Hymnody ranting
One of the things I love about the Methodist church is its fine tradition of hymn-singing. Both John and Charles Wesley wrote hymns during their ministry, and Charles in particular wrote some absolute stonkers. Many of his hymns have, over the centuries, been paired with equally magnificent tunes. "Hark! the herald angels sing" is probably the best known outside Methodism (and indeed outside Christianity), but there are others, notably "O for a thousand tongues to sing," "Christ the Lord is risen today," and "And can it be that I should gain." All of these have perfectly marvelous tunes (Azmon, Easter Hymn, and Sagina respectively) which gloriously reflect and enhance Wesley's words. There are also other, slightly less well-known Wesley hymns which nevertheless have good tunes and lyrics to recommend them, like "Maker in whom we live," "Come, thou long-expected Jesus," and "Forth in thy name, O Lord."
Now, can you guess how many of these fine hymns and tunes the pastor of the Methodist church here selected for a special service in honour of Charles Wesley's tercentenary?
Yeah. None of them.
Well, okay, so we sang "And can it be that I should gain." But the solemn, pompous git who currently serves as pastor announced before the hymn that we would not be singing it to the "boisterous" tune Sagina, but to something called Lansdown. "You will find," he intoned in a patronising way which made my teeth hurt, "that the power of Wesley's words is in no way undimmed, and is even enhanced, when sung to a gentler, more contemplative tune."
Actually, no, I bloody well won't find that, you dog-collared killjoy. Why? Because Lansdown is slow, vaguely pretty, and in a minor key. Singing a lyric like "My chains fell off, my heart was free / I rose, went forth, and followed thee!" to a tune like that is like putting the chains right back on again. Whenever I sing those lines to a real tune, I get tears in my eyes. I feel it, in a way which happens to me far too seldom here in the Land That Eloquence Forgot, aka all the churches I've attended in Durham. Sung to Lansdown, I heard the words all right, but they went nowhere.
The rest of the hymn tunes ranged from dire to passable. Eight of the ten we sang aren't even in the American Methodist hymnal, the editors of which I am coming to appreciate more and more. The other two are alternate tunes for (deservedly) more famous ones. It's almost as if the pastor went through the hymn-book, looked at the possible tunes for each Wesley hymn, and picked whichever was the most crap. Unfailingly.
What a disappointing evening.
On a brighter note, it's a lovely fall afternoon, and I think I'm going to go for a walk. Hopefully to somewhere remote enough that I can belt out Sagina without getting odd looks.
Now, can you guess how many of these fine hymns and tunes the pastor of the Methodist church here selected for a special service in honour of Charles Wesley's tercentenary?
Yeah. None of them.
Well, okay, so we sang "And can it be that I should gain." But the solemn, pompous git who currently serves as pastor announced before the hymn that we would not be singing it to the "boisterous" tune Sagina, but to something called Lansdown. "You will find," he intoned in a patronising way which made my teeth hurt, "that the power of Wesley's words is in no way undimmed, and is even enhanced, when sung to a gentler, more contemplative tune."
Actually, no, I bloody well won't find that, you dog-collared killjoy. Why? Because Lansdown is slow, vaguely pretty, and in a minor key. Singing a lyric like "My chains fell off, my heart was free / I rose, went forth, and followed thee!" to a tune like that is like putting the chains right back on again. Whenever I sing those lines to a real tune, I get tears in my eyes. I feel it, in a way which happens to me far too seldom here in the Land That Eloquence Forgot, aka all the churches I've attended in Durham. Sung to Lansdown, I heard the words all right, but they went nowhere.
The rest of the hymn tunes ranged from dire to passable. Eight of the ten we sang aren't even in the American Methodist hymnal, the editors of which I am coming to appreciate more and more. The other two are alternate tunes for (deservedly) more famous ones. It's almost as if the pastor went through the hymn-book, looked at the possible tunes for each Wesley hymn, and picked whichever was the most crap. Unfailingly.
What a disappointing evening.
On a brighter note, it's a lovely fall afternoon, and I think I'm going to go for a walk. Hopefully to somewhere remote enough that I can belt out Sagina without getting odd looks.