Hymning and Hawing

I grew up listening to spirituals as lullabies and ended up sort of saturated by classical and 1950s-60s folk music (Ian and Sylvia, Odetta, Judy Collins, the Limelighters, Kingston Trio). My musical interests continued as I grew older. When you are a semi-professional musician, especially one with an interest in pipe organ, you get exposed to a great deal of sacred music. Many of the great works of the western canon were written for use in worship services, or for a particular religious celebration or commemoration, or to retell a story (Hayden’s Creation, for example). You also learn the basics of music history, from Medieval through the Romantic in most cases, either in a formal class or through osmosis. And you understand why certain lyrics and musical patters go together. Or at least, did until now.

At some point, I suspect in the 1960s in the United States, certain denominations and subgroups of mostly Protestant churches began altering the lyrics of traditional hymns, and in some cases dropping them from the new hymnals altogether. My understanding is that the Catholic church did something similar after Vatican II, and I’ve heard (musical) horror stories about the Folk Mass of the ’60s and ’70s, but I don’t have first-hand knowledge of that. The reasons given by Protestants for changing lyrics ranged from “inclusivity” to “modernizing the language” to “theological appropriateness.” That sets my suspicion meter twitching.

I should say, as an aside, that I’m familiar with the different musical and theological approaches of various Christian denominations, and that they go back a very long way. In the delightful book O Ye Jigs and Juleps, written in 1904, the young author describes going to her Episcopal Church, next door to the Baptists, and being disturbed because the Episcopalians are singing about “Crown Him with Many Crowns” and the Baptists are “plunging around in a bloody fountain.” (“There is a Fountain filled with blood/ Drawn from Emanuel’s veins./ And sinners plunged beneath that flood/ Lose all their guilty stains.”)

I grew up with the 1960s Broadman Hymnal (Southern Baptist), Sacred Harp, and the 1970s United Methodist Hymnal, and the older Oxford Christmas Carols book. Thumbing through them today, one of the first things you notice in the Broadman and Sacred Harp is how much more the music talks about death and struggle, about getting through hard times, and what waits on Jordan’s stormy banks. It’s blunt but often comforting – death and pain are here, in this world, but not in the next. Things will be better, much better than we can possibly imagine. But there are also hymns that remind the singer that you have to decide which way you are going to go. Which leads me to the first major “What the huh?” moment I had with hymnal . . . change.

In the early 1990s the Presbyterian USA church issued a new hymnal. As an organ student I borrowed a copy and paged through to see what lurked in the dark corners. You see, I’d already gone through a Methodist hymnal change, including slicing and dicing one of my favorite hymns, removing Him and His in favor of G-d and G-d’s, making “G-d of our Fathers” into “G-d of the Ages” and so on. And adding several hymns from Latin America and Asia, some of which are very, very difficult for the Western ear to get used to.

Well, this time the Presbyterian hymnal committee had omitted “Once to Every Man and Nation.” (The tune is “Ebenezer,” for those unfamiliar with it.) The hymn dates to just before the American Civil War. “Once to every man and nation/ Comes the moment to decide/ In the strife of truth with falsehood/ For the good or evil side./ Some great cause, G-d’s new messiah [or “some great cause/ some great decision]/Offering each the bloom or blight./  And the choice goes by forever/ Twixt the darkness and the light.” Most hymnals (aside from the oldest) omit the third verse about “by the light of burning martyrs.” It’s about both the decision for good or evil, but also about abolition vs. slavery. But the hymn vanished from the PCUSA hymnal in the 1990s. Why?
“Because it is theologically incorrect” came the answer. “It’s not a single choice.” OK, then why not tweak the words (as they were doing to so many other hymns) to say, “and the choice goes on forever” or something. I didn’t get a good answer. Personally, I think the text is too stark and the tune too creepy. The Methodists at least kept the tune with new words.

