We continue this week hearing from a well-known section of the letter that Paul and Sosthenes wrote to the believers in Corinth. In the chapter proposed in the lectionary passages last Sunday and this coming Sunday (1 Cor 12:1–31), Paul and Sosthenes address the nature of the community that has been formed by those who formerly were “pagans … led astray to idols” (12:2). They have now have come to believe that “Jesus is Lord” (v.3) and desire to follow his way in their lives through offering their gifts in service (vv.4–7).
Paul and Sosthenes
In Corinth, however, the gifting of the Spirit has been claimed by some as a basis for unedifying behaviour, which as Paul and Sosthenes say, tears apart, rather than builds up, the community. This is manifested in various ways, including (as we noted last week) in the worship of the Corinthian community, where, fuelled by their sense of being “the spiritual ones”, some people unleash chaos in the gathering. This is in contrast to the desire of the letter writers that in this gathering “all things should be done decently and in order” (14:40), as befits the God who is “a God not of disorder but of peace” (14:33).
In the passage from 1 Cor 12 proposed as the Epistle for this coming Sunday (1 Cor 12:12–31), Paul and Sosthenes offer a strong affirmation to the Corinthians about the wide reach and inclusive invitation that characterises the work of the spirit: “For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body—Jews or Greeks, slaves or free—and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.” (1 Cor 12:13).
I rejoice that these words have been taken up in my church, the Uniting Church in Australia, as the basis for fostering a broad community of faith, across multiple social factors which could divide rather than unite (in paragraph 13 of the Basis of Union). Ministry is enabled by the gift of the spirit. To anyone. To everyone. It is a fine ideal.
That paragraph of the Basis affirms that “every member of the Church is engaged to confess the faith of Christ crucified and to be his faithful servant”. It continues with a declaration, grounded in the scriptural witness (1 Cor 12) that “the one Spirit has endowed the members of Christ’s Church with a diversity of gifts”.
In writing to the Corinthians, Paul and Sosthenes first identified a range of gifts (1 Cor 12:8–10), and then emphasised the claim that “the body does not consist of one member, but of many” (1 Cor 12:14). As a result, each and every member plays an integral role in the whole. From this, they deduce that “the members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable … God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honour to the inferior member” (1 Cor 12:22–25). The context in Corinth has shaped the direction into which Paul develops this image.
Honour and shame were central features of ancient Mediterranean societies. Possessing much honour reflected a high social status; gathering much shame reflected low social status. Public debate amongst males was a key way in which honour was demonstrated; besting another person in such a debate was a means by which an increase in honour could be attained. Acting in a way that brought shame upon oneself meant that the amount of honour attributed to you would diminish. Women acting in ways that were not in accord with the patriarchal structures of the time would also be considered as shameful. A woman’s place was, literally, in the home.
Jesus did not shy away from the challenge to his honour and authority that public debating posed. He engaged in many debates, responding with confidence to challenges to his honour as various questions were posed to him, as is reported in Mark’s Gospel: “why does this fellow speak in this way? it is blasphemy! who can forgive sins but God alone?” (Mark 2:7); “why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” (2:16); “why do your disciples do not fast?” (2:18); “by what authority are you doing these things?” (11:28); “is it lawful to pay taxes to the emperor, or not?” (12:14). According to Mark, he bested his opponents on each of these occasions; he was a public debater of the first order.
Honour was praised by the Greek philosopher Aristotle as “the greatest of all external goods” (Aristotle, Nic. Eth. 1), whilst Xenophon considered that honour was what differentiated humans from animals (Hiero 7.3). Philo of Alexandria, bridging both Jewish and Hellenistic worlds, affirmed that “fame and honour are a most precarious possession, tossed about on the reckless tempers and flighty words of careless men” (Abraham 264).
