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| Zion is a shadow;
Zaphon, whispered rumor; Sol a pale reflection of the Great White Throne: Far above the mountains, far beyond the heavens, Closer than a shadow is the Holy One. Dark with clouds and blackness, bright with lightning flashes, Guarded round by life-forms -- terror to behold! -- Stands the seat of judgment, where the Great Law-Giver Metes out perfect justice from the throne of Gold. Hear the aweful warning: "Holy, holy, holy!" Chanted to the cosmos by the cherubim: Come, ye blest and thankful; come, ye poor and lowly; Only pure in heart and hand may look on Him! Not from foes defeated, not from ritual slaughter Comes the flow of blood from out the throne of light: His own life he offered on the highest altar: Your life-blood and souls are precious in his sight. Round the throne rejoicing, souls from ev'ry nation Sound and sing their praises to the God of Love; Praising Him who made them for His great Salvation, May we add our voices to the choir above! |
The first to be written of these songs, this expresses my deep dissatisfaction1 with the literalistic and materialistic songs about heaven in our books.
It begins with a biblical explanation of the "heaven" metaphor: Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the Zion temple (the origin of the "Zion" metaphor.) Solomon speaks profoundly about the nature of metaphor. First he emphasized the inadequacy not only of his house ("can this temple hold you?") but also of his language ("No! nor can the highest heaven.") He clearly understood that The sky is not literally God's dwelling-place!5 But he prayed that both his physical symbol (a temple on a mountain) and his verbal symbol ("the sky") be a way for himself and His people to conceive of an "approach" to God. They would face the temple; they would speak of the sky. And God (who, they must understand, could be contained neither in the temple nor in the sky) would condescend to hear worshippers in their humble recognition of their own ignorance. I shudder to think what Solomon would say about our more arrogant assumption of knowledge.
So I tried to express Solomon's realization of the inadequacies of our symbol-making, while following his example of doing his best with what he had. Like Solomon did, I include explicit reminders that the symbols are inadequate, and I deliberately use symbols that literally contradict each other.6
Sol Invictus7 was enthusiastially adapted by the early church as a metaphor for Christ, based on from Malachi's figure of the "sun of righteousness". The meaning of that figure came from everyday experiences: the glory of nature, or the solemnity of communal worship.
Zaphon is a much more obscure expression; indeed, the 1929 International Standard Bible Encyclopedia8 doesn't even mention it. "Zaphon" is simply the Hebrew word for "north", and it is not always easy to tell when it is being used with mythic significance. But "the mountain of the far north" of Psalm 48:2 and elsewhere is a clear allusion to Mount Zaphon, the Canaanite analogue to the Greek Mount Olympus: the location of the "assembly of the Gods."9
There is a world of difference between the temple at Jerusalem (which God calls a "shadow" of reality) and the pagan myths. But even in their corruption, the myths contained avenues for presenting the true nature of God -- which were exploited by the Hebrew prophets and the early Christians.
The Cherubim ought to be rescued from the category of "odd-looking angels" into which the speculative pneumato-zoologists have dumped them. Unlike the traditional translations "beasts" or "creatures", the neologism "life-forms" is a very literal translation of the Greek word "Zoe", and carries exactly the right connotation. And "holy, holy, holy" was not just a "praise chorus"; it was a warning. The cherubim are the symbolic guardians9 of the throne room, as they were of Paradise and the sanctum in Zion. Whoever came uninvited into the presence of the Persian king of kings died instantly unless welcomed by the monarch; Mount Sinai was "holy" -- even an animal could not touch it and live. The Cherubim are that warning in visible form. I've expressed that warning in both mythic and functional terms.
But there is more to the vision. After the terror and the warning (but only after) there is also an invitation and a welcome. The Fountain of blood likewise begins as a horrifying picture: but, seen through the horror (and visible only through the horror) there is a promise of Love. I've tried to express that also in functional terms.
After contemplating the spiritual message of the details, we may be able to come legitimately to a response that places ourselves in the picture. But it is unscriptural and dishonest to jump to that conclusion without the intermediate steps; it is dangerously misleading to do it without the linguistic awareness wisely expressed by Solomon.
This may seem like a great deal more ambition than such a little work could fulfill, or a great deal more explanation than it deserves. But I look through the other end of the telescope. The work is a small illustration of a desire for less linguistic sloppiness, more scriptural awareness, and more contact with post-medieval forms of thought. The example is no more than it could be, coming from one with no little affinity for poetry. If I thought it could stand alone as an example, it wouldn't need so much explanation. Perhaps it will spur someone else to incorporate these aspects of the Bible into more skilfully wraught hymns -- or to look for the better hymns that are surely being written somewhere.
Perhaps more significantly, I've attempted to couple genuinely Biblical language (picturesque, mythical, and metaphorical) with genuinely Biblical (functional) modes of thought, avoiding the baggage of traditional Latinesque theologies and Greek philosophies. This is, I believe, a way to pursue a neglected aspect of Bible study: to liberate the Bible from a human tradition; to hear it speak to our generation in its own eternally compelling language and logic. And this is something well worth trying to do.
I am also interested in genuinely contemporary hymns. There are some aspects of older hymnody that must not be preserved. There is nothing holy, and much that is distracting, about archaic English. Kethe, Herbert, Watts, Montgomery (and, for that matter, David, Isaiah, Habakkuk, Luke, and John) all wrote in the idiom of their own time: and so should we. But real modernity does not consist merely in syntactic forms.
Nor does it consist in conformity with contemporary society: the Bible raises a standard beside which every human society will be found wanting. But we must not measure contemporary society in traditional terms -- our society is not wrong, not in the least, because it is different from what it formerly was! No, it is wrong because it is different from God's ideal. And we must criticize it not on traditional terms, but on its own terms -- by its own expression of its own ideals, which are (insofar as they are not scriptural) imperfectly conceived and (insofar as they are) imperfectly attained. And those flaws are equally reprehensible regardless of whether a prior generation appeared better or worse. The "political correctness" aspect of some designedly modern hymns is rather repulsive than attractive. But even beyond that, too many of the better-known avowedly modern attempts just don't achieve rational praise for one reason or another.10 This song reflects something of my own experience and my inherently modern mode of thinking; it is "modern" in a way that neither "singing test tubes" nor sentimental love songs could be.
This meter is unusual enough that an off-the-shelf hymn tune may be hard to find. (Ralph Vaughan Williams' "Down Ampney" is iambic rather than trochaic.) This original tune is suggested by a theme from Brahms' third symphony; but Brahms should not be blamed.
The harmony may be both too difficult and too poorly done to be worth trying. The melody would, I think, be singable in unison. The Phrygian mode11 was for centuries one of the most common scales in church music. Although it is rare today, the first Lutheran and Calvinist books both contained Phrygian-mode tunes that are still in use, and new hymn tunes are still being written in this mode.
The time signature is also unusual but not unknown: it is found in Tchaikovsky's sixth symphony (second movement.) Beat time as if for 2/4 + 3/4: that is, down, up, down, out, up.
Holy, holy, holy! though the darkness hide Thee,
Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see;
Only Thou art holy; there is none beside Thee,
Perfect in power, in love, and purity.
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This text, © Stephen Hutcheson,
2003, and offered freely for use under a
Creative Commons License.
These studies are created by members of the West Allen Church of Christ in Allen, Texas |