Song of the Week

This song gets me every time.

Legacy

I don't mind if you've got something nice to say about me;
I enjoy an accolade like the rest.
You could take my picture, hang it in a gallery
Of all the Who's Whos and So-and-Sos
That used to be the best at such-and-such;
It wouldn't matter much.

I won't lie, it feels alright to see your name in lights;
We all need an "Atta boy" or "Atta girl."
But in the end I'd like to hang my hat on more besides
The temporary trappings of this world

I want to leave a legacy—
How will they remember me?
Did I choose to love?
Did I point to You enough
To make a mark on things?
I want to leave an offering
A child of mercy and grace
Who blessed your name unapologetically
And leave that kind of legacy.

I don't have to look too far or too long a while
To make a lengthly list of all that I enjoy;
It's an accumulating trinket and a treasure pile,
Where moth and rust, thieves and such
Will soon enough destroy.

Chorus

Not well traveled, not well read;
Not well-to-do, or well-bred;
Just want to hear instead,
"Well done, good and faithful one."

Chorus

Words and music: Nichole Nordeman
© 2002 Ariose Music
From the album Woven & Spun, by Nichole Nordeman

Song for St. Patrick's Day

According to the late Fr. Richard John Neuhaus, in New York City, Lenten disciplines are suspended by special dispensation on St. Patrick's Day; so I thought I'd repost this wonderful prayer in honor of that great (and much-misappreciated) saint. He probably didn't write the caim (encircling prayer) that's often called "St. Patrick's Breastplate," but I don't know that it matters much—I expect he would have approved. This is the Kuno Meyer translation, which has its own title.

The Deer's Cry

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

I arise today
Through the strength of Christ's birth with His baptism,
Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial,
Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension,
Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom.

I arise today
Through the strength of the love of the Cherubim,
In the obedience of angels,
In the service of archangels,
In the hope of the resurrection to meet with reward,
In the prayers of patriarchs,
In prediction of prophets,
In preaching of apostles,
In faith of confessors,
In innocence of holy virgins,
In deeds of righteous men.

I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.

I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak to me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From everyone who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.

I summon today all these powers between me and those evils,
Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul,
Against incantations of false prophets,
Against black laws of pagandom,
Against false laws of heretics,
Against craft of idolatry,
Against spells of wizards,
Against every knowledge that corrupts body and soul.

Christ to shield me today
Against poisoning, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding
So there come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me,
Christ in the eye of everyone who sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.

I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the Oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.

Song of the Week II

I posted Greg Scheer's "A Mark of Grace" earlier because I admire what he accomplished in that song, but it's far from the only new song I learned at the Worship Symposium last week; there were several, of which my favorite is this one, which is still stuck fast in my head from last Thursday morning:

Creation Sings

Creation sings the Father's song;
He calls the sun to wake the dawn
And run the course of day
Till evening falls in crimson rays.
His fingerprints in flakes of snow,
His breath upon this spinning globe,
He charts the eagle's flight;
Commands the newborn baby's cry.

Hallelujah! Let all creation stand and sing,
"Hallelujah!" Fill the earth with songs of worship;
Tell the wonders of creation's King.

Creation gazed upon His face;
The ageless One in time's embrace
Unveiled the Father's plan
Of reconciling God and man.
A second Adam walked the earth,
Whose blameless life would break the curse,
Whose death would set us free
To live with Him eternally.

Chorus

Creation longs for His return,
When Christ shall reign upon the earth;
The bitter wars that rage
Are birth pains of a coming age.
When He renews the land and sky,
All heav'n will sing and earth reply
With one resplendent theme: The glories of our God and King!

Chorus

Words and music: Keith Getty, Kristyn Getty, and Stuart Townend
© 2008 Thankyou Music
Recorded on the album Awaken the Dawn, by Keith and Kristyn Getty

Song of the Week

The theme of this year's Worship Symposium was "Great Stories"—sort of a loose theme, but they were highlighting a number of narrative passages from the Old Testament. The opening service Thursday morning was Neil Plantinga preaching on Genesis 4:1-16, the story of Cain; he titled it "A Mark of Grace." Greg Scheer, who was part of the worship planning and leadership, wrote a song of that title specifically for the service (since, as he notes, the church is a bit short on congregational songs on that passage). He really did a remarkable job with it, I think; it has its flaws, but it's a song well worth singing.

