Today’s post is from John Weit, Program Director for Music for the ELCA.

In these last weeks of the Easter season leading into the Day of Pentecost, many congregations will sing “Like the Murmur of the Dove’s Song” (Evangelical Lutheran Worship, #403). This is a somewhat unique instance of a hymn text that was written to fit an existing hymn tune. The text was commissioned for “The Hymnal 1982” of The Episcopal Church. Upon listening to the tune several times on different instruments, author Carl P. Daw, Jr. first wrote the refrain “Come, Holy Spirit, come.” This led to the stanzas forming a litany-like prayer to the Holy Spirit.

The first stanza portrays how the Spirit comes with familiar images of dove, wind, and fire. The second stanza turns to the Body of Christ assembled, identifying where and how the Spirit comes. Finally, the third stanza sings of why the spirit comes – the purpose of prayer, reconciliation, love, and peace. Since first published in 1985, this text and associated tune have appeared in several worship books, including nearly all those of the ELCA full communion partners. See the “Hymnal Companion to Evangelical Lutheran Worship”  for more background on this hymn.

The flowing and reflective melody of this hymn are nicely led on organ or piano. Consider adding a solo instrument such as a flute playing the melody as an introduction. The “Musicians Guide to Evangelical Lutheran Worship” suggests when learning this hymn that first teaching the syncopated rhythm at “come, Holy Spirit” may be helpful. It is easily learned.

Like the murmur of the dove’s song,

like the challenge of her flight,

like the vigor of the wind’s rush,

like the new flame’s eager might:

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

 

To the members of Christ’s body,

to the branches of the Vine,

to the church in faith assembled,

to our midst as gift and sign:

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

With the healing of division,

with the ceaseless voice of prayer,

with the power to love and witness,

with the peace beyond compare:

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

 

 

Evangelical Lutheran Worship, 403

Text: Carl P. Daw, Jr.

© 1982 Hope Publishing Company, Carol Stream, IL 60188. All rights reserved. Used by permission. Contact Hope Publishing Company to make copies of this hymn, or use your OneLicense.net or CCLI License.

 

Today’s post is from Ina Berkey in Williamsburg, VA. This weekend was made possible through a grant from the ELCA Reformation Anniversary Grant Program.

On Jan. 28-29, St. Stephen Lutheran Church, along with Saint Bede Catholic Church in Williamsburg, VA sponsored a Hymn Festival celebrating the Week of Christian Unity and the 500^th anniversary of the Reformation. The two-day event featured David Cherwien, noted Lutheran organist and composer and Susan Palo Cherwien, hymn text writer and poet.

The festival brought together 140 choir members from many denominations throughout the Tidewater (VA) area, which stretches from Richmond to Norfolk.  On Saturday the choir rehearsed in the morning and after a catered luncheon attended two workshops. Susan Cherwien presented one workshop about the power of words and poetry in creating text for hymns.  David Cherwien presented a workshop which explored creative hymn singing.

On Sunday afternoon the Festival Choir, under the direction of Dr. Cherwien, led a congregation of over 500 which was made up of members of various churches throughout the Tidewater area. Each hymn and its variations contributed to the theme, “The Spirit of Transformation,” and was preceded by a reflection written and spoken by Susan Cherwien.  The festival ended with prayers for unity and with singing the hymn, “Holy God We Praise Your Name”.

For those present, the entire weekend confirmed the statement by former Pope John XXIII that “The things that unite us are greater than those that divide us.”

Today’s post is from Marissa Sotos, mission developer at Tree of Life in Minneapolis, MN.

I was 22 when I took communion for the first time. The church I grew up in only communed once a year, and by the time I was old enough to partake, I was also old enough to be skeptical.

Then a year after college I found myself sitting in a Lutheran church. Working in the congregation’s office had started out as just a job, but soon I got curious, and once I experienced worship, it drew me back like gravity. Intellectually I was still an atheist, but on Sunday mornings I just couldn’t help myself. There I’d be again, stumbling through the liturgy, and there God would be again at the back of my mind saying, “Just talk to me. Please.”

I didn’t though, and I also didn’t take communion. Each week the ushers would come by and each week I would shake my head. I knew communion meant eating Jesus’ body and drinking his blood. That seemed like something I shouldn’t do unless I was willing to let God be a part of my life.

Over the weeks I started to change though. That God-voice in the corner of my mind wasn’t going away, and I began to look at the people taking communion with less trepidation and more longing. One day, the balance finally shifted. Instead of hunkering down when the ushers came by, I stood up and followed the congregation. The pastor recognized me, “This is the body of Christ given for you, Marissa.” I took it and ate, I drank the wine, and then as I turned to go back to my seat, I completely panicked. What had I just done? Had I eaten God? How would that change me? I rushed back to my pew, lightheaded and with my heart pounding.

The rest of the service was a blur and I left as soon as I could. Outside I tried to clear my head, but it was no use. That God-voice was there, more insistent than ever, “Just talk to me. Please.” Having just eaten Jesus’ body, I felt that I could no longer refuse. “OK God, yes, I’ll talk to you.”

