architectural grandeur and scope (having been for centuries Britain’s tallest building). I couldn’t watch live, but it was covered by her old ally the Telegraph and her nemesis the Guardian (among others).

Since her death, I’ve been reading a wonderful biography by American Claire Berlinski, entitled There is No Alternative: Why Margaret Thatcher Matters. It credits her Methodist upbringing (and the influence of her father) for her great political success.

I don’t know much about English Methodists — other than the Wesley family and their hymns — but the order of service posted at the Telegraph and the St. Paul’s website seems very Church of England to me. The words to the hymns were very familiar to my ECUSA-raised upbringing (although the tunes were not).

The headline on the Telegraph service commentary termed it “a miraculous pairing of words and music.” As Christopher Howse wrote:

From the moment her coffin was met at St Clement Danes with the words, “We who are baptised in the death of Christ,” the topic was something universal: death. This was not divisive but, in the words of the Bishop of London, “the common destiny of all human beings”. It was, yesterday, as if the millions watching were following a stage tragedy. The difference was that this was a true story, and the tragic flaw of the heroine was not a moral failing but mortality itself.

The Church of England service emphasised two things: the reality of death, with no demurring, and the hope of resurrection. “The days of man are but grass,” read Prebendary Rose Hudson-Wilkin. “For as soon as the wind goeth over it, it is gone.” Left at that, it would be no more than Hadrian’s sad farewell to the soul: “Animula, vagula, blandula.” But it was not left at that. From deep, dim waters it strove upwards towards the light.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” the Prime Minister read from the Gospel of St John. “I go to prepare a place for you.” Those were words of Jesus, and, in the passage read, Thomas usefully responded, “Lord, we know not whither thou goest.” Nothing could rub in more sorely that we cannot see beyond the dark and narrow gates of death.

The text was from the Authorized Version (King James for us Yankees), including the Lord’s Prayer and a reading by her granddaughter of Ephesians 6: 10-18.

The opening sentences sung by the choir include these three (or at least two) very familiar passages, to a setting by William Croft:

I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
John 11. 25, 26

I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth. And though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine eyes shall behold, and not another.
Job 19. 25-27

We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord.
1 Timothy 6. 7 and Job 1. 21

Other music included “How lovely is thy dwelling place,” an adaptation of Psalm 84 that’s one of my favorite songs from Brahms’s German Requiem.

The first congregation hymn was “He who would valiant be,” adapted by Dearmer and Vaughan Williams for The English Hymnal from text by John Bunyan (the great Puritan author) and an English folk tune. From The Cyberhymnal description, it seems an odd hymn to put in a CoE hymnal:

Words: John Bun­yan, Pil­grim’s Prog­ress, 1684; mo­di­fied by Per­cy Dear­mer in The Eng­lish Hym­nal (Lon­don: Ox­ford Un­i­ver­si­ty Press, 1906). Bun­yan wrote these words dur­ing his 12-year pri­son sent­ence for re­fus­ing to con­form to the of­fi­cial state church.

The “official state church” in this case was the 150-year-old CoE, which was too Anglo-Catholic for the Puritans and many others of the severe (or seriously) reformed faith. So this hymn in a 20th century Anglican hymnal celebrates defiance of the 17th century Anglican church.

Lady Thatcher’s funeral used the TEH version (#402) with the tune to Monks Gate, while H40 (#563) lists St. Dunstan’s and H82 (in a rare improvement) includes both tunes (#565 and #564 respectively), albeit without harmony for the former.

In a similar vein, the final congregation hymn was “Love Divine” by Charles Wesley. Raised on H40, the version to Hyfrydol (H40: #479) had very strong resonance with me, even before Mrs. Nine and I sang it at our wedding.

However, apparently that’s not the tune used by the CoE. TEH (#437) lists Moriah, while Songs of Praise, Enlarged Edition (#573) has the Welsh Moriah and the English Exile. Among CoE hymnals, only in the New English Hymnal (#408) do we see Blaenwern, the 1905 tune by William Rowlands used at Lady Thatcher’s funeral.

Other than the 1905 date, I haven’t found much about Blaenwern, perhaps because I only have a limited collection of books on English hymns. Ian Bradley lists five tunes, including three no longer used: the Purcell tune Westminster that Wesley favored, Love Divine by John Stainer (in the 1889 Hymns A&M and NEH), and Airedale by Charles Stanford. Bradley continues

Nowadays the hymn is generally sung to one of two equally majestic Welsh tunes: Hyfrydol by Rowland Huw Pritchard (1811-57), a loomtender’s assistant in the Weslh Flannel Manufacturing Company’s mills at Holywell; and Balenwern by William Penfro Rowlands (1860-1937).

