A Meditation on Meditation

One of the characterizing elements of the season of Lent is its pensive, reflective aspect. Being a period of penance and conversion and of deep introspection accounts for certain practices that lead to a closer encounter with God: centering prayer, meditation, phrase repetition, and of course, chant music.

This Sunday at Trinity Church, Rutland, the choir will sing an anthem called “A Lenten Meditation” by David Wagner.  The music is based on a Gregorian chant in Mode 1 from the mid-12^th century called Jesu Dulcis Memoria. (The hyperlink will take you to a recording of the chant performed by The Cathedral Singers under the conductor Richard Proulx. Richard Proulx was a renowned American composer of church music, and we periodically use his mass settings in our worship.) Gregorian Chant is named for Pope Gregory I, whose great work was to collect and itemize music used in worship. It is marked by specific characteristics: it is vocal only, sung in unison, free of rhythmic constraints, modal so as to evoke particular emotions, and the text is always Latin. One of the purposes and goals behind Pope Gregory’s insistence on the use of chant was to create an atmosphere of focused attention and praise of God.  In essence, chant was to create a meditative state of prayer. Even in 560A.D., the use of chant as a centering device for meditation was not unusual.  In fact, Gregory himself had traveled to Byzantium and farther East to experience music in worship. While empirical evidence of the effects of meditation may not have been as readily available as today, he did discover that certain devices are highly conducive to creating a state of consciousness that allows one to experience closeness to God.

Today, countless studies have been done of the effects of meditation and prayer. Meditation is said to have healing powers and enhance brain power. So of course studies have been done to either prove or disprove this.  The University of Pennsylvania submitted the results of a study about cerebral blood flow during meditation.  Increased activity in the prefrontal cortex and parietal lobes suggest coordinated cognitive processes during meditation.  That is to say, a meditative state increases potential for heightened creativity and intellectual acuity. Another study at the Institute for Advanced Biomedical Technologies in Italy discovered that people with experience in meditation are able to more easily regulate cognitive engagement and that meditation at any level—even simply “zoning out”—is crucial to developing brain plasticity (that is, the flexibility of the brain to reroute, restructure and reorganize itself). This means, the practice of meditation trains the practitioner to control brain function. A similar study from the Indian Council of Medical Research indicated that meditation will increase performance potential.  This particular study looked at the results of the same task performed by four different groups: ordinary practice with no meditation, meditation based on a symbolic (visual) centering device, meditation using a linguistic device (a repeated phrase) and meditation using an auditory device (a sound repetition, like chant). What they discovered was that regardless of the mode of meditation, those subjects performed the task with significantly faster and more accurate results than those non-meditators. The study did not show any significant preference to the device used for centering.  It did, however, show that different parts of the brain were activated with the different modes of meditation.                       

Tibetan monks meditate while creating this sand mandala

I think my favorite study was one conducted at MIT through the Anthropology Program that examined perception capabilities of highly trained Tibetan monks in the art of meditation. The question of whether or not meditation puts one in an altered state of consciousness and is thus prone to hallucinations was raised. The researchers at MIT for this particular study wanted to show evidence that meditation actually increased the brain’s ability to perceive information that a “typical” non-meditative brain could not. They discovered that these monks, who’ve trained for decades in practices of meditation, can actually perceive light at limits imposed by quantum mechanics, allowing them to “see” what is hidden from the typical brain. Essentially, researchers learned that these highly trained Tibetan monks are able to enhance their visual system functioning to that of high-speed, time-lapsed photography.  The implications being that they are able to perceive levels of reality through meditation that the average person cannot.  It is NOT hallucination, but actuality. Think of it this way—these monks highly skilled in meditation practice and prayer really do see God! Or at least are honestly more enlightened than the rest of us.

There is another story about a monastery in France whose abbot insisted on aligning with Vatican II and eliminated the eight hours a day of chanting. The monks began to show signs of mental fatigue and anxiety. They tried sleeping more, but only found themselves even more fatigued.  They altered their diet to no affect.  Finally, they called in Dr. Alfred Tomitas who pioneered research on the neurophysiological effects of chant on the minds and bodies of its listeners. Upon learning that these monks had been trained to the meditative benefits from chanting, but then had that benefit removed, he reinstated the practice.  After a short period, once the monks had re-trained their brains, they were once again healthy and functioning at superior levels of cognition and performance.

Music, especially chant-like music, in our liturgy enhances our ability to send ourselves into a meditative (prayerful) mental state.  When we intone the same mass settings and repeat the same prayers, we are training our brains to become meditative and therefore more open to God’s message to us.So the next time you get and "earworm" or "music maggot" in your head, don't curse it!  Thank God for it, for it's forcing a meditative state in your brain.

