Dear companions. As we close out yet another advent season, I want to encourage you all, along with myself, not to let the reality of "God With Us" slip away with the season. It's easy in this world of skeptics and mockers of the supernatural to take Christ's birth as only a symbol or a nice story. To keep it at arms length lest we be laughed at or not taken seriously.
The fact is, in spite of today's declarations of relativity, everyone believes some sort of truth, and bows down to it. You will not find a person alive who doesn't believe fully and absolutely in something. So what will you believe in? Some people believe in themselves. For me, I've only found in myself a disappointing circus of failures. Some believe in money and physical wealth. I've found that in no way can wealth bring people together, or fill the void in someone's heart. Some believe in people, but people betray, kill, steal and commit such atrocities that tear apart rather than bind in healing. At some point or another, every single person I've ever known has let me down, disappointed me, betrayed me, or otherwise shown himself to be less than human. Still others turn to nature for salvation, but nature is a hard mistress which shows no pity to the broken, the weak, the powerless.
In the end, only in God have I found a power capable of taming my stubborn heart, of pulling me outside myself, of helping me understand beautiful things, of giving me a reason to keep on keeping on. His power is real, and I can't demonstrate that to you by any scientific method, or quantify it with any sort of mathematical equation, but it's a power so real that I'd stake my life on it. I'd give up everything I own, everything on this earth I love rather than part with Christ. Maybe that sounds foolish to you, maniacal, even, but maybe that just proves just how real God is, especially those of you who know me as the coldly rational person that I am. I'm not afraid to say no. I scoff at airy theories, and it's rather difficult to scam me.
Yet, what can I do but kneel before a power that transcends all others and a love that begets all true loves.
This is the truth, the one, the only truth, my friends. I can't convince you through physical senses, but I hope that maybe, somewhere, if it hasn't already, God's truth will touch you tonight. For those of you who are in my boat, rejoice with me this lovely Christmas day as we celebrate God's glorious gift to mankind.
This is indeed a wond'rous truth. Merry Christmas, my dear friends, and may God bless us, every one.
We've all had hard things happen in our lives. I know I haven't had many trials to speak of, but still, I don't think any of can say we've led a painless life, untouched by the sin that ravages our world. This afternoon as I was reading the world magazine and getting myself tied up into a knot by all the crazy madness that is going on in this world of angst, I suddenly had to lay it down and remind myself that it wasn't my job to worry about what every politician was scheming and what every country was plotting against its citizens. My job is to be faithful in the sphere in which God has put me. To do the best I can to water my own square of ground. To weed the garden plot over which I've been given oversight.
Still, though, the cares of life just seem to always creep in nonetheless. I wonder sometimes, how we are able to actually have joy when we truly comprehend the sin and evil that is perpetrated every day on our planet. How can we say that all is well?
We couldn't, not truly at least, until God's Son was born that night so many Christmases ago. Only when we received the precious gift of redemption, the fulfillment that everything would be made right, that was the moment when we could again lift our heads with true joy.
It's a glorious thought, because, honestly, my friends, in order to keep going on in this difficult world, I have to know that things will come round right, that all will be well. And it is. Christ's birth made that possible.
I never thought I'd be sharing a Michael Smith song, I'm not usually keen on his music, but this song, "All Is Well," is not only musically magnificent, but deeply true as well.
Christ has come, let's go tell the world that all is well.
Christmas should be joyful. It should be one of the happiest seasons of the year. Perhaps that first Christmas was not only heralding joy but bringing a promise of real joy to come; that joy of which we we have now is only a shadow.
Fear not! Today's carol is not "Joy to The World" we've all heard it too many times this season.
Instead, a song that's a little less performed and far newer, but absolutely beautiful.
You may have heard of a Christian song called "In Christ Alone." written by Stuart Townend and Keith Getty. Well, this magnificent and triumphant Christmas hymn was written by the same duo.
"Joy Has Dawned" is so rich lyrically that I'm posting the lyrics below. Let me know if you've heard it and if not, what you think.
Joy has dawned upon the world, Promised from creation— God’s salvation now unfurled, Hope for ev’ry nation. Not with fanfares from above, Not with scenes of glory, But a humble gift of love— Jesus born of Mary.
Sounds of wonder fill the sky With the songs of angels As the mighty Prince of Life Shelters in a stable. Hands that set each star in place, Shaped the earth in darkness, Cling now to a mother’s breast, Vuln’rable and helpless.
Shepherds bow before the Lamb, Gazing at the glory; Gifts of men from distant lands Prophesy the story. Gold—a King is born today, Incense—God is with us, Myrrh—His death will make a way, And by His blood He’ll win us.
Son of Adam, Son of heaven, Given as a ransom; Reconciling God and man, Christ, our mighty champion! What a Savior! What a Friend! What a glorious myst’ry! Once a babe in Bethlehem, Now the Lord of hist’ry.
With only two days left 'till Christmas and tensions of family and comercialism ever yapping at your heels, don't forget to rejoice.
What is the heart of Christmas? Answers vary, I believe, but I think we can agree that love is at it's depths. It's part of the reason I hate the way people are trying to turn it into a day centered around Santa Claus and presents. It seems to be that we're losing, in that, most of the purpose of Christmas.
The night love came down as a babe in a manger. Love, the most powerful force on earth. One that is neither idealistic or make-believe, and yet cannot be contacted with any of the physical senses. Love is the authority to which all others bow, the conqueror of the mightiest kings, the deadliest sins. Love; a word so easily turned on its head and made to mean something contemptible. A word which only begins to touch a reality too deep for any of us to truly comprehend.
I don't think I have anything more to say on that score, so I'll give you your song now. You see, I've just been struck with a thought about the whole thing that I don't think I ever realized, but currently if I tried to vocalize it, I'm afraid you'd think me quite off my head so the above paragraphs will have to suit for the present. Let's just say I've been astounded afresh by the greatness God's love for us.
Do take a moment and think on it as you listen to what I might call a 'musing' on the meaning of Christmas.
God's love for us is so great, so all encompasing, how can we not follow where ever it leads!
Speaking strictly for myself. Fear is huge part of what drives life. Fear of failure, fear of disappointing people I care about, fear of rejection, fear of wasting my life and talents, fear of not being able to do what needs to be done, fear of how others will perceive me, fear of being wrong.
