Benedictus—Sometimes Louder is Better

July 29, 2021 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Some evenings I sink down in my easy chair and marvel.

Behind closed eyes—and sometimes tear-filled ones—I wonder at the gift of music. Music that quiets. Music that ushers in memories of days long gone. Music that washes away the years, and sadness, and pain.

Some evenings I sink down in my easy chair and do that. On others, I sit in that same chair and expect to do that, but there are different influences at work in the sequence of selections I hear. Perhaps, I should say, another Influence (with a capital I). At least, it seems so to me.

On a recent weekend evening, as I sat, prepared to be calmed and moved, the Influence was at work. I have a group of songs I enjoy. The service I use to bring them up simply would not cooperate that night. Neither the songs nor the artists I have preselected could be found, so I just gave up and clicked the control to play random songs.

I didn’t know the artist. Who is Hauser, anyway? And what was this Benedictus? It was neither a piece nor an artist I’ve ever encountered.

Solo cello with an orchestra.

So simple. So beautiful. So moving.

It began with a statement of the theme by the cello, followed by a restatement or two, and an echo from individual orchestra members (the horn was especially nice). Then with a wave of the conductor’s hand, a chorus—a lovely choir filled with children’s voices—took up the theme.

Quietly, with soft harmonies almost quavering under the pure, clear melody, the soul was lulled to sleep by the haunting music.

The last thing one expected was the pounding of the percussion. And yet, it came.

Instantaneously. Suddenly. Ferociously.

The voices in the choir and the instruments in the orchestra responded as well, leaping to a sudden fortissimo. It was almost frightening. Almost.

The listener in his easy chair—yours truly—was no longer calm or relaxed. The quiet glory of the moment before had become all sound and fury (sorry, Mr. Shakespeare) and there seemed little hope that the previous state would be attained again.

And yet, to my pleasure, it soon was—the bombastic section lasting only a moment before dropping back to the beautiful and simple melody that so enchanted in the beginning.

I was carried away once more. The surprise past, my joy at the beauty was restored. I was comfortable again. Was.

Still, this piece goes in my permanent list to be listened to again and again. I even shared it with my friends on social media. What a singular experience!

I said I was comfortable again, didn’t I? I’m not anymore.

I wish I could leave the matter there. I do wish that. But I never could. The red-headed lady who raised me often reminded me of it.

“Why can’t you leave well enough alone?”

Why, indeed?

But I can’t. And this is bothering me.

Why did the composer have to make that section so jarring? After the loveliness of the theme, why assault the unsuspecting listener with an onslaught of noise and activity?

Perhaps the lyrics will help. No, I won’t be violating any copyrights here. The words are straight from The Book. In the choral text, they’re in Latin, so I’ve made it a bit easier for our purposes, quoting the English translation.

“Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” (Matthew 21:9, NKJV)

Lovely words. They are.

Calming words. Reassuring words. Words of comfort.

Sort of like settling down into that easy chair again, aren’t they? The phrase was originally spoken about our Savior one day, as He entered the city riding on a donkey.

Benedictus.

Blessing.

I write the word multiple times a day, expressing my desire for good things for my friends and loved ones.

Blessings!

May you be blessed.

Like a prayer, the word is, asking for action from our Heavenly Father above. I sit comfortably in my easy chair, and He does the rest.

But there’s more to this, isn’t there?

Life, especially life as a follower of Christ, is not all easy chairs and quiet words. Despite the proclivities of the modern church to be turned inward and feel good about the One who comes in the name of Yahweh and His love toward us personally, our mission—our task—has never changed.

We are to proclaim Him to the world around us. Sometimes, it will be loud. Sometimes, it will be clashing. Sometimes, it will be shocking to the listener.

Always, our intent should be to glorify our Creator and Savior.

The overwhelming drums I heard? The surprising section of music? The words are from the same place in the Gospels.

“Hosanna in the highest!” (Matthew 21:9, NKJV)

A shout of praise going up to heaven!

It’s difficult to do that from my easy chair. I need to act. I need to stand up. Quiet, peaceful me—I need to shout the news.

Cymbals may crash.

I’m not comfortable with that.

The Followers, those twelve men who trailed Him everywhere, had been invited to a quiet place, a place of rest. Yet, instead of comfort, they found themselves at the lake’s edge surrounded by more than 5000 people. And it was time for supper.

“Send them home, Master,” they pleaded with Him. They were missing their rest, the quiet moments, the harmony of shared hymns.

