NST 14

For once, we need not pick up directly from where the previous post on "Norwegian Style Tackiness" left off. Hymns 558 through 562 in the Ambassador Hymnal could be done by a Lutheran congregation without a qualm, although I'm a little leery of whether such hymns as "Great is Thy faithfulness" and "It is well with my soul" are really at home in Lutheran worship. I tried to write something mean about them, but I couldn't--especially after hearing the tear-jerking story of how and why Horatio Spafford wrote the latter. (Hint: He made this confession of invincible faith while hastening across the Atlantic to bury all four of his children, who had been killed in an accident at sea.) I had to conclude that not even I am that mean.

However, the sight of Hymn 563, Hiding in Thee (first line: "O safe to the Rock that is higher than I") brings out my bitchiness in all its power. William O. Cushing's (1823-1902) lyrics are a study in the thoughtless juxtaposition of religious clichés: for example, the line "In the tempests of life, on its wide, heaving sea" is immediately followed by an allusion to the hymn "Rock of Ages," which makes God sound like a shipwreck hazard. Could this be interpreted as a Rock that protects us from the raging sea? Sure. But where would be the fun in that? Ira Sankey, meanwhile, provides a cute little tune that, except for a handful of notes, is supported entirely by two tiresome chords and that, in my imagination, would not sound out of place at a polka festival.

Hymn 564: God will take care of you (first line: "Be not dismayed whate'er betide"), has words by Civilla D. Martin (1869-1948) and the tune "God Cares" by her husband, Walter Stillman Martin (1862-1935), a former Baptist minister who had apostasized(!) into the restorationist movement. Having served a Lutheran parish in a region that had a "Christian Church" at every rural route junction, I am compelled by experience to pray that Lutherans would give no quarter to thoughts, feelings, or cultural artifacts engendered by that religious movement. And yet here it is in a "Lutheran" worship book! Folks, the spirit behind this hymn is an enemy of evangelical doctrine, diabolically effective in planting theological tares that are nigh unto impossible to uproot.

Is this an ad hominem argument rather than a critique of this hymn and its merits? Sure. Here's all I have to say about the hymn and its merits: The music makes me sick. There isn't enough to the words to make out whether it has merits or not. Other than endlessly repeating that "God will take care of you," its four stanzas furnish a total of 8 lines of distinct content which, for the most part, adds up to a series of adverbs modifying that thesis. It seems to concern itself with "First Article" issues, God providing for His children and sustaining them through trials. There is no Christ, cross, forgiveness, or spiritual power in it other than the assurance that God cares. Bobby McFerrin's "Don't Worry, Be Happy" runs almost as deep, and it's more fun to listen to. Are its merits, or lack thereof, compelling grounds for barring this hymn from Lutheran services? No. But they don't give much reason to allow them in, either.

Hymn 565: My faith has found a resting-place by Eliza Edmunds Hewitt (1851-1920), a schoolteacher who was intermittently crippled by a spinal injury caused by one of her students. While it's encouraging to know that her disability did not damage her faith or make her bitter, her song (here set to a cute little Norwegian folk tune) doesn't hold a candle to "How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord." A Presbyterian and a friend of Fanny Crosby, Miss Hewitt expresses some ideas in this hymn that ought to stick in Calvinist throats, let alone Lutheran ones. For example, the second line of the hymn is "Not in device or creed"--in other words, doctrine is irrelevant.

There is a fine line between "by grace alone, through faith alone, in Christ alone, under the authority of Scripture alone" and Gospel reductionism, and I'm not sure which side of that line this hymn stands on. "Enough for me that Jesus saves: This ends my fear and doubt..." Does it? Bully for you! Some of the greatest saints and doctors of the church couldn't say that. Is it right to put these words in the congregation's mouth, as though it applied to all? "My heart is leaning on the Word: The written Word of God..." That's good, but is there no other form in which the Word can come to you? "I need no other argument, I need no other plea..." Who's arguing? Obeying the Savior's command, we proclaim; we baptize; we absolve; we feed Christ's body and blood to those afflicted with fear, doubt, and the sin that still lives in us like a poisonous parasite. God takes pity on our weakness and so gives us His forgiveness, life, Spirit, and blessings in so many ways, so that even if one Pennsylvania schoolmarm doesn't need them, they are there for those who do.

The historic fact "that Jesus died, and that He died for me" is not enough unless it is applied to us, here and now, by forms of the word more living and dynamic than dead letters on the page (i.e., preaching and teaching and the sacraments), by which Christ forms in our hearts the faith whose articles we confess in the creed. Having embraced this creed, we can take comfort from it and its liturgical footprint in our life, wherein Jesus' blood is not past but present. Other than that, the hymn is all right. A Calvinist could sing it (except maybe the line that disses creeds). But what's in it for Lutherans?

