Occasional thoughts of an Anglican Episcopal priest

Category: Music (Page 5 of 5)

Quarry Bank Mill – 13 July 2011

After attending the midweek Eucharist at St. Bartholomew’s Church in Wilmslow, my host Sally M. took me to see the Quarry Bank Mill, one of the largest cotton producers of the English Industrial Revolution. The Mill was founded by Samuel Greg from Belfast, Northern Ireland, and stayed in the Greg Family until 1939 when Alexander Carlton Greg gave the Mill and the family estate to the National Trust. It is now a well-preserved and highly educational historical site encompassing not only the Mill, but the Apprentice House in which young pauper and orphan children who worked in the Mill were lodged, Styal Village where the older workers and their families lived, Quarry Bank House where the Gregs lived next door to the Mill, and Mrs. Greg’s gardens which provided her with enjoyment and fresh vegetables for the children living in the Apprentice House.

I was able only to visit the Mill itself due to lack of time, but hope some day to return and see the rest of the site.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

The Mill is a marvel of early industrial technology presented in such a way that the visitor really appreciates the “improvements” in cotton production from the cottage industry it originally was when a woman would spin all day to make enough cotton to work on her loom all day the next day producing about 8 inches of yard-width cloth! The water-wheel and later steam driven machines could turn out yards and yards of thread, yarn, and cloth in a few hours. In addition, there are exhibits about how looms are set up to make patterns and about the way in which patterns not woven into the fabric are printed on it.

I’ll just show a few pictures here and add a few comments.

This is an exhibit showing a spinning wheel in the background and hand-loom in the foreground. A volunteer in period dress explained the way in which these machines were used by women in the cottage-industry days of cotton production.

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

One of these volunteers is showing the operation of a flying-shuttle loom, an improvement on the hand loom which made the work go faster; this loom also has an improvement which makes it possible to change the threads of the weft so as to add colored stripes or bands to the cloth. The other is setting up a spinning jenny seen in the next picture, a machine with which one woman could produce not just one, but up to 16 bobbins of thread at a time.

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Loom exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Spinning jenny exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Spinning jenny exhibit, Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

These two machines spin yard and thread onto hundreds of bobbins; the third then takes those threads and rolls them neatly onto a drum for use on the mechanized looms as the warp.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

These two machines are individual mechanized looms now run with electrical motors for demonstration purposes.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

But, of course, the Greg mill didn’t rely on individual machines … a hundred or more machines were set up together, all running off a central power source (either water wheel or steam turbine). One room of the mill is set up to show what this was like and while were there a worker set only three of the machines working – the noise was deafening! I can’t imagine what it must have been like to work there with all of the machines running.

Here is a picture of the several looms together; the next picture is the bank of bobbins which feed the looms.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Men would run the looms; the apprentices (young boys about nine years of age) would go under the looms to clear jams or tie broken threads while the looms were working. As we went through the exhibit, there were several displays telling us about boys who had died from injuries received while working on running machinery.

The last display I want to share in this posting is the display of printed cotton cloth. I thought my daughter, a print maker, would appreciate this pictures of the cylindrical drums used imprint the cloth and the press on which they are used.

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

Quarry Bank Mill, Wilmslow, UK

The Gregs were enlightened mill operators for their day. They provided fresh food and reasonably good housing for their apprentices, as well as rudimentary education. But let’s face it, the working conditions of the 18th and 19th Centuries were horrendous. One also must face the fact that large scale industrial production of cotton cloth put a vital cottage industry to death and changed an entire society.

Hand weaving of cloth and the making of clothing by hand was a staple activity of Gaelic life, as well as of English life, prior to the Industrial Revolution. In their collections of rustic charms, Douglas Hyde in Connacht in Éire and Alexander Carmichael in the islands and highlands of Scotland both recorded many songs sung by women as they worked the looms or finished the cloth; these songs reflect the rhythm of the looms or, in the case of those sung during group work like the waulking of the cloth, provided a rhythm for unified activity. (Wikipedia has a brief article about Scottish waulking songs.)

However, it was not only in these work songs that the making and working of cloth found its way into the folk songs of the Gaelic people: it was also in their love songs! The following is a song Dr. Hyde collected from Walter Sherlock of County Roscommon (because this post has gotten rather long I won’t record here the Irish, only the English). The title is The Tailoreen of the Cloth. (The ending “-een” or “-ine” added to Irish words means “little”, so in this song treasureen is a way of saying “little treasure”; tailoreen, “little tailor”. Céad fáilte is Irish for “a hundred welcomes”.)

