Travel is always iffy this time of year, in this part of the world. We live in the Rocky Mountains, but our adult children have all followed the jobs to prairie cities. It is understood that estimated times of arrival are followed with a “weather permitting” in most of Canada in the winter. We will be there by a certain time if –if the passes are open, if the roads have been plowed, if no trucks have jack-knifed on the icy curves, if the winds don’t whip up white-out conditions, if the car starts again after we stop for lunch…
One year the nine hour trip to our grandchildren’s house for Christmas took two days. We had to stop half way and wait for the plows and sanding trucks. It was nearly minus 40 Celsius when we reached Northern Alberta and in spite of a good heater our feet were freezing. Icicles actually formed inside the car from our breath. We were frankly a little stressed and rather grumpy when we pulled up in front of the house.
As we trudged up the walk on crunchy, squeaky snow (very cold snow is loud), necks retreating into our parkas like frazzled turtles, our little grandson flung open the front door and yelled, “Did you KNOW about canny canes?”
“What, honey?”
“DID YOU KNOW ABOUT CANNY CANES? Why nobody tell me about canny canes afore?”
He pulled us into the house and before we had time to take our fogged-up glasses off or share hugs all around, he shoved green and red striped candy canes into our mitted hands. “You lick them like this! But first you should take off the plastic. Did you KNOW about canny canes? Wow! They so good!”
He spun around the room doing a hilarious canny cane dance. “Why you didn’t tell me?”
The strain of the previous two days disappeared entirely as we experienced joy through a three-year old’s taste buds.
Sometimes I feel like that about Jesus Christ. I want to fling open the door and shout, “Did you KNOW about Jesus? Did you KNOW how good He is? Why nobody tell me about this good Jesus afore? Wow! He’s so good!!” Then I do my funny little God-is-so-good dance. You should see it.
Sing to the Lord, all you godly ones! Praise his holy name. For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime! Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.
I was very young, three, maybe four years old, but I remember what it feels like to be in a car driving over somebody. I remember the frost making dramatic patterns of the red flashing lights on the back window of the Olds. I remember Daddy taking the blanket wrapped around my thin stockinged legs to cover the man up. I remember the anxious adult voices in the street.
“…right out in front of me. I couldn’t stop. The ice…”
I remember Mommy’s voice making puffs of clouds in the cold night air as she held my little brother and I down in the back seat.
I remember the hushed voices in the kitchen saying, “We can’t let this spoil the children’s Christmas.”
I remember Grandma taking us into the bedroom and telling us that Santie Claus was on the roof. Could we hear him?
I asked her where the dead man was now.
She said Rudolph’s nose was glowing extra brightly when he learned this was my house.
I asked her if my Daddy was in trouble for driving over him.
She said she could hear Santie Claus eating the milk and cookies we put out for him in the living room.
Then someone opened our door and we were ushered into a room where presents now spilled out from under the tinselled tree.
Mommy said, “Oh look what Santa brought you!
Her eyes were red.
I was very young, three, maybe four years old, but I knew it was my job not to spoil the grown-ups’ Christmas. I squealed with feigned glee and hugged the doll sitting in front of the tree. It was an Oscar performance. Mommy smiled.
Daddy said, “Here, Honey. Open this one.”
His hands were still shaking.
I wondered if the man was with grown-up Jesus in heaven now -and if Jesus liked my blanket too.
Years later, when my children were scattered around the world and I was procrastinating putting up a tree, I admitted out loud that I hated Christmas. What right did merriness and hustle and bustle have to barge in and try to hide pain and sorrow behind sparkly red skirts as if it didn’t exist? Who gave this season permission to trump reality?
I know I was not the only one. There is something about the images of happy harmonious families that makes the first Christmas with an empty chair at the table excruciatingly harder to bear.
There is something about an entire tray of shortbread cookies on a table for one that makes loneliness stab deeper.
There is something about mistletoe and perfume commercials that makes unchosen celibacy crave illegitimate intimacy even more.
There is something about joyful carols in a church full of contented faithful that makes the struggle to believe feel like being cast into outer darkness.
There is a dark side to the Christmas story that doesn’t make it to the ceramic nativity scenes. We bring in the Wise Men, with their odd assortment of gifts, ahead of schedule for the sake of convenient story-telling, but we skip over the part where a jealous despot sent men to kill all the innocent two-year old boys and babies in the sweetly lying, still little town of Bethlehem –men who had to do his despicable dirty work, and then probably went home to a life-time of post-traumatic stress disorder from what their eyes and ears could not block out in the wine-stupoured nights to follow.
Then there was baby Jesus’ adopted father, Joseph, awoken by an angel with an urgent warning to get up and run to a country where he would be a refugee, confused by language and custom, doubly rejected for something that was not his fault, yet responsible for a family. He probably heard reports of the grief their presence had caused the parents in Bethlehem. Perhaps he had survivor’s guilt as well.