I'm starting to think I mis-named this thread. Maybe it should be "Swedish Style Tackiness." For Hymn 568: Day by day was translated by Andrew L. Skoog (1856-1934) from Swedish lyrics by Lina Sandell-Berg (1832-1903), the "Fanny Crosby of Sweden." Perhaps best-known for her hymn "Children of the Heavenly Father," she frequently collaborated with a guitar-strumming minstrel named Oskar Ahnfelt (1813-82), whose tune "Blott en Dag" graces this hymn. Virtually indistinguishable from the style of part-song that prevails in this hymnal (and which, it seems, one would be mistaken to consider distinctively American), Ahnfelt's music has undeniable popular appeal but nothing like a churchly character. Skoog's translation, meanwhile, provides an enjoyable diversion from whatever point Mrs. Sandell-Berg's prolixity is meant to convey. For example, Skoog rhymes "moment" with "bestowment," a combination I have never heard before. Stanza 2 is mined with the adverb "fain," always a bad-taste "red flag" for me, and continues with lines so convoluted that the effort of singing them well (even with a bit of rehearsal) will probably defeat any attempt to understand what one is singing. Probably the trickiest line of all three stanzas is the last one, in which a phrase identical to one sung earlier (with a new syllable on each note) is grouped into two-note slurs. Like walking through a minefield on your tongue, this makes it hard to appreciate the scenery.

I'm going to include Hymn 570: Jesus, Savior, pilot me simply because I have yet to hear it sung and played well by a congregation and its organist, present company excepted. The rhythm is a real S.O.B. Both singers and pianists of an average skill-level tend to struggle with it and, sooner or later, to stop aiming for accuracy. After that, the only possible outcome is a big, syrupy mess. AH omits the time-signature, and Grandma Wurlitzer (who didn't get very far in music theory) may have a hard time totaling up the dotted-eighth, dotted-quarter, and triplet-eighth figures. With no one shouting "One! Two! Three!" into her ear-trumpet, how is she even going to know that a strong 3-beat pulse can save this hymn? Played and sung accurately, John E. Gould's (1822-75) tune "Pilot" has a certain Classical lilt. Played and sung as usual, it sounds like a disorderly herd of pigs wallowing in a puddle of lukewarm shmaltz. And though Edward Hopper's (1818-88) poetry has all the charm of a powerful metaphor relentlessly extended throughout three six-line stanzas, I'm not sure that people educated in today's public schools will know what to make of it unless you spend twice as long explaining it to them.

Hymn 571 is He Hideth My Soul (first line: "A wonderful Savior is Jesus my Lord") by Fanny Crosby, set to the tune Kirkpatrick named after himself. Based on Elijah's experience of seeing the Lord's backside, the Refrain croons: "He hideth my soul in the cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land. He hideth my life in the depths of His love, and covers me there with His hand." Holy Peekaboo! Unless you know the Biblical context, you might find this a bit creepy. Stanza 1 isn't much fun until the last line before the refrain, "Where rivers of pleasure I see" (Careful! Those leave a stain!) The same line of Stanza 2 says, "He giveth me strength as my day" (Huh?) What relevance this hymn holds toward the Gospel of Christ crucified for our justification is only apparent to one skilled in reading between the lines. Nowadays, anyone with that kind of subtlety ought to have the taste to admit that neither Crosby's poetry nor Kirkpatrick's music is any good.

Hymn 572: O love that wilt not let me go is a hymn that reveals my own bad taste. I know that Albert L. Peace's (1844-1912) tune "St. Margaret" is an excessive effusion of musical sentiment, and that this hymn out of Scottish Presbyterianism owes at least some of its popularity to the moving story of what prompted George Mattheson (1842-1906) to write its lyrics--something about being jilted on the eve of their wedding when his fiancée learned that he was going blind. It's the stuff of sad Country-Western songs! And yet it works so well in the warm glow of Peace's throbbing, arching, sighing melody. Knowing this, try not to get choked up by Stanza 2: "O Light that foll'west all my way, I yield my flickering torch to Thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, That in Thy sunshine's blaze its day May brighter, fairer be." It's really a touching song of surrender and hope that, finally in Stanza 4, speaks of Christ's cross. In a way, it's too good to be in this hymnal. The tackiest thing about it is the idea of wasting it on a congregation, most of whom will mumble their way through it in a half-hearted, inattentive way, while the organist pulls out the "tremolo" drawbar so far that the auditory strobe effect could send synesthetes into epileptic seizures. There should be a book where this hymn belongs: a songbook for private devotions, containing biographical blurbs as well as the words and music for each hymn.

Hymn 574: I have a Friend so patient, kind, forbearing is obviously a hymn that could only be sung to a Swedish folk tune, such as "One Radiant Morn" (also the tune of Hymn 324). I mean, just look at that first line! Appropriately, therefore, the text is John Jesperson's (1858-1943) translation of Swedish lines by Carl Olof Rosenius (1816-68). Rosenius was a revivalist preacher who published a journal titled Pietisten, if that gives you any idea. If it doesn't, there's no point in my saying another word because the influence of Pietism is alive and well in American Lutheranism, especially churches dominated by those of Scandinavian descent. Nothing I can say is going to convince them that Pietism is the oil that greases the slope from Lutheran orthodoxy to the meaningless "conservatism" of American Evangelicalism (whose strongest principles involve the rejection of key teachings of Christ) and from there on to total apostasy. But again, I've said all this without saying one word on the merits of this hymn.