One last note on Blaenwern: it’s the tune used with these lyrics at the wedding of the Queen’s grandson to Kate Middleton held two years earlier — and two miles away — at Westminster Abbey.

The service concluded with the Nunc Dimittis (in English) from Stanford’s Evening Service in G. Again, the words are very familiar but the tune is not; H40 has seven settings of the Nunc Dimittis, but none match the Stanford setting. By the end of the service, I would have would have heard many familiar texts, but (except for Brahms) not to the expected melodies.

Interestingly, the only overlap between Lady Thatcher’s service and the 2007 service for (Episcopalian) Gerald Ford is the Brahams — “How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place” (in English) from the German Requiem.

I won’t be having a state funeral, but perhaps my friends and family will host one at my local parish church many decades hence. I feel I can’t go wrong with these examples: the Brahms and “Love divine” would top my requests for my own funeral (assuming our local choir can handle it). My third request would be “The Lord is my Shepherd” (Psalm 23) from Rutter’s Requiem; we did the psalm for my dad’s funeral, but the choir at his church wasn’t up for the Rutter setting on such short notice. In general, I’m not a big Rutter fan, but this piece is the most haunting setting I’ve ever heard of this text.

Dying for faith

In order to understand and articulate my Anglo-Catholic beliefs, I’ve been reading many books about the Church of England. I quickly focused my reading on two formative periods: the creation of an independent church under the Tudors (1534-1603) and the Anglo-Catholic movement of the 19th century.

Of all this reading, none of the books — nor any other book of English history — moved me as much as The Sisters Who Would Be Queen, about the disputed succession after the death of Edward VI (1537-1553) that put Lady Jane Grey on the throne for nine days before her capture and eventual execution. While the modern interpretation was that this was a bold power play between rival Tudor factions, it also reflected the first major struggle over how (or if) the Church of England would continue after Henry’s death.

Like any schoolboy, I knew that Henry VIII had three children who succeeded him, one of them Catholic. I also knew that Elizabeth I died without issue, and somehow the throne was inherited by James I (and thus the House of Stewart). I’d never heard of Jane Grey, or her younger sisters Katherine and Mary, let alone their claim to the throne of England or Jane’s brief time on the throne. (Apparently Jane was elevated as a heroine to Victorian England, as testimony to her staunch evangelical beliefs.)

Spoiler alert: I highly recommend the book, but the drama was magnified by not knowing how it would turn out. So if you have time, read the book, not the rest of this article.

Jane (1537-1554), Katherine (1540-1568) and Mary (1545-1578) were great-granddaughters of King Henry VII. Their maternal grandmother, the first Mary Tudor, was the younger sister of Henry VIII, and briefly married to King Louis XII until his death in 1515. From her second marriage to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, she had four children: two sons who died in childhood, and two daughters. The eldest daughter, Frances Brandon Grey (1517-1559) had three daughters: Jane, Katherine and Mary.

Frances was thus niece to Henry VIII, of extremely high status within the House of Tudor during his lifetime, and is buried in Westminster Abbey. Although she was buried with royal honors, both her eldest daughter and her husband were eventually executed by her cousin Mary (aka Bloody Mary).

Both author Leanda de Lisle and other writers pay the highest tribute to Lady Jane, her evangelical passion and her intellect. Tutored alongside her cousins (once removed) Elizabeth and Edward, various accounts suggest that she was the most capable and serious student tutored at Henry’s royal palaces.

Certainly many of the machinations by Jane, Mary and Elizabeth were about power and control of the throne. The only clear successor to Henry was his only son Edward, and his death left an ambiguous line of succession (and eventually the end of the House of Tudor).

As all three Tudor women learned, there are limits to the authority of a queen (or prince or princess) during an era when English kings still led their troops into battle. At the age of 16, Jane Grey held the throne for nine days in 1553, in between the death of Edward and her capture by troops loyal to Mary. Despite their difference in religion, the half sisters Mary and Elizabeth agreed not to contest their respective claims to the throne, allying them against the Grey sisters and their subordinate claims.

But there is more than just raw power politics in Lay Jane’s life and death. With Henry’s death in 1547, Edward became sovereign of the church his father had created at a time when Continental intrigues (and Mary) sought to return the allegiance of CoE (and England itself) to the Pope. Instead, Edward’s reign brought the CoE its first two prayer books (in 1549 and 1552) under the leadership of Thomas Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury from 1532-1553 who was also executed by Mary.