I will leave this village
Because it is ugly,
And I go to live
At Cly-O’Gara?
The place where I will get kisses
From my treasureen, and a Céad fáilte
From my soft, young little dove,
And I shall marry the tailor.

Oh, tailor, oh, tailor,
Oh, tailoreen of the cloth,
I do not think it prettier how you cut your cloth
Than how you shape the lies;
Not heavier would I think the quern of a mill,
And it falling into Loch Erne,
Than the lasting love of the tailor
That is in the breast of my shirt.

I thought, myself,
As I was without knowledge,
That I would sieze your hand with me
Or the marriage ring,
And I thought after that
That you were the star of knowledge
Or the blossom of the raspberries
On each side of the little road.

(From Douglas Hyde, Love Songs of Connacht, page 37)

The many working songs of weaving women and love songs like this reflect a way of life ended by the Industrial Revolution so brilliantly displayed by the Quarry Bank Mill.

Leaving the Fireflies (Postscript)

I found a YouTube video of the Irish Klezmer band The Fireflies (referred to in my prior post). The video is a collection of still photos of the band with a pretty good soundtrack. Not exactly what one expects to hear from an Irish band! LOL!

Leaving the Fireflies

On June 30, 2011, I’ll load my rolling dufflebag filled with clothing and such, my backpack filled with computer and books, and my CPAP machine (its bag crammed with anything else I can fit into it) into the car, head for Cleveland-Hopkins Airport, and fly to Newark where I will wait for five hours and then take another plane to Edinburgh, Scotland, UK.

Last evening as I walked the dog after sunset, the sky still a fairly bright blue with plenty of light to see, I looked into the darkness of the woods behind our house and saw that the fireflies were beginning to flash their mating signals. I realized that I’m leaving Ohio at one of my favorite times of the year – firefly time! I love fireflies!

I was born and raised mostly in the little-known southern Nevada community of Las Vegas, but my summers from age 5 to age 13 were spent mostly in the southeastern Kansas town of Winfield. That area of Kansas has a lot of fireflies; my mother was born there and both of my parents were reared there. Those summers were spent living with my paternal grandparents and with my cousins, the children of my father’s only brother, who lived next door to them. A nearly daily activity during June and July was catching fireflies in the early evening so we could watch them flash on our dresser all night long.

I was delighted when we moved to Ohio to find fireflies here … not as many as there were in Kansas, but enough. An informational website maintained by Ohio State University has this to say about firefly habitat:

If you live in the United States, west of about the middle of Kansas, you are not apt to have the flashing type of fireflies in your area. Although some isolated sightings of luminous fireflies have been reported from time to time from regions of the western U.S., fireflies that glow are typically not found west of Kansas. The reason for this phenomenon is not known.

I can guarantee you that I never saw a firefly in Las Vegas! But those summers in Kansas there were plenty.

Fireflies are called different things in different parts of the country. I’m pretty certain that firefly was the most common term in Winfield, although occasionally someone might call them lightning-bugs. I know that some people also call them “glow worms” but the only time I ever heard them called that was when my mother would sing a song with that title popular back in those days. Whenever I would talk about catching fireflies, she start humming or singing that song. Here’s a YouTube video of the Mills Brothers singing it (it brings back a lot of memories!):

My cousins and I would catch the fireflies and keep them in mason jars. We’d grab a handful of the grass growing along the fence of our granddad’s garden (this was in the days long before “weed whackers” and no one ever seemed to feel like trimming that grass by hand, so it was always good and long, perfect for a mason-jar firefly habitat) and shove it in the jar, then run through the yard after the flashing bugs trying to trap them between jar and lid. The lid, of course, was a mayonnaise jar lid (Grammy wouldn’t let us use her good canning lids) that we had pounded a nail through several times to give the bugs air. We’d usually get five or six bugs in each jar and that would be enough for the night.

We’d put the jars on the dresser next to our beds in our grandparents’ basement or at my cousins’ house, wherever we were going to sleep that night, and then do something else for the rest of the evening. Eventually, though, bedtime would roll around and off we’d go, to lay awake as long as we could watching the fireflies flash. Come morning, Grammy would encourage us to set them free and we would dutifully dump out the contents of the jar, wilted grass, fireflies (dead or alive, who knew?), and all.

