Catchy, no? |
Pastor Hy, our indefatigable 93 year old semi-retired
associate pastor, is a major hoot. She makes no bones about her personal
preferences, which I think is adorable. For one thing, she hates bagpipes, just
hates them. For another, her very least favorite hymn is “A Mighty Fortress is
Our God.” It was penned by none other than Martin Luther himself, and as much
as any tune, could be called THE Lutheran anthem. An ELCA clergyperson giving it
thumbs down is akin to a politician admitting that he or she detests “The Star
Spangled Banner.” I tease Hy that I plan to have “Fortress” played at her funeral.
On bagpipes. My punchline “And you can’t do anything about it” is always topped
by her rejoinder, “Just wait and see!” Knowing Pastor Hy as I do, if anyone could
pull off a surprise appearance at their own funeral, she’d be the one. So I don’t
dare sneak that ditty into her Celebration of Life service.
When it comes to church music selections, I have my faves
for sure—and also the ones that really make me cringe. Sometimes it’s the tune
that sets my teeth on edge, more often it’s the lyrics. For me, simpler is
better—No #1 on my Heavenly Hit Parade is the gorgeous, plaintive spiritual “Give
Me Jesus.” Our hymnal has some doozies, including “Earth and All Stars” with
the painful lines “Classrooms and labs! Loud boiling test tubes! Sing to the
Lord a new song!” I am definitely swimming against the tide of popular opinion,
but “Borning Cry,” and “On Eagle’s Wings” (regularly trotted out for solemn
occasions), have totally lost their appeal to me. Which means, of course, that
when I die, someone (maybe Pastor Hy) will make sure that a soloist warbles
both of these pieces at MY funeral.
We are a pretty traditional congregation when it comes to church
music (our music director Ken claims we have “blended services” just because he
sometimes chooses more modern pieces for the choir to sing, but I disagree). We
have no Praise Band. We sing no Mercy Me or Casting Crowns, and I haven’t heard
a drum set in worship here in a blue moon—it’s pretty much all organ, all the
time. Now mind you, I don’t adore all (or even most) Contemporary Christian
Music either. When the words of the endless chorus flash onto the obligatory big
screens and everyone stands up, sways, raises both hands in the air and repeats
the lame phrases over and over in some kind of Jesus-y trance, I’m outta there.
Given my druthers, I would probably prefer a blend of
classical (Bach, etc.) and Gospel music at worship, which is what music
director Sheridan tends to choose for Grace Wyndmoor. But I do love Christ’s
Oreland, so I will remain in my pew on Sunday mornings, even when the “loud
boiling test tubes” number comes up.
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