A Mark of Grace

From the waters of creation to the waters of the flood
Flows a stream of human failure and an ocean of God's love.
From the first sin in the garden to the first son's jealous rage,
The whole human family follows a legacy of sin and shame.

A covering for Adam, a mark for banished Cain,
A rainbow in the heavens—in God's love there's always been

A mark of grace, a sign of love—
The love of God in flesh.
In your strong hands, the curse of sin
Is turned to blessing without end.
You've sealed us with a mark of grace.

From the tree of good and evil to the tree of Calvary,
We've been slaves to sin and suffering; we've been longing to be free.
But no offering could free us—and no sacrifice of blood—
Until God in tender mercy offered up his only Son.

Jesus Christ, the second Adam, raised on the second tree:
A sacrifice of mercy for all humanity.

Chorus

From the first light of the garden to the endless city's rays,
God in mercy has been calling, and we'll answer him in praise.
We will praise our risen Savior, who ascended to God's side.
We await his coming glory, when we'll live in his pure light.

We'll sing of our Redeemer—the holy, spotless Lamb—
Who holds our lives forever within his wounded hands.

Other people's work

I've been meaning to repost this poem my wife posted a while ago, one which she found on the group writing blog Novel Matters; it's by one of the contributors there, Latayne C. Scott. I lack the talent to be a professional musician—and, to be honest, the practice habits—but I love music, and one of the best things about living in Winona Lake is getting to hear some of the best musicians in the world play to the glory of God. Souls in their fingers, indeed.

Opus Envy

I watch his fingers
Teasing the piano
As he caresses the ivory teeth
It purrrrrrrs
Harder now—he strikes
A glancing blow off the black fang

An answering roar

ah Rachmaninoff
just because my soul is not in
my fingertips does not
mean I do not have
one

Hymn for Advent—more than I knew

Of the Father’s Love Begotten

Of the Father’s love begotten, ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega, He the source, the ending He,
Of the things that are, that have been,
And that future years shall see, evermore and evermore!

At His Word the worlds were framèd; He commanded; it was done:
Heaven and earth and depths of ocean in their threefold order one;
All that grows beneath the shining
Of the moon and burning sun, evermore and evermore!

He is found in human fashion, death and sorrow here to know,
That the race of Adam’s children doomed by law to endless woe,
May not henceforth die and perish
In the dreadful gulf below, evermore and evermore!

O that birth forever blessèd, when the virgin, full of grace,
By the Holy Ghost conceiving, bare the Savior of our race;
And the Babe, the world’s Redeemer,
First revealed His sacred face, evermore and evermore!

This is He Whom seers in old time chanted of with one accord;
Whom the voices of the prophets promised in their faithful word;
Now He shines, the long expected,
Let creation praise its Lord, evermore and evermore!

O ye heights of heaven adore Him; angel hosts, His praises sing;
Powers, dominions, bow before Him, and extol our God and King!
Let no tongue on earth be silent,
Every voice in concert sing, evermore and evermore!

Righteous judge of souls departed, righteous King of those alive,
On the Father’s throne exalted none in might with Thee may strive;
Who at last in vengeance coming
Sinners from Thy face shalt drive, evermore and evermore!

Thee let old men, thee let young men, thee let boys in chorus sing;
Matrons, virgins, little maidens, with glad voices answering:
Let their guileless songs re-echo,
And the heart its music bring, evermore and evermore!

Christ, to Thee with God the Father, and, O Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Hymn and chant with high thanksgiving, and unwearied praises be:
Honor, glory, and dominion,
And eternal victory, evermore and evermore!

This text (with one slight alteration on my part to adjust the rhyme scheme for shifting English pronunciation) is courtesy of Dan Clendenin. All I’ve ever seen in hymnals is verses 1, 6, and 9 of the above; it’s interesting how much theology they cut out, and how much deeper is Prudentius’ exploration of the mystery of the Creator becoming the created. I admit, you’re not likely to get most congregations to sing nine verses of a hymn . . . but it’s too bad.