There are no fireflies in Ireland (though I’m told there’s a Klezmer band there called The Fireflies) so I am leaving one of my favorite sights of summer, the evening flashes of the lightning bugs. There are no fireflies in Ireland, but there is in the ancient verse and the Celtic spirituality of the Irish people a deep appreciation of nature and of nature’s God. In the early 20th Century, Dr. Douglas Hyde collected many bits of folk poetry reflecting that appreciation, including this one found in Dánta Dé. It is described as “ceol na ndaoine, as Albain, tré Lachlann MacBeathain” (“folk song from Scotland by Lachlann MacBeathain”); the notes in the hymnal indicate that Dr. Hyde collected it in 1924:

Áluinn fairrge spéir-ghlas
Áluinn uisgeacha ciúin,
Áluinn taithneamh na gréine
Ar na tonntaibh tá fúinn;
Faoileáin ‘g eiteal ‘s na spéarthaibh,
Teas le h-éirghe an lae;
Ó! nach áluinn, a Dhe!
Siúd uait amharc na sléibhte,
Bárra a bhfolach fá cheó,
Caoirigh ciúin ar a dtaobhaibh,
Síot a’s sonas a’s sógh.
Tógfad suas mo chroidhe-se
Tógfad suas mo ghlór,
Molfad Eisean a-choidhche
Fá gach iongantas mór;
Árdaigh feasta mo smaointe
Mar na sléibhte ‘san aéir,
Ciúnaigh feasta mo chroidhe-se
Mar an t-uisge soiléir;
Éist le m’athchuingh’, a Thigh’rna,
Tar a’s cómhnaigh im’ chléibh,
Réidhtigh m’anam: ‘s im’ inntinn
Déan-sa t’-árus, a Dhé.

The direct, non-metrical, prose interpretation:

Lovely is the sky-grey ocean,
Lovely the quiet waters,
Lovely the shining of the sun
On the waters below;
Seagulls flying in the skies,
Warmth with the rising of day, –
O how delightful is Thy world!
O how delightful, my God!
See in the distance the mountains,
Summits hidden in the mist;
Quiet sheep on their slopes,
Peace and pleasure and bliss.
I will lift up my own heart,
I will lift up my voice,
I will praise Him for ever
For each wonder great.
Lift Thou upwards my thoughts
Like to the mountains above,
Calm Thou henceforth my heart
Like the waters clear;
Hear, O Lord, my prayer,
Come, abide in my breast,
Quiet my soul, and within my mind
Make Thy dwelling, O God.

There are no fireflies in Ireland, but I’m sure if there ever had been they would have found there way into the religious songs of the Irish people. Fireflies spark our imaginations and light up our souls on summer nights. In a way, I’m sorry to be leaving the fireflies.

Translating Hymns (Part 3)

Between the steps outlined in my last two posts, there is the matter of music. The metre, the accents, the stressed syllables … all that has to be considered. Hymn metres are often described numerically by the number of syllables in each line. For example, the great Lutheran hymn A Mighty Fortess Is Our God is metrically described “87 87 87 66 7” – this means that in each nine-phrase stanza, the first line has eight syllables, the second seven, the third eight, and so on.

I look over the music in Dánta Dé and determine, using this syllable-count scheme, what the metre of the translation should be, how the music fits the Irish lyrics and how best an English re-working might fit. And then, working from the literal translations of ní Ógáin and my own literal translation, I begin crafting a metrical paraphrase.

One of my favorite pieces in the hymnal is entitled The Heavenly Habitation, written by Donnchad Mór Ó Dálaigh in the 13th Century. Here it is in three versions – the original archaic Gaeilge, ní Ógáin’s translation, and my final metrical, rhyming paraphrase.

The original Irish Gaelic:

Áluinn Dún Mhic Mhuire,
An Dún is gluine blat;
Aoibhneas ann agus ceo,
Ní fhaicthear brón go brat.

Ní fhaicthear ann cean crom,
Tuirse trom ann nó cás,
Ní fhaicthear cúis no coir,
Ar aon neach ann go brat.

Do chídhtear ann do shíor,
Aoibhneas Ríogh na ngrás;
Do chídhtear sin san Dún
Soillse nach múcann smal.