So here they are. Stanza 1 piques the interest of the unconverted tent-meeting-goers by describing what a great friend my "Friend" is without directly revealing, until the middle of Stanza 2, that we're talking about Jesus. Rosenius does express key points of the Gospel message: Jesus liberates us from sin, death, and hell, bruised the serpent's head, ransomed my soul, covers my guilt with His blood and merit, etc. So, other than the hymn's slow start (due to its rhetorical purpose of drawing the sinner into the revival narrative) it scores some good theological points. But it has this to work against: the Divine Service is a gathering of the faithful, not a tent revival!

Hymn 575: Count Your Blessings (first line: "When upon life's billows you are tempest-tossed") is by the same Johnson Oatman who wrote Hymn 502. The tune "Blessings" is by Edwin Othello Excell (1851-1921), also known for his popular, 1909 arrangement of "Amazing Grace." His music for this hymn sounds like a chorus from a Jerome Kern musical. I should know; I once single-handedly played half the male members of the chorus in a college production of Oh, Boy! All right, so Kern was better. But this show could have closed the night before that one opened. Oatman's lyrics, meanwhile, have a "musical comedy" sensibility of their own, ripping so many phrases out of other, better-known texts that its only defense against the charge of being unoriginal is that it was intended for laughs. Stanza 1's "tempest-tossed" comes from the base of the Statue of Liberty. Stanza 2 has "burdened with a load of care," loosely quoted from "What a Friend we have in Jesus," and "as the days go by," reminiscent of the big number from (you guessed it!) Oh, Boy!.

The remaining lines are full of instructive phrases such as "Money cannot buy your reward in heaven." It's weird to hear sacred lyrics being sung to this music, and almost equally weird to hear "Count your blessings, name them one by one," repeated over and over, used in a literal sense as sacred text. Maybe the reason this hymn reeks of bad taste is that the people who created it, together with the people who selected it for this hymnal, therein betray their inability to perceive the existence of sacred time and sacred space, and to distinguish that which belongs there from that which does not.

NST 13

The "Norwegian Style Tackiness" of the Ambassador Hymnal goes on and on... It seems like it might never end! But believe me, we're most of the way there! Here are a few more of these wacky, tacky hymns, which can never sound more out of place than in the sanctuary of a supposedly conservative Lutheran church!

Hymn 551: Standing on the promises by R. Kelso Carter (1849-1926) is another part-song with a long refrain that reminds me of the "Fee, Fie, Fiddly Eye Oh" passage from "I've Been Workin' on the Railroad." Gee, I hope y'all wipe your feet before you go standing on God's promises! For some weird reason, a stanza in Spanish is included, together with the four stanzas in English. I'm sure that, where your token Hispanic convert to Scandinavian pietism is concerned, this makes the whole book worthwhile.

Hymn 552: He could have called ten thousand angels (first line: "They bound the hands of Jesus") is by Ray Overholt (no dates given). At once I am reminded of a far better hymn by an Icelandic author whose brand of Scandihoovian Pietism hails from a much finer vintage. The tune "Ten Thousand Angels" could have done well on Country-Western radio, say, in the 1940s. The words narrate Jesus' passion and death in the language of a tragic ballad. I might enjoy hearing this sung by a glee club, but it simply does not have the dignity (nor the appropriate level of skill) for a congregation's worship.

Hymn 553: John W. Peterson's O what a wonderful, wonderful day, by a prolific Gospel songster who flourished in the 1970s. That's "cutting edge" stuff compared to most of this book. The music is for a part-singing chorus, solo quartet, or soloist with backup singers, complete with a last-stanza-only coda ending on a high F. The wonderful day seems to be the day somebody made his Decision for Christ--or, in Peterson's language, "took of the offer of grace He did proffer." This is a blighted form of Reformation theology in which the crucial event is not the cross, but "that wonderful day when at the cross I believed."

Hymn 554: In times like these by Ruth Caye Jones (1902-72) is interesting only because it says the same thing first with second-person pronouns, and then again in the first person: "You need an achor; be very sure your anchor holds... vs. "I need an anchor; I'm very sure My anchor holds..." There aren't any specifics about what makes these "times like these," and though the language of Jesus as and His Word as a solid rock and foundation is Biblical, the rhyme "You need the Bible... O be not idle" seems to locate the value of this anchor in its moral authority. What happens when the times are not "like these"? What if you need Christ or His Word to do more than be a reliable source of information or compendium of values? Where is your rock then?

