- Kathleen Henderson Staudt
- I work as a teacher, poet and spiritual director at a number of institutions in the DC area. My teaching focuses in various ways on writing, poetry, Spirituality and Christian vocation and ministry - especially from the point of view of the laity. I also offer classes and retreats encouraging people to explore their inner lives, engage their creativity and reflect on their beliefs about God, vocation, and how we can discern and pursue new ways to transform our broken world. I enjoy speaking of faith in the secular academy as well as reminding those preparing for ministry in the Church that our primary purpose is to love and serve the world beyond the church's doors. I love helping people to grow in faith and to find their own voices, and I also love encouraging them to use their minds. I see no contradiction between these impulses, believing as I do that faith, reason and creativity work together.
Friday, January 24, 2014
I was reminded of this by a recent adult forum teaching assignment that put me back in touch with the poetry of Isaac Watts and Charles Wesley. These voices are arguably from the beginning of the “mainline” Protestant tradition that we have come to know in the US. Watts has been called the “Father of Protestant Hymnody” because he was the first to produce metric psalm settings in English that were actually beautiful and singable – and also among the first to write hymns about personal faith experience. Writing in the 18th century, Watts was a learned man, a man of the both science and faith – in an era before these were considered somehow mutually exclusive choices. Author of a popular textbook entitled Logic, or the Right Use of Reason in the Enquiry after Truth with a variety of Rules to Guard Against Error in the Affairs of Religion and of Human Life, as well as in the Sciences. He was also a Nonconformist pastor, a man of deep faith, and a genius at rhyme. (As a poet, I find myself in awe of the man’s ability to turn a line, to write rhymes that actually work without seeming forced – this is really hard to do in English, as most poets know!) .
Isaac Watts’s hymn Our God, Our Help in Ages Past provides us with a God-image, not gendered or culturally limited, that sings down the ages, and certainly speaks to me. God is, for me, “our help. . . our hope. . . our shelter. . . our guide. . . our eternal home. And the poetry of that hymn, recognizing the fleetingness of our lives and the eternity of God, has provided deep reassurance in times of loss and change – including now; (“A thousand ages in thy sight/ are like an evening gone. . . .”) I hope what this hymn assumes is true: that there is a God, who has been carried and known in tradition and who abides with us now – even when language, culture and practice shift. Watts wrote over 600 hymns, some of them a bit baroque and pietistic for modern tastes (“Alas, and Did my Saviour Bleed,” for example, which is in the LEVAS hymnal) – but they continue to speak. I am helped each Lenten season by the invitation to contemplate the Cross as a mystery having to do with love. Watts explores in his hymn “When I survey the Wondrous Cross,” which ends in a beautiful poem of self dedication: “Were the whole realm of nature mine/that were an offering far too small. /Love so amazing, so divine/demands my soul, my life, my all.” It is a gift of grace to come to those moments in life when we really want to offer our whole selves to the Good Thing we hope God is doing in our broken world. Watts’s hymn, which I know by heart now, after so many years, gives me words for those moments.
A generation after Watts comes Charles Wesley, whose hymns come out of a profound “religion of the heart” that has been the strength of evangelical Christianity – a part of the mainline tradition, we often forget. Evangelical in the sense of being a religion of the converted heart, that makes us want to share good news with the world. Wesley wrote over 6000 hymns and many of them just don’t work in modern worship, being too embedded in imperialist ideas of mission from his era, or language that is sexist or militaristic (for example, his Easter hymn, “Christ the Lord is Risen today/ Sons of men and angels say. . . . Love’s redeeming work is done/ fought the fight, the victory won” has been excluded from most of our Protestant hymnals and replaced by the more inclusive poetry of “Jesus Christ is risen today/ Our triumphant holy day”). But Wesley too is the author of some of our deepest prayers. Henry Ward Beecher wrote that he would rather have composed Wesley’s “Jesus, Lover of My Soul” than to be the richest man in New York or to have all the kingdoms of the world. It is a “heart hymn” that speaks to certain times of life: “Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, til the storm of life be past/ safe into the haven guide. . . . “All my hope in thee I’ve found. All my trust to thee I bring. Cover my defenseless head/in the shadow of thy wing. “
I would echo Beecher’s admiration when I think of Wesley’s great hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” which celebrates the deepest good news, that God’s love is never finished with us – that there is always a better way to be for humanity, drawing us toward a “perfect love” that we can hardly imagine and that God is helping us with that, “perfecting” us in ways we cannot do for ourselves. There is more to learn, more to celebrate, as we become God’s “new Creation.” The life eternal begins now and carries forward – changing us as we are called to be transformative agents in the world around us And so for me the last verse of Wesley’s hymn sums up with some meditative depth the spirituality that has formed me – a spirituality I hope we as a church can continue to claim even as our language and liturgy and cultural expressions shift. Wesley’s words bring together a vision for our best selves and for the reign of God:
“Finish then thy new creation. Pure and spotless let us be
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee
Changed from glory into glory, til in Heaven we take our place
Til we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.