An Spioraid Naomh go taithneamhac
Mar gaethibh siúbhlac’ gréine,
Is É ag scaoileadh go ceathannach
[Glé-] grása Ríogh na Féile.

San mbrúgh suaithneach solus-bhlát,
– Óir ‘s ionann lá is oidhche –
Ó chorraibh ‘n bhrógha bháin-ghil
Tig deallradh lán do’n aoibhneas.

Tá mile ógh is máirtireach
Fuair san tsaoghal gach dochar,
Lán dá n-aoibhneas taithniomhach
Ann go sámh glan socair.

Gorta is iota is ocras
‘S gach uile galar claoidhte,
Deoch as tobar na trócaire
D’fhóirfeadh iad sin choidhche.

Iompuighmíd ar ár n-ais arís,
Go bhfeicmid Ri na ngrása,
Is iarrmaoid ar ár nglúine
Ár leigean ‘san Dún is áilne.

Úna ní Ógáin’s direct translation:

Beauteous the Dún of the Son of Mary,
The Dún of purest bloom;
Delight is there and music,
And sorrow ne’er shall be seen there.

Ne’er shall be seen there a head bowed down,
Heavy weariness nor care;
Never sorrow nor crime
On anyone there for ever.

For ever is seen there
The loveliness of the King of the graces;
This is seen in that Dún,
Light that no cloud shall quench.

The Holy Spirit radiantly
Like moving beams of the sun,
And He shedding in showers
The graces of the King of generosity.

In the Fortress colour-full, light-blossoming,
– For there day and night are the same , –
From the pinnacles of the fair bright Fortress
Comes radiance full of delight.

A thousand virgins and martyrs
Who received in the world all hardships,
Filled with joyful delight
Are there, peaceful, pure, safe.

Famine and thirst and hunger,
And every wearing disease, –
A drink from the Well of Mercy
Would relieve them for ever.

We will return back again
That we may see the King of the graces,
And beseech him on our knees
To take us into the Dwelling most beauteous

My work based on this hymn:

How wondrous bright the glorious dún
of Jesus Christ our King;
Delight is there for ev’ryone,
and there the martyrs sing.

No head is bowed with sorrow there,
no heavy weariness known;
No crime, no cloud, no toilsome care,
bedims that heav’nly home.

The beauteous mansions of God’s Son
all sound with music bright;
The radiant Spirit, like the sun,
Fills them with glorious light.

The graces of the King are spread
and purest loveliness blooms
on all the holy, faithful dead
who now live in God’s rooms.

The many virgins, martyrs, saints
who hardship all endured
are filled with joy, delight, and grace;
blest, peaceful, and secure.

From famine, suff’ring, thirst, disease,
the Well of Mercy has giv’n
release and comfort to all these
who now dwell in God’s heav’n.

That heav’nly habitation we
all live in hope to share;
The King of all the graces we
beseech to take us there.

Upon our knees, the King we pray
will there make welcome our souls,
where ev’ry night is bright as day,
and ev’ry life made whole.

How wondrous bright, the glorious dún
of Jesus Christ our King;
Delight is there for ev’ryone,
and there we all shall sing.

There ev’ry soul is pure and bright,
and ev’ry loveliness known;
There joy, and peace, and pure delight
bless our eternal home.

There are about eighty ancient Gaelic hymns in the hymnal (there are also Gaelic translations of familiar hymns, especially Christmas carols, which I will be ignoring). My sabbatical project will be to work on these metrical, rhyming English paraphrases for as many as I can complete during my time on leave.

Translating Hymns (Part 2)

Continuing from my last post ….

Here’s an example of what I was describing in my last post. This is the first verse of the fourth hymn in Dánta Dé, in the section titled Maidin (“Morning”). The hymn is described as Cantain Tíre-Chonaill (“Chant [from] Tyrconnell”) and the ascription reads, Ó na daoinibh tré Antoine Ó Dochartaigh (“From the people by Anthony O’Doherty”).

A Íosa mhilis, a Mháighistir ‘s a Dhia,
A Fhuasglóir oirdheirc ainglidhe,
Féach d’ár laige ‘s ná leig ár gclaoidhe
Le tonnaibh buadhartha an pheacaidh.