Another favorite target for “trimming” is Eleanor Hull’s translation of “Be Thou My Vision,” to the tune “Slane.” Something about “thou my great father/ I thy true son” and “High King of heaven my treasure thou art./ High King of Heaven my victory won . . .” So verses two and three get mashed together and High King (“Ard rih,” king over the lesser kings) became “Great God”. And the original third verse vanished into thin air. The original third verse, straight from the Psalms (and Irish experience) is

Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight;
Be thou my whole armour, be thou my true might;
Be thou my soul’s shelter, be thou my strong tower:
O raise thou me heavenward, great Power of my power.

Whoops! Can’t have that, although (for the moment) “A Mighty Fortress” is still in the books.

At times the changes (mostly those made in the name of greater inclusivety, lest people who had poor relationships with their fathers be offended) make the hymn un-singable. It throws off the rhythm, leaving notes hanging, or trying to jam things into a rhythm that doesn’t fit the meter. I understand some of the arguments for backing away from the Father aspect of the Christian trinity, but it makes the music go thud. Much like the argument that since some women can’t be, or don’t chose to be, mothers, no church should recognize Mothers’ Day.

I wonder how many people the softened, fluffed, Bowdlerized, and inclusive songs actually reach? In some cases the changes are so blatant that I’d probably be offended at the ham-handedness, were I someone who shies away from the idea of a deity with a male aspect. And what about the people who are looking for strength in times of true trial, only to find fluff? I bet the Christians in Nigeria and Sudan know first hand about that single choice that goes by forever.

One week, the organist at my current place of worship rebelled. After several years of singing an “inclusive” version of the Doxology, set to “All Creatures of our G-d and King,” he did a prelude, offertory, and postlude all based on “Old 100,” the traditional Doxology. “Praise G-d from whom all blessings flow/ Praise Him all creatures here below/ Praise Him above ye heavenly host/ Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”



OK, this is a bit of a fashion post, so feel free to skip it if you don’t have a great deal of interest in hats.

I am a person of pallor. A quick look at me tells the world that a sizable chunk of my DNA comes from far northern Europe, most likely Hibernia or north of Hadrian’s Wall. My ancestors lived in cool, cloudy, damp climes where the ability to soak up every last bit of vitamin D could make a critical difference in their health. As a result, my coloration is politely described as “fair.” Or, as a friend says, “Damn, you’re pale!”

Because of this, and living at a relatively high elevation in a sun-drenched climate, I have become somewhat of an expert on hats. It’s easy to find long-sleeve shirts and long skirts and trousers, but good hats are a bit more of a challenge. And before anyone asks, I tried sunbonnets. You have zero peripheral vision, and if you think people look at you funny in a hat, wear a sunbonnet with a business suit. Yeah. Calico and pinstripes clash terribly.

I tend to favor felt hats for work and for fall, winter, and spring, and canvas for casual and in summer. My absolute favorite felt is a good Akubra, either a Drover or Snowy River crease, with a stampede string or leather chinstrap. No, these are not inexpensive. Last I looked, they were up to $150 per hat. When you work that out to, oh, 250 wearings per year for five to ten years (depending on usage), it’s not quite so painful. Akubras flatter my face, last if you take care of them, and don’t smell like a wet sheep when they get wet. I have a Stetson as well, and it’s not bad, but I prefer the lower crown and different crease on Akubra hats. My winter cold-weather hat is a thinner felt (crushable) with earflaps and a chin-strap. Or a Tilley pork-pie in a dark tweed with ear-flaps, for dress. Or a mad-bomber type hat in rabbit with ear-flaps, if cold is more of a worry than sunlight.

In summer, when I’m not dressed up, I tend to favor Tilley or Tilley-style hats. Canvas is cooler than wool felt, and if I sweat-stain a cheap canvas hat, I can either rinse it out or toss it at the end of the season. And they can be rolled up, sat upon, packed, and otherwise flattened without suffering too much, unlike straw hats. I recommend at least a two-inch brim, preferable three. Five inch brims tend to get in the way, and I’m not certain the greater shade balances the inconvenience. And a five-inch brim on a canvas hat tends to scream “I’m wearing a sunhat!” On the other hand, if you don’t like making eye-contact, a slightly droopy five-inch brim may be exactly what you want.