De Lisle makes clear that the only way that Jane came to the throne (even temporarily) was because she shared the evangelical faith of Edward VI and his vision for the Church of England. The terms of Edward’s will passing the throne to Jane and her male heirs — bypassing Mary — was based on the Protestant zeal she shared with Edward.

De Lisle also argues that Jane would have been a highly knowledgeable and passionate leader of evangelical reform in Britain. Under royal tutors, Jane had learned to read the Old Testament in Hebrew and the New Testament in Greek. Educated as a potential royal consort, she closely followed the theological debates that raged across Europe and divided Christian from Christian during the 16th Century.

Instead, Jane was seized and imprisoned by Mary indefinitely in the Tower of London. When forces loyal to her mounted an unsuccessful revolt, she was beheaded along with other plotters. She was offered clemency if she converted to Catholicism, but she refused.

As she waited condemned, she wrote a series of devotional prayers and letters to family. De Lisle offered brief excerpts of this prayer written during her final days in the Tower:

O Lord, thou God and Father of my life, hear me, poor and desolate woman, which flieth unto thee only, in all troubles and miseries. Thou, O Lord, art the only defender and deliverer of those that put their trust in thee: and therefore I, being defiled with sin, encumbered with affliction, unquieted with troubles, wrapped in cares, overwhelmed with miseries, vexed with temptations, and grievously tormented with the long imprisonment of this vile mass of clay, my sinful body, do come unto thee, O merciful Saviour, craving thy mercy and help, without the which so little hope of deliverance is left, that I may utterly despair of any liberty. …

It was thy right hand, that delivered the people of Israel out of the hands of Pharaoh, which for the space of four hundred years did oppress them, and keep them in bondage. Let it therefore, likewise, seem good to thy fatherly goodness, to deliver me, sorrowful wretch, (for whom thy Son Christ shed his precious blood on the cross,) out of this miserable captivity and bondage, wherein I am now.  …

Only, in the mean time, arm me, I beseech thee, with thy armour, that I may stand fast, my loins being girded about with verity, having on the breastplate of righteousness, and shod with the shoes prepared by the gospel of peace: above all things taking to me the shield of faith, wherewith I may be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked; and taking the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is thy most holy word: praying always with all manner of prayer and supplication, that I may refer myself wholly to thy will, abiding thy pleasure, and comforting myself in those troubles that it shall please thee to send me; seeing such troubles be profitable for me, and seeing I am assuredly persuaded that it cannot be but well, all that thou doest. Hear me, O merciful Father! for his sake, whom thou wouldest should be a sacrifice for my sins: to whom with thee and the Holy Ghost, be all honour and glory. Amen.

Instead of such a pious leader — who married and would likely have brought forth heirs — Jane and Mary were succeeded by Elizabeth I, who compromised between the Reformed and Catholic to maintain her power on the throne — including a 1559 revision of the BCP that attempted to split the difference between the two factions. (Anglicans bear the consequences of this Elizabeth “fudge” some 450 years later.)

At several times in the book I found myself crying for the sisters Grey. Perhaps it’s because the book — and the extant record — provides such a vivid account of their lives, unlike the numerous Christian martyrs of the first millennium. Perhaps it’s because the royally born Jane had multiple options to avoid execution but she stood by her beliefs to her death, in a way that seems incomprehensible to modern sensibilities.

I don’t know if the Anglican church (or England itself) would have been better off with the evangelical zeal of Queen Jane instead of compromising of Queen Elizabeth. I think we would have had a clearer statement of faith, and perhaps a more meaningful role of English regents as Supreme Head of the Church of England.

Will Christmas and Christianity soon be forgotten?

From the Daily Mail, Dec. 30, decrying the secular attack on Christianity in England and Europe:

How long before small boys here ask: A church? What’s that, Grandad?
By PETER HITCHENS

I had hoped to have a sort of Christmas truce this week, but the controversy just keeps on raging, drowning out the choirs and bells.

And one of the problems is Christmas itself. How much longer will it exist in the form we know today?

I fear it won’t be much longer. Many of its traditions are visibly dying. Teachers complain that children don’t know the carols any more, because their parents don’t know them either.

At a couple of packed services during Advent (a season many haven’t heard of), I’ve noticed that large numbers of adults stand with their lips not moving during the singing of these simple, easily mastered songs.

Perhaps they’re humming, or struck dumb with awe, but it looks to me as if they are just completely unfamiliar with words or music and don’t know what to do.
…
The link between people and Christianity, many centuries old, has now been broken.

A small boy was walking with his grandparent past a church in a small town in Brandenburg. ‘What’s that strange building? What’s it for?’ he asked.
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Watch out for increasing attacks on Christian State schools, on official or public celebration of Christian festivals. The word ‘Christmas’ is already slipping out of use in police forces and local authorities.