The honour—shame culture runs through the Hebrew Scriptures. The ancient Hebrews affirmed that honour belongs primarily to God (1 Chron 16:27), so that God could bestow honour on those who were faithful to his ways (Ps 92:14-15). The same idea is expressed in the version of Isa 28:16 which is cited at 1 Pet 2:6, which modifies the ending to provide explicit reference to the claim that God will not shame believers. God can thus honour human beings (Ps 8:5), even those regarded as shameful (Zeph 3:19); and conversely, God could shame those accorded honour by humans (Isa 23:9). Paul later reflects this early in his first letter to Corinth (1 Cor 1:27).
And later in that letter, Paul and Sosthenes addressed the hierarchical ranking that is integral to the honour—shame culture, and offered a completely counter—cultural perspective. “The members of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable”, he asserts; and so too, “those members of the body that we think less honourable we clothe with greater honour” (1 Cor 12:22–23). Accordingly, he advocates that “our less respectable members” should be “treated with greater respect; whereas our more respectable members do not need this” (12:23:—24). This is how this part of the letter upends the conventions of his time.
Then Paul and Sosthenes provide the theological rational that undergirds this perspective; “God has so arranged the body, giving the greater honour to the inferior member, that there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another” (12:24–25). The pastoral conclusion that they draw from this—reinforcing the sense of equality that should mark the community of followers of Jesus—is that “if one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honoured, all rejoice together with it” (12:26). It is the fundamental lesson in standing firm against the culture because of the demands that the Gospel places on believers.
Since 2019 the Uniting Church has marked a Day of Mourning on the Sunday before 26 January to reflect on the dispossession and ongoing injustices faced by Australia’s First Peoples, acknowledge our shared history and renew our commitment to justice and healing. The Uniting Church has acknowledged our nation’s history through its Preamble to the Constitution, Covenanting Statements, and at many other times through its covenanting journey.
I will be giving this reflection on Sunday 19 January 2025 at the Dungog Uniting Church.
Artwork by Zoe Belle, Guwa Koa and Kuku Yalanji woman
Prayer of Confession
Merciful God, as Second Peoples of this land, whose ancestors travelled and settled in Australia, we acknowledge with sorrow the injustice and abuse that has so often marked the treatment of the First Peoples of this land.
We acknowledge with sorrow the way in which their land was taken from them; the way their their language, culture and spirituality was suppressed.
We acknowledge with sorrow that the Christian church was so often not only complicit in this process but actively involved in it.
We acknowledge with sorrow that in our own time the injustice and abuse has continued.
We have been indifferent when we should have been outraged, we have been apathetic when we should have been active, we have been silent when we should have spoken out.
Gracious God, forgive us for our failures, past and present. By your Spirit, transform our minds and hearts so that we may boldly speak your truth and courageously do your will. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
ReadingIsaiah 62:1–5
For Zion’s sake I will not keep silent, and for Jerusalem’s sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch. The nations shall see your vindication, and all the kings your glory; and you shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the LORD will give. You shall be a crown of beauty in the hand of the LORD, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate; but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her, and your land Married; for the LORD delights in you, and your land shall be married. For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.
Reflection
We all know, I expect, what it feels like to be deeply disappointed; let down, betrayed, forsaken, abandoned. The emotions felt at such a time—emotions of despair and desolation—are named in the reading from Isaiah 62 which we have heard today.
This part of Isaiah comes from the time when the exiles from Israel were returning to their land, leaving behind the difficulties they experienced during their five decades of exile in the foreign land of Babylon. They had returned to a devastated city; it probably looked like the images we have seen on our TVs, from bombed residential areas in Syria and Gaza, to the devastation of mass destruction of buildings from tornadoes in Florida and Louisiana and fires in Los Angeles.
In just such a setting, as the people laboured day and night to rebuild and restore their beloved city, an unnamed prophet speaks out, bringing a word of hope: “You shall no more be termed Forsaken, and your land shall no more be termed Desolate, but you shall be called My Delight Is in Her and your land Married.” The hope that the prophet offers is of a time when desolation is left behind, when the sense of being forsaken has been replaced by loving acceptance and care and belonging; the language of a marriage provides a good analogy.