Hymn 555: When the roll is called up yonder (first line: "When the trumpet of the Lord shall sound") is by James Milton Black (1856-1938). Black's tune "Roll Call" is a part song of the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" school, while the words are "When the saints come marching in" warmed over. The first two stanzas cover imagery of Christ's return, the resurrection of the just, and their "home beyond the skies." Stanza 3 brings all this to a point: "Let us labor for the Master... let us talk of all His wondrous love and care. Then when all of life is over and our work on earth is done, and the roll is called up yonder, I'll be there." This last line is all the refrain has for us. So it kind of sounds like all that matters until then is what we do! Musicologically speaking, I think this hymn has a lot to offer as a musical document of the sort of "artificial spiritual" that represents the quintessence of American hymnody. Theologically speaking, I think putting it in a Lutheran worship book was a bad idea.

Hymn 556: If I gained the world is translated from Swedish lyrics by Anna Ölander (1861-1939), and though not quite Norwegian it is a rare example in this book of any real effort to preserve Scandinavian Lutheran heritage. Of course, there aren't very many non-Scandinavians like me who are interested in Swedish folk tunes. I would probably be tarred, feathered, and pelted with hot Kartoffelsalat if I foisted this hymn on my German-American congregation. Though this might be instructive for them. At least then they'll know how I feel when dusty old artifacts of American cultural history are shoehorned into my musical universe. The text, meanwhile, is impenetrably prolix. It spends four very long stanzas imagining the alternative to having Jesus before concluding that having Jesus is better. Deep stuff.

In Hymn 557, What can wash away my sin is the question asked by Robert Lowry, who has already been implicated in at least four tacky hymns so far. The poor man seems to have tied himself in notes, I mean knots, composing the tune "Nothing But the Blood" so that it changed chords as seldom as possible while maintaining a distinctive melodic form. There may be a certain primitive, if not childlike appeal to the music. Or maybe it's just boring and a mite silly. The lyrics are a Sunday School ditty that distorts Paul's "I knew nothing but Christ crucified" to read: "No other fount I know, nothing but the blood of Jesus." I suppose devotionally, catechetically, it could have some use with small children. On the other hand, haven't I already mentioned the evidence that we can feed our kids better?

Miraculously, the Ambassador Hymnal's long streak of tackiness breaks at this point. I don't have the heart to pick on any of the other hymns through No. 562, where I had planned to stop for now. So perhaps the fever has passed and we will soon recover from this book's hallucinogenic heights of camp-meeting campiness!

Shark Nuggets?

Tonight's Friday afternoon debauch was dinner out at the new Syberg's restaurant in Chesterfield. For several years, I have often driven past the Syberg's on Gravois Rd. in the the County and wondered about its shark logo and its description as "an eating and drinking company." I would think, "Have they come up with a way to get paid for eating and drinking? What a concept!"

I finally tried it today when I was looking for another joint in the Chesterfield Commons megamall and stumbled across this place that I know wasn't there a couple weeks ago. It looked cool, so I went in.

It is cool. My waitress was a master of her trade. Their crinkle-cut french fries are huge, plump, tender, and perfect, with just the right amount of crispiness on the outside and a perfectly cooked, tender, real-potato center. The pickle wedge was very nice. But my favorite bit, on this my first of what may turn out to be many visits, was a chicken-tender sandwich. Its thick onion roll held two plump strips of chicken breast meat, breaded in a unique yet delicious way, and topped with a "Syberg's Special Sauce" that, surprisingly, wasn't Buffalo-style (though Syberg's sells that too). It tasted a little mustardy, a little mayonnesque, and just spicy enough to make you think twice about trying the hottest of their half-dozen flavors of chicken wings. It reminded me of Durkee's Famous Sandwich & Salad Sauce, only with more zing.

Syberg's has a great appetizer menu, including toasted ravs, grilled-chicken potato skins, and most interesting of all, breaded and fried shark chunks! I wasn't hungry enough, by myself, to feel like risking $9 on a plate of these, but my waitress assures me they are one of Syberg's signature dishes. Maybe next time I'll have company with me and it will seem like a better idea. As it is, I left several finger-sized french fries on my plate (I never even touched the garnish of lettuce and tomato).

The food was good, the servings were goodly, and the dining room had a comfortable look and feel--a little less "steakhouse" than Applebees, a little less "burger joint" then Fuddrucker's, with a quieter and more mature atmosphere than Red Robin and a homier feel than Brick House. Flat screen TV's, yes; interior decor by tornado-cum-antique mall, no. Except for the shark nuggets, there isn't much on the menu you couldn't order anywhere else. But if my sandwich is indicative of the way this "eating and drinking company" does its business, the food set before you may be a pleasant surprise.

Thank You, Nebraska

My mother works for a state agency in Nebraska. She's been on their payroll for something like 15 years. Her job is emotionally draining, physically hazardous, and constantly on the verge of being de-funded by some idiot in Lincoln, but she keeps at it.