He was born into a dark place, and a dark time, this child. In the fullness of time, the Bible says. The angelic promises relayed by terrified farm hands, and the words spoken by two wrinkled old prophets in the temple had to feed this little family’s hopes for a long time. Joseph died before ever seeing what the boy was to become, yet he dared to bear his wife’s shame by marrying a pregnant woman; he dared to get up and follow the instructions from a mere dream to protect a child that wasn’t even his. He dared to obey. He dared to hope.
There was no rockin’ around a holly jolly Christmas tree with lights strung across the market place and the smell of turkey and stuffing wafting out of windows in that town. The story the Bible tells looks despair and pain right in the face. There is no denial of feelings here. And yet, and yet…
There is hope.
The sorrow of Christmas is also the blessing of Christmas, because this pain is why He came. Jesus said he came to destroy the works of the devil. Jesus said he came that we might have life, and have it abundantly.
There is hope in the midst of darkness.
“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light…”
Unto the hills around do I lift up my longing eyes: oh whence for me shall my salvation come, from whence arise? From God the Lord doth come my certain aid, from God the Lord who heaven and earth hath made.
Translation: Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. (Isaiah 41:10) Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. (Isaiah 43:1)
There were shepherds abiding in the fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo, the angel of the lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them. And they were sore afraid.
And the angel said unto them, “Fear not!”
For behold I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, Glory to God! Glory to God in the highest!”
The seventy came back triumphant. “Master, even the demons danced to your tune!”
Jesus said, “I know. I saw Satan fall, a bolt of lightning out of the sky. See what I’ve given you? Safe passage as you walk on snakes and scorpions, and protection from every assault of the Enemy. No one can put a hand on you. All the same, the great triumph is not in your authority over evil, but in God’s authority over you and presence with you. Not what you do for God but what God does for you—that’s the agenda for rejoicing.”
At that, Jesus rejoiced, exuberant in the Holy Spirit. “I thank you, Father, Master of heaven and earth, that you hid these things from the know-it-alls and showed them to these innocent newcomers. Yes, Father, it pleased you to do it this way.
“I’ve been given it all by my Father! Only the Father knows who the Son is and only the Son knows who the Father is. The Son can introduce the Father to anyone he wants to.” (Luke 10:17-20 The Message Paraphrase)
“Seek the Kingdom of God above all else, and he will give you everything you need.
‘So don’t be afraid, little flock. For it gives your Father great happiness to give you the Kingdom.'” (Luke 12: 31,32 ESV)
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone. (Isaiah 9:2)
You must understand that God has not sent his Son into the world to pass sentence upon it, but to save it—through him. Any man who believes in him is not judged at all. It is the one who will not believe who stands already condemned, because he will not believe in the character of God’s only Son. This is the judgment—that light has entered the world and men have preferred darkness to light because their deeds are evil. (John 3 Phillips version)
If my people who are called by my name humble themselves, and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sin and heal their land. (2 Chronicles 7:14)
Mourning today for the 20 children killed in the U.S. and the thousands of children killed in Syria and the millions of children killed in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Which comes first, the music or the music theory? I love this video, not just for its cleverness, but because it is symbolic of a conflict which keeps showing up in my life.
Music or music theory?
Story or grammar and spelling?
Photos or apertures and shutter speeds?
Art or value and colour theory?
At the moment this is the question that threatens friendships between people I love: Is correct practice (orthopraxy) and knowledge of correct doctrine (orthodoxy) equally important?
Dare I say no without upsetting amateur and professional theologians everywhere?
Probably not, but I’m going to say it anyway.
Notice I did not say doctrine is unimportant! I am saying just as there are those who can produce wonderful music who don’t know a leading note from a submediant, there are many fine followers of Christ who can produce the melodies and harmonies of the love of Jesus Christ without knowing soteriology from eschatology. For them the “music” is intuitive. They feel it, they live it, they experience it, they move to it.
Alas, having a firm grasp of music theory does not necessarily result in beautiful music. Although I appreciate the clear enunciation of the singer in this video (sorry, dude) he’s no Pavarotti or Mario Lanza, neither of whom were music-reading, sight-singing wizards. (The rumour that Pav couldn’t read music was apparently false; he just didn’t read as quickly as some.)
I admit musicians who cannot read music, or who do not understand music theory are at a disadvantage. Even the brilliant Sir Paul McCartney admitted to that when he needed help translating his Liverpool Oratorio into written form. My mother, who never had the advantage of music lessons, could play classical piano music like Liszt’s Liebestraum by ear. The problem was that she got the rhythm wrong in the same spot for years. It drove me nuts, but I could not prove to her that the composer didn’t intend it to be played that way from the score, because the score was “a bunch of chicken scratches” to her. I finally learned to leave her to enjoy making music the way she liked it. It wasn’t as if she was passing her version on to anyone else, but the problem with not being familiar with written music meant that she could not easily check to see if her orthopraxy lined up with orthodoxy.