Úna ní Ógáin translates this as follows:

O, Jesu sweet, O master and God!
Deliverer august, angelic,
Look on our weakness, and let us not be overcome
By the troublous waves of sin

Now, I’m quite certain that her translations are correct, but I want to understand this Irish Gaelic text as thoroughly as possible, so I go to work translating for myself. Many of the words are familiar to me – the name of Jesus, for example, Íosa, or the word meaning “sweet”, mhilis, or the verb “to see”, féach. Others look like words I know, but they seem to be older forms – for example, ainglidhe (which she has translated as “angelic”) does remind me of aingeal meaning “angel”, and tonnaibh (which she has translated as “waves”) is similar to the word I know for “wave”, tonn. Others are new to me.

So I spend a lot of time leafing through the dictionary learning new words and trying to understand the meaning of the almost-familiar words. However, many of these words are not found in my modern Irish-English dictionary (I’m primarily using Foclóir Gaeilge-Béarla by Níall Ó Dónaill, as well as various other sources) because of the changes made in modern standard Gaeilge. For example, ainglidhe has been simplified to aingli. The changes to other words are not so easily discovered: tonnaibh, for example. The plural of “waves” that I know is tonnta, so I think that perhaps this is a related word meaning a particular kind of wave? I know from dealing with other “modernized” words that the “bh” letter combination has been often replaced with either “ch” or “dh”, so I look in the dictionary for that variant spelling. Nothing. I also know that “ai” has frequently been simplified to “a”. Aha! The dictionaries have both tonnach (“quagmire”) and tonnadh (“surge” or “tide”). There’s no way to really know which of these the “folk of Tyrconnell” might have intended, so either could be used as a translation and both suggest imagery for the later step of putting this chant into metrical, rhyming English.

I move on to the next word, buadhartha, which ní Ógáin translated as “troublous” (which I’m not sure is even an English word!) This one is also unfamiliar to me, but it reminds of a word I do know, buaigh, the verb “to win”. The structure of buadhartha suggests to me that it is what the Irish call an aidiacht bhrathartha (“verbal adjective”), but the verbal adjective of buaigh is buach (“victorious” or “winning”). Further, “winning” and “troublous” hardly seem to fit one with the other, so this is obviously some other word. This requires the time-consuming process of simply reading the dictionary word by word until something comes close to ní Ógáin’s “troublous” rendering. The “r” in the word, by the way, is a lead, so I look particularly for words beginning with “bua” and including an “r”. The search ends when I find buair, a verb meaning “to grieve”, and its related word buartha (“grievous, worrying, or sorrowful”). (And a bit of learning for use later on … the letter combination “adha” here was simplified to “a”; this pattern may be repeated in other words.)

This is the process I work through which each word, each line, each stanza of the hymn. In the case of this first verse of Anthony O’Doherty’s chant from Tyrconnell, I render the verse as follows:

O Sweet Jesus, Master and God,
O exalted [and] angelic Redeemer,
See our infirmity and do not allow our conquering
By [With] the grievous tide [quagmire] [of our] sins

Not too dissimilar to ní Ógáin’s original translation, but by doing the work of translation myself, delving into deeper and alternative renderings of the text, I gain insights and ideas that will be of use in the next step, turning the translation into something in English that can fit the metre of the original music to which the Irish words were set. More on that in a later post.

Translating Hymns

In about a month I’ll be starting my sabbatical with two weeks walking hills and visiting important pre-historic, Celtic, Roman, and medieval sites in Great Britain, starting with Melrose Abbey in Scotland, St. Cuthbert’s Way, Lindisfarne in England, Hadrian’s wall, Jedburgh, etc. As I visit these sites, I’ll be blogging and sharing pictures, continuing my self-study of Irish Gaelic (refreshing my learnings from my summer 2008 time at NUI Galway and adding to them in preparation for more study there this summer), and working on translations of the poetry in Úna ní Ógáin’s hymnal Dánta Dé idir sean agus nuadh (Hymns to God: Old and New).

I’ve been working on this for a couple of years and, let me tell you, translating old Gaelic verse into rhyming and metrical English is not easy! I usually end up with more something of my own authorship that is inspired by the original than a translation of the original. The process requires four foundational steps before anything like a singable text can even be considered:

First – the hymns in Dánta Dé are printed in old Gaelic script and in the older form of Irish Gaelic in which there are a lot of letters which have been dropped from the modern standard Irish. So my first task is simply transliterating the Gaelic script into the Latin alphabet. My old eyes aren’t what they once were, so I make frequent mistakes confusing, for example, the letter combination “id” for “ro” and similar errors.