This summer, we put our thinking caps on and tried to think of a way we could spend some quality time together. Mind you, she gets an ample dosage of my youngest brother Jake, since they live in the same town and if she isn't babysitting his 2-year-old daughter, she's babysitting him. (His marriage seems to be based on that of Stanley & Stella Kowalski. No week is complete without someone getting thrown out of the house, or getting arrested, or going to the emergency room, etc.). And because the rest of her family, except me, lives in the greater Twin Cities area, she spends most of her vacation days there and, as a result, spends as much time with middle son Ryan and his 5-year-old son as any sane person can stand. But what about me? Poor little old "Number One Son" in St. Louis, who hasn't brightened his mother's eyes since Grandpa's funeral in the spring of '08? Hence the hope that we could somehow synchronize our next vacation days and, with the blessing, share a couple of days in the lavish cultural ambience of, say, Omaha.

But here's the crap Nebraska state employees have to put up with. First, in the hope of getting several consecutive weekdays off in the middle of August (the only time I could be spared from a plethora of responsibilities), she had to apply for her preferred vacation days around the end of June and keep her fingers crossed all the way through July. Then, yesterday, she called me with the wonderful news that her vacation days had been awarded... but they were the precise days of the week that would be most awkward for me to get away. She apparently appealed to her supervisor, because she called me today while I was at work and said they had given her all of next week off and could I take my vacation then?

I kid you not. I had to ask my boss, at quitting time on Thursday, whether I could take next Monday through Friday as vacation days. The great State of Nebraska requires its employees to apply for vacation a month in advance: no less and, regardless of how long you've been planning, no more. And yet, for all the time they have to consider the request, they put off their answer so long that the other party involved has to request a week's vacation on four days' notice. Classy!

How fortunate I am that my boss is gracious and understanding, that nobody else who works for him is going to be out next week, and that (other than having to write an entire 48-page magazine by the end of the month) he doesn't feel pressured by any insanely urgent deadlines.

I mean, let's be serious. What if someone's once-in-a-decade, paid-in-advance family reunion was on the line? "Sorry, Mrs. Rosicky, we've decided to deny the request you submitted a month ago. I'm sure your extended family will understand. Maybe they can reschedule that four-day weekend in Karlovy Vary for this coming Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. By the way, can you take the on-call pager with you?"

NST 12

The tackiness of the Ambassador Hymnal goes on and on. Last time we left off only 3/8 of the way through the 500s. And so we pick up at

Hymn 539: Praise Him! Praise Him! is a Fanny Crosby hymn with music by Chester G. Allen (1838-78) which impiously reminds me of "Daisy Bell" (the "bicycle built for two" song). Neither the words nor the music add anything to the culture of Christian hymnody except a lowering of its standards of taste.

Hymn 540: I stand amazed is by Charles Gabriel, the author of Hymn 502. When the second line of the hymn identifies Jesus as the Nazarene, it almost seems to be talking about his denominational affiliation. Shucks, Robbie, that's not nice! Gabriel was a Methodist, after all. The text does score some nice points about Jesus' atoning work, though in a manner strongly oriented toward the individual rather than the worshiping congregation. I like the line "He had no tears for His own griefs, But sweat drops of blood for mine." For all its theological merits, it comes across as a popular anthem to be crooned by a soloist. So why is it in a parish worship book?

Hymn 541: What will you do with Jesus?--first line: "Jesus is standing in Pilate's hall"--has words by Albert B. Simpson (1843-1919) founder of the Christian & Missionary Alliance, and music by Mary L. Stocks (no dates given). Would it be mean of me to point out that Simpson and his C&MA had a strong influence on the Pentecostal movement? So of course their contribution belongs in this "Lutheran" hymnal! It's a revival/altar-call anthem, every iteration of whose refrain leaves singer and hearer alike with the profoundly comfortless message: "What will you do with Jesus? Neutral you cannot be; Someday your heart will be asking, 'What will He do with me?'" Stanza 2 suggests that the choice is yours, whether to be false or true to Jesus. Stanza 3 offers you the decision whether to evade or choose Jesus. Stanza 4 lays on you the option to deny Christ and flee (like Peter) or dare "for Jesus to live or die." Stanza 5 finally puts the words of the sinner's prayer in your mouth, complete with quotation marks so it's clear that the jury is being instructed as to the verdict they are to return; meanwhile, for believing singers, it's all an exercise in play-acting and imagination! Alas, I haven't room enough to describe how dismally uninspired the tune "Whatever You Will" is.

Hymn 542: Victory in Jesus--first line: "I heard an old, old story"--has words and music by Eugene M. Bartlett (1885-1941), author of "Take an old, cold tater and wait." All I want to say at this point is that there's a learning curve for singing Baptist hymns, which Baptists do best. When Lutherans try to do it, they tend to sound half-hearted, awkward, and frankly silly. When they can finally do it really well, it's a sign that they are no longer Lutherans but Baptists. Now, here's a YouTube video for your (ahem) edification.

Hymn 543: What a fellowship, with words by Elisha Hoffmann (author of Hymns 498 and 529, at least), music by Anthony J. Showalter (1858-1924), and a refrain of "Leaning on the everlasting arms." Very American Protestant sounding, very part-songy (with a separate set of lyrics for the lower voices), it goes on for three whole stanzas without saying anything more than, "Gee, it's nice to have peace with God," and it leaves you wondering exactly what it means to "lean on the everlasting arms."