The original of this hymn is a Latin poem from around the turn of the fifth century; I presume the above text is all John Mason Neale’s translation. Of the poet, Aryeh Oron writes,

Aurelius Clemens Prudentius (whose name is some times shown with a prefix of “Marcus”) was a Roman Christian poet. He was born in the Roman province of Tarraconensis (now Northern Spain). The place of his birth is uncertain, but it may have been Caesaraugusta Saragossa, Tarraco Tarragona, or Calagurris Calahorra. He came of a distinguished Christian family and received an excellent education, studied law, became an office-holder and rose rapidly, was twice governor of a province, and finally received high office at the court of Theodosius. Towards the end of his life (possibly around 392) Prudentius retired from public life to become an ascetic, fasting until evening and abstaining entirely from animal food. He decided to devote himself to poetry in the service of religion and the Church. He collected the Christian poems written during this period and added a preface, which he himself dated 405.

Neale set this text to a plainsong melody from the 11th or 12th century; the tune is now usually referred to as DIVINUM MYSTERIUM (Divine Mystery), though the CCEL page identifies it as CORDE NATUS EX PARENTIS, after the first line of Prudentius’ poem.

Thank God for God (a Thanksgiving meditation)

Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there;
the LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; blessed be the name of the LORD.

—Job 1:21

During the time of Napoleon’s reign in France, there was a political prisoner by the name of Charnet. That is to say, there was a man named Charnet who had unintentionally offended the emperor by some remark or another and been thrown in prison to rot. As time passed, Charnet became bitter and lost faith in God, finally scratching on the wall of his cell, “All things come by chance.”

But there was a little space for sunlight to enter his cell, and for a little while each day a sunbeam cast a small pool of light on the floor; and one morning, to his amazement, in that small patch of ground he saw a tiny green blade poking out of the packed dirt floor, fighting its way into that precious sunlight. Suddenly, he had a companion, even if only a plant, and his heart lifted; he shared his tiny water ration with the little plant and did everything he could to encourage it to grow. Under his devoted care, it did grow, until one day it put out a beautiful little purple-and-white flower. Once again, Charnet found himself thinking about God, but thinking very different thoughts; he scratched out his previous words and wrote instead, “He who made all things is God.”

The guards saw what was happening; they talked about it amongst themselves, they told their wives, and the story spread, until finally somehow it came to the ears of the Empress Josephine. The story moved her, and she became so convinced that no man who loved a flower in this way could be dangerous that she appealed to Napoleon, and persuaded her husband to relent and set Charnet free. When he left his cell, he took the little flower with him in a little flowerpot, and on the pot he wrote Matthew 6:30: “If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith?”

There's a lesson in Charnet's story—the lesson of Job, I think. I struggled for years to make sense of that verse, until I found the key in an observation made by Rev. Wayne Brouwer, a Christian Reformed pastor in Holland, Michigan. Rev. Brouwer, writing on Psalm 22, muses, “Maybe it’s not that believers are grateful to God but that those who are grateful to God are the ones who truly believe him. Only those of us who are truly thankful are able to ride out the storms of life which might otherwise destroy us. Only those who have an attitude of gratitude know what it means to believe.” In other words, the root of our faith is gratitude.

We talk about the patience of Job, but in reality Job showed very little patience; what he did show was great faith, and that faith was firmly rooted in his determination to remain grateful for all the Lord had given him despite his losses. Thus he can say here, “The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord”; thus he can affirm at another point, “I know that my Redeemer lives, and that at the last he will stand upon the earth . . . in my flesh I shall see God.” In the same way, once Charnet found something for which to be thankful, that little plant struggling through the hard, dry earth, he found Someone to thank, and his faith grew back along with that little plant. Before that point, faith was impossible for him, because there was no root to sustain it.

If our gratitude depends on the number of our gifts exceeding a certain critical mass, if we miss the Giver for the gifts, then we have a shallow faith indeed. The example of Job calls us to a deeper gratitude, and a deeper faith, a faith that is able to see God and give thanks even when things aren’t going well. This is the faith the poet Joyce Kilmer expressed when he wrote, “Thank God for the bitter and ceaseless strife . . ./Thank God for the stress and the pain of life./And, oh, thank God for God.”