“Show them My glory,” the Teacher replied. “You feed them.”

And they did.

They did.

I don’t suppose it was a quiet affair; nor could it have been all that comfortable, either.

Can you imagine the shouts? The exclamations? The babble of amazement?

I wonder. When did I decide it was time to sit quietly and listen to the music?

Now is the time to be loud. It’s time to make the trumpet call loud and clear.

Really loud.

Especially clear.

It won’t be all that comfortable.

It will be beautiful.

Benedictus. Blessings.

Q: What is the chief end of man?
A: Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever.
(Westminster Shorter Catechism)

Sing a new song to the Lord!
Let the whole earth sing to the Lord!
Sing to the Lord; praise his name.
Each day proclaim the good news that he saves.
Publish his glorious deeds among the nations.
Tell everyone about the amazing things he does.
(Psalm 96:1-3, NLT)

Paying Taxes

March 7, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

It’s that season again. All you need do is turn on your television and watch a network show for awhile any evening. At some point, you will see an ad about taxes.

Get your refund! Pay less to the government! Use our service and we guarantee you’ll pay less and get more!

Funny how words change meaning over the years, isn’t it? Did you know that taxes and tribute are the same thing? Well—were the same thing—once.

For forty years, it has been right in front of my nose. Forty years and I never saw it.

I was in high school the first time I heard the song, but I’ve never really thought much about the title. I simply considered it a strange thing to call a song.

My Tribute.

That is the title of the song, but over the last thirty-eight years—the number of years I’ve been in the music business—it has rarely ever been asked for by name when a customer has needed the sheet music or accompaniment track for it.

Do you have a copy of “To God Be The Glory”?

We know by now to just go to the file and look up My Tribute. The song was written in the early 1970s by Andrae Crouch. It is still sung on occasion today. I’ve included the lyrics to the first verse somewhere below.

But, why would he name it My Tribute?

The words appear at no place in the lyrics of the song. Not once.

We have come to think of a tribute as a voluntary statement of esteem for a person.

Nancy Reagan, the widow of President Ronald Reagan passed away today and the tributes are thick on the Internet and in the editorial pages of the newspapers.

Frequently, songs are offered in tribute to the vocalists who first made them popular. We pay tribute to our mentors and teachers.

All these things are voluntary. We may refuse to offer these tributes, if we choose.

It hasn’t always been so.

The Teacher was approached by the followers of the religious leaders in His day. They, trying to trap Him, wondered aloud if He thought they should pay the tax to the hated enemy occupying their land. (Matthew 22:15-22)

Is the tribute to be given?

The Teacher knew their hearts, but still He would speak the truth they needed to hear. He asked them to show him the coin of the occupying forces—the very payment they were required to give to Rome. The denarius was produced and He held it up, asking what seemed a rather easy question.

Whose image and inscription are on this coin?

The would-be trappers were, instead, snared by their prey. Anyone could see it was Caesar’s image and title on the misshapen piece of metal. The answer given, they immediately had their own answer—one they could not twist to their own purposes.

Give to Caesar what is his. Give to God what is His, as well.

Do you suppose that last was added on as an afterthought? Did He intend only to tell them they must pay their taxes, but added the part about God only to seem pious?

Hardly.

I said He spoke the truth they needed to hear. All of it.

Do I need to ask the question? I will anyway.

In whose image are we made?

In our culture, we don’t think of it in the same way the religious Jews would have, but whose title is written clearly on us?

They had been commanded to put His Law in their hearts and minds, as well as writing them on their arms and their foreheads! (Deuteronomy 11:18-20)

Whose image and inscription are to be found on us?

The tribute will be paid. Without fail, it will be paid.

One day, every knee will bow and every tongue will pay the tribute. By force, if necessary. (Philippians 2:10-11)

Today, we may pay it freely, giving up the tribute to One who has loved and given Himself for us.

How would we not want to do that openly and joyfully?

Mr. Crouch had the right idea. We, who are made in His image and have His love written indelibly in our hearts, give our tribute.

Our tribute.

What we owe. Nothing more, nor less.

To God be the glory!

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow.
Praise Him, all creatures here below.
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host.
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
(Thomas Ken ~ Anglican bishop ~1637-1711)

…and he asked them, “Whose image is this? And whose inscription?”
“Caesar’s,” they replied.
Then he said to them, “So give back to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s.”
(Matthew 22:20-21 ~ NIV)

How can I say thanks for the things
You have done for me?
Things so undeserved yet you gave
To prove your love for me
The voices of a million angels
Could not express my gratitude
All that I am, and ever hope to be
I owe it all to thee.
(from My Tribute ~ Andrae Crouch ~ American singer/songwriter ~ 1942-2015)

Glory Follows

February 26, 2016 ~ Paul Phillips ~ 1 Comment

Gloria virtutem tamquam umbra sequitur.