Hymn 544: Power in the blood--first line: "Would you be free from your burden of sin?"--has words and music by Lewis E. Jones (1865-1936). Yes, chillun, this is the part-song that crows, "There is pow'r, pow'r, wonder-working pow'r in the blood (in the blood) of the Lamb (of the Lamb)..." It's like a Four-Square Gospel advertising jingle for Lambs' Blood spot remover. For all the power they attribute to Jesus' blood, the real wonder of it is that the people who really know how to sing this song well, don't believe in the power (or even the presence) of Jesus' blood in the Lord's Supper. So the question becomes: how are you supposed to take delivery of this fine product?

Hymn 545: Because He lives--first line: "God sent His Son"--by Bill & Gloria Gaither, leading Gospel singers of the Elvis Presley generation. I first encountered this song in a collection of 1970s commercial jingles, pop music, and movie soundtrack outtakes. So perhaps the Gaithers are not to blame for the fact that my mind can hardly separate it from "On a Clear Day You Can See Forever," "You Are the Sunshine of My Life," and "My Bologna Has a First Name." Nevertheless, using this song in worship can only be relevant to a church that interprets "conservative Lutheran worship" to mean "getting together to sing our favorite tracks from the Christian Contemporary network's HD band for Golden Oldies." And although there's a stanza about going to heaven someday, the refrain's lyrics "Because He lives I can face tomorrow" aren't as good as the line I erroneously remembered, "Because He lives, you will live forever." Apparently I was thinking resurrection theology, John 14:19, what have you. Silly me.

Hymn 546: Now I belong to Jesus--first line: "Jesus my Lord will love me forever"--has words and music by Norman J. Clayton (1903-92). The tune "Ellsworth" is harmonized in a distinctly Barbershop manner, albeit with parts in the SATB range. The lyrics are written with an equally distinct want of skill. Here are three awkward examples. Stanza 1: "From Him no pow'r of evil can sever"--sever what? "His precious blood He gave to redeem"--redeem what? "Not for the years of time alone"--is that Claytonese for "solitary confinement"? As the author of both the words and the music, Clayton shows a surprising disregard for the physiological challenges of singing, for example, "Joy floods my soul" where the two middle words are set to eighth-notes. It's tacky, I say, because it's not well done, whatever else it is; yet it got past the hymn selection committee. How does this happen? Maybe it's a matter of knowing the right people...

Hymn 547: The Light of the world is Jesus--first line: "The whole world was lost in the darkness of sin"--has words and music by our old friend Philip Bliss. It's a Christian testimonial-cum-revivalist altar-call song, with rhetoric such as: "Come to the Light, 'tis shining for thee! Sweetly the Light has dawned upon me; Once I was blind, but now I can see..." It makes some pretty interesting claims about the Christian life. For example, Stanza 2: "No darkness have we who in Jesus abide..." Really? No valley of the shadow of death, etc.? "We walk in the Light when we follow our Guide..." Yeah, sure you do. Isn't it great that Jesus is your Guide. Stanza 3: "Go wash at His bidding and light will arise"--very baptismal sounding; but would Bliss really go so far as to say that Baptism creates faith?

Hymn 548: In the Garden--first line: "I come to the garden alone"--has words and music by C. Austin Miles (1868-1946). Wiki has some noteworthy historical data on this song. I have already said as much about this song as I care to. I'm not shocked to see it in this hymnal. On the contrary, I feel a sense of déjà vu. Have I really only just gotten to this hymn now? Nothing that I have seen so far in this book would sound out of place alongside this song.

Hymn 549: Wonderful grace of Jesus is by Haldor Lillenas (1885-1959), whose Norwegian birth fits right in with our theme of "Norwegian Style Tackiness." But this particular scion of Norwegian-American Lutheranism is not a particularly good example to hold up to families struggling to pass on a Scandinavian Lutheran heritage to their children. For Lillenas apostasized to the Church of the Nazarene, a Holiness group where his bestselling brand of Gospel music was a better fit. Musically, "Wonderful grace" is a part-song that is totally out of the range of a congregation accompanied by an all-too-mortal organist. It requires an a capella choir of a certain agility and (for the optional high G at the end) a wide vocal range. For all that, it's not especially interesting to listen to.

Finally (for now), Hymn 550: When we see Christ--first line: "Oft-times the day seems long"--is by Esther Kerr Rusthol (1909-62). While the three stanzas bemoan this life's way of trying our patience, the Refrain assures us: "It will be worth it all when we see Jesus; Life's trials will seem so small when we see Christ..." After listening to a dozen songs like this, I find that very reassuring. It's funny how, from a certain twisted point of view (like mine), this hymn seems to be describing itself: "We're tempted to complain, to murmur and despair..." The solution to these woes is a bit facile and trite. "Let Jesus solve your problem--just go to Him in prayer." Is it really that easy? Where is it written that He will necessarily solve your problem? What about "My grace is sufficient for you," etc. (1 Corinthians 12:7-9)? And here are the joys of heaven: "a harp, a home, a crown..." What, no wings? (A little sarcasm there).