Second – once I’ve gotten the old Gaelic transliterated is to figure out what form the word has taken in modern Irish; spellings in many cases have changed and although the changes follow a pattern, there are sometimes difficult choices to make.

Third – review ní Ógáin’s translation. Her translations are more prose or free verse than rhyming/metrical lyrics. They are fairly direct, but they are also informed by a deep early 20th Century Irish Roman Catholic spirituality so that adds a “flavor” that a more direct translation might not have.

Fourth – my own direct translation. This involves a lot of dictionary work and a lot of grammar review!

Then comes the work of recasting the ideas, images, and spirituality of the piece into singable lyrics….

And we haven’t even considered what to do with the music…..

Forever Young

My son graduated from seminary last week …. he will be ordained in a few more weeks.

My daughter is working on her degree in art ….

This song by Bob Dylan, but sung best by Joan Baez is for both of them, from me, from the bottom of my heart.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you
May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a firm foundation
When the winds of changes shift
May your heart always be joyful
And may your song always be sung
May you stay forever young
Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young.

The Yoke of the Christ Child (Christmas Eve Sermon 2009)

Twenty years ago, not long after Thanksgiving Day, I was doing some Christmas shopping at one of those discount department stores. I won’t say which one, but the chain might have its corporate headquarters in Bentonville, Arkansas. Anyway, I was wandering through the Christmas paraphernalia aisles when my eye spotted a cheap plastic Nativity Set in its box all tightly sealed in shrink-wrapped cellophane. The top of the box had a picture of the crèche scene all set up; there was Mary and Joseph, some farm animals, a few shepherds, three wise men dressed as kings. There was, of course, a price sticker prominently displayed. But what had attracted my attention was that the Baby Jesus couldn’t be seen. What Mary and Joseph seemed to be gazing at with rapt attention and deep love was a sticker which had been placed right over their infant son: “Some Assembly Required” it said.

Right then and there I knew I had my theme for that year’s Christmas sermon! I bought that crèche set, kept it unopened in my office, and used it in that year’s Christmas Eve homily to illustrate the theological notion that in Christ, God the Father had joined heaven to earth and earth to heaven, that “some assembly”, some bringing together of God and humankind had been required and in the Incarnation God accomplished it.

And I also started a tradition of keeping my eye open for some similar object to use as each year’s “focus object” for this annual event, this sermon on the Nativity of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Over the years, these illustrative objects have become a source of great fun for me and I hope for the congregations who’ve been subjected to my preaching.

This year, not long after Thanksgiving Day, I happened to be in another sort of store …. The souvenir shop at the Anheuser-Busch Budweiser Brewery in St. Louis, Missouri, when my eye spotted this …. The 2009 29th Annual Christmas Commemorative Budweiser Beer Stein.

I’m sure you are asking the same question my colleagues of the Western Reserve Deanery Clericus asked last week when we had our annual Christmas luncheon gathering and I told them about this object: “What on earth!?” Mother Meghan Froelich, rector of Our Saviour Parish in Akron, spoke for the entire group (and perhaps for you) when, in her best Desi Arnez voice, she said, “Eric, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

So, my friends, herewith the explanation and a bit of theology concerning our Lord’s Birth.

What I would like us to focus on is not the stein itself, nor on its intended use. Rather, let us consider the wagon and team of Clydesdales depicted on the stein. When I was in business school taking a course in organizational management, the professor shared with us the results of a test of the theory of synergy (which is just a fancy way of saying that sometimes one-plus-one equals more than two). This study was done somewhere in the British Isles. A team of Clydesdale horses like those which pull to Budweiser wagon was used. Each horse was tethered to a number of barrels and tested on how much weight it could pull. These individual totals were duly recorded as well as the overall total weight. The team was then harnessed together, and the same process repeated. The weight of the barrels the team pulled was recorded. The weight the team pulled was 25% more than the total weight the individual horses pulled earlier. So, aha!, the theory of synergy was demonstrated.

The really interesting thing about the study was that the team of horses that were used was an “in tact” team. That means they had pulled things together for a long time. They knew each other. They trusted each other. They were used to working with each other. They were, in short, a team – not just a group of horses tethered together.
This is a vital point when discussing the meaning of synergy. In fact, it is the point. A team is more than just a group of individuals. A team is a well functioning, synergistic unit. Pulling you and me and every human being together into just such a team is one way of understanding what God was up to in the Incarnation, in the birth, life, death, resurrection, and ascension of Jesus of Nazareth.