If you don’t protest, these will succeed. By the time the BBC relegates Carols From King’s to a special minority channel, replacing it with a football match or a ‘special Holiday edition of Strictly Come Dancing’, we will be so used to this sort of thing that we will barely notice it. And then Christmas will be gone

Reformed but not Catholic

Many summaries of the Anglican faith describe it as “both Catholic and Reformed.” Sometimes this middle way has been called via media, until that term got corrupted by a leftwing TEC advocacy group.

However, the Church Society — the leading Evangelical group in the Church of England — not surprisingly prefers Reformed over Catholic. In the summer issue of its newsletter Cross†Way (reprinted by David Virtue), staffer David Meager summarizes the debate held at the group’s annual meeting:

Church Society met in May for its annual Conference at High Leigh. The aim was to determine whether the fundamental nature of the Church of England is 'Catholic' (i.e. unreformed) or 'Reformed'.

…

On the opening day Roger Beckwith addressed the question of whether the CofE was historically 'Catholic' or 'Reformed.' Roger explained that although Anglo-Catholicism and Liberalism had made inroads in the last 150 years the basis of the CofE was in fact reformed.

…

Roger then explained that the word 'catholic' meant 'universal' or 'general' and should not be confused with Roman Catholic or Anglo-Catholic, but rather 'catholic' expresses those who hold the common Biblical faith. Since the CofE Formularies acknowledge the ancient creeds (which also contain the word catholic) the CofE can therefore claim to be both catholic (in the true sense of the word) and reformed (unlike the Church of Rome which can be called neither catholic or reformed since it has distorted the catholic doctrine of justification by faith alone.)

This tension between Evangelical and Anglo-Catholic dates back (as the article makes clear) to the 17th century fights of the Puritans both to assert control over the church and the crown, and their periods of vigorous suppression, particularly under Charles I. But of course the tension continued for the next three centuries, over the theology of liturgy (especially the words of institution). Tensions flared anew after the 19th century Anglo-Catholic revival under the Oxford Movement.

The Evangelicals have made common cause in the US with Anglo-Catholics to create ACNA, and share many of the same objections to ECUSA theological innovations. However, before acquiring a common enemy in the revisionists there have been longstanding tensions between the Evangelical and Anglo-Catholic factions both in the US and UK.

What I found troubling about the Cross†Way account (and presumably the Church Society) position was the assumption (or deliberate distortion) that all Protestants are Calvinists — or that differences among Protestants are less significant than those between Protestants, Catholics and Orthodox.

Lutherans are clearly not Calvinists, and (despite some fudges by Philipp Melanchthon) they reject many Calvinist doctrines. I’ve been very blessed to learn from Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod) worship and online websites. Unlike the Anglicans, they actually have a confessional doctrine, contained in the Book of Concord.

Sincere there is no Anglican confession and very ambiguous doctrinal definitions, I find myself most guided by Lutheran doctrine. Like the Anglo-Catholic faith, it places a great weight on Christian tradition, except that the Lutherans reject the most egregious Papal excesses of Luther’s day. (Yes, I know that’s oversimplifying). It is thus possible to see an overlap between Lutheranism and the idea of Anglo-Catholics as “Catholic without the Pope,” much more than I can see common ground between the Anglo-Catholics and the 21st century Calvinists.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for

As an Anglo-Catholic with a strong desire for traditional liturgy and theology, living in one of the bluest of blue states at a time when traditionalists have almost entirely left ECUSA, it’s hard to find an appropriate Anglican parish of the sort that was quite common in the 1960s or 1970s.

It somewhat reminds me of a familiar (and moving) song by Christian singer Paul David Hewson:

I have climbed the highest mountains
I have run through the fields
...
I have run, I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
...
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for.
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for.

Although this song is oriented towards a seeker mentality, it does hint at a deeper spirtual longing faced by almost anyone at some point in their life.

Still, it’s not a song I would think to play on a Sunday morning in a church sanctuary. But then, I’m not a liturgical innovator commissioned by the Archbishop of Canterbury:

The ideas for alternative-style worship are part of an initiative launched by Dr Rowan Williams, the Archbishop of Canterbury, to appeal to the younger generation.

They are set out in a new book compiled by the Church's Fresh Expressions programme, which aims to boost church attendance with more relevant and exciting services. However, traditionalists have criticised the unorthodox services as "pointless" and "shallow", and have warned that experimenting with Church tradition would do more harm than good.
...