And then there’s my Victorian and Edwardian confections, with the wide brims, netting, lace, fake flowers, feathers, ribbons, and other trim. I don’t recommend them, unless you have a certain attitude and live in an area of light winds.

Your hat, if you choose to wear one, should fit well. Loose hats get in your eyes, flop around, and tend to blow away. Tight hats stretch out of shape, are uncomfortable, and make your hair look even worse. A good hat should, if not flatter your face, at least not make you look silly. I lean to browns and dark greys. White or very pale tan hats are both expensive and prone to collect every bit of dirt in the county. Black seems to trap heat and show dirt and dust, plus you may be mistaken for a country music person. This may or may not be desirable. Note that I’m referring to nicer hats. What you wear in the yard or on the hiking trail is whatever you happen to like, but they should still fit.

Hat manners vary from place to place. If I am wearing a man’s hat, which is most of the time, I take it off when I go indoors, unless indoors is a hangar, rodeo arena, or the like. Some people argue that cowboys can wear their hats indoors, and for a dress hat that is part of an outfit, I’m inclined to agree, but otherwise, off it comes. I tend to remove my hat for the National Anthem and Pledge, and for invocations, unless I am wearing a woman’s hat. This is in part because of logistics, because I often pin my Edwardian hat to my hair.

Storing your hats isn’t a big deal. People say to keep them on their crown so the luck doesn’t run out. I tend to put mine brim down, unless I’m using it to hold stuff for the moment. Some people use hat boxes and cases for their really good hats. I stack mine loosely, and dust them when needed. Don’t wear a cheap plastic baggie over a hat in the wet, or store one when it is still wet. And do not, under any circumstances, dry a soaking wet wool hat on a heater or radiator. First, it ruins the felt. Second, if it’s a cheap hat, the place will smell like wet sheep for days. Trust me. Two years later, I still had people from that dorm walking past and saying “baaa” under their breath.

5/27 Progress Report

2400 words, plus character guide started on Blackbird. 45 minutes at gym. Sorted materials and relocated workspace due to start of water-leak cleanup.

Blackbird tells the story of Matthew Charles Malatesta, grandson of Edward “Ironhand” von Sarmas, as he fights to preserve the freedom of Morkoke and Scheel against the Turkowi. It takes place ten years after Circuits and Crises, and eighty years before Elizabeth of Starland.

Downspouts – A Community Service Post

If you have downspouts on your house, office, or apartment, check from time to time that they are connected properly and that they direct water away from your foundation. Especially if you anticipate an extended period of heavy rain. Or you may find yourself moving furnishings and books, and pulling up carpet, because the water has eased into the building.

Hiding the Newspaper

This morning I hid the neighbor’s newspaper. No, not out of spite. No, I didn’t heave it onto the porch roof (where it would be most certainly visible from the street and thus not hidden.) I tucked it and yesterday’s paper behind the potted plants on the neighbor’s front stoop. Yes, technically I was trespassing.

Why? To make it less obvious that the neighbor is out of town for a few days and (apparently) doesn’t have anyone watching the house. There’s no need to post a neon sign for potential burglars saying “Hey! I’m away and the neighbors don’t care!” And this way, if the rain continues, they won’t have messy, nasty soggy papers to deal with. It’s a bit like why I move another neighbor’s papers onto her side stoop every morning, with the baggie tails in the air so she doesn’t have to bend over as far to pick them up. It’s easier for her, and it gives me (and her other neighbor) a quick way to see if she’s OK. If the papers are still there later in the day, one of us calls and checks on her. She’s in her 90s and still feisty, but things happen.