If I'm not careful these fears can almost completely rule my actions. It's something I've lived with so long that I begin to forget just how much fear is meshed into the very fabric of my moral character. That, in itself, is frightening. It's one thing to know one shouldn't fear those things, it's one thing to try to act in spite of those fears, it's another to actually get rid of them.
When the angel came to the Shepherds that night, he opened his speech with the one liner every angel in recorded history has had to say when dealing with people.
"Do not be afraid."
We can all sympathize with the Shepherds, I think. To be suddenly greeted by a being from a heavenly realm can't be something even the staunchest of people could take quietly.
What the angel follows up with, however, I think puts greater meaning into his first statement.
"Behold, I bring you good news of great joy, which shall be for all the people."
When you bring someone a piece of good news that's, in fact, good news for everybody, I think that would be the day we saw pink elephants dancing through the stratosphere.
The point is, usually, and I mean no cynicism when I say this, when someone gets good news, it's very often, in turn, bad news for someone else. You get accepted into the college of your dreams, it means someone else was bumped out. You receive that long awaited visa into the U.S. while someone else is told to wait another six months. You win that full scholarship, and someone else is given nothing to pay for his tuition. The list could go on. I don't want to dampen the joy of receiving good things, but just think, how glorious this news must have been, when, in one of today's shameful platitudes, "everyone's a winner."
It's interesting to think that, in this case, when the angel cried "fear not!" he wasn't simply assuring the Shepherds that he wasn't there to destroy them for their sins, but was also informing a whole generation of people that they no longer had to live in fear. We no longer have to fear that we won't be enough. Christ is enough. We don't have to fear failure, because in Christ we are more than conquerors. We don't have to fear that we'll waste our lives, because Christ who began a good work in us will complete it. We don't have to fear being wrong because in Christ we have victory. We don't have to fear what people think of us because if God is for us, none can stand against us.
What a glorious call, that night. The Shepherds had no idea, in some sense, none of us has more than the vaguest notion of what it means to fear nothing and no-one but God. And yet, I believe that in that one and right fear, we have freedom from the rest, and freedom to live our lives fully.
Dwell on that for a moment as you listen to this beautiful carol reworked for choir by Craig Courtney.
We no longer have to live in fear. When the angel commanded the Shepherds not to fear it was an echo of a greater reality, because Christ has come to set us free from all of it.
I think last year I mentioned something about European's fascination with mixing snow and Christmas carols. It's true that 'most every European Christmas carol in existence manages to sneak something in about either snow or the fact that it was a very cold winter night. And yet, the fact remains, that in the country of Israel depending on what time of year the incarnation actually took place, there was very probably no snow, and it's four to one that it wasn't a bitterly cold winter night. Regardless, I still sing these beautiful old carols, and a lot of them still contain very profound nuggets of truth, nonetheless.
I'm going to share with you one of my very favorite carols, up there with "Shepherd's Pipe Carol" and "It Came Upon a Midnight Clear."
This is "Es ist Ein Ros Einsprungen," or, as you will know it, "Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming."
I don't intend to say much about the carol this time about except the already stated fact can be applied as the unknown author managed to slip in "Amid the cold of winter" at the end of the first verse.
It's a beautiful carol and, quite profound in it's truth. I'll let you listen to it yourself, and tell me what you think. I'd love to know if you've ever heard this carol before.
My favorite versions are in German, but for your edification, I shall feature it here in my native tongue.
It is a curious fact that one of the most effective means of inspiring gratitude is by contemplating on the means of somebody worse off than oneself. Even more intriguing is the truth that almost all of us were better off in our earlier years than Christ was. I don't think any of us decked a manger as our first cradle. And I'd be rather surprised if you told me your parents had to flee the country shortly after you were born due to an evil king wanting you dead.
In this little known song I'm going to share with you, Isaac Watts, hymn writing genius that he was, uses this theme as a lullaby. In the form of a mother singing her baby to sleep. I fell in love with this simple little little verse that I'm thinking I might just memorize it and sing my babies to sleep with it someday.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you "A Cradle Hymn" wherein a mother first soothes her child with the recollection that he is far better off than our Lord at His incarnation, and then goes on to tell the Christmas story in simple terms followed by a prayer that her child might someday grow to love and trust this great God who did all this for Him.
It's a beautiful melody as well, and I think you'll enjoy this arrangement sung by the Westminster Abbey Choir. Need I say more?
The poem is a long one and understandably the arranger chose not to sing all the verses, but I'm including them all below because I think they're worth reading. I'll highlight the stanzas they do sing for your convenience in case you want to follow along.
It's a little hard at first to understand choirs singing in Cathedrals because of the huge amount of resonance unless you either know the words or have them in front of you. At least so I found at the beginning. After a while you sort of pick it up, until then, however, enjoy this lovely hymn and take a moment to thank our good Lord for becoming a baby out of love for us.
I don't know about you, but I like to not think sometimes. I often like to turn off one of the most precious gifts God gave to man because I hate facing whatever reality has just slapped me in the face and demanded some serious thought.
Yes, I pride myself on being a thoughtful person, but when something complicated in a bad way drops itself into my lap. I spend an awful lot of effort attempting not to think about it. Because maybe...if I don't think about it....it will just dissolve itself....and I won't have to worry about it. Problem is....it never does. It just gets bigger and messier until I'm forced to deal with it. Why we human beings like to do that to ourselves is a question for philosophers to ponder during lunch break. For now, I'll just be content with saying that, at least for me, not thinking about things because it takes work, or because I'm afraid, is not a good thing.
What does thinking have to do with Christmas? Glad you asked. On the surface, Christmas seems like a neat, tidy little story. We see Mary and Joseph in a clean, lighted stable with happy animals sauntering about politely giving them space. The hay in the manger looks like it was harvested just yesterday from a clean, dry field, and the shepherds look like they just stopped by on their way back from the salon to pay Jesus a visit. We have the three wise men(because if there were three gifts mentioned, naturally it follows that there must have been three and only three givers) who sit in with their three camels and beautifully wrapped gifts all kneeling before a happily beaming baby Jesus, loosely decked in a shinning white robe, who is never cold, and never suffers from indigestion.