That’s really the bottom line, isn’t it? Thank God for God. Thank God, as Psalm 23 does, that even when we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, he is there with us. Thank God, as Psalm 22 does, that he has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted. Thank God, as Job teaches us, that we don’t have to bury our grief and anger, but can bring them to God honestly; for Job challenges God fiercely, but his challenge is rooted in his faith, and so at the end God says of him, “He is my servant, and he has spoken of me what is right.” Thank God for God, because that is the root and beginning of faith; to quote Wayne Brouwer again, “Only the grateful believe, and faith itself which seems to soar in times of prosperity needs the strength of thankfulness to carry it through the dark night of the soul.”

One man who well knew the truth of this was Martin Rinkard, a Lutheran who was the only pastor in Eilenberg, Germany in 1637. This was the time of the Thirty Years’ War, and in that year Eilenberg was attacked three different times. When the armies left, they were replaced by desperate refugees. Disease was common, food wasn’t, and Rinkard’s journal tells us that in 1637, he conducted over 4500 funerals, sometimes as many as 50 in a day. Death and chaos ruled, and each day seemed to bring some fresh disaster. But out of that terrible time, Martin Rinker wrote these words:

Now Thank We All Our God

Now thank we all our God
With heart and hands and voices,
Who wondrous things hath done,
In whom His world rejoices;
Who, from our mother's arms,
Hath blessed us on our way
With countless gifts of love,
And still is ours today.

O may this bounteous God
Through all our life be near us,
With ever joyful hearts
And blessed peace to cheer us;
And keep us in his grace,
And guide us when perplexed,
And free us from all ills
In this world and the next.

All praise and thanks to God
The Father now be given,
The Son, and Him who reigns
With them in highest heaven,
The one eternal God,
Whom earth and heaven adore;
For thus it was, is now,
And shall be evermore.

Words: Martin Rinkart; translated by Catherine Winkworth
Music: Johann Crüger
NUN DANKET, 6.7.6.7.6.6.6.6.

This is a repost from November 2007.

My own personal bailout

Despite the fact that I'm only 35, I'm an old folkie at heart; I suppose that's what comes of growing up with a father who started at Stanford in the first heat of the Kingston Trio's success. I remember, for instance, a 1983 folk music reunion concert that we taped while we were living down in Texas—I remember it quite well, in fact, having rewatched it more times than I can count. One of my favorite songs from that concert, one by Tom Paxton, has been coming back to me as once again eerily appropriate:

I Am Changing My Name to Chrysler

Oh, the price of gold is rising out of sight,
And the dollar is in sorry shape tonight;
What the dollar used to get us
Now won't get a head of lettuce—
No, the economic forecast isn't bright.

But amidst the clouds a spot is shining grey;
I begin to glimpse a new and better way.
And I've demised a plan of action,
Worked it down to the last fraction,
And I'm going into action here today.

I am changing my name to Chrysler;
I am going down to Washington D.C.
I will tell some power broker
What they did for Iacocca
Will be perfectly acceptable to me.
I am changing my name to Chrysler;
I am headed for that great receiving line.
So when they hand a million grand out,
I'll be standing with my hand out,
Yes sir—I'll get mine.

When my creditors come screaming for their dough,
I'll be proud to tell them all where they can go.
They won't need to scream and holler—
They'll be paid to the last dollar
Where the endless streams of money seem to flow.
I'll be glad to tell them all what they can do;
It's a matter of a simple form or two.
It's not just renumeration—it's a liberal education;
Aren't you kind of glad that I'm in debt to you?

Chorus

Since the first amphibian crawled out of the slime,
We've been struggling in an unrelenting climb;
We were hardly up and walking before money started talking,
And it said that failure is an awful crime.
It's been that way a millenium or two,
But now it seems there is a different point of view.
If you're a corporate Titanic and your failure is gigantic,
Down in Congress there's a safety net for you.

Chorus

Words and music: Tom Paxton
©1980 Accabonac Music (ASCAP)

Morning prayer

Take, O take me as I am; summon out what I shall be;
set your seal upon my heart and live in me.

—John Bell

This is a simple little musical prayer written by the Iona Community's John Bell, with a reflective melody that ends on an unresolved chord (the melody ends on re); I've seen it used most often as a congregational response, either to Scripture readings or during a time of prayer. For whatever reason, it floated into my mind this past hour, and has been flowing through it ever since. I guess this is the prayer of my heart this morning, for myself and for our congregation.

