As you know, we cannot have
Advent without something from Michael Praetorius. It’s the Law. So today’s
piece is “Nun komm, der Heiden Heiland”, Praetorius’s take of Martin
Luther’s rendering of the Latin “Veni redemptor gentium”. (O come,
redeemer of the nations) Lotta by-way-ofs here.
But Praetorius.
The song narrates the marvel
of the savior of the world being born in a manger—“wondrous birth! O wondrous
Child”. “Boundless shall Thy kingdom be; when shall we its glories see?”
Well, exactly—when?
Here’s the Gesualdo Six (minus
two) singing it.
May the nations of the world be
redeemed and peace rule among the people.
Stevie Wonder released “Someday
at Christmas” on the eponymous album in 1967. As with John Lennon/Yoko Ono’s “Happy
Xmas War Is Over” four years later, it imagines a time when the holiday will
not be celebrated in spite of war. Nice thought, but here we are—55 years later—dreaming
of the same thing.
Every single thing in this
song—a world without war, a land where all are free and no one is hungry, a
place where hate is gone and love prevails—is completely in line with the promise
of this season. Sadly, I concur with Wonder that I am unlikely to live long
enough to see any of them, but we can all work toward changing our course.
I’ve chosen Lizzo’s cover of
the song, released this year, because of all the RWNJ’s who didn’t even know
James Monroe was our fifth president lost their damn minds when the classically
trained musician played the long-dead Virginian’s 1813 crystal flute a few
months ago.
May we free our world from hunger,
fear, inequality and men being boys.
Today’s seasonal hymn comes from
Korea, actually. Its composer, Geonyong Lee, is active in the Korean unification
movement; he wrote “Come Now, O Prince of Peace” to urge peace and
reconciliation. It’s among the hymns the Church of Scotland uses to remind
congregations of the situation in Ukraine. I’ll just state the obvious, that
Korea and Ukraine have some similarities when it comes to being invaded by
neighboring countries.
This is a somber piece, which
suits my mood right down to the ground this year. But the message is timely and
necessary.
Here’s the choir of the First
Plymouth Church, Lincoln, Neb., singing it.
May the world wise the hell up
and focus more on commonalities than differences among us.
Empire of the Sun is
Steven Spielberg’s 1987 film based on J.G. Ballard’s semi-autobiographical novel
of his experiences in World War II. It follows one small boy—Jamie Graham—living
a life of extreme privilege in the European conclave of 1941 Shanghai. During
the chaotic evacuation of the city in the face of the Japanese invasion (days after the attack on Pearl Harbor, 81 years ago today), Jamie’s
separated from his parents, ends up in a POW camp and learns to navigate
situations no child and few adults should have to. It’s a film about the losses
associated with war, not least that of childhood.
(I think this is one of Spielberg's best films, although it's very difficult for me to watch because of the betrayal of children. How Jamie's parents could not do whatever it took to find him, whatever the circumstances, I do not know.)
This is taking place right
now, in Ukraine, in Syria and in other places because we never bloody seem to
learn.
Empire
begins with Jamie singing “Sûo Gan” in a school choir, under the watchful eye
of his Chinese amah. “Sûo Gan” is a Welsh lullaby, not a Christmas carol, but I
think we can include it in our Advent just on the grounds of the universality
of a mother singing her baby to sleep, reassuring her child that no harm will
come to them.
Translated, the song goes:
Sleep my darling, on my
bosom, Harm will never come to you; Mother's arms enfold you safely, Mother's heart is ever true. As you sleep there's naught to scare you, Naught to wake you from your rest; Close those eyelids, little angel, Sleep upon your mother's breast.
Sleep, my darling, night is falling Rest in slumber sound and deep; I would know why you are smiling, Smiling sweetly as you sleep! Do you see the angels smiling As they see your rosy rest, So that you must smile an answer As you slumber on my breast?
Don't be frightened, it's a leaflet Tapping, tapping on the door; Don't be frightened, 'twas a wavelet Sighing, sighing on the shore. Slumber, slumber, naught can hurt you, Nothing bring you harm or fright; Slumber, darling, smiling sweetly At those angels robed in white
This is the opening sequence
of the film, setting the stage for four years of war up close and personal.
May children around the world
be defended from this kind of loss.