It's very pretty isn't it? I like the manger scene. It's all so clear and simple and pleasant to look upon. So, why don't we just ignore the nitty-gritty truth of it all and keep our eyes fixed on the elegantly painted vernier? Philosopher that I am I've often wondered if sometimes, if a little falsehood is perhaps a little better for everyone than taking time to unfold the truth of things. After all who wants to think about the fact that the manger was probably rather smutty. The animals were annoyingly in the way(if they were even there, just because they laid him in a manger doesn't follow that cows and goats were present), the inn was probably dimly lit and overcrowded, and because of the bustle of the census, probably not the most hygienic atmosphere. We don't want to think about the fact that the shepherds smelled like, well, sheep. And most likely the looked and acted like the course, backwoodsmen type of people they were. We definitely don't want to think about a hoard of eastern travelers with their caravan and shouting servants and clothes that look like they've been through a desert, with gifts in untidy bundles and flustered a little because all this is extremely awkward and Mary and Joseph are tongue tied at this unexpected honor, while baby Jesus no more than two can't even pronounce a blessing on them for their pains.
In all actuality there is no record that the angels sang. From all accounts the Shepherds were perfectly terrified at their appearance, and they were most likely not beautiful women in colorful gowns hovering benevolently over the manger scene.
Yes, we don't want to think about that, do we? And yet, as I've gotten older, I've realized that if we remove the truth of the story we remove half of the beauty and greatness of the thing and turn the incarnation into a Thomas Kinkade painting...as beautiful as they are, they're not real, and they miss some of the grandeur of reality.
What is that grandeur? Well, to put it simply we miss the greatness of God in all this. We see Jesus treated as a king should be treated, more or less, we try as much as possible to apologize for the manger by making it as perfect as possible. We try to make the Shepherds look like fashion models who put on robes because we think Jesus deserves more than just Shepherds at His birth. We might be right, and yet, Jesus laid that aside when He came down, He was willing to take on a birth of obscurity and inconveniences and a villain's death out of love for mankind. And that, I think makes his love and greatness all the more apparent than if the whitewashed version were fact.
Secondly we miss the relatable aspect of it all. Very few of us find ourselves constantly in beautiful situations surrounded by flawless individuals in spotless arenas where even the animals know that we're the best thing since sliced bread.
We can related with the Shepherds cowering in a horrible fright at the angels, I think now it would be even more terrifying in this skeptical world we live in than it was for them in a more open-minded culture. We can feel with Mary's angst over having to put her baby in a dirty old manger, her disappointment that she had only swaddling clothes, the dress of the poor, to wrap up the child who she knew to be special.
We can sympathize with Joseph's annoyance at having to travel down to Bethlehem for a census held by those cursed Romans, especially when his new bride was about to have a child. We understand the embarrassed moment of awkward silence when a possy of foreign magi step into the house and announce that they've brought gifts for the new king. Our heart bleeds for a generation of slaughtered children that shortly followed because of a jealous king's paranoia. We often like to conveniently forget that part. And yet, that's real life and we can take comfort in the fact that Jesus was born like a normal baby to normal people with a few little signs but nothing especially grand or wonderful.
Okay, at least those are my thoughts on the subject...points to you if you read through this entire sermon. If you did, however, what are some things that you can think of that make the real story more comforting than the PG version?
In light of this I'm going to share an old Irish Carol which I know I've featured in a previous year but I love it so much that I'm going to do it again. Consider what God has done for you, let's not shy away from looking the facts between the eyes, we might find that they're actually not all that bad.
Good people all, this Christmastide, consider well, and bear in mind....what our good God for us has done, by sending His beloved son....
I recently heard a lecture regarding fiction writing, and one of the things said really stood out. He said, our job as writers is not to unravel a mystery but rather to infuse wonder into one. We aren't about removing mystery from the world, simply changing the way one feels about something grand and full of wonder. I found this a unique and clarifying perspective. After all isn't there that part in each of us that loves a good mystery not necessarily because it will be fun to solve but simply because it is mysterious? As for me, it sends shivers down my spine when I am forced to wonder about something I may never comprehend, and half the reason I love cloudy, rainy and foggy days is because it always feels mysterious.
Right now while my future is thickly obscured and my desires hang in a perilous balance, I've realized that wonder isn't such a bad thing. In fact it's a thing to be cherished, to be exulted in. There's nothing like a bit of mystery to get me up in the morning, and it's amazement and wonder that help push me to work harder than I thought to do before.
Wonder is one of those things I love about Christmas. It was, all around a bundle of paradoxes when you think about it. The God of the Universe becomes a helpless baby, born to poor parents and announced only to a group of despised shepherds at the bottom of the social ladder. Raised in obscurity in a town out of which nothing good ever came, and honored with kingly gifts only by foreigners. It was indeed an incident to wonder over. If I had decided to write a story about God coming down to earth to save his people, I wouldn't have written it like that...at least, not if I wanted to make it believable. And yet, that was how God chose to draft His history.
A wonder, indeed.
I'm going to share with you a beautiful old Christmas carol from our very own Appalachian mountains. A traditional American carol which does do a bit of stretching with regard to the truth, but beautiful nonetheless.
It truly captures, I think, some of the awe I feel when I think about the Christmas story.
"If Jesus had wanted for any wee thing, a star in the sky or a bird on the wing, He surely could have had it, 'cause He was the King...." ...I Wonder as I Wander.
Do you ever wonder? I know I do - often - and I wouldn't have it any other way.
"These days children have their TVs and video games," she said with a dismissive tone, "but back when I was young we used to play games together. We would get together with all the children in the neighborhood and go down to the brook together..." she sighed, "we used to do things together."
As I listened to dear Mrs. R. reminisce, I realized that her complaint was precisely why I like Christmas so much. We've done a good job in this tech age of ours to provide people with solitary entertainment. People can amuse themselves to death without ever setting foot outside their doorstep, or actually speaking with another individual.
Around the festive season, however, things tend to change a bit for most people. More parties are thrown, families gather together, special events are held, and at what other time of the year do people get together to sing from door to door? Certainly not in the bleak month of February!