There are people in our midst, in this town, across this country, who know that sense of desolation and being forsaken. Today we remember them, especially, on a day which the Uniting Church now names as the annual Day of Mourning. On this day, we remember that First Peoples, custodians of this land since time immemorial, caring for creation in their respectful lifestyle and customs, were invaded, colonised, massacred, marginalised, and demonised.
The massacres across the country that took place from the early years of British settlement into the second decade of the 20th century, and the shattering of families by the removal of the stolen children, which lasted well into the 1960s, have given the Gringai, Worimi, Biripi, Wonnarua, and many other peoples cause for ongoing lament and despair. Many still alive today remember what was done to them or to their parents and grandparents. The pain is live.
So on this Day of Mourning, we commit to standing with the First Peoples, acknowledging their pain, sharing their distress (to the extent that we can), treating them respectfully, and committing to work for justice for the First Peoples today. We should know that their pain is still real, present, and powerful.
The referendum held last year offered a ray of hope across the country; fuelled by a campaign of disinformation that played on fears and prejudices, that hope was shattered. The Uniting Church had joined with many other Christian denominations, and leaders of a number of faith communities, to advocate a Yes vote. We have shared in the disappointment of First Peoples, and the sense that this is yet another hurt that they have to bear.
On Australia Day in 1938, a large group of protestors marched through the streets of Sydney, followed by a congress attended by over a thousand people. One of the first major civil rights gatherings in the world—decades before Martin Luther King Jr led massive rallies in the USA—it was known as the Day of Mourning. Following the congress, a deputation led by William Cooper presented Prime Minister Joseph Lyons with a proposed national policy for Aboriginal people. Unfortunately, this was rejected because the Government did not hold constitutional powers in relation to Aboriginal people. That changed in 1967.
From 1940 until 1955, the Day of Mourning was held annually on the Sunday before Australia Day and was known as Aborigines Day. In 1955 Aborigines Day was shifted to the first Sunday in July after it was decided the day should become not simply a protest day but also a celebration of Aboriginal culture. This led to the formation of the National Aborigines Day Observance Committee (NADOC), which later then became NAIDOC, the week in July focussed on remembering Aboriginal people and their heritage.
In 2018, At the Uniting Church Assembly in Melbourne—which Elizabeth and I attended—it was decided to reinstate an annual Day of Mounring on the Sunday before Australia Day. So we stand in a grand tradition, and we stand in solidarity with our brothers and sisters, people who have cared for this land over millennia—many, many thousands of years.
This year, President Charissa Suli and Congress chairperson Mark Kickett invite us “to listen deeply and learn humbly, and bear one another’s burdens; to receive the outstretched hand of friendship offered in grace and hope, and to trust in Jesus, whose reconciling love continues to mend the brokenness within and among us.”
They remind us that “the same ancient Spirit of God which has always been present in these lands has given us ‘a destiny together’ as the body of Christ in this time and place”, and so invite us “to celebrate the immense gift we have in each other [as First and Second Peoples], giving thanks for the transformative and boundless love of Christ which holds us.”
Let us pray.
Gracious God, we know that reconciliation between First and Second Peoples is a challenge. We sense that this must begin with reconciling ourselves in truth and humility with you, our God.
We know that is then that we can do the work of being peacemakers and justice seekers.
So help us to act responsibly and respectfully, to care for one another and to support one another. Amen.
We sing The Aboriginal Lord’s Prayer
Artwork by Zoe Belle, Guwa Koa and Kuku Yalanji woman
Artwork by Zoe Belle, Guwa Koa and Kuku Yalanji woman. “The artworks depict the story of Christ’s presence being amongst First Peoples of these lands of his creation for generations. His teachings have long been displayed within the stories, songs, dances and ceremony First Peoples have used them to connect with God as great Creator and teacher for our communities.”
