Hymn Meter and Tune Names

I am often asked what those numbers mean which are often found somewhere on the pages of our hymns.  They are often written as as 8.6.8.6 (86.86) or other variations. Some may instead have capital letters after them such as "CM" or "LM."

Those numbers represent the hymn's meter.  It indicates the number of syllables in each line in the hymn.  This provides the means for an organist to mix and match the text of the hymn with a different "tune." 

Let's take the hymn "Amazing Grace."  Say the words and count the syllables for each line:

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound (8)
that saved a wretch like me. (6)
I once was lost, but now am found  (8)
was blind but now I see. (6)

So, somewhere on the page of "Amazing Grace" will be the numbers "8686."  That is also known a "Common Meter" and can be written as "CM" instead. 

Now that you have that metrical information, you can look at the metrical index in the back of the hymnal and look for the meter "8686" or "CM."  All the hymns listed beneath CM or 8.6.8.6 have the same meter which means you can sing the text of "Amazing Grace" to any of those other songs.

Now, you may notice that under the numerical listing, each of the hymns are listed by a name which may be unfamiliar.  Those are the "Tune" names.  "Amazing Grace" for instance, its tune name is the same as its title.  The tune "St. Agnes is to the hymn "Jesus the Very Thought of Thee."  "Joy To the World" is known as "Antioch."  "O Come All Ye Faithful" is "Adeste Fidelis." "How Great Thou Art" is "O Store Gud." "Holy, Holy, Holy" is "Nicaea."

Back in late sixteenth century England and Scotland, when most people were not musically literate and they learned melodies by rote, it was a common practice to sing a new text to a hymn tune the singers already knew which had a suitable meter and character.

Again, this is a valuable tool for the person planning the music to mix and match melodies and texts.  If you don't like the music for a certain text or if your congregation doesn't know a particular melody, you can check the metrical index and find another hymn tune that the congregation will know from another hymn and sing the desired text to that alternate melody. 

The composer usually gives his tune a tune name.  He (since many composers in the old days were men) would often name the tune for the city, town or church where he was residing at the time he wrote the tune.  If I were to write a hymn, I'd probably name it "East Podunk."

If the hymn doesn't have numbers listed as its meter, it will have letters which are a shorthand;
CM means Common Meter, 8.6.8.6;
LM means Long Meter, 8.8.8.8;
SM means Short Meter, 6.6.8.6;
DCM (or CMD) means Doubled CM, 8.6.8.6.8.6.8.6.
8787D is equivalent to doubled or two verses of 8.7.8.7.

I am of the school of thought, “If it isn’t broke, don’t fix it.”  The original hymn tune, MARION, is an easy, joyous and well known melody which is most often married to the text “Rejoice, Ye Pure in Heart!”   I don’t believe in confusing text and tune.  When you hear the melody “Veni Emmanuel” you know it is Advent.  When you hear the melody “Stille Nacht” you know it is Christmas Eve.  When you hear “Passion Chorale” you know it is Lent.  Everyone knows what Lent feels like, what Advent feels like, even the Feast of Christ the King or Palm Sunday.  You could tell these days by the opening hymn in many churches.  Old Roman Catholics can even tell the difference between the Second Sunday of Easter or any Marion Feast day by of the music alone. 

Seasons, music and text all evoke feelings, emotions, moods and memories which is, or should be part of our DNA.  I think it is a dangerous thing for the church to mess with tradition and ritual, especially as it pertains to our hymnody.  New music is good if it fills a hole. 

When we go to a birthday party, we wouldn’t sing a new melody to “Happy Birthday”  because the melody  we currently sing is traditional and part of our birthday ritual.  Everyone knows it.  When you go to a ball game, the stadium organist has the power to get the crowd to stomp their feet or entice them to yell “charge,” full throated and in perfect unison with only a few music phrases.  That is the power of tradition and ritual.  A stadium organist who tries to change those musical cues would be fired the day he starts.   That is because we care about our ball games and the full and active participation of our “audience” at our ball games.   Also, many of the text writers of our hymns intended for the words to go along with a certain melody. 

If I were to sing a new melody to “How Great Thou Art,” that would be nice.  But, if I were to just play the first two bars of “O Store Gud,” the melody alone would reduce my grandmother to a puddle of tears because she associates that melody with the text of "How Great Thou Art."  Go into a nursing home full of elderly people who can’t remember the name of their own children and start to play the melody to “Amazing Grace,” “How Great Thou Art,” or “Jesus Loves Me,” and they will know every word.  It's in their memory DNA. 

Did you know that the text to "Amazing Grace" can be sung to the theme of "Gilligan's Island?"

Malcolm Kogut

The Old Violin

I thought I would share an old favorite poem Fr. Bill used in his homily this morning.

'Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.

"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"

But, No,
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.

The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.

"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.

