It has occurred to me this year that my usual roster of Advent music is decidedly lacking in melanin. This time round, I’m going to try to expand my horizon.
Toward that end, I’ve got something a little different. Tomorrow is Saint Nicholas Day, but it’s also Advent II: Preparation Sunday, so I’ve got something slotted for that. So, let’s think Saint Nick (or Santa Claus) today. I’m giving you Snoop Dogg’s “Santa Claus Goes Straight to the Ghetto”.
About time.
The holidays are not a time of unadulterated joy for a lot of people. And that’s in “ordinary” years. The pressure to be a vortex of gaiety and festive organization is like knives between the ribs when you feel like you’re barely hanging on by your fingernails. This year we have this bizarre Sword of Damocles hanging over us and demands by all manner of people to either gather and celebrate en masse in defiance of the science or stay the fuck home to save lives (maybe our own).
This year there are also hundreds of thousands of people in this country alone who are mourning the loss of one or more family members or friends to COVID-19. Or they’re struggling with a family member or friend who’s in hospital with the virus, or can’t get into a hospital because they’re full. How the hell do you pull jolliness out of that?
Well, in my opinion, you don’t have to. Especially not this year. But here’s a thing—and Advent is precisely the time for this—there’s a difference between jolliness and joy. And I know from experience that it is possible to find shards of the latter, even amidst crushing sorrow. Even in the holiday season.
My go-to song for this is the Indigo Girls’ “There's Still My Joy”. It reminds me that finding peace is a big part of this time. After all—aren’t we talking about the birth of the guy they called the Prince of Peace? I give you permission to put aside the gift wrapping, the light stringing, the cocktail-pouring and just be at peace. Even if only momentarily. Mourn for what you—we all—have lost. It’s substantial and the pain will always be with us. But there’s still joy if you can let it in.
This year, I’m giving you Oleta Adams’ cover of it. May the strength and warmth of her voice bring you comfort.
This year being the absolute shitshow that it is, it seems to me that John Lennon’s “Happy Xmas/War Is Over” should fit right in. I do not know that the war is over—whether you’re talking global pandemic, systemic racism, undercutting of democratic institutions or right-wing thuggery, we’ve still got a long way to go.
Still, back in the day,
Nixon was forced to the negotiating table to end that war. And this is
the season of hope.
The Tower of Eder (Migdal Eder) is mentioned in Genesis; it’s the monument Jacob erected at his wife Rachel’s tomb, near Bethlehem. It’s also connected with Christmas via Micah, who prophesied that from the Tower of Eder would come the Messiah; you know the rest.
That being the case, it
seems like “Dance at Migdal Eder” by Christy Nockels is exactly right for this
season. It’s a foot-tapping, joy-inducing corker that people need at this time
of year. Here’s fiddler herself performing it.
Today’s Advent piece was written in 1970 by Alberto Taulè, a Cataluñan priest. This was only a few years after Vatican II, when the Church was looking for liturgical music to engage the congregation. Really getting to the point, “Toda la Tierra” was written in Cataluñan.
Toward that end of encouraging
congregations unused to singing as part of their worship service, Taulè made
both the words and melody simple. The first verse alone is worth the listen,
though; especially in 2020.
Toda la tierra espera
al Salvador.
y el surco abierto, a la obra del Señor;
es el mundo que lucha por la libertad,
reclama justicia y busca la verdad.
“The whole world is
waiting (or hoping, if you prefer) for the Savior
“And the furrow opened for the work of the Lord;
“It’s the world that fights for liberty,
“Reclaims justice and seeks truth.”
Interestingly, there
are versions of this out on the Webs that change the last two lines, watering
it down considerably.
I’m giving you a
version—with justice, freedom and truth intact—from the Major Pontifical
Seminary of Santiago (Chile).
Twenty-four years ago, my sister gave me this:
Some detail:
I was stunned when I first received it, and I’ve been grateful for it ever since. What a joy it is to have on my livingroom wall.
Today’s Advent hymn was written by Eleanor Farjeon (perhaps best known for “Morning Has Broken”) and first included in the Oxford Book of Carols in 1928 set to the French tune “Besançon”.
“People Look East” has
all the Advent elements: we’re urged to prepare our homes; the seemingly barren
winter earth is about to bear fruit; stars keep watch; angels proclaim the Lord’s
arrival. Here’s the Ely Cathedral choir singing it.
So at least there’s
that.
But still—the season is
here, whether we feel like celebrating it or not, and whether we can gather
with friends and family or not. So let’s settle in for it, preparing the way of
the Lord—some anticipatory joy, as well as all the cleaning out and reflecting.
I’m starting it off
with “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing”, which was written in 1758 by a
22-year-old English Baptist pastor named Robert Robertson. The Brits use a different
melody, but here in the US, it’s set to the folk piece “Nettleton”.
Because this has indeed
been such a weird year, instead of some lovely choral versions, I’m giving you
this cover by Sufjan Stevens. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure I really like
his delivery, with that breathy voice, but the photos are gorgeous and maybe as a function of Advent prep in this particular year,
this is a time when we really ought to sit down and concentrate on hearing the
words. Which are:
Come,
thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;
streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount I'm fixed upon it
mount of God's redeeming love.
Here
I find my greatest treasure;
hither by thy help I've come;
and I hope, by thy good pleasure,
safely to arrive at home.
Jesus sought me when a stranger,
wandering from the fold of God;
he, to rescue me from danger,
bought me with his precious blood.
Oh,
to grace how great a debtor
daily I'm constrained to be!
Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee:
prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;
here's my heart, O take and seal it;
seal it for thy courts above.