I love the fact that the Christmas season is one of the busiest for us musicians. I get to spend more time making music with and for people than at any other time of the year. That, if nothing else is something to celebrate. And, I believe, it encapsulates what Jesus came to do on that still, silent night. To mend the broken, to sing to the sorrowing, to gather the scattered.
That, for me, is the heart of Christmas. Two weeks ago, as I sang in a glorious Christmas concert, I felt as though my heart would burst from sheer happiness. It's in those moments that I know for sure that music is my calling and Christ's birth has given me something to make music about.
So, whatever you're doing this Christmas...whether it's spending time with boring relatives, answering the same questions from your matchmaking aunt about why you're still single, hearing silent night for the one-hundredth time that day, rejoice in it, that you're making memories with real people and impacting real lives. We were meant to live our lives in community and Christmas is the one time where that prying relative of yours actually makes an effort to come see you, so take heart. All is not commercialism and an over-materialized manifestation of spoiled American culture. There's still some merriment, some love, some genuine community to be found, if you can manage to sweep aside the gaudy facade and love the individual.
That all sounded really cheesy, I know, but hopefully it amounted to some degree of practical rationality. I leave you with an old medieval song from the wassailing days of England which speaks more to the general aspect of the season rather than Christmas itself. As you listen to this jolly old song, rejoice and thank God for community. It's a precious gift not to be taken lightly.
See you tomorrow, and have a lovely Sunday evening!
Do forgive me, my friends, we are once again in that glorious time of year, and I began it by forgetting that it was twelve days to Christmas yesterday. So, this year, we shall have eleven carols of Christmas!
There we are.
This week began with something that North Carolina rarely sees before Christmas and hardly ever beholds for more than a day.
It snowed. Not only that, it snowed for two days in succession, on and off, and we got about eight inches in total, highly irregular, but greatly appreciated by me at least. There was a bit of disappointment at first regarding an event, it caused me to miss, but in the end, I was able to simply enjoy this, frosty and beautiful commodity we receive so little hereabouts.
It was nice to have snow on the ground and Christmas decorations set about, it made me feel like I was in one of Thomas Kinkade's paintings, which, in spite of everything, I love so very much. One distinctive feature of snow is that it muffles sound, greatly quieting the overall aural atmosphere. As I tramped along through the woods and snow covered pathways of the park behind my house, I noticed that I couldn't hear so clearly the cars zooming along main street, or coasting down Granite Blvd. all was still and peaceful, I could hear the birds twittering, probably in confusion over the foreign white, fluffy ice, and the occasional slither of branches relieving themselves of an overabundance of snowflakes. That was it, and there in the silence, I began to understand why Christmas and snow have been so seamlessly wedded, and why the trope continues to persist in spite of contrary historical data perversely warm weather patterns.
It's true that one thing about Jesus's birth on that night(or day) so long ago was that it was as inconspicuous and quietly managed as the falling snow is an understated white and muffles rather than creates sound. When Jesus was born there weren't any fireworks, kings standing around with bated breath, columns being feverishly typed up in the Bethlehem Times about a newborn monarch. Nobody knew, and, if possible, even fewer cared. For many people his birth was going to be a regular nuisance. And it was only the despised Shepherds and Eastern foreigners who were let in on the secret. "Still" is certainly a word to describe the incarnation.
It's certainly an example to myself, and a lesson regarding inconspicuous entrances, slow beginnings, mundane experiences. We like to be Cinderella arriving so fashionably late to the ball that every eye is turned on her. We like to be the lightning in the sky that announces its preeminence with a thunderous boom. Nobody wants to be the snow, falling without a sound, nothing colorful or distinct about it, ignored and regarded as a bother, and yet snow is one of the most beautiful and awe inspiring phenomenons of creation.
Maybe think about that as you listen to this beautiful Austrian Carol which makes an allusion to snow, and allusion to Christ's birth and an allusion to his coming without ever actually stating much of anything substantial. And yet, it's beauty lies in that it captures a feeling I imagine must have been present that night when Mary laid her baby in the manger, or the shepherds gathered round the infant in innocent wonder.
Think about the ignominy of that day, and rejoice in the beauty and wonder of a silent night and the peace brought forth by a babe in a manger.
Have you ever felt like the world is a burden you are honored to bear upon your shoulders in full? Has it ever seemed like you are the genius just waiting to be discovered? Who will save a billion lives through your ingenuity? Who will touch a thousand hearts with your wisdom and boundless love? Have you ever felt that every failure, every road block is a disappointment to the expectant world? That you are failing people and potential with every misstep and every hesitation?
Welcome to my world, dear readers, this is what I combat every single waking moment. We can put it into a simpler format here: Hubris.
I use Hubris here because the word tends to encompass a little more than Pride does to modern ears. Hubris is the embodiment of things we call the Hero Complex, the Savior Complex, or the God Complex. To a degree, everyone of us struggle with some hubris in our lives, but, I'm bringing this up now, because, even though I've always 'known' I had a problem with this, quite recently I was made to realize just how much it had taken a grip on my life due to my absolute horror and repugnance for failure, specifically in myself.
Enter no. 1: guy who wants a relationship with me when I know it won't work. I see a vision of my kindly pointing the way, like a welcoming light in the tempest. I will help my friend see that I am not the right one for him, but we will part cordially and remain friends for the rest of our lives.
Here's what actually happened. He felt hurt, misunderstood, and unfairly treated. I wound up sobbing myself to sleep on my bedroom floor because I felt like I'd made a muck of things. The next morning, I was told repeatedly that such things happen, I couldn't put the blame entirely on myself, that he would be okay and I could move on from this a wiser individual. All true, and yet, why do I still feel that all the fault is mine? Why do I worry that I will never get married because I'm horrible at relationships?
Enter no. 2: November writer's challenge, NaNoWriMo, in which I write 50,000 words over the course of a month. I can just see it. Each day I write a little more than the minimum word count. I finish two days ahead to the envy and admiration of all my writing buddies. I write a novel that's ready to publish after the second revision.