The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."

"And many a man with life out of tune
All battered and bruised with hardship
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin

A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.

But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.

- by Myra Brooks Welch

Cleanliness is Next to Godliness

A Gallup poll whose statistics were released yesterday stated that out of 189 U.S. metropolitan areas which Gallup surveyed in 2012, it was found that in Provo, Utah,  77% of its residents were classified as very religious.  In my City of Albany - 26%. 

Well, on the bright side, if this was the third century, we Albanians would probably out live them due to the "high cost of holiness." 

Back in those "biblical times" it was required of Christians to ritually purify themselves in the ritual baths either before they participated in any holy activity or after they did their, uhm, "Christian-duty."  

Their latrine area was secluded plot about 700 yards from the baths where they would dig shallow holes, squat, then cover over their deposits.  They would then go down to the baths to clean themselves.  Cleanliness is next to Godliness. 

Archeologists have performed soil samples of the bath areas and found high concentrations of intestinal parasite eggs such as whip, round and tape worm.  The area was a toxic waste dump of disease.  The Christians would get this matter on their hands and feet, then walk back to the pools to cleanse themselves but in actuality were sharing their germs with hundreds of other people which would get in their eyes, mouth, nose and cuts by bathing in this soup.  Each Christian was literally a walking time bomb.

Leprosy was a catch-all term for a multitude of skin diseases and infections such as Tzoraas and various rashes born from infection which were unknowingly caused by bathing in germ infested water.  Back then, a simple cut could kill you.

Christians were more concerned about privacy and cleanliness while the Romans were less concerned with privacy and humility, and more concerned with efficiency.  The Romans had no problem with men, women and children "raising robes" (dropping trou) in front of one another while that act was seen as sinful to the Christians.  Here are a few pictures of the toilet area in Bet She'an where the person performing the act of voiding would sit with one cheek on each rock in full and open public display while a channel of water beneath them carried away whatever was deposited.  This was as natural and normal to the Romans back then as people sitting on a park bench having a conversation about the weather today. 

While the Christians were concerned with spiritual health with a focus on healing from their physical ailments, the Romans were concerned with keeping their cities clean and keeping out the Christians who seemed to be plagued with copious amounts of disease.  The Christian, yearning for holiness and healing was the cause of their own plight. A vicious circle and downward spiral.

This was at a time when knowledge of germs and infection was practically nothing.  Remember, a "doctor" during this time was predominately anyone who owned sharp tools such as barbers, butchers and people like Jesus - carpenters.  If you needed something removed or cut off, these were the people you went to see.  It was either them or people who who performed magic spells.  There were a lot of people who were using plants, rocks and mud for healing, too.  These were often charismatic healers who would send those with inflictions to bathe in water where unknowingly, germs didn't survive or fester such as in moving water or - water with a high concentration of salt and minerals where nothing could survive, such as the Dead Sea.  Even today, thousands of people flock there for healing in the higher than normal oxygen levels, filtered sunlight and purifying water. 

Jesus was on to something.  No to diminish his healing power, but a lot of what he did and prescribed back then has medical efficacy today.  And, it was not beneath him to make referrals.  When the ten "lepers" approached him, he sent them to see the priest.  Priests at that time saw so many people who were seeking to be healed that they become experts at diagnosing rashes, infections and other diseases such as true leprosy. 

Even the deer yearn for flowing streams.

Prayer of St. Francis, arranged by Malcolm Kogut

Station Fourteen, Jesus is laid in the tomb

At my mother's grave-side internment, there were about two hundred people present when a train suddenly passed by on the tracks which ran near the cemetery.  The priest paused for a moment as he waited for the rumbling  giant to pass by.  I wondered if anyone on the train knew who we were, why we were there, who was being buried, or, did they even notice that we were there.  How I wanted to be on that train.   We then retired to my Mom's home to begin the arduous task of clearing out a lifetime of memories. How cathartic to see her home empty and devoid of identifying belongings.   

Shortly after two hurricanes only a week apart struck our area, a woman called me at the suicide hotline.  Not only was her house destroyed, but her mom's graveside in the local cemetery was flooded and the area where her mom was interned had washed away.  The hurricane took this woman's present, future and past.  She was living in her mom's home which was paid for long ago, she didn't have a job, nor did she have insurance.  We discussed whether this was the end or a beginning.  I wasn't there to solve her problems, just to help her get through the moment.

I ascertained that she was a religious woman so we talked about the two Mary's who kept vigil at the tomb of Jesus and how they discovered the tomb empty three days later.   What could those women have been feeling at the thought of Jesus' body being stolen?  Later, when Jesus appeared to Mary, she didn't recognize him until he called her by name.  There is much power in calling someone by name.  At the suicide hotline, I always get the name of a caller, even if they want to give me  fake name.  I then make it a point to use a caller's name throughout all phone call.  It is often the difference between life and death, hope or despair, simply calling someone by name. 