Among the alternative services explored in the book, which is co-edited by the Rt Rev Steven Croft, the new Bishop of Sheffield, are so-called "U2charists", services in which the congregation receives communion but sings the songs of the Irish rock band U2 instead of traditional hymns.

The services, which include such songs as "Mysterious Ways", "One", and "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For", have been pioneered at St Swithin's church in Lincoln.

Thanks to the Telegraph to find a clergyman to provide an appropriate rebuttal:

However, the Rev David Houlding, prebendary at St Paul's Cathedral, bemoaned the Church's attempt to widen its appeal.

"All this is tosh. It's just a passing fad, irrelevant, shallow and pointless," he said.

"There's no depth to it and it's embarrassing because it'll make people think that we're eccentric and silly."

It sounds like the Diocese of London has a sound and wizened prebendary (senior canon), even if its famed Christopher Wren-designed cathedral has recently acquired a theologically loose canon.

Curious hymnal heresy

Earlier this summer, I visited London and worshipped at St. Paul’s Cathedral. My choirmaster recommended that I attend either St. Paul’s or St. Martin’s, but the latter choir had the day off.

St. Paul’s as a sanctuary has a tremendous history. The location has been the center of Christian worship in England since the 7th century. The current structure, designed by Christopher Wren after the 1666 fire, was for centuries the tallest building in London and remains one of the few sanctuaries to rival St. Peter’s in Rome for scale and grandeur. (Given that the cost of building St. Peter’s brought us Luther’s 95 Theses and the Reformation, that’s saying something).

As with other famous cathedrals, the crowd was a mixture of tourists with backpacks with a few locals. Most went up for communion, and it seemed as though at least half knew the creeds (which is more than I saw at a trip to Westminster Abbey last year).

The choir performed a mass setting by Palestrina, the Missa Papae Marcelli. The program notes (er, seat bulletin) said that with this setting, “Palestrina is often credited with having rescued sacred polyphony,” because it was his first setting approved after the Council of Trent ruled that music must not subordinate the clarity of the text.

The hymn choices from the New English Hymnal were, to put it mildly, uninspiring. At the Offertory, we sang Toplady’s famous hymn “Rock of Ages” (alas to the tune Petra rather than Toplady), and the congregation came alive. But on the other hymns and service music it was the choir (with its overmatched boy trebles) doing all the singing, as the tunes were unfamiliar and (because they violate most understood principles of meter and harmony for the past 400 years) unsingable.

What really caught my attention (other than the building and the tourists and the musicians...) at the service was the opening hymn, #461 from the NEH. (The hymn tune was too new to be from an earlier hymnal). Entitled “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,” this verse grabbed my eye:

For the love of God is broader
Than the measure of man’s mind
At the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
But we make his love too narrow
By false limits of our own;
And we magnify his strictness
With a zeal he will not own.

In other words, forget about the commandments and any other rules promulgated by your faith leaders across the millenia. This clearly ignores one side in the longstanding debate in theology about the appropriate balance between law and gospel, and today seems a pointed controversy on the whole controversy tearing apart the Anglican Communion with the GAFCON and Lambeth conferences.

What was even more odd was that a few minutes later, one of the priests read Matthew 7:21-29. Multiple translations are authorized in the COE, but to my ear it sounded similar to the ERV/RSV, so here’s the first seven verses from the RSV:

“Not every one who says to me, `Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven.

On that day many will say to me, `Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, `I never knew you; depart from me, you evildoers.’

“Every one then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house upon the rock; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.

And every one who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house upon the sand; and the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell; and great was the fall of it.”

Or, as the subsequent sermon from Rt. Rev. Michael Colclough (former Bishop of Kensington now resident canon) put it, the passage is an admonishment ”against those who build upon the shifting sands of fashion and fancy.” I could imagine no more telling indictment of the modernized theology than Canon Colclough’s sermon or the Gospel passage. The blatant contradiction of these two parts of the modernized service was actually funny (in a way that hiding or misinterpreting the Matthew passage would not be.)

But where did the heretical hymn lyrics come from? The bulletin reports it composed by F.W. Faber (1814-1863). The CCEL has a (public domain) 1915 book on hymn authors which lists Frederick William Faber as a Church of England priest who became a Catholic priest under Cardinal Newman. It lists 11 hymns by Faber in the 1905 Methodist hymnal (most notably “Faith of our Fathers”), and concludes:

Dr. Faber ... not only succeeded in large measure in his undertaking to give Roman Catholics good modern hymns, but he wrote many which have had a wide circulation among Protestant Churches. It has been found necessary, however, to eliminate objectionable Romish expressions from many of his hymns in order to adapt them to use in Protestant worship.