This coming Sunday and the following Sunday, the lectionary suggests that we read and hear a well-known section of Paul’s letter to the believers in Corinth. In this chapter (1 Cor 12:1–31), Paul addresses the nature of the community that has been formed by those who formerly were “pagans … led astray to idols” (12:2) and have now have come to believe that “Jesus is Lord” (v.3) and desire to follow his way in their lives through offering their gifts in service (vv.4–7).
What follows in this chapter—and in the subsequent ones that the lectionary proposes on the Sundays ahead—provides a good basis for considering fundamental matters of faith and discipleship throughout the season of Epiphany. It is, after all, a season focussed on revelation; and Paul’s words are quite revealing!
Actually, they are not just Paul’s words (although that is how we usually refer to them). Paul collaborated in the writing of many of his letters—of the seven agreed authentic letters, only two are written by Paul alone. The others are written in association with Timothy (2 Cor, Phil, 1 Thess and Phlm), Silvanus (1 Thess), and Sosthenes (1 Cor). So it is words from this last letter, co-written with Sosthenes, that the creators of the lectionary are offering us during the season of Epiphany.
A depiction of Paul and Sosthenes
In opening this letter, Sosthenes and Paul tell the Corinthians that they write to “give thanks” (1:4) and also to “appeal to you” (1:10); and later, to “admonish you as my beloved children” (4:14). The constructive approach that they bring is made clear in the opening prayer of thanksgiving (1:4–9). Writing in chapter four, the author (here, presumably Paul) exhorts the Corinthians: “I appeal to you, then, be imitators of me” (1 Cor 4:16; see also 1 Thess 1:6). The letter contains many points of appeal, exhortation, encouragement—and also challenge, correction, and criticism!
This coming Sunday we focus on verses 1–11 of chapter 12. This is an instance of exhortation and encouragement (in the later part of the chapter, which we read and hear on the following Sunday, challenge and correction will occur). In these verses, Paul considers the diversity of expressions of faith that can be found in the faith community in Corinth—as, indeed, there are in many other communities of faith. He notes the diversity of gifts, the various ways of providing service, and the range of activities undertaken by “those who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, called to be saints” (1 Cor 1:2).
Each gift, service, or activity, however, has a common origin. It is “the same Spirit” who grants the diversity of gifts evident in the community (12:4), “the same Lord” who is the motivator for the array of offering service by those believers (v.5), and “the same God” who activates all of the activities that is evident in Corinth (v.6).
It is worth noting that an alternative way to translate this might be “the same God who energizes all of the expressions of energy”. The Greek words being translated as “activate” and “activities” relate to the central idea of energy; indeed, the foundational word is ἐνεργήμα, which when transliterated letter-for-letter results in “energēma”, from which we get the English word “energy”. So the Spirit is presented as an active, dynamic force, which is at work in a lively, tireless, and vital fashion.
In this passage, Paul places a particular emphasis on the unity that is—or at least, should be—a key feature of the group of people who are joined together by the common affirmation, “Jesus is Lord” (v.3). He affirms that the gifts, acts of service, and activities expressed by those people “are activated by one and the same Spirit” (v.11a). It is that Spirit who “allots to each one individually just as the Spirit chooses” (v.11b).
The irony, however, is that in the eleven chapters preceding this passage, there have been multiple signs of the many ways in which disagreement, conflict, division, and factionalism mark the community of believers in Corinth. There have been ethical breaches, instances of sexual misbehaviour, diverse views regarding marriage and related issues, and mistreatment of fellow members of the community who are seen as “weak” by some who perhaps regard themselves as “strong”. Has the Spirit be so energizing that the disruptions caused by the Spirit’s activity have promulgated all of these problems?