I was right to wonder how communion would change me. It did, and it does. These days I approach the table with more love and less fear, but as I stretch out my hands I still wonder, “How will this change me?”

Simply defined, The Three Days (Triduum in Latin) are the three days of Holy Week which focus intensely on Christ’s passage from death to life: Maundy Thursday evening through Easter evening.

Historical Background

The keeping of The Three Days has its roots in springtime rituals and in the Jewish celebration of the Passover. The Jewish people observed the passage from winter to spring by slaughtering a lamb and sharing a meal. This meal recalled the saving power of God and their thankfulness not only to have survived winter, but to have been freed from slavery.

Christians layered onto this practice the observation of the death and resurrection of another lamb, Christ, the Lamb of God. The date for this observation coincided with the Jewish Passover.

In the second and third centuries, this festival continued to evolve. Pascha (from the Greek, meaning “passage,” as in Christ’s passage from death to new life) became not only linked to the Passover as described in Exodus, but also the to waters of Baptism. Individuals or families were baptized at this time of the year. Thus what began as a Jewish celebration of the Passover became an annual celebration of the Resurrection (see Keeping Time: the Church’s Years, by Gail Ramshaw and Mons Teig, page 94).

This annual celebration had become a three day observance by the fourth century. After a period of preparation, Christians were welcomed into the church through baptism at the Vigil of Easter. Although Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and The Vigil were observed on three days, the event was regarded as one ritual with a dismissal given only at the Easter Vigil.

Over time, the practice of keeping The Three Days waned and other Holy Week rituals developed. Only in the twentieth century has the church witnessed a renewal of this feast.

Current Practice

Some Lutheran congregations have an established practice of keeping The Three Days while others have only begun to learn about the practice. ELW is the first Lutheran worship book to include the service. (LBW included this in the Ministers Desk Edition only). Introducing The Three Days into an assembly’s life takes careful planning and preparation as well as education, especially because the involvement of congregational members in leading, music, reading, art, and other roles greatly enriches the keeping of The Three Days. See the Worship Guidebook for Lent and the Three Days for additional insights, images, and practical tips to help deepen your congregation’s worship life during the days from Ash Wednesday to Easter.

Today’s post is from Patricia Baehler, a member of Christ Church Lutheran in Minneapolis, MN, with photos by Anke Voigt.

I am often asked by my non-churchgoing friends why I go to church so much during Holy Week. “Really?” they say. “Really? You go to four church services in four days? Why does anyone need that much church?” It’s a valid question. Work, family, home … we have endless things we could be doing instead of hearing the stories many of us know so well. They are difficult stories, full of shame and sorrow and pain, and don’t we have enough of that in our world right now? Maybe we could just skip to Easter?

Yet during my time at Christ Church Lutheran, a vibrant and growing congregation in the Longfellow neighborhood of Minneapolis, I have come to realize that I do need that much church. The Triduum, also known as the Three Days, at Christ Church is an intimate and personal experience. It challenges me to feel my faith more deeply than at any other time, to feel it spiritually, emotionally, and physically. It is by immersing myself in the story over the three days that I find a profound joy even before the glory of Easter morning.

At Christ Church, Maundy Thursday is a family service, and the children enjoy helping the pastors to wash feet. I feel enormous hope watching these children pouring bergamot-scented water over others’ feet. Small children, some as young as three or four, show us the way to serve each other: eagerly, fearlessly, joyfully. Their first instinct is to reach out and perform an act of love – just as Jesus commands. So even as the service concludes, as Jesus is betrayed and led away, as the altar is stripped, the image that stays with me is the one of children loving others as God has loved us.

In contrast to the smells, textures, and tastes of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday is barren. The sanctuary is stark and empty, and there are no pitchers of scented water or hands offering me bread. Unlike the previous night, the congregation stays in one place for almost the whole service. There is nothing to distract us from the difficult story of Christ’s death, and we are powerless to stop it. But even here there is joy, because at the very end of the service we are invited to come forward and reverence the cross. It is a profound moment for me each year as I touch the rough wood and am reminded that even in my powerlessness I am saved.

Christ Church’s Easter Vigil is a nomadic affair; the congregation wanders through several locations before ending up crowded around the table for the meal. For me, the most moving part is when, like the disciples two thousand years ago, we gather in a room to tell each other stories and sing songs. We hear God call the world into being, thrill at the Israelites’ narrow escape from Egypt, and laugh at the absurdity of King Nebuchadnezzar. These are the stories that bind us together in our faith and call us to lives of trust and love. Through these stories I feel connected to everyone in the room and to Christians around the world; whatever our differences, these stories are our shared foundation.

So to my friends who ask: yes, I do need that much church. My Easter would be incomplete without those Triduum-inspired images of service, love, and community. The Triduum at Christ Church is part of my Easter experience and part of my Easter joy.