The Catholic Encyclopedia reports

Faber’s hymns, composed especially for these services, display a combination of accurate theological doctrine, fervent devotion, musical rhythm, and true poetic talent.

Doesn’t sound like a heretic to me.

COE seems to be consisent in its presentation of Faber. It’s not among 11 Faber hymns in Hymns Ancient & Modern (my copy is the 1916 update of the 1869 original). However, the words printed in 1906 The English Hymnal (#499) match that from the NEH seat bulletin (#461).

For PECUSA, it’s in the 1916 hymnal (#240), Hymnal 1940 (#304), and Hymnal 1982 (#469, 470). It turns out the 1916 hymnal paraphrases the text, but here is the version from the 1940 hymnal:

For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of man’s mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.
If our love were but more simple,
We should take him at his word;
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of the Lord.

which is essentially what’s up on Oremus.

In 101 More Hymn Stories, Kenneth Osbeck (p. 281) says it was published in Faber’s book Hymns 1862. The Book of Hymns by Dr. Ian Bradley (2005, p. 455) reports this hymn as being from Oratory Hymns of 1854, and as having 13 verses.

Several editions of Faber’s poems are in the public domain in Google books. A 1868 US compliation of Faber’s works lists a 13 stanza poem on pp. 53-55, with 13 stanzas. The same 13 stanzas are listed on pages 66-68 of an 1879 British compilation. The poem begins “Souls of men!” while “There’s a wideness” is stanza #4 and “For the love of God” is stanza #8. (12 of the 13 stanza are listed in a different order in another book).

So what’s the source of the variation? There’s no (re)translation issue of the hymn written by a 19th century English priest. It turns out it’s selective presentation: both the 1906 TEH (English) and Hymnal 1940 (US) are correct, but use different stanzas. TEH reprints stanzas #4-5,7-13 while 1940 pairs six stanzas into three verses: 4&6, 5&10, 8&13. (The 1916 US Presbyterian hymn #35 uses 1&3, 4&5, 7&8, 9&13).

Still, there’s little doubt that Faber penned the offending stanza. Today, it seems like an anachronistic heresy. Searching around for other explanations, reader Jeff suggested that it was an overreaction to a different heresy, specifically the austere legalism of some of the Reformed clergy. Given the Anglo-Catholic vs. Reformed controversy that raged in the COE from its founding through Faber’s day, that seems like a very plausible explanation.

Rome to Anglicans: time to end your fudge

Religion correspondent Ruth Gledhill of The Times of London had an explosive posting this week on her blog:

Hard words for Anglicans from the head of the Council for Christian Unity in Rome. Cardinal Walter Kasper has told the Catholic Herald that now, with Lambeth approaching, is the time for Anglicans to decide whether they are Catholic or Protestant.

'Ultimately, it is a question of the identity of the Anglican Church. Where does it belong?' he said. 'Does it belong more to the churches of the first millennium -Catholic and Orthodox - or does it belong more to the Protestant churches of the 16th century? At the moment it is somewhere in between, but it must clarify its identity now and that will not be possible without certain difficult decisions.'

The genius of Anglicanism has always been its ability to straddle the divide, but maybe the Cardinal is right and the Communion's present difficulties reflect the impossibility of continuing to do this.

The posting has attracted many comments, including a variety of political and theological perspectives. But let me quote two:

Hasn't this always been obvious to people [who disagree] that the [Anglican] failure to have a coherent theology is a genius, [but] rather [believe it to be] a crippling flaw.

If Anglicanism is Catholic then why are half the Anglican congregations not very Catholic at all, and if it is Protestant then what is Walsingham all about? Anglicanism does need to make up its mind, and maybe that will require that it become the 3 or 4 Churches it really is. It cannot be either Catholic or Protestant while it is trying to be both.

Another helpfully quotes the Cardinal himself:

Cardinal Kasper has already touched on the subject in his 2004 book, “That all may be one- the call to Christian unity today”

“Thus we are confronted with two different approaches: on the one hand, the universally-oriented, episcopal approach of the Anglicans and some Lutheran churches, inspired by ancient church tradition; and, on the other hand, a more local, community-centred, presbyteral approach.

Behind the two approaches lie different interpretations of the precise intention of the Reformation. Did the Reformers intend to renew the then universal Church, maintaining continuity with its fundamental structure, as the Augsburg Confession (1530) suggests? Or was the development of a new type and paradigm of the Church an inevitable and deliberate consequence of their actions? Is there a fundamental consensus or - as many state nowadays - a fundamental difference?

I would be inclined to agree with the Cardinal — like Gledhill and many of the commenters — that the “Anglican fudge” has reached the end, and that the fissures can no longer be papered over.