My son has a huge cardboard box full of trophies that still sits in a closet in my house. Now in his thirties, he values them not at all. It’s funny, but even back when he was a kid, they didn’t mean all that much to him.

Except a few. The ones that actually were given for accomplishing something had a place of honor on his dresser. The participation trophies? Relegated to the closet.

I will freely admit it. I may have been part of the reason for his disdain of the you-matter-because-you-showed-up awards. I never vocally disrespected them, but I did praise the hard work which went into earning the championship team awards, and the Best in Class plaques.

Praise should be given when praise is earned. Accomplishment earns a reward.

Don’t misunderstand me. I am an encourager. Atta-boys and way-to-give-it-your-best-shot messages are important, even essential, in the development of a child. If all they live with is high expectations, without support, they become bitter and discouraged. But, a pat on the back is not a trophy.

Encouragement is not glory.

The Apostle, my namesake, was clear in how he put it. In a race, everybody runs the best they can, but only one person gets the glory—the trophy. (1 Corinthians 9:24)

In encouragement, no one could fault the Apostle. Always, he built up his readers, coaxing them to reach new heights, but in this instance, he was blunt.

Run so you can win.

Period.

All of life, every part of it, takes place on the race course. It’s not a dash—not a challenging five kilometer run—not even a half-marathon. As exhausted as it makes me to contemplate it, the race is more like an Ironman Triathlon, only longer.

Swim nearly two and a half miles. Make equipment/clothing adjustments and hop onto your bicycle. Ride one hundred and twelve miles. Yes. One hundred and twelve. Make whatever wardrobe changes are necessary. Run just over twenty-six miles.

The whole course. If you want to win, you must run the entire series of races. They’re all part of the whole. Then and only then will a winner be handed the prize.

Did you notice the quotation at the top of this little essay? Cicero, a Roman philosopher, who lived in the first century B.C. said the words.

What’s that? Oh. You don’t read Latin. Neither do I, if it comes down to it. Let me try again.

Glory follows virtue as if it were its shadow.

As if it were its shadow.

Imagine. You’re in the race, swimming the first leg of the course. Two and a half miles, you have battled. Victory is yours! The crowd waiting at the water’s edge goes crazy with adulation as you wade out of the shallows, well ahead of the closest competitor.

Glory! They love you! What an accomplishment!

You plow into the crowd, high-fiving and fist-bumping as you go. Basking in the glory—glory you earned for yourself—you relax and exult in your accomplishment.

What’s that? What do you mean I’m not finished yet? I won, didn’t I?

Of course, you understand that it cannot be. One leg is not the entire race. While you were beguiled by the praise and glory of a partial victory, others have gone on ahead to complete the course.

Enamored by the shadow—glory—you turned away from the task at hand. And, just like that, the glory has disappeared.

Just for a moment, will you look with me at the picture Cicero has drawn with his words? If it helps you may even want to glance at the photo that accompanies these thoughts.

Shadows follow behind. As we walk toward the source of light, the shadow follows. It never precedes us. Never.

Glory only follows if we continue in virtue.

It almost seems cruel, doesn’t it? We achieve, but we have no time to enjoy the reward.

Can I tell you a secret?

Glory was never our goal. Never.

Virtue.

That’s our goal, always before us. Righteousness.

As we follow closely after God though, His glory will be evident—to those looking on. He himself upholds us. For His Glory.

His. Glory.

It stays only as long as our faces are to the Light, pursuing the prize. Turn to revel in the moment and it is lost.

Face to the sun, we keep running—or swimming—or riding.

Face to the Sun.

Glory follows.

My soul follows close behind You;
Your right hand upholds me.
(Psalm 63:8 ~ NKJV)

Swim 2.4 miles! Bike 112 miles! Run 26.2 miles! Brag for the rest of your life!
Whoever finishes first, we’ll call him the Ironman.
(Commander John Collins, USN ~ founder of 1st Ironman Triathlon ~ 1978)

He's Taken Leave

Random wanderings with Paul Phillips

glory

Benedictus—Sometimes Louder is Better

Paying Taxes

Glory Follows