I read in the paper this morning about a principal at an elementary school in Alabama who wrote a letter to the office of parole in support of a convicted felon's pardon.  It was unbelievable how many people were appalled at his action in an attempt at trying to help a man resurrect his life.  Due to the outcry and demands from a victims of crime group, like a blood thirsty crowd demanding the release of Barabbas, there were demands to the school board to remove the principal from his position.  No good deed goes unpunished.

Joseph of Arimathea risked his own life as he accepted Jesus’ body for burial.
 He laid his body there in a cave and rolled a large stone in front of it, then went home. What a sad day it has been for so many people. 

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
by Mary Frye

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft starlight at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye, who was living in Baltimore at the time, wrote the poem in 1932. She had never written any poetry, but the plight of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her and her husband, inspired the poem. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany, but she had been warned not to return home because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest. When her mother died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye that she never had the chance to “stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear”. Frye found herself composing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later she said that the words “just came to her” and expressed what she felt about life and death.

Indeed, finding leads to losing, but losing lets you find.

O God, your blessed Son was laid in a tomb in a garden and rested on the Sabbath day: Grant that we who have been buried with him in the waters of baptism may find our perfect rest in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

The Thirteenth Station, Jesus is taken down from the cross, by Joanne.

Jesus is placed in his mother’s arms.  A mother receives the body of a son.  Was it a senseless death, helpless, hopeless.  The grief is the same.  The wars continue.  Today, another Gulf war mother will receive her son’s body.  Helpless. 

My son has just finished his third tour in the Middle East.  I am so thankful that he will come home safely to my arms.  There are many mothers who will not be so lucky.  Their last visions of their sons and husbands will be in a morgue where the touch will be cold and the loss senseless. 

I knew an elderly woman who was dying of cancer.  When I visited her once, she said to me, if you come here and feel sorry for me, I don’t ever want you to come back.  Feeling sorry for someone is pity, not compassion.  Pity puts one in a stance of looking down upon the sick one.  Compassion (with - suffering) puts one side by side.  This elderly woman had found that the only healing possible in this world of medical miracles is the ability to accept one’s death even as one fights to hang on to life.  With this healing comes hope.  With this attitude comes compassion.  With this inner peace comes resurrection.  When this woman died, I was there holding on to her hand.  At her funeral, I was there holding her as a pall bearer of life. 

In the Pieta, Mary holds her Son on her lap as though he were again a boy she would comfort after a fall.  This gives me the inspiration to comfort the mourning, to minister to bereaved families, to keep vigil with those made homeless, orphaned or widowed, disabled or powerless by their experience of war.   Unlike many other mother's I will get to hold my living son.

Jesus, how brutally you were put to death. How gently you are taken from the cross. Your suffering and pain are ended, and you are put in the lap of your mother. The dirt and blood are wiped away. You are treated with love.

Sometimes we seem to be kinder when someone dies. If only we could learn to see the good things about them while they were alive. If only we would tell those around us how much we love them, while we still have the opportunity to do so.

Help us look for the good in those around us, especially those we love the most. Help us live each day as if it were the last. Help us become more gentle and loving people through our greater appreciation for those around us.  Amen.

The Twelfth Station, Jesus Dies On The Cross

It is finished.  Death by violence.  It wasn't the first time and won't be the last.  Across the country each day, people are shot, stabbed, starved, frozen, they die in auto accidents, they die from disease and, for many, no one cares.  Jesus said "I am thirsty."  and everyday there are many who thirst for the uncommon wine of compassion and relief from suffering.

I know a Deacon who used to serve the Roman Catholic church. When his son, the church organist, contracted HIV and developed AIDS, he and his wife were ashamed and told no one.  Eventually their son died and everyone in the parish found out as word spread faster than the Good News being shouted from the roof tops.  The deacon and his family felt no compassion or support from their parish nor their priest.  People didn't even want to receive Holy Communion from the Deacon because in those days, people were ignorant about how HIV was transferred.  The Deacon left the Roman church and for the longest time he didn't attend anywhere.

He and his wife are no longer ashamed of their gay son, nor of AIDS, nor that he died, nor for the secret they kept for so long.  Now they are very proud because the death of their son has empowered them to do volunteer work helping men to get tested regularly and promoting safe sex.  Out of their son's death has come much life, love, support and compassion for others.  They have refused to allow differences to destroy life but to save lives.

Father in heaven above, as Jesus hung on the cross, he forgave the soldiers who had crucified him, and prayed for his mother and friends. Jesus wanted all of us to be able to live forever with God, so he gave all he had for us.  May our lives drink in the wine of your compassion for, in the cup of suffering are mingled all our tears and fears.  Help us to pass this cup around.  Amen.