Here's what actually happened. I fell behind on the fourth day, I still haven't caught up, I fear that maybe with all the things going on, I might not catch up in time. And to top it all off, I know this story will need at least ten revisions before I get even remotely pleased with it. Everybody tells me I'm doing great. I've gotten farther on this story than I've ever gotten before, and, considering that the first year I tried this in 2014 and quit on day four with a grand total of 125 words, with my word count at nearly 22,000 now, I'm doing great. And of course it will need revisions, that's the best part of writing a novel. All true, and yet, why do I feel like a colossal failure? Why do I question whether I will ever publish a book?
Enter no. 3: Opera which I have been working for quite some time which I am basing off of book one of Edmund Spenser's Faerie Queene. I plan to finish the libretto by the end of Summer 2018, and to have piano reductions of the most of the major arias scored by the end of the year. I can see it coming off grandly, and becoming wildly popular for it's unusually sensible theme and inspiring message.
Here's what actually happened. I'm still only two thirds of the way through crafting the libretto, and I'm still rewriting parts of it that I'm not completely happy with. As for the music, so far, I've only gotten a few melodies on paper, and feel greatly my incompetency when it comes to writing down the harmonies I can hear in my head. Considering I've never written more than a string quartet in terms of multi-instrumental work, people tell me I'm doing just fine. Besides, Operas can take years to write, and that's perfectly all right. All true, and yet, why do I feel like I'm a horrible musician who's just playing at something he's not good enough to take seriously? Why do I fear that my dreams of becoming a composer will never be realized?
The list could go on. My voice isn't where I want it to be. I'm a violin teacher and yet I still often struggle with some of the most basic techniques, I have worked so hard at learning fiddle style but still struggling just to not sound like a Classical musician. I've been trying so hard to get up a regular exercise routine but keep missing days due to lack of motivation on my part. I try to keep practicing my sight singing, but after one very demotivating rejection, practice has been less than regular.
Where am I going with all this complaining? (If you're a first time reader, please don't think I complain like this on every blog post...or do I) ;)
I hope for one thing it encourages anyone out there whose felt like everyone has his life together except for him, that that is certainly not the case.
For the second, all this was, like any good story, helping the reader understand the sheer need I've been having for a willingness to accept failures as part of life. Not to settle with failure, no, but to be okay with them happening.
Recently, a writer who's list I managed to get subscribed to, sent out an email detailing a struggle in a very similar situation.
His light bulb moment became mine. You see, what if God's plan is for me to fail ten-thousand ways before I conquer? What if all the imperfections in my life are building up towards one grand perfection?
What if failing multiple times is what's going to make my Opera so meaningful, my novel so impactful, and my relationships so much more loving? What if in the course of these failures, I'm not actually falling back down the mountain, but taking one painful step closer to the sparkling goal?
Someday, I am certain, all these failures and all these flaws will bring forth something beautiful, wrought of sweat, tears, and missteps, and if that something wonderful goes on to impact ten people for good, it will be worth it.
Thomas Edison failed hundreds of times through the course of years it took him to successfully craft the light-bulb which would go on to light the homes all over the entire globe. Simply trying to thread the carbonized filament into the light-bulb without it breaking failed at least fifty times.
Surely I can't give up after far less than that. I know this opera is something I have to write if it takes me a lifetime. And if it doesn't come to fruition until I'm hoary haired, that will be okay.
You know, I've realized that a Lifetime of Failures is not at all the same thing as a Failed Lifetime. I can have a lifetime of 'successes' and still ultimately fail, because I gave up too easily. Because I couldn't take the failure.
So, there we have it, my enduring readers. If you read all the way through that, you have my everlasting respect and heartfelt gratitude. What about you? What are your failings that God is calling you to push through? How can I pray for you as you wade through all those missteps and imperfections?
I'll leave you now with a song of thanksgiving in honor of, well, Thanksgiving Day, of course. Don't you just hate the way people skip right over Thanksgiving in the mad dash for Christmas? It's such an important Holiday and half the people in North Carolina already have their Christmas tree up. Anyway, I shan't do that, so I'll end this litany of failures with a song of thanks for one of God's most precious gifts to man, in my opinion. Music.
Don't groan, what did you think it was going to be? Mickey Mouse....I don't think so.
Anyway, this song by my favorite modern composer, John Rutter, is absolutely stunning both in its beauty and its profundity. I'm including the lyrics below, so you can understand what is being sung.
Eternal God, we give you thanks for music,
Blest gift from heaven to all your servants here on earth:
In time of joy a crown, in sorrow consolation;
companion through our days of tears and mirth.
We give you thanks for every sound of beauty:
for
sweetest harmony that echoes in our hearts.
For melodies that
soar on high like birds at morning,
For voice and instrument in all their parts.
As we are blest, so may our gifts bless others:
May hearts be touched and spirits lifted up anew.
Let music draw together those who live as
strangers
Bring joy to those we love, in thankfulness true.
And when at last we come into your kingdom,
All discord over and all earthly labor done,
Then sound and silence yield before one equal music,
Okay, here's the post you've all been waiting for...maybe? I know I've been pretty quiet on the blogger front recently as to what my future aspirations are, but I figured it's time to come out with it and tell you all what I've been brewing lately.
In less than a week I will be applying to one of the top ten most prestigious Universities in the world, ranked most prestigious outside the U.S. Not only does that make it one of the hardest to get into, but also demands a highly rigorous course of study.
The School: University of Cambridge, England.
I know, kind of big. So, with these obstacles, why am I, Christianna Elise Hellwig, an unknown musician in NC who studied at a no name institute in New Jersey, attempting to get into one of the most famed Schools in the land?
Well firstly, my friends, let's clear something up. Neither the difficulty of study nor a cut-throat admission process is a good reason not to go to a particular school. Why? Because I believe God is in charge of my destiny. Sure I do have to weigh the odds. If I scraped through college with a 2.9 GPA and everyone who heard me sing had to cringe every time I went for a high note, then maybe that would be a good indication that a prestigious school was not a good choice for further education. However, as that is not the case, and I know I do have a reasonable chance from a purely pragmatic stance, I can't let the difficulty of climbing the mountain deter me from attempting it. God is my strength. If He wants me to climb the mountain, He'll equip me with the abilities to do it.