Here's to Marriage

Opponents of gay marriage have marshaled a number of good arguments in support of the proposition that marriage is no more and no less than the union of a man and a woman for life. And for the most part I agree with them.

Yes, marriage was instituted by God, not originally defined by the laws of men. Yes, it is a holy mystery for the faithful to contemplate, not just a legal contract or a social status. Yes, it is a reflection of the relationship between our Lord (as the Bridegroom) and the church (as His bride), which we mock at our peril. Yes, it is a divine calling which only God can consecrate. Yes, it is a matter for church, not state. It is a matter pertaining to the free exercise of religion, which the U.S. Constitution protects from government meddling. Yes, it is the most proper, right, and beneficial basis for the begetting and upbringing of children.

Community property, pensions, survivor benefits, and so forth are only so much window dressing added by the cumulative custom of our society and its laws; and those customs can be observed without marriage. But the faithful have a right to believe and cherish the faith that has been handed to them, including the article of marriage as God created it and intends to bless it.

Now I have a thought I would like to add to all this. I speak as a never-married bachelor a couple years shy of 40, one who never intended to be celibate for life, one who still dreads the effort of doinng so, and one who sees the likelihood of any God-pleasing alternative dwindling to nil. Becoming gay would sure be easy. I know a lot of gay guys; I'm a Symphony groupie, remember? They seem to be lovely people. It wouldn't be hard to hook up with someone who shares the same life energy, the same taste, maybe even the same general way of thinking. The more we had in common, the more stable and long-lasting the relationship would probably be. But at bottom, what I would I get out of it that I couldn't have all by myself? Therein lies the flaw, I think, in the very best gay partnership imaginable: the essential ingredient of narcissism.

My theory is that only one type of life partner can bring out the best in a man: a woman. And though I don't have much direct experience with the female sex, I reckon the reverse is equally true. Men and women need each other because they are so different, so opposite to each other at the deepest level. Even butch women are profoundly unlike men in character and mentality. And most so-called "effeminate" men think and behave in a way distinctly different from most women. Experience confirms this. Have you ever known a woman who really acted like a gay man? In my whole life I only met one--an experience whose strangeness goes right to my point. Men and women think so differently that they are like alien life forms to each other, an eternal and unsolvable mystery--fascinating at best, irreconcilable at worst, sometimes a danger to each other, sometimes both immovable and irresistable at the same time.

I believe, in spite of having observed some of the worst man-woman relationships in the free world and having personally participated in zero, that each sex's key to the highest happiness lies in an ironclad promise to become "one flesh" with the other. I believe that the madness and frustration each spouse must feel in learning to communicate with the other is far from a reservation against this theory, but rather goes straight to the point of it. We need our opposite in order to bring out the best parts of ourselves and to temper the worst parts. We need to be forced to accommodate our life-habits, thought-forms, and heart-language to someone completely different. We need the person we cuddle with in the wee hours to be the one who shakes us out of our comfort zone so that we may truly learn what it means to love, to give, to serve, to forgive, to be kind, patient, self-controlled, faithful, gentle, humble, etc.

Marriage to a partner of the opposite sex is guaranteed to teach that lesson, even if the student refuses to learn it. Partnership with someone "just like me," however, isn't marriage. It's self-abuse by proxy. It's self-indulgence. Sooner or later, at least one member of the partnership must realize that each of them has done nothing but feed his own, or the other's, narcissism. And then it will be over, and another partnership just like it may take its place because no lesson will have been learned.

It's as if marriage (man + woman) is God's school to teach us to be complete human beings. In my opinion, no one who hasn't graduated from that school should be allowed to raise new human beings. But even if no one listens to my opinion on that, I believe God's opinion on the usefulness of the man and woman becoming "one flesh" must not be lightly set aside. To do so would be to privilege a class of incurable narcissists' feelings of self-worth in preference to the whole society's right to think, believe, and judge as they choose about matters that lie outside the competency of any judge or civil servant. To do so would be to privilege chronic self-abuse above one's opportunity to be challenged by the ways and thoughts of the other, the opportunity to form a synthesis with them so as to become more than the sum of our parts.

Up Old, Down New

Over the past week, I have experimented with using Blogger's "new" editor. What a boondoggle! As of today, I have gone back to the "old" editor. What a relief!

Blogger's "new" editor has a lot of cute tools the "old" editor lacks. I reckon I can get by without most of them. I have done so thus far.

Blogger's "new" editor has an "improved" graphic interface, when you're writing on the "Compose" tab, which could potentially simplify one's work in laying out a gorgeous blog. In practice, however, I found that it made my work much harder.

I generally like to compose in the "Edit Html" tab. In the "old" editor this was mostly a matter of taste and comfort. I tend to be irritated by the code that Blogger adds when you use the "bold" and "italic" tools, for instance. A simple "i" between less-than and greater-than signs, paired with the same symbol with a slash added before the "i," doesn't take long to type and works just as well as a long string of gobbledgook beginning with "span" and closed by a "/span" tag; and when I use my blogs to write reviews and editorials for MuggleNet, the simpler, keyed-in code allows me to copy and paste my posts straight into the HTML template that I use to publish those columns.