Making a Case for a Joyful Lent

Last week’s issue proposed the idea that the dour and somber attitude we assume for Lent might be misplaced. Using John Donne’s A Hymn to God the Father as a platform, we explored the idea of finding joy in the season of Lent.  This week, we’ll continue with that theme and examine other Lenten hymns to see if there is any other support for the idea.

In The Hymnal 1982, hymns for Lent and Holy Week begin with number 140 and 141 (two different settings for John Donne’s poem discussed last week). The next two hymns coincide with the liturgy of early Lent—that of Jesus’ forty days spent in the wilderness resisting temptation. (Actually, Satan gets far too much attention from this particular story.  Jesus’ time in the wilderness was not so much about resisting the devil as it was about getting closer to God, right?) The hymns recall us to Jesus’ example of taking a period of time to just be alone with God. And the final stanza reminds us that the goal of our penitence during Lent is to achieve “…an Easter of unending joy!” While that implies a future of joy, it really doesn’t say much about joy of Lent—although, hymn 143, set to the  German tune  Erhalt uns, Herr, does state that the songs we sing during Lent are to “celebrate” those forty days.

Harold Darke

Now, the next several hymns really do make a case for a joyful Lent. The words are from a Latin text and are set to the tune Cornhill by Harold Darke.  The first stanza is all light, referring to Jesus as the “sun of righteousness” and implores him to “shine in our hearts, and dispel the gloom that shades our minds…” That very phrasing hints at a reference to the somber mood that has permeated Lent.  The words go on to request  that God “…restore us by your loving care to peace and joy within.” The third stanza offers up our penitence, but a penitence of praise.  That is, it is not requisite that penitence by self-flagellating, but that it be of praise and thanksgiving.  That’s a joyful perspective to take, wouldn’t you say?

It’s interesting to look at the words set to the music measure by measure.  Cornhill is in the key of C major. C major is, of course, one of the most commonly used keys and is often employed to set certain moods.  For instance, Haydn’s symphonies set in the key of C major are frequently considered festive and celebratory. Haydn himself considered C major to be the key of pomp and ceremony.  Bob Dylan, to visit another musical reality, considered C major to be of strength, but also regret. That would seem the ideal for a reverent, yet joyous mood. Toward the end of the hymn, Darke has three measures of notes fraught with accidentals that give the music an anxious tone, and resolves back into the familiar major.  The words set in those few measures reflect that angst, i.e. words like “shades” and “sacrifice” and even “majesty”.  Yet the song as a whole is open and bright. (You can listen to a recording of hymn 144 on youtube, but fair warning, the quality of the sound is not great.)

Following Cornhill is a hymn tune that is most often associated with Christmas. The tune is a French carol called Quittez, Pasteurs. Yet it appears in the Episcopal hymnal only in Lent. The first verse calls us to “quit your care and anxious fear and worry” and in the second, “…such grief is not Lent’s goal.” The E-flat major key is bold and heroic (it is the same key Beethoven used for his Eroica Symphony and Gustav Holst used for Jupiter) and suggests a more purposefully determined participation during Lent—a sort of “be cheerful; be assertive in your prayers; it’s Lent!” kind of attitude.

Regardless of whether or not one should deliberately find joy in Lent, one thing every hymn does agree upon is that Lent is a time for prayerful reflection and a deepening of one’s connection with God. Maybe joy comes as a happy by-product of seeking God.  Or maybe God responds to the joy we share in knowing Him. For surely, joy can’t be a more difficult avenue than somber remorse!

Finding Joy in Lent: John Donne as a Case Study

This week marks the beginning of Lent.  As we are fully aware, Lent is a season of penitence and conversion.  It is a season of sobriety and reflection. It is not a season for flowers and alleluias.  It is, apparently, a season lacking in joy and humor—for where is there a basis for joy if one is piously penitent? But perhaps that is erroneous thinking. Just because the season calls for introspection, reflection, and a soul-deep strengthening of one’s relationship with God, does not stand to reason a lack of humor and joy.  In fact, I rather suspect that a sincere effort at deepening one’s relationship with God—even if through penitence—is bound to bring one joy.  Even in Lent. I turn to John Donne as a case in point.

The very first hymn in our hymnal for the season of Lent is “A Hymn to God the Father,” a poem by John Donne.  John Donne had a genius for juxtaposing reverence with humor, and with a little insider information, one can see that genius reflected in this poem. Taken as a whole, the poem assumes an attitude of remorse: “Wilt thou forgive that sin…which is my sin…though still I do deplore?” It is set to a hymn tune called, oddly enough, Donne. It was composed purposely for this poem by Donne’s contemporary, John Hilton (both lived from the late 16^th century to mid-17^th century). Izaak Walton, another contemporary of Donne’s who is renowned for his short biographies, remarked in his biography of John Donne, “I have the rather mentioned this hymn for that he caused it to be set to a most grave and solemn tune…” As it was written in the key of E minor, it is indeed a doleful sounding tune. But as Walton continued to report, Donne himself found the words of his poem sung during worship “…restored my thoughts of joy…and quickened my grace of zeal and gratitude!”