Now that we've settled that issue, why do I think God wants me to climb this particular mountain? Well, my dear ladies and gentlemen, if I were to explain that to you I should have to write far more than any of you would ever care to read so I shall keep it concise, and you'll just have to take my word for it that, as for any situation, there's always a lot more to any story than what I can possibly tell in a single blog post.
So, first off, why am I going for a Masters in music?
Those of you who know me better may recall my saying either that I wasn't going to go higher than a Bachelor's and if I did I would get a degree in Philosophy or apologetics or something along that line. Well, I'll tell you, I tried. I started the application process twice for a MPhil. at the local seminary and never finished it. There wasn't any obvious reason why I didn't. The requirements were simple. I only had to take a couple really simple prerequisites, it would be so convenient studying at a seminary that was fifteen minutes away from home, I already knew I liked the atmosphere, and I knew that unless I couldn't fulfill the prerequisites, I was pretty much guaranteed admission. I had everything going for me, and the thought of a Master's in Philosophy as a title very much tickled my ear. So why did I throw that away?
It takes a few months sometimes to start asking the right questions, I think. I know it took me way longer than it should have to ask a question I ought to have asked from the very beginning: Lord, is this what you want me to do?
I asked because I was driven to frustration and was getting torn to pieces by doubt and self-questioning as to what should be my next step. I thought I had it all planned out, so why was I so unhappy and befuddled? Why was I suddenly showing an unforgivable interest in music instead? Desparation drove me to ask that simple little question, and his answer came back, clear as a first grade math problem: No.
I could just see Him at that moment leaning against the wall, arms folded with a patient smile across his features looking down at me as I, all wise and knowing in my own eyes, attempted to map out my life the way I intended it and just waiting until I messed things up so badly that I consulted Him. And when I did, he gave his answer, just that, nothing more.
Angry, I threw my hands in the air, that was not what I wanted to hear. "Fine," I pouted, "What do you want me to do?"
He smiled that indulgent fatherly smile at me once more, "What about music?" He answered me with a question.
"What about it?"
"Well, what do you think I gave you that voice for? Do you really think I gave it to you so you could tuck it away when you thought it was good enough and only bring it out when it pleased you for your own enjoyment?"
"But God," I whined, "I don't want to be a professional singer."
He gave me that smile again, "I never said you should be a professional singer, but because I gave you that voice and you dedicated it to me, shouldn't I get to dictate when and how you use it?"
This was the turning point for me. And when I heard a chapel sermon on the parable of the talents, that nailed it. It was obvious if I wanted to fulfill my dream of composing, I needed more musical training, and my voice, though good, had plenty of faults and really needed more pushing than could be gained by weekly private lessons with no other incentive to work at it than that I was paying for the lessons. This was the first lesson I learned. My voice belonged to God and so did my musical ability. I thought it would be much grander if He had called me to foreign missions, or maybe called me to use my voice on street corners and in lost places to reach people for Christ, but He didn't. I may never be called to foreign missionary work or the life of a traveling evangelist, but for now I don't know that. He is calling me to higher education, though, I need to develop the talent He has granted. So, that was just a brief summery...(I know what you're thinking: Brief?!! Christianna, I'm ready to go to bed!!! Bear with me)...all that to say, when I was at this point mentally I gave up my dream of an MPhil and started looking into MMus programs.
Okay so, now you understand why I decided to attempt an MMus, but why Cambridge? So, at first I was just looking at colleges in the area, thinking I wanted to try to stay right here, but there was nothing in driving distance that looked promising, and several didn't even offer a Masters in Music. Well, I could have looked into some of the bigger music colleges in America, but then I thought, "If I'm going to move somewhere for school, maybe I should start thinking outside the box." About that time I stumbled across a web post titled "Why you should study overseas," which cited several good reasons for that action including the claim that cost was lower and the time spent studying was less. After reading this I did a bit of checking and found out that in the UK prices were indeed far lower, and if I chose to study at Cambridge I could complete a masters in music in a piddling ten months.
To be honest, these two things were mostly what made up my mind in favor of the University but I had to be sure that I had better reasons for studying overseas than that it was cheaper and faster. After all, the quality of the education is just as important! :) Well, it didn't take too much digging to discover that England offered exactly the kind of study program I wanted. Smaller classes, one on one mentoring, less emphasis on tests and more on practical demonstration of knowledge. It all added up, plus, England has such a rich choral tradition and at Cambridge I would have the privilege of studying under some of the best current leaders in that field. Being that I want to compose especially choral music, this would be the perfect place for me.
I chose Cambridge over Oxford because it seems to be the case that for music Oxford has a bigger emphasis on performance while Cambridge emphasizes theory and research a little more. And while I do want to develop my voice and make it the best it can be, I also want to develop my understanding of theory and musical history as well. Cambridge, it seems will balance the two a bit better, or so I'm told. In the end it doesn't so much matter, I think, but for now, Cambridge works. Who knows, maybe if Cambridge rejects me I could get accepted to Oxford instead! ;) Kidding...though, it is a valid option.
Anyway, there you have it, my friends. You have my deepest respect and gratitude if you made it through all that and have at least some coherent understanding of what I'm doing and why. :)
Alright, I'm going to close this with a beautiful recording of a song I'll be singing soon with the Gettys in Nashville...what does that have to do with Cambridge? Well, it was written by John Rutter, my favorite contemporary composer who is a graduate of Cambridge! Isn't that great? Knowing he went there didn't influence my decision of Cambridge over Oxford at all...well maybe a little bit....but we won't think about that. ;)
Enjoy this lovely song and I'll keep you updated as I find things out. If I do go, I'll have to get full scholarship, so that's something to be praying for right now. I'm up in Ohio currently with my good friend and accompanist who shares my name to record my audition songs....that's been fun.
Maybe if a lot of you read this post and leave a comment and you can get a few of your friends to subscribe to my blog I'll share the finished recordings with you... :)
Okay, no more advertising, I promise...(I still mean what I wrote above, though).
This one is conducted by the man himself. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Oh be joyful in the Lord, my dear readers, for He is good!
Two days ago was Independence day. Some people go to the beach on that day, some host a barbecue party. Some set off an abundance of fire crackers. Some use it as an excuse for large family gatherings.
I went to a cemetery.