This is what happens with a mind set on "shuffle"

My dear wife, knowing that I was stopping by the store on the way home from work to pick up some more distilled water for the church, asked me to pick up a few things for her as well—including ice cream for the brownies she was making for dessert (courtesy of a good friend down the street). My brain started spinning this out to a familiar tune, and before long had produced this:

Brownies and ice cream and water in kettles,
Jewel-eyed reptiles made of precious metals,
Clockwork automatons trying their wings:
These are a few of my favorite things.

I suppose it says something about the contents of my brain that it moved so quickly from my shopping list to a sort of steampunk-fantasy thing; I have to admit I find the juxtaposition of that with Rodgers and Hammerstein amusing, but your mileage may vary. I may keep playing around with this for my own amusement; if anyone wants to try a verse, feel free to post it in the comments.

What to do if you find yourself inside a fairytale

That's the question Neil Gaiman answers in his poem "Instructions," which I love; since I found out today that YouTube has a video of him reading it, I had to post it.

Interestingly, the artist Charles Vess is working to turn it into a picture book. Follow the link for a sample illustration, and links to more. That ought to be wonderful.

Fortunate defeat

I was there when they crucified my Lord;
I held the scabbard when the soldier drew his sword.
I threw the dice when they pierced his side,
But I've seen love conquer the great divide.

—U2/B. B. King, "When Love Comes to Town"

OK, so I was on a bit of a U2 kick this trip. I still think this is a great lyric, and something every Christian ought to be able to sing full-throated, with a full heart.

For those not familiar with this video, it's not primarily a music video of the song—it's as much about Bono, B. B., the rest of the band, and the making of the song itself as it is about the song—but it's interesting anyway.

What I still haven't found

I believe in the Kingdom Come,
Then all the colours will bleed into one,
Bleed into one;
But yes, I'm still running.
You broke the bonds,
You loosed the chains,
You carried the cross and
All my shame,
All my shame;
You know I believe it.

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

—U2, "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For"

I don't want to get into the argument about what U2 themselves mean by this song. According to the Wikipedia article, "both Bono and Edge have . . . called it a gospel song on numerous occasions," and I have no reason to doubt that; I've seen other sites assert that they have repeatedly called it a song of "spiritual yearning," which seems obvious enough, though I've never seen any original source for either of these attributions. At the same time, reading around the 'Net, it's clear that a lot of U2 fans don't want to believe that the song's about anything of the sort, and they're entitled to their own opinions.

My interest at the moment, though, is rather different; if you wanted to be technical, I suppose you could say that I'm setting aside questions of authorial intent and opting for a bit of reader-response criticism. To wit, it occurred to me as I was listening to this song on the way home Monday that whatever U2 means by this song, it serves quite well as an apt expression of our experience of the process of sanctification (or of mine, at least). I believe all those things, too—and yet I would have to confess that in some ways, at least, I too am still running. There are still areas where I resist what God desires to do in my life, and areas in which I follow him determinedly until the temptation gets too tempting, at which point I run off like any other dumb sheep convinced that the grass over there really must be tastier. (Only to find out when I get there, as always, that the "grass" is really only extra-long Astroturf.)

I believe it all, but I still haven't found what I'm looking for—not in God, but in me, and in my own life. I haven't found the trust, the submission, the willingness to follow faithfully; I've found the peace of God, but not the contentment to rest in it, and the joy of God, but not the single-mindedness to stay in it, instead of jumping off to go check out other things to see if they might be better. I've found the beauty of the gospel and the glorious blessing of the grace of God, but not the ability to wholeheartedly trust that they are for me. I preach it, I preach it constantly, but I do so as much as anything because I know I need to hear it, because I haven't found it in me to fully believe it. Not yet.

But by the grace of God, I know I will—not by my efforts, but by his gift. His grace doesn't depend on me, one way or the other; and whether I can always fully believe it or not, I know he who promised is faithful, and will do it. And for that I give thanks.

The OSM (Obama-stream media) theme song

Consequence Free

Wouldn't it be great if no one ever got offended?
Wouldn't it be great to say what's really on your mind?
I have always said all the rules are made for bending;
And if I let my hair down, would that be such a crime?