In England, there’s enough parishioners to split Anglicanism into 3 or 4 Churches, but in the US you couldn’t. However, part of PECUSA wants to be just like its bigger brother ELCA, so perhaps those two could merge. And the evangelical wing might align with the Evangelical Presbyterian Church, assuming they get to keep their bishops. Not sure where us Anglo-Catholics are supposed to go — become Anglican Rite Catholics?

Patriotic hymnals

From even the eight posts to date, it’s clear that I react to a small number of bloggers who write about hymns in liturgy. Actually, there are two: Catherine Osborne, an associate professor (“reader”) in philosophy and member of the Church of England, and Josh Osbun, a seminarian in the Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod. Yes, I find what they say interesting, but it’s also that not many people (outside of The Hymn Society) think about these issues much. All this a long-winded introduction as to why these two blogs are listed on the right and why they will keep coming up in this blog.

On Memorial Day, seminarian Osbun wrote to complain about the hymn “Lift Every Voice and Sing,” in his otherwise favorite Lutheran Service Book. In addition to specific objections to this hymn, he added a general attack on the idea of patriotic hymns:

First of all, days such as Memorial Day, Labor Day, Veterans’ Day, Independence Day, and Thanksgiving have no place in the church. They are national holidays, not church holidays. And so hymns like this one also have no place in the church. They are national hymns that talk about a generic god, not the Triune God we confess …

On MemorialDay, the 4th and (often) Veteran’s Day, for the past decade my church garb has been an improvised flag-like combination shown here (which is subtle enough that most people don’t notice). I’m not a theologian, but let me see if I can argue for the inclusion of some subset of patriotic hymns in a Christian hymnal.

First off, I went to the pastor of our local LCMS church last Sunday, who has about 15 years of experience on the seminarian. I didn’t ask for permission to quote him by name, so I’ll just call him Pastor Bob. When I raised the Osbun objections, he responded in three parts:

1. Yes, the sermon and the focus of the service should be Christocentric and tied to the readings, in this case Luke 9:62.
2. Since Christians should thank God for their blessings, “We live in America and America is a blessing to us,” therefore it is appropriate to be grateful to God for our country.
3. When a floating holiday (like the 4th) lands on a Sunday, he normally includes some sort of patriotic hymn (not applicable this year).

At Episcopal parishes that I’ve attended with a large contingent of active duty and retired military, the priests are far less shy about offering prayers for God and country; in some cases, the clergy themselves are retired, reserve or even active duty military. So there is a body of opinion among many clergy that certain national celebrations are appropriate in a church.

Let me first take the Church of England (as an exemplar of other state churches). In the COE, the queen is “the Supreme Governor of the Church of England” so it seems like celebration of the regent is appropriate. The English Hymnal (1906) features 10 “national” hymns (#557-566), including #560:

God save our gracious King,
Long live our noble King,
God save the King!
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us;
God save the King!

I couldn’t find this hymn in either my 1869 or 1916 copy of Hymns Ancient & Modern, but in the COE Songs of Praised, Enlarged Edition (1931) I did find 10 “national” hymns (#316-325), including #318, National Anthem. (I don’t own a copy of the 1986 The New English Hymnal.)

Switching to this side of the pond, the 1940 PECUSA hymnal has the colonists’ version of this hymn (“God bless our native land”) as one (#146) of eight “National Days” hymns (#141-148). The 1982 hymnal seems to be siding more with Mr. Osbun (not necessarily a positive sign), cutting “National Songs” down to five, and relegating them to the very end of the book (#716-720) — beginning with “God bless our native land” and ending with “O, say can you see.”

As for the LCMS, I don’t have the 2006 LSB, but do have The Lutheran Hymnal (1941) and Lutheran Worship (1982), exact analogs to their PECUSA equivalents (except for the LSB, a neotraditionalist hymnal that will never have an analog in PECUSA/TEC). The ’41 has 10 hymns for “The Nation” (#575-584) which (same trend) are cut to six (#497-502) in the ’82: both have the Americanized English anthem but neither has the Francis Scott Key composition, so clearly less national-istic than the PECUSA equivalents.

Setting tradition aside, I want to come back to two other reasons I think a subset of important national hymns belong in hymnals. One is the same reason that Christmas carols with the J**** word and the G** word belong in hymnals — because today, if they’re not in the hymnal, kids won’t learn them anywhere else. I mean, public school teachers gladly teach the first verse of “My country, ’tis of thee” because it’s less bombastic than F.S. Key’s lyrics, but (unlike the 1950s) how many public school kids get to sing the fourth verse of the familiar anthem by seminarian Samuel Francis Smith:

Our fathers’ God, to thee,
author of liberty,
to thee we sing;
long may our land be bright
with freedom's holy light;
protect us by thy might,
great God, our King.