It wasn't a historic one with any auspicious monuments either. Simply an average run-of-the-mill cemetery which I reached by trekking through a school parking lot and a tobacco field.
This might have been more appropriate on memorial day, but I suppose that, as much as I wanted to rejoice with everyone else in the founding of our country, I wanted to remember those who had died to keep our country the way it was made to be. Yes, even in the little Rolesville Cemetery, fallen soldiers are laid to rest. Inscriptions such as, "He died so that others would live free," "He served his country," or "A life of sacrifice" engrave simple, stone plaques decorated only with a single American flag.
To keep a country free in a turbulent world like ours, lives will continue to be offered. And in this day and age, people so quickly minimize that sacrifice.
I hear it all the time. You probably do too.
It was just a wasted life. War is always in vain because there's always another one.
Better to just give in than so many people die.
"War, what is it good for? .... Absolutely nothing!"
You see, I'd like to propose that war is not useless. Horrible, to be sure, but necessary, nonetheless. I'd like to propose that it is better to die than to allow evil men to commit mass genocide or squash multitudes of helpless people under a malevolent thumb. That's what I like about being an American. Americans have always, on the whole, understood the importance of personal freedom, even if this days it's been taken to a rather irrational individualistic fervor. Americans, for the most part, still fiercely believe in an individual's right to think, act and live the way he chooses, so far as it does not encroach on another individual's right to the same. People are sinful, of course, which is why, even here, we still have abortion, mass shootings, and theft which blatantly deny those rights.
Yet through it all, the American spirit has survived to be known as independent and fiercely free. For that I am grateful, which is why I found myself in a cemetery on the fourth of July.
I visited the grave of an old friend who greeted us with a delightful pound-cake when we first moved into the neighborhood eleven years ago. I read the beautiful inscriptions on many of the gravestones; the hopeful Bible verses, carved into the awful beauty of the granite markers. I brushed away grass from the departed veteran's flat stones and wept for the passing of those formerly and recently who had moved on either into a lovelier life or a darker death. I thanked God for those passed on who had formed, founded, and fallen for Rolesville, as Americans have done for cities and towns all over this vast country.
It matters to me that I remember those in this little town on this auspicious American holiday because as G.K. Chesterton so eloquently reminds us, "The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."
It comes down to this: the soldiers from Boston died because they loved Boston, the general from Richmond fought and died because he loved Richmond. The Lieutenant from Lexington and the Colonel from Concord fell fighting in the revolutionary war because they cared about Concord and Lexington, and the soldiers from Rolesville who even now fall on the battlefield, die, I'd like to think, because they love Rolesville.
Let's not minimize their sacrifice by saying it was in vain, or war is stupid. Let's take our national holidays as moments of quiet to remember and be grateful. Any opportunity we have, and freedom we posses access to, came as a result of people dying, and such a reality we should never forget or allow to cool within our hearts.
*bows*
And that, ladies and Gentlemen is my speech for the fourth of July. Go forth and fight for what's right, and honor those who died for it.
I shall leave you with a piece by one of my most favorite composers, a most brilliant man who wrote some of his most magnificent music out of an inspiration by America.
Yes, you know the name, the only Czech composer of monumental significance(sorry Smetana) Antonin Dvorak!
In honor of this patriotic time of the year, I shall delight you with his American String Quartet. It's so beautiful, it really is, you will hear me whistling snatches of it around town, or playing bits on my violin when I'm bored....did I mention that Dvorak was brilliant?
Yes, I'm quite aware that it is 25 minutes long. May I humbly suggest that you leave this tab open while you work on some writing or some boring accounting and allow this lovely piece to relieve some of the monotony or inspire to write better? Or, better yet, close the door, fling a cloth over the mirror(very important!), turn up the volume and invent your own dance to the music. This is not your typical pop song. You will not be doing the same movement over and over again to a mind-numbing beat, you'll be so engrossed that you will spend twenty-five minutes exercising without even realizing it because it was so enjoyable! :)
Okay, okay, fine, I know none of you are the Classical music fanatic I am, however, do listen to it!
I've never met anybody who finds his joy in saying goodbye. In truth, there have been multiple occasions when I secretly rejoiced to say goodbye, but aside from those, ahem, very justifiable occasions *coughs*, farewells are rarely pleasant occasions. In fact, it's interesting how the phrase is softened in German. "Auf Wiedersehen," is literally translated Until We Meet Again.The goodbye comes with the hopeful assurance that there will be a reunion.
I think perhaps, it's because in the pith of our souls, we all understand that goodbyes aren't meant to be. We are eternal beings, we long for a reunion which never ends.
At least that's the way I see it. This year I had to say goodbye not just to some very wonderful people, but to a whole chapter of my life. I've been taking violin lessons for about five years now, with the same teachers, a wonderful husband and wife team, and this year they and I both realized that it was time for me to move on. They felt that there was nothing more they could help me with that I couldn't to on my own, and I realized I'd plateaued. When taking music lessons, it often helps after several years to switch teachers, get a different perspective, take from someone who sees from a different angle, and I've been told five years is about the typical length to stay with one teacher.
Even with all that, my teachers were wonderful people. I'd gotten to know most of the student community and look forward to the recitals. This last recital with them in May was hard, as I was comfortable with them all and the community. However, it was time.
Now as I'll probably start looking for a new teacher this fall, as well as preparing for a possible set of new goodbyes(more to follow on that later). I feel as though I've closed an old chapter of my life. I just turned a page, if you will.
I'm an adult now, I have a Bachelors degree, I'm twenty-one with all the legal rights and privileges of a grown-up. My violin teachers were my last carry-over from my teenage years, now, I'm no longer there either, my whole world has changed, and while it's a good thing, there's a part of me that looks backward with some sadness.
Okay enough reminiscing. I've never shared any of my violin playing with you all before. Because, as you know, I've a difficult time sharing the parts of me that I know are less than perfect. However, for better or for worse, I'll share with you today my last violin recital with first violin teachers. I played the first and second movements of Handel's second violin Sonata, and I made a boatload of mistakes. To tell the truth, this piece was a little anti-climactic for me. I didn't really picture this as my last recital piece, it certainly wasn't ranked among my favorite, but my teachers were pushing for it, and I thought it would be a great way to honor them by playing something they selected.