I also found--perhaps in an older version of the "old" editor, before some patch or other--that it was better to add pictures in the "Edit Html" tab than in "Compose." Having the "Compose" tab open when pictures were uploading resulted in extra paragraph breaks and unnecessary divisions, which cost extra work to get rid of. Sure, pictures uploaded into "Edit Html" tended to insert at the top of the post, regardless of where you had left the cursor (a.k.a. "insertion point"). But the code to embed each picture uploaded as a separate paragraph, which you could select with an easy triple-click, then cut and paste into whatever part of the post you wanted to decorate with it.

Meanwhile, dragging the pictures up and down the post in the "Compose" tab, with its more graphics-oriented interface, was a time-consuming pain in the ahem--especially in Firefox, where the "Compose" pane doesn't scroll downward when you try to drag a picture past the bottom of the pane. This meant dragging a picture to the bottom of the frame, manually scrolling down until it was at the top of the frame, and repeat until you reached the paragraph where the picture belonged--OK in a short post, maybe, but not in a review of a whole season of Star Trek where there was a different picture for each episode. For these reasons, I generally use "Compose" only to nudge pictures up or down a few lines until satisfied with the appearance of my layout.

Most importantly, the "Add Image" tool is available in both the "Edit Html" and the "Compose" tab in Blogger's "old" editor. This makes it possible to bypass dealing with all the unhelpful features of "Compose" while trying to place pictures amid your text. Regardless of which tab you're typing in, when you click the "Add Image" tool you get an applet that allows you to upload up to five pictures at a time. Within the same applet are radio buttons determining whether the images will appear in large, medium, or small format, and in left, center, right, or no alignment. There is even a checkbox which, if checked, saves your selections so that they come up automatically the next time you upload pictures... which can be very handy in an image-intensive blog like mine.

That's all "old" editor stuff. How does it work in Blogger's "new" editor? Not half so well. The "Add Image" tool no longer lives on the "Edit Html" tab. To upload pictures, you have to do it in Compose mode. On the plus side, they actually do insert at your "insert point," which can be helpful if you've actually bothered to place the cursor where you want the picture to go. On the minus side, the applet only allows you to insert one picture at a time to your blog. You can upload several pictures to the applet, but it only allows you to select one of them before clicking "OK" to add it to your blog. If you immediately click "Add Image" again, all your uploaded images will still be on the applet, but this only underscores how much more helpful it would be if you could insert all of them at the same time.

Then there's the matter of formatting them. The choices of sizing and alignment are no longer in the applet. You have to click each picture individually and choose how big you want it to appear, and how it should be aligned. There doesn't seem to be a way to make these selections globally, or to save particular selections (such as "small" and "align right") as preferences. That means a lot more clicks of the mouse.

And finally, you reach the point where the picture looks just right... but it's not where you want it to be. How well does Blogger's "Compose" mode cooperate with your efforts to arrange your visuals just so? It doesn't. You can drag the pictures up and down, but they jump by default to the beginning of each paragraph. The "old" editor was much more sensitive to your specific wishes. So, ironically, it is to the "Edit Html" tab that you must turn when you realize that the best place to anchor a given picture is in the middle of a paragraph. But this presents another problem.

For Blogger's "new" editor has gone back to the bad, old ways of the "old" editor, insofar as it obsessively & compulsively adds unnecessary code. Once in "Edit Html" mode, you discover that "new" Blogger has polluted your pristine code with division tags (which you hate with a holy hatred). Worse yet, it has lumped all of the embed codes for your pictures into one run-on paragraph, so that when you triple-click on the anchor code for one picture, the whole lot of them light up (indeed, everything between the "div" and "/div" tags). Now you must undertake the fussy, eye-watering, mentally exhausting task of finding the end of each "/a" tag and putting a paragraph break after it--and deleting the "div" tags as well. These are a bit like bubbles under wallpaper. When you think you've killed the last of them, another division break pops up in the least expected place.

Even after you have separated "new" Blogger's image anchors into discreet paragraphs, they don't copy and paste as cleanly as they used to in "old" Blogger. Paragraph breaks that you want tend to vanish, ones that you don't want appear without permission--meaning more work undoing what you didn't do. In a similar way, over in "Compose" mode, pictures that you just finished sizing & aligning to taste suddenly snap back to their default "large, centered" format when you attempt to drag them somewhere... but only sometimes. These glitches only seem to crop up when you're not braced for them. My analytical mind balks at finding rhyme or reason for them.

Sure, I would love to have a new and improved editor in Blogger. But what they currently promote as the "new" editor isn't it. The best thing about Blogger is that one has a choice whether to upgrade; and that, having chosen to do so, one can reverse that choice and go back to the "old" version. That small mercy may have saved my blog!