This is the problem some gung-ho Christians have when they have not taken the time or applied the self-discipline necessary to know the scriptures. They tend to neglect checking that all their practices line up with the Bible. They are dependent on others to study and learn the material for them first, either to teach them on a deeper level, or to bring correction when some ideas are off. The whole area of correction is awkward for both the receiver and the giver, like it was for Mom’s Liebestraum and me (or for my granddaughter and my French. She’s been in a French immersion school and she asked me not to speak French to her because she was “only a little girl, and it was embarrassing to have to correct an adult’s French.”)
Even though I hated music theory (it was so time-consuming and lacked immediate reward –and I was lazy) I learned it –sort of. I first studied the UK terminology through Trinity College of London, then had to learn different words when I changed to the North American system for the Royal Conservatory. (Also typical of academics is the tendency for each school to develop and defend their own vocabulary.)
On the other hand, after years of having musical creativity squashed by the reigning pedagogy of the time, I could only play written music, without variation, as the composer intended. It wasn’t until I tossed a lot of rigid music theory out of my head that I was free to improvise and compose my own music. (Although I still worry about not doing it “right.”) Sadly I was nearly in my mid-twenties before I sang for audiences who came to concerts simply to enjoy themselves and who were not (for the most part) examiners, adjudicators, master class experts, critics, concert masters, directors or worse – rival’s mothers. Most of them didn’t care if I was 1/16th late on an entry –and not one of them ever asked me a question on music theory. All they wanted was to hear the music performed by someone with skill who could feel it from the heart. Their generous response shocked me.
Now music theory does have its own kind of beauty. The circle of fifths has a God’s-in-his-heaven-and-all’s-right-with–the-world sense of mathematical satisfaction to it in the same way the Fibonacci sequence keeps showing up as a basic pattern in art and nature. But you can’t dance to the circle of fifths, and unless it is interpreted in shapes and colours the Fibonacci sequence is just a bunch of numbers on a page and not something you would hang over the fireplace. Well most of us, anyway.
Here is my problem: I have spent many years in the company of academics from many fields. They are all smarter than I am. They understand the theory of music, or art, or physics –or theology for that matter – much better than I ever will. Argument and debate is the standard method of refining their theories. (The pages of comments under this video on the YouTube site are a great example of how argument over details and games of intellectual king of the hill lead people further and further away from the point of enjoying Mel Tormé’s song.) I believe many very capable people who actually also “do the stuff” gain an even deeper appreciation for their art from their study of theory. Alas, it becomes so easy, when ego is involved, for some to give greater weight to doctrinal debate as though the brain is the highest authority and seminary-trained, intellectually gifted people are on the upper echelons of a two tiered Christianity. I don’t think the study of doctrine and the here and now practical demonstration of the heart of God are of equal importance; it is not a matter of balance. It is possible to be doctrinally correct and miss the whole point of the beauty of relationship. Jesus saved his most scathing criticisms for religious experts whose neat rows of doctrinal ducks didn’t make very pretty music.
Intelligence is a gift to be appreciated, developed and used. God didn’t give us brains to leave them on the night-table. Doctrine is important. The Bible is essential; it keeps people tethered to truth. But without the Truth, Christ and his love, living inside a person, and without a person living in Christ, it’s all a gong show.
Yes, we know that “we all have knowledge” about this issue. But while knowledge makes us feel important, it is love that strengthens the church. (1 Corinthians 8:1b)
Edited to add: Whilst writing this blog the sound system on my computer heaved a sigh and waved goodbye. I fiddled with it, but I didn’t have a clue how to fix it. A student offered to look at it for me. After performing a diagnostic scan on my computer with amazing prowess he got down on his hands and knees and checked the wires. “Here’s your problem,” he said. “Green wire goes into green, not pink.”
Theoretical knowledge knew what to look for, but practical hands fixed it. We have music! Love it. I owe you one, Cam.
Also edited to add: Haha.I just read this quote on Facebook.
People are not interested in something theoretical. The thing that always convinces people is reality. If they see there is something about our lives, a certain quality, a certain calmness and equanimity, the ability to be more than conquerors in every kind of circumstance, if they see that when everything is against us, we will triumphantly prevail whereas they do not, they will become interested in what we have. They will want to know more about it. I am convinced, therefore, that the greatest need today is Christian people who know and manifest the fact that they know the living God, to whom His “loving-kindness is better than life.”
Charis: Subject to Change 