It is a pretty piece, though. Here you are! :)
So, now do you understand why I've never shared any of my playing with you in the past? ;) I definitely understand the violin better in theory than I do in practice, but that's what makes me a great teacher, I think. Imagine if I were a great performer but not so great at imparting to others what I knew? I can't even begin to comprehend on what I would have missed out on life!
So there we have it. One chapter in my life is closed, I imagine that this is the first of many goodbyes, but I hope that most of them, like the German words, will be only until we meet again.
Most of you who know me, also are quite aware that I've never been the popular girl; the life of the party, the girl who everybody wants to be because she's always encircled by her friends.
On the contrary, I'm always on the fringe of the conversation; I'm the girl who doesn't even circle the popular one. I'm the one who stands against the wall, minding her own business and forbidding with her eyes anyone who might contemplate doing something else.
Don't mistake my meaning, this doesn't mean I'm not well liked or that I have some sort of trouble talking with people. Well, okay, we all admit the latter issue is difficult for most of as much of the time. However, I don't think I have any greater problem with it than anyone else. No, my problem is a little different then all that. My problem is one of my own making.
You see, because talking with people took work and wasn't instinctive to my nature, I immediately gave up on it. People were difficult; they were far more difficult than long division and quadratic equations. And I hated not being able to solve things. I used to tell myself, "Well, it's okay. God is supposed to be my best friend anyway; I don't need anybody else."
Over time I grew rather proud of this fact. I didn't need friends like everybody else. I didn't have to stand around and gab with people. I could be happy escaping into a book and movie. And the great things about those was they never hurt your feelings or contradicted you(at least not in a way that you couldn't instantly talk down) like people did. They never made you jealous because their moral character was far nobler than yours. In a book or movie, I could always feel nobler and more righteous than the protagonists.
It was all a lie....
Slowly, over time, my forced isolation dug a hole in my spirit, a deep black, twisty, slimed-up worm hole, eating into my heart. I was lonely and I took it out on God. "You said you would be enough, Lord! I prayed to you, I read the Bible. I did the things I thought I was supposed to be doing. So why do I feel so depressed and alone?" It was around that time that I learned an interesting thing about myself....my top love language is physical touch. Huh, Ironic isn't it? God gave me, the person who hated being around people, a wiring that needs personal contact with people to feel loved. Touch is a sensitive thing for me: I shy away from the touch of people I don't like because it means so much to me. I wish the people who I do like would keep holding my hand for longer than it takes to make a greeting because it makes me feel valued and appreciated; it satisfies a void in my heart, makes that worm hole feel a little less slimy. For a while I couldn't reconcile this contradiction.
I needed people, otherwise I starting thinking really silly things and getting extra depressed. But God was supposed to be enough...right?
Right!
You see, of course I knew the passage in Genesis. Every good Christian knows that one: It is not good for man to be alone. Yeah, right, all good, but I wasn't alone, I had God, right?
Wrong!
I suddenly realized what God was trying to tell me when I reflected on that passage in the throes of my despair a couple years ago. Adam walked with God in the cool of the garden; he was perfect, and yet God's solution was not: "Okay Adam, you need to spend a bit more time walking with me in the cool of the day." Nope, He said, "It is not good for man to be alone." And proceeded to make a helper suitable to him: Eve. Another person. A human being! And then (the atrocity) God didn't just say it was good, He said it was very good! So, here's what I was missing .... this is so exciting guys, which is why I have to share this with you all! You see, God made us with bodies for a reason, he didn't just give us human companionship because "oops, you've got this body that feels certain things." Goodness, no. Our bodies were given by God and are not some sinful projections of a fallen world. When we're resurrected, just so you know, we're not going to be disembodied spirits floating around on clouds (whoever invented that really must have spent too much time by himself!). No, my friends, what God makes is good, and as such, human companionship wasn't just a solution to a problem, it was a gift. It was a gift because it was a mirror of what He Himself had: perfect companionship with equals. I.e. The Trinity. Notice emphasis on equals; people are God's gift to us not just for their own sake, thought that is a part of it, but because they are God's physical manifestations to us here on earth. Alright, that came out sounding a little new age like. What I mean is that we can't complain that God made us and then runs things from a distance. The most poignant truths I've ever heard, the most helpful things done for me, the times I've felt most deeply God's love for me are not when I'm alone, but when I'm with people, personally. Not over the internet, not a few words in an email, not even a hand-written letter, though, those come the closest because they are so physically based. Isn't that fascinating? At least for me, God gave me my love language as a way to push me towards Himself. He forced me to see that, the way I was going to get more of Him was to get more of people. Real people, real time spent in the real world, serving others and allowing them to serve me. Listen, I'm not denying the fact that being surrounded by the wrong people is worse than having nobody.
Choose your friends wisely, but make sure you have them. When a friend wants you to sit with her instead of sitting alone, maybe for once it's not about how you would rather sit alone but because she wants your companionship, and wants you to feel loved. Accept the invitation.
It's about dying to yourself and finding the best joy in that.
It's about finding God in the most unlikely of places.
And, as corny as it sounds, it's about seeing His smile and hearing His laugh in the face and voice of a friend.
Because "In as much as you have done it to the least of these my brethren," says the Lord, "You have done it unto me." For the first time I understand that passage; or at least, understand a particular facet for the first time!
Alright, bravo to you if you read through that lengthy set of musings...it's time for some music!
One of my favorite things to do with people is to dance to my favorite music: Waltzes. Someday, a dream of mine is to dance a Viennese waltz with the love of my life to one of the grand old waltzes I love so dearly. I'm going to share one of my favorites with you now. As you listen to this, grab your sweetheart and swing into a dance, even if you have no idea how to waltz, just make up your own steps, feel the music, and rejoice in the companionship as you laugh at yourselves and each other!
Okay, the introduction is slow, but listen past that, please. I'm almost certain you'll enjoy this waltz as much as I do. And if you're alone, seriously, get up and dance, close the door if you need to, and let the music take you away. You'll be breathless, laughing and very happy by the end of it!
Alright, I'm going to go spend some time with some little people of my acquaintance. Until we meet again. ~ Christianna