The neighborhood is small, and not especially close-knit, but we know each other by sight at the very least, and know which cars belong, which houses have kids and/or dogs that might dart into the street, and who’s frail and might need an extra hand now and then. We also tend to be live-and-let-live sorts, who tend to our own knitting for the most part, but who will lend a hand pretty readily if asked or if we see someone in need. It’s not perfect by any means. There a dog four houses up that won’t stop barking at night, and kids who speed up and down the block just to make noise, and the guy with the scraggly grass who waters in the afternoons and who doesn’t believe in pruning his tree so as a result it clotheslines joggers not familiar with the area. But that’s life, and how things are.

In my mind, that’s how things should be in society as a whole. I look after me and my family, and keep an eye out for the neighbors, in case they need a hand. And vice versa. We don’t impose on each other, but if something looks funny, we check up and call the cops, or an ambulance, or the nephew with the key who knows who else to call.

A small town not all that far (as distances are out here) away from where I live had a massive wildfire two weeks ago Saturday. Over 200 homes burned to the ground. As soon as it was safe, the Red Cross and Salvation Army had people there. The highschool became a refuge, one of the local animal groomers/ pet hotels opened up so people could leave their animals somewhere safe, and churches and other groups began offering assistance, as did other volunteers. A week later, two churches had become the shelters and resource centers, and volunteers from all over the area were helping with the clean up and damage assessment. There’s even a group of the Southern Baptist Relief team that go from home site to home site with sieves. The homeowners say, “My jewelry” or coin collection, or other small valuables, “were in this area.” And the volunteers literally sift the ashes for anything that can be found.

The news came late last week that the total damage is too small for people to get federal or much state aid. I’m not certain that’s going to matter a great deal in the long run. The rest of us are helping as we can, because 1) that’s what neighbors do and 2) because we might be next.

And that’s why I hide the neighbor’s newspapers.

Elizabeth of Donatello Bend Update

Due to various circumstances, the release of the next Colplatschki book, Elizabeth of Donatello Bend, has been delayed until Friday or Saturday of this week, barring further life incidents getting in the way. It will be up at Amazon first, then Kobo and B&N.

Thank you for your patience. the next book, Elizabeth of Vindobona, is in copy-edits now, with a July release date planned.

Update May 23: Life happened. I should get everything on Monday and the book should be live on Wednesday.

Book Review: Witchfinder

Sarah A. Hoyt Witchfinder. (Colorado Springs: Goldport Press, 2013). E-book.

If Seraphim Ainsling, Duke of Darkwater, and the Scarlet Pimpernel ever crossed paths, they’d have a lovely time, getting drunk and commiserating about their adventures. Because Seraphim, heir to one of the most powerful magical estates in Earth/Avalon, secretly rescues magically-talented people from worlds where having a magical talent is a death sentence. This is just slightly illegal. Then things get messy, and all at once magical ambushes and strange women dropping into the Darkwater family fishpond are the least of his concerns.

Sarah Hoyt weaves magic, romance, mayhem, missing heirs, false identities, and shattering worlds into a gripping tale of adventure, duty, and love. In a world where appearances mean everything, nothing is as it seems, and Seraphim, his half-brother Gabriel, and others must find their way through high treachery and low deception to save the worlds of Earth/Avalon, the Realm of Faerie, and beyond. Hints of Regency romance and Gilbert and Sullivan, laced with magic that at times reminds this reader very much of Randall Garret’s Lord Darcy tales, combine into a tightly-written, fast paced adventure.

Although the author nods to other writers, the tale is very much original, and the characters well drawn. The plot becomes a little complicated at times, but the threads work out in the end and it is never so convoluted that the reader feels the need of a score card and flowchart. Witchfinder is a fun, fast-paced read that pulls the reader in from the opening and leaves him wondering “what next?”

FCC disclaimer: I received a copy of the e-arc upon first release. I then purchased an official copy when it became available, upon which this review is based. I received no other compensation for this review.