September 24, 2006
Text: Genesis 4:21; Psalm 150
Prayers
of the People:
God
of pulse and breath and rhythm and note, of melody and harmony and tempo and
rest, we give you thanks for the music of the spheres that works it way into our
days that makes our joys expressible and our griefs endurable. Sometimes it is the verse of a hymn that
surfaces with just the right words or just the needed promise; sometimes it is
the color of a melody that spills out of a moment, or a random tune that spills
out of our hearts – the inarticulate hum of the soul. We give you thanks for the composers and
lyricists and performers and internal rhythms that make your song our own. We give you thanks for special moments and
marks, treasured people and blessed gifts.
But even while we thank
you for the staccato rhythms and the suspensions pleasantly resolved, we
entrust to your keeping those dimensions of our lives in minor key – those
griefs and wounds and pressures and disappointments; the diminishments that
slow and sober and seem to hold.
May we sing a new song by
your grace, O God. Give us words to
proclaim your purpose and your power; make our actions demonstrations of your
love. Animate our spirits with the sweeping
strength of your presence, and make us instruments of your peace, for we pray
in the name of Jesus who died for it, and who taught us to pray, saying: Our father in heaven…
Jubal’s
Heirs
May 2, 1967
Dear Dr. Jones:
At the risk of being presumptuous,
I’d like to make a few comments about Dr. Carl Staplin who, as I understand it,
recently talked with you. …I feel a deep sense of loss over his leaving,
however I never thought for a moment that we could keep him long. I am convinced that Dr. Staplin is one of the
top two dozen organists in the Nation. I
am not alone in this estimate. This is
generally conceded by many people who are more musically-trained than I. Without a doubt, this man is destined for
greatness. I’d be willing, if I were a
betting man, to give odds on his immense promise.
Carl has great creative genius, and has definite ideas about what a Church organist is, along with the role he has to play. However, he is a most effective team man. He is willing to consider the total view of the Church and has stood ready at all times to cooperate. In other words, he is a good sport, for while he has the stuff to be a prima donna, he is far from being one.
What
I’m trying to say is that this man is no common fish; he’s a big one. So if you want an extraordinary organist, don’t
let this one get away!
The
thing which bothers me at this point, of course, is how in the world we’ll ever
find an acceptable substitute. I realize
that we can’t find another Carl Staplin.
We had a year of magic, and you don’t find magic lurking under every
blackberry bush.
Warmest
Regards,
James
H. Misheff
Senior
Pastor
Bethel
United Church of Christ, Evansville, Indiana
May 9, 1967
Dear Mr. Misheff:
Thank you for your letter
concerning Dr. Staplin. If you preach as
well as you write sales letters, you are a wizard!
Seriously,
we appreciate your words of commendation and we look forward to the opportunity
of visiting with Dr. Staplin relative to the possibility of working with us.
Sincerely,
G.
Curtis Jones
May 27, 1967
Dear Dr. Staplin:
We trust you will be as pleased to
receive this formal word of employment as we are to advise that the
recommendations of proper committees have been confirmed. The terms of the “call” are herewith
delineated:
Sincerely,
Don Brattebo, President
G. Curtis Jones, Minister
September 24, 2006 and now into his 40th year of service to that call, at almost the same rate of pay, we are gathered here to celebrate the fruits of that lively correspondence. Rev. Misheff must, indeed, be jealous that following his single year of partnership with Carl, we here have had the privilege of 40. And for students and audiences and congregants alike, it has been a privilege, indeed. So, what are we to do?
We are to say “thanks,” of course; “thanks” to Carl, certainly, for his artistry and musical ingenuity; for his dedication and passionate exploration of the glories of his art; and for his ministry that regularly invites the rest of us to board the almost mystical transport of music and be carried by it past the outskirts and gates and into the very throne room of heaven.
But let us also give thanks to Jubal, his ancestral father of sorts. Who is he, you might rightly ask? One of the most obscure figures in scripture, Jubal’s name appears only once in all its pages, and there in a genealogy of sorts. Adam and Eve, you might remember, had two sons: Cain and Abel. In a tragic episode of sibling rivalry and fratricide, that progeny was reduced to one, with Cain moving away to live in the land of Nod, east of Eden. But if that sad beginning was not absent of consequence, neither was it absent of blessing. Under God’s redemption and promise of protection, Cain and his wife have children of their own, and then grandchildren, and beyond.
