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Sing Praise to God

“Sing Praise to God, the Highest Good”  This text was written by Johann J Schütz.  He was born in Germany in 1640, studied law and eventually became a town councellor in Frankfurt and published a selection of his hymns in 1675.  Although originally a Lutheran, his tendencies toward Pietism and religious mysticism eventually resulted in his becoming a Separatist. 

            In the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, Pietism made great inroads within the Lutheran Church and, originating in Germany, spread soon to other Protestant countries, most notable of which is England.  Pietism, a theological movement, is not to be confused with piety, the condition of being pious.  Pietism stressed inner faith, individualism, the visible “fruits of the spirit,” and even mysticism as opposed to the more objective elements of Christianity such as Word and Sacrament.  Within the Lutheran Church, theologians reacted against what they perceived to be “dry orthodoxy”—preaching and teaching that was correct but without emotional fervor.  Whereas the hymns of the Reformation were always composed in terms of the objective second or third person (“A mighty fortress is our God”), hymns influenced by Pietism generally are set within the more subjective first person (“I know my faith is founded.”)  Pietism tended to disregard doctrinal differences and instead focused on faith as emotion.  (This is the difference between orthodoxy—“right praise”—and orthokardia—“heartfelt praise.”)  Certainly this tension is still evident today, and both an intellectual understanding and a type of emotional faith are valuable to a Christian.

            This hymn is an example of Pietist hymnody, although it does not employ first person as we might expect.  Yet, it is not as doctrinally-focused as, say, a Reformation hymn would be (“All who believe and are baptized.”)  Instead of objectively teaching doctrine, this hymn expresses a personal doxology from the singer to God.  (“To God all praise and glory!”)  We sing praise because, in the words of stanza one, “the God of love understood our need for His salvation,” echoing the entire chapter of I John 4.  The third stanza reveals humanity’s “distress” from which we implore God “in mercy, hear us.”  (Psalm 143.)  This continues with an awareness that salvation comes only from Christ—“Our Saviour saw our helplessness and came with peace to cheer us.”  This is certainly a doctrinal statement, but is really about as doctrinal as a Pietist writer can get without becoming controversial.  The final stanza, rather interestingly, places worship in the context of the Christian believer as opposed to worship as evangelism (which is not a scriptural concept.)  “All who confess Christ’s holy name, give God the praise and glory.  Let all who know His pow’r proclaim aloud the wondrous story.  Cast every idol from its throne for God is God, and he alone. . .”  Minimally, we know from this stanza that the hymn is addressed only to Christians.  Whether the writer of the hymn thinks that only Christians can actually praise God (which is not an unreasonable assumption) is not the issue.  This hymn is meant to assist in the sanctified praise of the redeemed.  Yet, this and every stanza concludes with the short doxological refrain, “To God all praise and glory!”  This hymn cannot be accused of the decadence of much “Christian” music these days.  Yes, there is much emotionalism, but this emotion is based on the reality of Christ’s work for and with us.  Much like the writers of the psalms, these objective facts result in our wanting to express our heartfelt praise in this doxology!


Posted by Benjamin Kolodziej with

In Thee is Gladness


“In Thee is Gladness” This quintessential Easter hymn encompasses the joy of Easter morning, a joy which continues this Third Sunday of Easter, just as we celebrate the risen Christ every Sunday morning. We reiterate Easter joy by singing, “Since He is ours, we fear no powers, not of earth nor sin nor death.” The text is replete with the scriptural imagery of the Easter season. The poetry comes from Johann Lindemann (1549-1631) who was born in the cradle of the Reformation, Thuringia. In the 1570s he began a career as a Kantor in the German town of Gotha (“Kantor” is the old Lutheran term for “music director,” but encompassed much more—from organist, choir director, singer, the Kantor generally coordinated the congregation’s, and community’s sacred singing. This is not to be confused with a cantor as found in the modern day Catholic Church, who are oftentimes just glorified lounge singers, or cantors in the Jewish synagogue, who are simply singers.) Lindemann actually composed this particular text for this tune, which was a bit of a rarity in the day. The tune was contemporary, having been composed by Giovanni Giacomo Gastoldi, an Italian priest, who was born in 1556 and worked most of his life in Mantua. Gastoldi composed a number of light, dance-like pieces called balletti. These secular pieces lent themselves well to sacred words, and when Lindemann published a collection of his hymns in 1598 in Erfurt, he included two tunes from Gastoldi, including the one we sing this morning set to this text.

            The practice of taking an existing secular melody and adding sacred words is an age-old practice called contrafactum. The final hymn we sang on Good Friday, “Upon the Cross Extended,” is such an example, having originally been composed in the late 15th-century by Heinrich Isaak but associated with the secular text “Innsbruck, ich muss dich lassen.” (“Innsbruck, I’m leaving you now”). Later, this became “O Welt, ich muss dich lassen” (world), and eventually many other sacred texts were sung to that old secular tune. Here the circumstance might have been somewhat different because the tune was contemporary and probably would not have been known by anyone in northern Germany (remember, this was the time before copyright law and composers and text-writers were free to use each other’s works without financial burden. In many instances, such appropriations would help a composers tune (or a poet’s text) spread beyond narrow geographic boundaries. Here Lindemann takes a secular tune he would have known as a church musician aware of the latest music from Italy, and creates sacred words for liturgical use. Interestingly, although this tune did not find its way into The Lutheran Hymnal (1941) and was therefore not used for several generations, it had been in Lutheran hymnals without break back to the seventeenth century. Bach has an organ setting of the tune. It appears as a listed text and tune throughout the early American Lutheran hymnals. Its inclusion in Lutheran Worship (1978) was a late rectifying of an injustice for having not been included in TLH. An entire generation had not grown up singing this tune, they didn’t know it, and then they thought it a novel innovation in 1978. With its further inclusion in LSB, hopefully it has regained a bit in popularity since then, as the sprightly tune wonderfully encompasses the joy of Easter.


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