John Donne by Isaac Oliver, 1616

John Donne wrote the poem while near death with a fever from an epidemic that ravaged London in the early part of the 1600s. He is said to recall periods of great joy and tranquility from reconciling himself to the possibility of death during the delirium that overtook him during that illness.  Hearing the hymn recalled him to that joy.  Certainly, the penitent words of the poem suggest the voice of a dying man of faith who fears his own unworthiness. But the ultimate stanza expresses the hope that all will be forgiven and all fears relieved. Set against the first two plaintive stanzas of “wilt thou forgive,” the final stanza does present a certain measure of joy—the joy of one with absolute faith.

But Donne could also have been referring to more subtle twists of humor injected into the poem. For instance, in the last line of the first two stanzas, Donne writes, “When thou hast done, thou hast not done, for I have more.”  He’s referring to his own capacity for sinning again and again, making God’s task of forgiving him a formidable one.  There is an arrogant humor in the suggestion that John Donne can outlast even God’s endurance.  But there’s more; John Donne effectively used wordplay with both his name and that of his wife, Anne More. Recall that when he wrote the poem, he thought he was dying. You should know, too, that his beloved wife and mother of their twelve children together had died five years earlier giving birth to their last child (who was stillborn).  Now imagine the word “done” as an alternate spelling for “Donne”[1] and “more” meaning “More” and you have a whole new set of implications: just as God thinks He’s finally taken Donne’s life, he has not, for John lives on to sin again.  Further, even if God does call John Donne to Heaven, He still doesn’t have him, for he writes “I have More”, implying he expects to be reunited with Anne before meeting his Maker. Of course, then there’s the reminiscence of all his youthful indiscretions to which the poem refers that might be the cause of his joy at hearing the hymn. Since the poem was written in the first person, it must have been amusing for Donne listen to congregations of former Puritans confessing his licentious behavior! The second stanza even suggests a deliberate manipulation of these people when he confesses “…that sin by which I won others to sin…”

I prefer the first explanation for Donne’s joy at hearing A Hymn to God the Father.  There is a gratifying comfort in abiding faith that comes from the assurance that God’s forgiveness is a sure thing, manifested through Jesus Christ.  As John Donne witnessed, there is joy in Lent!

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[1] This wordplay is not unprecedented. John and Anne married secretly in 1601 against the wishes of her family. Not only did John not receive her dowry, which forced them to live in penury, but he and the priest who married them and the man who witnessed the wedding were imprisoned until the marriage was proven valid.  While in prison, John wrote a letter to Anne and signed it, “John Donne, Anne Donne, Un-Done.”

Riding the "Alleluia" Train

This Sunday, February 10, 2013, is Quinquagesima Sunday—that is, fifty days before Easter.  My friends, this means it’s our last chance for “alleluia” until Easter.  So get your ya-ya’s out! Buckle up because this train of thought (that’s “bound for glory, this train”) takes some unexpected turns!

The engine that’s driving this train—the last Sunday of Epiphany, the Quinquagesima:

Quinquagesima is a Latin word.  It translates as “fiftieth” and in medieval days, the full term was “quinquagesima dies” meaning fiftieth day.  Quinquagesima Sunday is the fiftieth day before Easter. Of course the fiftieth day after Easter is distinguished by use of the Greek version of “fiftieth” which we all know well: Pentecost.

Car 1—a “red herring” word

The “quin-” prefix of quinquagesima should not be confused with the “quinn-” prefix of the word Quinnipiac. For that is an r-dialect word from the Algonquin language meaning “original people.” “Quinn-” is a morpheme meaning “people.” The Quinnipiac (or better known as Quiripi or Renapi) lived in an area east of the Hudson River ranging from Long Island to southern parts of Vermont and New Hampshire. The word Algonquin itself means “our <united> people” (with the intentional meaning “allies”). The Algonquin language speakers covered nearly one-third of all North America and included dialects spoken by Eastern tribes (i.e. Abenaki, Mi’kmaq, Mohican), Plains tribes (i.e. Blackfoot, Cheyenne, Arapaho), Central tribes (Cree, Ojibwe, Shawnee), Southeastern tribes (Piscataway, Powhatan, Shinnecock).

