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All Glory, Laud, and Honor

 

“All Glory, Laud and Honor”  This hymn is one of the oldest in the corpus of Christian hymnody, written most likely by a certain Theodulf of Orleans.  A 16th-century legend records that Theodulf was a bishop imprisoned at Angers in 821 for having conspired against the king.  During his imprisonment, legend has it, he composed this text (originally there were 39 stanzas).  One Palm Sunday, when King Louis the Pious was processing through the town and passing under Theodulf’s cell window, Theodulf is said to have sung this out the window loudly so the king could hear.  Impressed, the king allegedly released him.  This story is probably not true, however, for Theodulph was imprisoned from 818 to his death in 821, and there is no record of that king ever visiting the town.  Nonetheless, it makes for an interesting (if untrue!) story.

            This hymn from the beginning has had a long association with being used on Palm Sundays.  There are many medieval records from all over Europe of this being a standard Palm Sunday processional hymn.  Some of these liturgies employed a choir of seven boys to sing the first four stanzas from a “high point” in the church, recalling Theodulph’s singing from his high cell.  Often, this hymn would be sung as the congregation processed around the town; hence, 39 stanzas was not such an ungainly number as we might think today.

            The tune is familiar to most of us, and was composed by Melchior Teschner and first published in 1615 to a text called “Farewell, I Gladly Bid Thee” by a Lutheran pastor at the Manger of Christ Church in Fraustadt, Germany.  This text for which the tune was written is meant as a “farewell to the world” and was written by this pastor (Valerius Herberger) during a plague time, in which 2,135 people in his town had died in only a couple of years.  This original text may be found in The Lutheran Hymnal #407. 

I cannot help but think of the association between the original text of this tune—as a “farewell to the world” and its relationship to the historical events of Jesus’ life at Palm Sunday.

This year’s Holy Week is particularly meaningful to the writer of music notes (as was Christmastide) having journeyed to the Holy Land only last autumn. Having seen and experienced many of the places referred to in our Gospel readings this week enliven the narrative. On the back of this sheet is a picture of the “Golden Gate”—one of the eastern gates to Jerusalem and, according to tradition, the one in which Jesus passed through on Palm Sunday. The writer of music notes took this picture from the Garden of Gethsemane from across the Kidron Valley. This gate actually dates from Justinian’s era (6th century AD), and has been walled off for centuries in accordance with the prophecy from Ezekiel 44: 2, "This gate shall be shut, it shall not be opened, and no man shall enter in by it; because the LORD, the God of Israel, hath entered in by it, therefore it shall be shut.” It has been walled up at various times throughout the ages by the Moslems (as it is today) due to their belief that the Jewish Messiah would enter Jerusalem through these gates. So bothered were the sultans, apparently, that they even located a cemetery (traditionally considered unclean according to Jewish law) in front of these gates so as to discourage the Messiah! The writer of music notes has a much better sense of location now—of particular note was the close proximity of this gate to the Mount of Olives, and of course the proximity of Jesus’ tomb and site of His probably crucifixion. This Holy Week may we encounter the living Christ in an even more profound way than simply by visiting the land upon which He walked.

Posted by Benjamin Kolodziej with

My Song is Love Unknown

 

“My Song is Love Unknown.”  This famous Lenten text was written by Samuel Crossman (1624-1683), an Anglican priest.  The Anglican Church at this time sang only psalms, so it is most likely that Crossman intended his text to be read as poetry, not to be sung as a hymn.  Crossman ministered successfully in the town of Sudbury, England until 1662.  During this year, the Anglican government had declared that every minister sign a document declaring faith in the infallibility of the Book of Common Prayer (the primary prayer book of the Anglicans and Episcopals to this day.)  Many clergy could not in good conscience sign this document, and they were expelled from the pulpit and from their homes and towns.  It is about this time that such “dissenters” (known as “Puritans”) began to emigrate to America. 

            Crossman later recanted and became one of the King’s chaplains! 

            It would be a hymnological travesty to sing less than all seven stanzas of this hymn (although far worse hymnological travesties have been and are still committed against church music.)  The hymn essentially briefly tells the entire story of the Christian faith.  The first stanza personalizes the hymn and asks, “Who am I that for my sake my Lord should take frail flesh and die?”  We know that Christ was divine before becoming human as the prologue to John’s gospel relates, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”  The reader is introduced to the concept of incarnation, the idea that Christ became human (ie., the root carn- gives to English such a term as “carnal” and to other languages their word for “meat” or “flesh” [carne.])  The second stanza continues this incarnational idea that Christ came “from His blest throne salvation to bestow,” although “men made strange, and none the longed for Christ would know.”  As our liturgy will soon reveal, the fickle praises of the Palm Sunday crowd would soon become, in the words of the third stanza, “Crucify!”  This same humanity would save a murderer (Barabbas), but “The prince of life they slay.”  Crossman’s sixth stanza asks, “What may I say?  Heaven was His home but mine the tomb wherein He lay,” again personalizing what might have a tendency to become a theological abstraction.

            The writer of music notes is always struck by the framing of Christ’s divinity, His humanity, and our humanity in this hymn.  The above excerpts clearly indicate a humanity which proceeds to reject Christ and the gift of salvation He brings.  Christ is presented as the sacrificial Lamb of God (Agnus Dei) whose gift of Himself is unrecognized.  In fact, this hymn states a profound awareness of humanity’s sinfulness, epitomized in David’s prayer in Psalm 51 which serves as our Lenten offertory, “Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. . . . Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”  This hymn presents humanity as sinful and needing salvation.  Although this is a scriptural concept, it is understandably uncomfortable to many. 

            This hymn presents law and gospel in a clearer manner than many hymns and songs these days.  We cannot read/sing it and feel good about humanity and ourselves.  It is easy to blame the short-sighted Jews of Jesus’ time for crucifying Him, but we know that our sin is just as bad.  It is us who cry “crucify” each time we sin, whether knowingly and willingly or simply unaware.  Yet, this hymn just as clearly presents the gospel.  We know that it was “mine the tomb wherein He lay,” so that the grave no longer has power over us.  We know that He “to suffering goes that He His foes from death might free.”  This is the true gospel message!  This is the crux of the Easter message which, of course, cannot be separated from our Lenten preparations.

In reality, a well-adjusted human being must have “Christ esteem.”  We feel good knowing we are baptized and have “passed from death to life” and are marked by Christ’s name.  Because of our baptism, God sees Christ instead of our sin.  Yes, we should feel good knowing this.  Our eternal salvation has been secured, and any worries we have are earthly and transient.  We cannot earn our own salvation and we have no need to!   This is not a fragile, earthly security that depends on our own whims and feelings.  The gospel is not something we have done for God, but what He has done for us.  Because of this Easter freedom, we praise God in Crossman’s words in the final stanzas, “This is my friend, in whose sweet praise I all my days could gladly spend.”

 

Posted by Benjamin Kolodziej with

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