Further, the critical issues which Paul addresses in the chapters immediately following, in the later part of the letter (1 Cor 12–14), arise out of the highly spontaneous, seemingly chaotic situation that characterised worship in Corinth. How the Spirit was active—energizing—those who worship in this gathering! It was anything but a reverent gathering of people unified by their faith; it was a chaotic frenzy of activity and words, if Paul’s severe wording is to be believed.
Such worship had more the nature of a dialogue between conversation partners, rather than a monologue delivered by one person to a group of silent listeners. We can see this in a simple way, with the references to “interpreters” in what Paul writes to the Corinthians. Whilst there are people who contribute words of prophecy, pray in tongues, or speak in tongues (1 Cor 14), in each case there is the need for someone to interpret these phenomena. It seems that many things were happening simultaneously, creating a frenzied cacophony during worship. If we see the energizing of the Spirit as a disruptive force, then much disruption has occurred!
For my reflections on the disruptive work of the Spirit in Corinth, see
So in 1 Cor 12, Paul adapts an image which was extensively used in political discussions about the city state (“the body is one and has many members”, 12:12) as well as what may be a reference to a developing baptismal liturgy within the early church (“we were all baptised into one body”, 12:13) and a very early creedal statement (“Jesus is Lord”, 12:3).
The work of the Spirit was supposed to provide a range of gifts for the mutual benefit of all involved in the community. Paul provides a list of just such gifts in verses 8–10. He notes wisdom, knowledge, faith, healing, miracles, prophecy, discernment, tongues, and interpretation of tongues. This should not be taken as an exhaustive list; in other places, Paul refers to other gifts, such as teaching, exhorting, giving,leading, and offering compassion (Rom 12:7–8), as well as power and assistance later in this chapter (1 Cor 12:28).
He also identifies some offices exercised by people alongside gifts already noted, as he concludes this same discussion of gifts: “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers? Do all work miracles? Do all possess gifts of healing? Do all speak in tongues? Do all interpret?” (1 Cor 12:29–30). Similar offices are noted in a later letter written in the name of Paul: “apostles … prophets … evangelists … pastors … teachers”, all,of which are said to be “to equip the saints for the work of ministry” (Eph 4:11–12).
Nor should this list of 1 Cor 12:8–10 be regarded as a prioritising of such gifts by the order in which they are listed. In fact, the concluding comment of v.11 specifically places all of the gifts noted on the same level, each equally “activated by the one and the same Spirit” and “allocated … just as the Spirit chooses”. We should affirm that today; all gifts for service come from the same source.
I’ve heard the sad news that New Testament scholar Prof. Richard Hays has died this week. He recently had a recurrence of an earlier pancreatic cancer and just last week entered hospice care. I remember him as a compassionate, insightful, and articulate person, and am sad to hear of his death.
Richard was a member of the Faculty at Yale University when I started my doctoral studies there in 1983. I got to know him through our mutual participation in the NT seminar each semester, and in 1984 I took a seminar course on “War and Peace in the Bible” with him one semester. We grappled with many relevant biblical texts and ethical issues as we engaged with interpreters through 2000 years of Christian history and tradition, across a range of perspectives, from “just war” advocates to Mennonite pacifists, including Reinhold Neibuhr and Roland Bainton, former Yale professors and eminent contributors to the debate. It was a vigorous semester-long exploration of ethics and hermeneutics in relation to the matter of war and peace. It was immensely stimulating!
The major paper that I wrote in this seminar (“Hermeneutical Issues in the Search for the Historical Political Jesus”) was most helpful for me in establishing and consolidating some key elements of my own hermeneutical practice. Then, in 1988, Richard was one of the three examiners of my PhD dissertation—and provided a number of pages of detailed commentary and critique of what I had written about. (He agreed that I should be awarded the degree, however!)
It’s sobering for me to reflect that all three of my examiners, Wayne Meeks, Richard Hays, and Rowan Greer, and my doctoral supervisor, Abraham Malherbe, are now deceased. I am grateful for the important roles that each had (along with other teachers) in preparing me for my subsequent years of teaching, research, and writing.