Indeed, if you follow the logic of the story, we are all descendants of Cain, through one branch or another. Cain, who begat Enoch, who begat Irad, who begat Mehujael, who begat Lamech who had, as it turns out, two sons: Jabal, the ancestor, we are told, of those who live in tents and have livestock, and Jubal, the ancestor of all those who play the lyre and pipe. Now, we have no idea how Jubal came to earn that title. Perhaps it began with playful strumming on his mother’s apron strings, or melodic whistling around the campfire at night. Perhaps Jubal was the first to experimentally pluck and wedge a blade of Bermuda grass between his thumbs and blow, or the first to discover a stand of bamboo from which he cut a stalk and hollowed out into something like a flute.
All we know is that his legacy continues, and that through the pipes he inspired of myriad description, God’s own breath still blows – even in this very room. And we are grateful, indeed.
How, then? In what shall we carry our thanks?
Every now and then, a word catches my attention; and every now and then, I invite it to catch yours as well. Along the way we have pondered together the meaning of such linguistic marvels as “glory” and “hark” and “behold” – deliciously melodic and evocative words in their own right. The word I’m hearing this morning is similarly familiar, but equally broad. “Praise.” We “apprise” someone of the facts – which really has nothing to do with our subject, but we “appraise” a piece of property – which I believe has everything to do with it. We praise our children, our politicians, our sports heroes and rock stars, and every so often, we offer up praise to God.
Praise
the Lord, the Psalmist urges us; Praise
God in his sanctuary, praise him in his mighty firmament!
But what does it mean? How do we do it? Duke Ellington closed his Second Sacred Concert, which premiered at the Cathedral Church of St. John the Divine in New York on January 19, 1968, with a rendition of Psalm 150 called “Praise God and Dance.” His version sharpens the concertmaster’s invitation for the present audience: “Praise God with the sound of the stringed instruments, the organ, the cymbal, the loud, high-sounding cymbals, Let everything that has breath Praise God. Praise the Lord, praise ye the Lord, Praise God and Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance, Dance. When Ellington and his band later performed the concert in Spain, the congregation burst into the aisles during this finale to do just that: dance.
And perhaps dancing is at the core of this curious little word – whether it is the samba or pirouette of the heart, scurrying feet across the pedals, or the poetic exuberance of swing, the Twist, the Mashed Potato or the waltz; whether it is around the dance floor or up the sanctuary aisles. In its original language, the Psalm actually begins with the Hebrew word, “Hallelujah,” which breaks down into the plural imperative summons to praise (hallelu) coupled with the short form of the Lord’s divine name (jah, abbreviated from Yahweh), or quite literally, “Y’all get busy praising God!” Hallelujah! And we know something of that spirit.
According to the dictionary, praise is an “expression of approval, commendation, or admiration.” It is exaltation or simple admiration. It is, to say it another way, vocal and spiritual applause – in this case, for “God’s mighty deeds and exceeding greatness.” Praise is the fitting response to God’s good and abundant blessing. The Psalmist doesn’t elaborate on those blessings, but it doesn’t take much effort to build a list. Life, the love of family by blood or family by choice; the beauty of a flower and the breathtaking grandeur of a vista; the rhythmic energy of the pounding waves and the sheer ecstasy of a shiver. The glorious chemistry between a teacher and student. The ecstasy of a high and extended suspension ------resolved.
And how should such praise be rendered? According to this tutorial, praise is not a timid undertaking, but enthusiastic – crashing cymbals and shimmering tambourines; blistering trumpets and Father Jubal’s strings and pipes, and dance. It is an exuberant celebration of the goodness of God, full-voice, full-organ, with all stops pulled. Because of the goodness we have known, and the goodness by faith we know to be ahead.
And it isn’t merely the work of those, like Carl, who have the talented fingers and toes; praise isn’t simply the work of those with practiced breath control and toughened lips; not simply those who have rhythm or believe they can carry a tune. The Psalmist makes it clear: “Let all who have breath – anything with a pulse – praise the Lord.”
And so, inhaling deeply, and filling our own windpipes with the rustling of praise, we all become Jubal’s heirs – symphonic revelers in the goodness and still-creating grace of the God who gives us song.
Praise be to God. Amen.