What triggered my thoughts in this regard is this evening’s reading from the Prophet Isaiah and the way it seemed to point to something Jesus said which we find reported in the Gospel according to Matthew. Listen again to these words from the Prophet:

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness – on them light has shined.
You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest,
as people exult when dividing plunder.
For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders,
the rod of their oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
And how was this done? How did God break the yoke of burden, the bar across his people’s shoulders? Through the birth of this Child, for as the Prophet continues:
For a child has been born for us, a son given to us;
authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

The yoke of burden upon God’s people’s shoulders was broken when another yoke, the yoke of authority, was laid upon his Child’s shoulders.

Of course, the yoke referred to in these Biblical analogies is the sort used with oxen which does go across the shoulders of the animal. But horses are also yoked! When a team of horses is tethered together, the tack used is very complicated – each horse is fitted with a “harness collar”, a bridle, a bit and several other pieces of equipment, and then each pair of horses is linked together with a “neck yoke”. After that, each pair is then put in place and the neck yoke attached to the tongue or pole of the horse-drawn vehicle, like Budweiser’s delivery wagon.

Now, as I said, the yoke mentioned in Isaiah seems to point us to something that Jesus said in the Gospel according to Matthew. In 11th Chapter, speaking to the people of Capernaum and to us, Jesus says:

Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Jesus does not offer us a yoke in the same way that a farmer offers a yoke to an ox or a teamster offers the harness and neck yoke to his horses. Jesus is not offering to put on us something which he himself does not share. As with the pair of oxen yoked together, or a team of horses harnessed together, when we take upon ourselves the yoke of Christ Jesus becomes our “yokefellow”, a partner of infinite strength capable of carrying the entire burden himself. The burden is light because he shares it with us, we with him, and all of us with one another.

As that synergy test demonstrated, a yoke allows the strength of two or more animals to be linked and multiplied, sharing and reducing the heavy labor of the plow or wagon. A burden that might be overwhelming or perhaps impossible for one to bear can be equitably and comfortably borne by two or more bound together with a common yoke or harness. Christ’s yoke requires a great and earnest effort, but for those who truly are converted, his yoke is easy … and yoked together with him and with each other like an “in tact” team our burdens become light.

When horses are tethered in a team such as that shown on the Budweiser stein, the horse on the left of the front pair is called “the lead horse.” That’s the horse who is guided by the driver or “teamster” through the use of the reins; the other horses follow that “lead horse”, the lead horse gives them direction. When we accept Christ’s yoke, when we let him be our “yokefellow,” Jesus not only shares our burdens, he gives us direction. This is what the Incarnation means to us; this is what the Birth of Christ accomplishes. As Isaiah said in another place, “a little child shall lead them.” (Isa. 11:10)

I can’t think of horses and horse-drawn wagons without thinking of the “wild West” and I can’t think of the wild West without thinking of 19th Century author Bret Harte. His short-story The Luck of Roaring Camp is not a Christmas story, per se, but it has always spoken to me of the Nativity.

The Roaring Camp of the story’s title is described as the meanest, toughest mining town in all of the West. There were more murders and more thefts there than anywhere else. It was a terrible place inhabited entirely by men, and one woman who tried to serve them all in the town’s only saloon. Her name was Cherokee Sal and as the story begins, she dies while giving birth to a baby.

Well, the men take the baby and put him in a box with some old rags under him, but when they look at this, they decide it just isn’t right, so they take up a collection – each miner is allowed into Cherokee Sal’s cabin to see the baby and, like the three wisemen who will visit the Baby Jesus, each leaves a gift. The author says they left such things as “a golden spur; a silver teaspoon …. a Bank of England note for £5, and about $200 in loose gold and silver coin.” Then one of the men travels eighty miles to Sacramento to buy a rosewood cradle. He brings it back, and they put the rags and the baby into it. And, of course, the rags don’t look right there. So they send another of their number to Sacramento, and he comes back with some beautiful silk and lace blankets. And they put the baby, wrapped around with those blankets, in the rosewood cradle.