I wanna be consequence-free;
I wanna be where nothing needs to matter.
I wanna be consequence-free,
Just sing Na Na Na Na Na Na Ya Na Na.

I could really use to lose my Catholic conscience,
'Cause I'm getting sick of feeling guilty all the time.
I won't abuse it, yeah, I've got the best intentions
For a little bit of anarchy, but not the hurting kind.

Chorus

I couldn't sleep at all last night
'Cause I had so much on my mind.
I'd like to leave it all behind,
But you know it's not that easy

Chorus

Wouldn't it be great if the band just never ended?
We could stay out late and we would never hear last call.
We wouldn't need to worry about approval or permission;
We could slip off the edge and never worry about the fall.

Chorus

It's a catchy song, and the video (which is below, if you're interested) is the sort of fun, goofy piece that Great Big Sea likes to do.  It's also, as I've said somewhere, one of the stupidest song lyrics I've ever run across.  What does it mean when our actions are consequence-free?  When our actions have no consequences, we say they're inconsequential; that means they don't matter, which is why inconsequential is a synonym for unimportant or insignificant.  If nothing we ever did had consequences, if none of it ever mattered, then we wouldn't matter; if all our actions were insignificant, it would mean that we would be insignificant, our lives would be meaningless.  As I wrote last fall,

The key is that our actions matter because we matter. Indeed, we matter enough to God that he was willing to pay an infinite price for our salvation; and so our actions matter greatly to him, both for their effect on others (who matter to him as much as we do) and for their effect on us. Our actions have eternal consequence because we are beings of eternal consequence; it could not be otherwise.

Only a fool could wish for insignificance; it's profoundly foolish even to feign a wish for such a thing.

Now, it's hardly a new or shocking idea to suggest that our media establishment is composed largely of fools, but they're so far in the tank for Barack Obama that it's taking them to new and surprising depths of folly.  We see this particularly in the ongoing effort by the MSM—who would be better called the OSM, the Obama-stream media; they're so deep in his pocket, they're nothing more than pocket lint at this point—to render the president consequence-free, at least when it comes to negative consequences:  if anything bad happens, it's all that evil Bush's fault, or that evil Cheney's fault, or the fault of some other evil Republican.  The deepest depths of this drivel (so far) have been plumbed by Maureen Dowd, who wrote in the New York Times,

No matter if or when terrorists attack here, and they’re on their own timetable, not a partisan, red/blue state timetable, Cheney will be deemed the primary one who made America more vulnerable.

In other words, it doesn't matter when it happens, or what happens, or how it happens, or what could have happened, or what the president and his administration have done, or what they haven't done, or what they could have done, or what they should have done—according to Maureen Dowd, if terrorists ever do anything here again, no matter what, it's Dick Cheney's fault.

Now, to a superficial mind, I can see the appeal of this:  it preserves the "blame everything on the GOP" strategy that got the Democratic Party to power, wherein it is asserted that only the GOP can do or cause bad things, while all good things are solely to the credit of the donkeys.  What Dowd apparently fails to see, however, is the way in which her assertion completely emasculates President Obama and his administration.  What she's essentially saying is that Barack Obama is fundamentally inconsequential and ineffectual, at least by comparison to the previous administration.  George W. Bush and Dick Cheney are the ones with the real power, the ones who really matter; Barack Obama just can't be expected to compare, or to have the same kind of effect on the world.  He can't be held responsible if al'Qaeda or somebody else attacks us, because, um, it can't possibly be his fault, because, uh, well, he just can't be; there has to be someone else to blame.  The buck doesn't stop at his desk; that's above his pay grade, or something.

I'm sorry, but when people start saying things like that about the President of the United States, that's just pathetic.  But hey, at least he can dance around and look cool, like these guys:

Seven stanzas for Easter

I'm not sure why I didn't think to post this earlier; John Updike is best known for his prose, but this poem is a jewel.

Seven Stanzas for Easter

Make no mistake: if he rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,
The amino acids rekindle,
The Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
Each soft spring recurrent;
It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
Eleven apostles;
It was as His flesh; ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes
The same valved heart
That—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered
Out of enduring Might
New strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
Analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,
Making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded
Credulity of earlier ages:
Let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
Not a stone in a story,
But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of
Time will eclipse for each of us
The wide light of day.