Car 2—another “original people” tribe: speakers of Hebrew

Hebrew is the oldest non-extinct Canaanite-family language still spoken today—although modern Hebrew is as far removed from classical Biblical Hebrew as American English is from Anglo-Saxon. In fact, Biblical Hebrew, which exists only in writing from as long ago as the tenth century BCE, hasn’t been spoken as vernacular since roughly 70 CE. The term “Hebrew” derives from Ivri which itself comes from the word eyver meaning “from the other side” and refers to Abraham and his descendants (“the other side” meaning the other side of the Euphrates River). The Hebrew word Yehudim, the name applied to the people, means “people of God.” The first letters, you will notice, are “yeh”—the letters for the Hebrew name of God Yahweh (ignore the vowels, in Biblical Hebrew they are non-existent). You will notice also that “yah” is the final syllable in the word alleluia as well.

Car 3—Hallelujah, aleluyah, allelouia, alleluia

Halleluyah is a Hebrew word and translates as “praise God.” The –yah ending is shortened from Yhwh, or Jehovah. Hal’lu, of course, means “praise.” Early Christians took the word untranslated and incorporated it into their worship. In Eastern Christianity, alleluias are sung throughout the liturgical year and are included in all special services, including burials.  But Western Christianity omits alleluias in times of solemnity and penitential reverence—no alleluias during Lent or funerals.  With some rites, alleluias are omitted prior to Easter at the septuagesima (seventieth day).  Fortunately for us and this blog, we allow the praise of God right up to Ash Wednesday—alleluia! Curiously enough, it wasn’t all praise that was excluded.  For Laus tibi, Domine, “praise to you, Lord” can be used in lieu of alleluia. Alleluia also is a term used to describe musical chants, especially Gregorian chants, which are used to precede the Gospel. Alleluias are responsories where the alleluia is sung by a cantor and the choir responds with an additional melisma at the end of the word.  Incidentally, this particular melisma is called a “jubilus.” Literally, it’s a happy ending! Videmus Stellam is an example of this kind of alleluia chant.  The word alleluia first appears in the Bible in the thirteenth chapter of Tobit, and in the psalms it doesn’t appear until Psalm 104.  The word appears in the New Testament only in John’s Revelation. The last time alleluia appears in the Bible is John 19:6—“Then I heard what seemed to be the voice of a great multitude, like the sound of many waters and like the sound of mighty thunder-peals, crying out, “Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns.’”

Car 4—Michael Smith, Randall Thompson and John Weaver…Oh! And Leonard Cohen

Most of the time, we hear alleluias sung at Easter and Christmas.  But sometimes there are special compositions. Randall Thompson composed his most recognizable choral anthem Alleluia for the opening of the festival season at Tanglewood in 1940.  John Weaver composed Epiphany Alleluias, with a “star in the East” motif (an anthem we've sung here at Trinity Church). Michael Smith is a contemporary Christian composer who composed the very beautiful Agnus Dei based on John 19:6.  And, of course, anyone who’s a Shrek aficionado will recognize Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. (I personally am partial to the Boston-based band Adam Ezra Group who composed a song called “MissHallelujah” which as far as I can tell has nothing to do with praising God.  Catchy song, though.)

Car 5—Which brings us to the Rolling Stones and Rickie Lee Jones

In 1969, the Rolling Stones released the first official live album called, “Get Your Ya-Ya’s Out.” I’m pretty sure they were not thinking anything about alleluias or praising God when they named the album.  But the title automatically popped into my mind when I think “last chance to get your alleluias out” (that and Rickie Lee Jone’s “Last Chance Texaco,” from her self-titled first album in 1979, but that one was harder to work into the prose). Like the traveler in “Last Chance Texaco,” there is an implication of impending loss with the last Sunday of Epiphany. And like the Rolling Stones, those ageless boys perpetually dedicated to joy and fun, this last week of Epiphany is full of opportunity for praise and alleluias. The Stones actually adapted the album title from a song called “Get Yer Yas Yas Out” by the blues guitarist Blind Boy Fuller who was very popular during the Great Depression.

The Caboose—This Train is Bound for Glory

A contemporary of Blind Boy Fuller was one Woody Guthrie. Woody Guthrie’s songs have such a folk appeal to them, that his being the composer is often overlooked in favor of thinking them ancient folk tunes.  “This Train is Bound for Glory” is one such song. The song alludes to the days of hobo train jumpers, camp revivals, prohibition bootlegging and the hard days of the Depression when holding on to your faith in God was both all you had to sustain you and impossibly hard to maintain in the face of such fear and tribulation. While my train of thought may not be bound for glory, it certainly carries a lot of glory in its cars.  And if glory is demonstrated in praise of God, then all I have let to say is, “Alleluia,amen.”