It looks fine until someone notices that the floor of the cabin is filthy. So these hardened, tough men get down on their hands and knees, and with their hardened and horny hands they scrub that floor until it shines. Of course, what that does is make the walls and the ceiling and the dirty windows without curtains look absolutely terrible. So they wash down the walls and the ceiling, and they put curtains at the windows. Now things begin to look as they think they should look. Then they realize they have to give up a lot of their fighting, because the baby sleeps a lot, and babies can’t sleep during a brawl. So the whole temperament of Roaring Camp softens.

As the story goes on, the men take the baby out to their mine and set him by the entrance in his rosewood cradle so they can see him when they came up. Of course, the noticed what a dirty place the mine entrance is, so they plant flowers and they made a very nice garden there. It becomes quite beautiful. They bring the baby shiny little stones and things that they find in the mine, but when they would put their hands down next to his, their hands looked so dirty. Pretty soon the general store sells out of soap and shaving gear and perfume and those sorts of things. In the story, a miner in the competing camp of Red Dog says, “They’ve a street up there in ‘Roaring,’ that would lay over any street in Red Dog. They’ve got vines and flowers round their houses, and they wash themselves twice a day!” Well, the point is that baby changed everything.

That’s what happened on that first Christmas. The Baby changed everything. Rough shepherds came in awe to gaze upon the child. Noble kings bowed like servants. History stopped and began anew. Life changed direction. Christ changes everything! He makes the old new, the gruff gentle, the hopeless hopeful. He gives everyone and everything a brand new start, a new direction to any life. He changes everything! That’s what can happen at Christmas for each of us when we allow Christ to take away the yoke of burden and oppression in exchange for his yoke, the yoke of love and freedom. Instead of wandering alone, shouldering our own burdens, we are given the gift of being an “in tact” team each member bearing a lesser load and having a God- given direction.

I must tell you that I was really pleased with myself standing in the Budweiser souvenir store holding this beer stein and putting together this Nativity and “yoke of Christ” connection. I was convinced it was a new take the story of the Incarnation. Of course, being a conscientious preacher I wouldn’t put together a sermon without doing a little bit of theological research. So that’s what I did when we came home from St. Louis. Guess what I found….

Back in the Fifth Century, a bishop of Rome made that same connection! St. Leo the Great concluded one of his Christmas Sermons with these words:

[Christ], placing within us the nature of His own gentleness and humility, begins in us that power whereby He has redeemed us, as the Lord Himself promises: Come to me, all you that labor, and are burdened, and I will refresh you. Take up my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am meek, and humble of heart; and you shall find rest for your souls (Matthew XI:28-29).

Let us therefore take upon us His not heavy or bitter yoke of truth, and let us be like unto Him in simplicity of heart, in Whose Glory we desire to share, He also helping us and guiding us towards the fulfillment of His own promises, Who, according to His great mercy, is powerful to wipe out our sins, and bring to perfection in each of us His own gifts, Jesus Christ our Lord, Who lives and reigns world with out end. Amen. (Sermon 23)

In a little while this evening, Keni Hansen, one of our choristers will thrill us with that lovely Christmas hymn O Holy Night in which the same connection is made! In my research, I learned that the English words were written by John Sullivan Dwight, a Unitarian minister, but the music was originally written in 1847 for a poem by French writer Placide Cappeau entitled Minuit, Chretiens (“Midnight, Christians”). In Cappeau’s poem, the last verse includes this line, “Love unites those that iron had chained.” So the French poet made the same connection: Christ’s birth unites us in the yoke of love and freedom who before were bound by the iron chains, the hard yoke of burden and oppression.

I also learned that in 1902 an English playwright named Laurence Housman published a piece for the stage entitled Bethlehem: A Nativity Play in which the shepherds recite these lines:

Son of God, shine on us !
Lamb of God, look on us !
Shepherd of men, set Thy sign on us
And lay Thy yoke on us !
And we will be thankful.

So, I have to admit that making the theological connection between the Nativity and Christ’s invitation to take his yoke upon us isn’t all that original. …. But illustrating it with a beer stein probably is! And so I hope that the next time you have a beer, or the next time you see a Budweiser ad, or a team of horses, or just a single Clydesdale, you’ll remember this stein and remember this Christmas message and give thanks for the Baby who came to share our burdens, to be our yokefellow, and to give direction to our lives.

Truly He taught us to love one another;
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother;
And in His name all oppression shall cease. Amen.

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