And if we have an angel at the tomb,
Make it a real angel,
Weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in
The dawn light, robed in real linen
Spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
For our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
Lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed
By the miracle,
And crushed by remonstrance.

Hymn for Good Friday

Ah, Holy Jesus, How Hast Thou Offended?

Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended,
That man to judge thee hath in hate pretended?
By foes derided, by thine own rejected,
O most afflicted.

Who was the guilty who brought this upon thee?
Alas, my treason, Jesus, hath undone thee.
’Twas I, Lord Jesus, I it was denied thee:
I crucified thee.

Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered;
The slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered:
For man’s atonement, while he nothing heedeth,
God intercedeth.

For me, kind Jesus, wast thine incarnation,
Thy mortal sorrow, and thy life’s oblation:
Thy death of anguish and thy bitter passion,
For my salvation.

Therefore, kind Jesus, since I cannot pay thee,
I do adore thee, and will ever pray thee,
Think on thy pity and thy love unswerving,
Not my deserving.

Words:  Johann Heermann
Music:  Johann Crüger
HERZLIEBSTER JESU, 11.11.11.5

A little more music for Christmas

This is a medley of "God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen" and "We Three Kings of Orient Are" done in a folk-rock style by the Barenaked Ladies and Sarah McLachlan.  Great track, imho.  The video is just the words (with, annoyingly, a few errors).

HT:  Ed Morrissey

Carol for Christmas Eve

This is probably my favorite Christmas carol (not counting "Joy to the World," since as I noted earlier, it's not really a Christmas song).  There's no hope of undoing George Whitfield's edits to Charles Wesley's text, since they're embedded even in the common title—but we would still do well to include the verses he cut.

Hark! the Herald Angels Sing

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King,
Peace on earth and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconciled!
Joyful all ye nations rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
With th' angelic host proclaim,
"Christ is born in Bethlehem!"

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.

Christ, by highest heaven adored,
Christ, the everlasting Lord,
Late in time behold him come,
Offspring of the virgin's womb!
Veiled in flesh the Godhead see:
Hail th' incarnate Deity,
Pleased as man with men to dwell,
Jesus, our Immanuel!

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.

Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.
Mild, he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die,
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.

Come, desire of nations, come,
Fix in us thy humble home;
Rise, the woman's conquering seed,
Bruise in us the serpent's head.
Now display thy saving power,
Ruin'd nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to thine.

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.

Adam's likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp thy image in its place.
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in thy love.
Let us thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the life, the inner man:
O, to all thyself impart,
Form'd in each believing heart.

Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King.

Words:  Charles Wesley, alt. George Whitfield, Martin Madan,
and William Hayman Cummings
Music:  Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy,
adapted and arranged by William Hayman Cummings
MENDELSSOHN, 7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.7.

Carol of the Week

This great hymn by Isaac Watts is commonly miscast as a Christmas hymn, when Watts didn't write it for Christmas and it really has nothing particularly to do with the birth of Christ; it's actually a better fit for this season of Advent, since what it's really about is Christ's Second Coming.

Joy to the World

Joy to the world! the Lord is come;
Let earth receive her King.
Let every heart prepare him room,
And heaven and nature sing.

Joy to the world! the Savior reigns;
Let men their songs employ,
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains,
Repeat the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow,
Nor thorns infest the ground;
He comes to make his blessings flow
Far as the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace,
And makes the nations prove
The glories of his righteousness,
And wonders of his love.

Words:  Isaac Watts
Music:  Lowell Mason, from a theme by George Frederick Handel
ANTIOCH, 8.6.8.6.6.6.

Hymn for All Saints' Day

For All the Saints

For all the saints who from their labors rest,
Who thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might;
Thou, Lord, their captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the apostles' glorious company,
Who, bearing forth the cross o'er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord
Is fair and fruitful, be thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For martyrs who, with rapture-kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may thy soldiers, faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor's crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
Yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of Paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on his way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

From earth's wide bounds, from ocean's farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Words: William Walsham How
Music: Ralph Vaughan Williams
SINE NOMINE, 10.10.10.4.4.