The Episcopalians had this hymn and kept it, while the German-American Lutherans never did.

On a somewhat related note, the 1861 Hymns Ancient and Modern first brought us “Eternal father, strong to save” to the tune of Melita which the Episcopalians have in both the 1940 (in the original and multi-service variant) and the 1982 hymnal (multi-service only). Although written by an English choirmaster for a civilian emigrant, it has become associated with military service, especially the US Navy and Royal Navy.

The hymn is often played at the funerals of military veterans, particularly Episcopalians. In January of this year, President Gerald Ford got the Armed Forces Chorus to sing the hymn; at my father’s funeral, it was just the congregation. Hearing this hymn in the context of a funeral sets exactly the right tone — awe at the omnipotence of our mighty God whose hands we entrust with our entire lives, combined with praise and supplication:

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who biddest the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
…
O Trinity of love and power!
Our family brethren shield in danger’s hour;
From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
Protect us wheresoever we them wheresoe’er they go;
Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
Glad hymns of praise from land and sea.

It doesn’t have to be in the hymnal to be used in a funeral, but it certainly has earned a place in Christian worship.

Update July 8: I had not noticed that I’d copied the politically correct stanzas from President Ford’s service and the 1982 Hymnal, rather than the earlier version of the 1940 Hymnal.

Sampling Anglican Worship

While this is a blog about Anglican liturgical music, there is no such music without liturgy and worship. So during my visit to London I tried to visit as many parishes as possible: four in four days (evensong at Westminster Abbey, weekday mass at St. Mary’s Bourne Street, a concert at St. Michael’s Croydon, and the early Sunday mass at St. Bart’s the Greater).

Alas, there was only one congregation hymn in the lot, Friday night at St. Mary’s. But there was organ music and a choir at all my visits except Sunday morning, when I attended a spoken mass because I had to leave too early to catch any choral mass.

At Westminster, I sat on top of the earthly remains of former PM Sir William Gladstone. Of course, this was a performance for tourists, t-shirts and all. I’m not sure if practicing Christians were even among the majority, with only about 40% reciting the Apostle’s creed (although some could be from non-liturgical parishes or of other languages). Those seated late at the abbey outnumbered the entire congregation at St. Mary’s or St. Bart’s.

I learned a little about church music and about differences in worship between American and English Anglicans.

The Westminster service reminded me of something I learned when singing and studying music in college. There is cathedral music, and other music. Not surprisingly, the Tallis Magnificat and Nunc Dumittis sounded stunning when sung by the choir school boy trebles (aka sopranos) and their professional male counterparts. One of the 20th century pieces was OK (if you like that sort of stuff), but the other was just a bowl of mud in the long reverb sanctuary.

The second thing I learned was that — graduation music notwithstanding — I didn’t care for Sir Edward Elgar, and I still don’t. He may be a national hero to some, but to my ear he doesn’t hold a candle to the better stuff by Rutter and Britten, let alone Tallis, Handel, or Ralph Vaughan Williams. It wasn’t the choir’s fault — at times, they sounded like a good symphony orchestra choir rather than a church choir (although they had nearly as many sopranos as the other three parts combined).

On worship, I learned two things overall that caught me by surprise. Instead of pews (benches) and kneelers (pull-down kneeling stands), all but one of the churches had chairs, and all had kneeling cushions. I don’t know if the pew thing never caught on, or if the chairs were acquired to allow more flexible space utilization (wedding receptions? birthday parties?)

But the most relevant insights (for this blog) came gradually at bookstores and directly in the congregations. At the three parishes (tourist stop Westminster didn’t count), the standard pew hymnal is “words only,” with one offering “melody” upon request and all reserving “full tunes” for the choir.

As far as I know, none of the major denominations have even printed a words-only hymnal in the US. I’ve been in a few parishes that had melody-only hymnals (particularly in a chapel), and the 1982 Hymnal has unilaterally dropped the harmony from some hymns. But after visiting lots of parishes in the last five years, I’d still say full harmony is the norm in the pews.

After we sang the one hymn at St. Mary’s, I asked how they sang without the music. One said “I’ve been singing it for 30 years” while the other admitted “you have to learn it from the organ.” At St. Michael’s, they admitted that a few parishioners preferred music, so it appeared that about 20% of their hymnals (handed out upon entry) were the melody variety.

Picture: Sanctuary of St. Michael’s, Croydon.