Today’s the feast day of Saint
Nicholas, the Fourth Century
Bishop of Myra who is the patron of Russia, Greece, children, sailors,
unmarried women, merchants, pawnbrokers and charitable organizations. Nick has
a lot on his plate.
These
days we mostly know him in his secular guise: Santa Claus. He’s the jolly old
Saint Nick who brings presents to good children. (In several European
traditions, Saint Nicholas Day is when gifts are given, and the saint is often
accompanied by a figure meant to be a Moor, therefore in blackface, who
punishes the naughty children, sometimes carrying switches for the purpose. I
don’t judge, it’s tradition. Like, I dunno, statues of Confederate generals.)
The usual vehicle for signaling that you’re looking for presents is to leave
out your shoes (a precursor, I guess, to hanging stockings with care.)
There
are thousands of people who would like a visit from Saint Nicholas, or a sign
that he’s aware they exist. Especially children; man—it takes so little to give
a child joy. I’m thinking of Ukraine, but there are plenty of children closer
to where you live whose lives you could brighten by a donation of a few dollars
that go towards a toy and a couple of sweeties.
Here's
a representation of Saint Nick in a shop window in Paris. I think it was a
Scandinavian shop, but I don’t rightly recollect. This trio is stripped for
action.
And here is the magnificent
Louis Armstrong singing “’Zat You, Santa Claus?” Because we could use a little levity ourselves.
May all children—young and not
so young—be granted attention from Saint Nicholas and his helpers around the
world.
Here we are at the second
Gratitude Monday in Advent, 2022, a year which has given me mixed messages when
it comes to a thankful spirit. I mean—I always find something (many things, if
I’m honest), but sometimes it does feel like a bit of a stretch. The truth of
the matter is that we’re surrounded by horrors, macro and micro; a good number
of those are manmade, and it makes me weep.
So I’ll confess that it’s
difficult, even in this season, to find the joys and graces that are the basis
of gratitude. And if it’s that way for me, I’m guessing that a lot of people
around the world are having the same challenge.
Perhaps we need to acknowledge
the burdens of sorrows, anxieties, grief; the daily scrabble to feed your family and
keep them safe, the utter horror of war—whatever it is, it is. But—if you can—acknowledge
it, but also let in stillness when it approaches. Find the stillness and see if
comfort and hope can also be found.
That’s what I try to do.
Today’s Advent music is “Still
my Joy”, by the Indigo Girls.
May everyone enveloped in darkness, literal and metaphoric, find light in the stillness.
The focus of Advent II is on
peace and preparation. If we’re taking them together, I interpret that as
meaning stepping away from whatever mishegoss is going on (seasonal or
otherwise) and considering how to welcome the redeemer. Or the baby. Or maybe
it’s about opening oneself to the spirit of peace.
I mean—given current world
events, peace seems like a stretch, so perhaps we need to prepare for it, take
action to bring it about, to make our particular corner of the world more
peaceful.
So today’s Advent piece is “Wachet
auf, ruft uns die Stimme”. In the past I’ve given you the Bach
cantata of this, but the original hymn predates Bach by 125 years. It was
written by Philipp Nicolai, in 1598, during a time of plague in his hometown
(Unna, in what was then Westphalia, now Germany). It draws on the parable of
the 10 virgins and is thus a warning to, well, basically, to not sleep on the
job.
In the parable, all 10 virgins
went out with their lamps to greet the bridegroom. Five were foolish and brought
no oil for their lamps; the other five—the wise ones—did. The bridegroom was
late and they all fell asleep waiting. When he finally arrived, the cry of “Behold!
The bridegroom cometh” sang out, the foolish women asked the wise ones for oil
for their lamps. They were denied and told to go find someone who sells oil.
While they were gone, the bridegroom arrived and all who were there went in
with him to the marriage feast and the door shut. When the foolish virgins
arrived, they were not allowed in.
The moral of this is not, as
you might think, cut your friends some slack, but to always be on the
watch, for you don’t know the day or the hour when the Son of Man will come.
Ergo: be prepared.
The title translates to “Awake!
The voice calls to us”; the lyrics enjoin us to take up our lamps to welcome
the Christ. This version is by the Toronto Chamber Choir, recorded two years
ago in another time of plague.
May all who are in need of
peace be prepared to welcome it wherever it may be found.