I am very aware that our hymns are one of the things that feel like obstacles to seekers not raised in the church – we hear a lot about the problem of “classical music” just not being accessible to modern seekers. A challenge for me, and for those like me who have been formed in this hymnody, is to stay in touch with the deeper spirituality that is carried in the best of our hymn tradition, both in the music and the poetry – and perhaps to find new expressions of that spirituality. Our best hymns remind us of a basic and healthy spirituality: We believe in a God who ”has us”, in the mystery of Incarnation and the love of Christ as there for us, even in the hardest moments of human suffering and despair. We experience the Holy Spirit at work in the world, past, present and future, to heal, shape and transform. We see a continuity between this life and the world to come. These are spiritual values to continue discerning and carrying forward. We can fiddle with words that simply don’t work for contemporary public worship, but we need to keep track of the deeper spirituality that we come to “know by heart” in this tradition, and find ways to carry it forward. Another invitation to “take from our treasure what is old and what is new. “
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Also on the edow blog
In a frequently-broadcast “Christmas at St. Olaf’s” special from some years ago now, a chorus member recalls what the conductor told the chorus as they began rehearsals of Randall Thompson’s haunting choral work, Alleluia. The conductor said something like, “Imagine that there is a chorus being sung all the time, just beyond our hearing, and when you sing this piece, you are joining that invisible chorus.”
I thought of this on the two nights last week when I was able to visit the Washington National Cathedral, during their week of experiential prayer opportunities that they called “Seeing Deeper.” I tend to be a choral geek, so I chose the evenings when I could hear the virtuoso Cathedra chorus as part of this event. Others may have chosen tai chi or yoga or simply sitting and reading or praying in this beautiful shared holy space. For me it was wonderful being in the nave with no chairs – seeing the marble work and observing people being present to the place and the music in various ways – and with a sense that everyone’s way of being there was deeply “right,” whatever form it took.
I really enjoyed moving around the nave –as the singing was going on -just walking up and down, around the great pillars and in the galleries, as this rich polyphonic music was being offered. As I listened to the treble notes, gorgeously carried by the acoustics of the place, I let my eyes follow the upward reach of the gothic arches, and observe the visual rhythms of the vaults, and notice the fine, lacy stonework of some of the side chapels. I’ve been in the Cathedral many times for many events, but moving, rather than sitting, in this prayed-in space, was a new experience.
By Friday evening, when the place had been open all week, I really sensed a deepened spirit of prayer among those gathered. The labyrinths were laid out, and as I listened to the music,of the Allegri Miserere, the people who were walking and praying in the labyrinth seemed to be joining in a dance; those who were sitting or lying on yoga mats, simply meditating and listening, were also tuned into something holy that the music and the space were carrying. People were lighting candles, praying in the chapels, sitting on the floor in the Great Choir as well as in the pews, some even crossing themselves with water as they passed the Baptismal font .
This was truly an experience of corporate prayer There were no words of instruction being offered about how to pray. We knew how ; we were joining the chorus of prayer that goes on always, each in our own way. But in that place, together. We were responding to the invitation that is always there – expressed in the words of Sunday’s gospel (John 1:39) , and offered to the world: “come and see” what it is like, to dwell together in holy presence: come, and see.