Just after the turn of the millennium, Richard visited Australia for a conference and spent some time at United Theological College, leading a seminar for interested members of the college community. Elizabeth and I were scheduled to take him out to dinner was, but she was then in her period of extended hospital stays, fighting recurrent lung infections, and so we couldn’t do that. In his typically gracious way, he came with me to RNSH and met with her and me for a meal in the private hospital cafeteria. We had a long, long exegetical discussion as Elizabeth had most recently been immersed in her controversial doctoral research into Matthew’s Gospel. It was not the kind of conversation that usually occurs in a hospital café! We were both very grateful for, and much energised by, this conversation!
Richard has been one of the most well-respected NT scholars in the world. He was the George Washington Ivey Professor Emeritus of New Testament at Duke University in the USA—a prestigious and important post. In an early work, he developed a technical argument that Paul was referring, not to our “faith IN Jesus Christ”, but rather to “the faith OF Jesus Christ” as the basis for salvation. It was a technical linguistic argument with huge theological consequences, and was debated, explored, for it grounded our salvation in Jesus, not in our own actions of believing. This understanding has been largely taken up by a number of leading scholars in subsequent years.
A decade after I had studied with him, Richard had famously argued *against* LGBTQ inclusion in his landmark ethics book, The Moral Vision of the New Testament (1996). In the book, he was seeking to develop a wider framework for ethical decision-making that was not simply pegged onto “proof texts”, but which was developed from the broad sweep of biblical and theological understandings. I realised on reading it that the 1984 seminar had provided the basis for one of the chapters in this book.
The search for a broad biblical-theological basis for ethics eventually led him, more recently, to become a proponent of affirming and inclusion of LGBTG people within the church. With his son, Christopher Hays, a well-respected OT/Ancient Near Eastern scholar at Fuller Seminary, he co-wrote The Widening of God’s Mercy: Sexuality Within the Biblical Story (2024).
The publisher’s blurb says that in this book, the authors write about “a dynamic and gracious God who is willing to change his mind, consistently broadening his grace to include more and more people. Those who were once outsiders find themselves surprisingly embraced within the people of God, while those who sought to enforce exclusive boundaries are challenged to rethink their understanding of God’s ways.”
In closing the last chapter, the father and son authorial team write, “This book is therefore not just an argument about the meaning of the Bible in the past, but an invitation to readers to make new meaning in the present by listening to the Spirit and joining God now in saying, “I will gather others to them besides those already gathered” (Isa 56:8) … We hope that this book offers encouragement to see that the inclusion of sexual minorities is not a rejection of the Bible’s message but a fuller embrace of its story of God’s expansive mercy.” Richard in particular offered his own declaration of repentance for his earlier writing.
It was an act of deep humility; and a wonderful “last word” from this great scholar and fine man.
Contextualising our Carols: the work of Shirley Erena Murray
Shirley Erena Murray, of Aotearoa New Zealand, has been one of the most prolific and important hymn writers of the 20th century. One of my favourite quotes from her is “I’m despairing of outdated hymns and songs that are irrelevant to contemporary life and the way we live it”. As you may have guessed, I am right on the same wavelength as Shirley Murray!
Shirley Erena Murray, pictured in 2009
“I choose to write with liberal intent, persuading people to look again at what the Gospels actually say and what new truths can come out of them”, she said. With over 400 hundred hymns written by her over her life, and many of them published in more than 140 collections across denominations, countries and continents—including Together in Song—she is well-qualified to speak about this. “What has nudged and provoked me”, she continued, “are the people I admire who have gone to the edge in terms of taking the gospels seriously and followed the Jesus principles.”
Perhaps her best-known Christmas hymn is surely Star-Child, earth-Child:
Another insightful carol reflects the “upside-down” nature of Christmas in the southern hemisphere. It begins:
Carol our Christmas, an upside-down Christmas: /snow is not falling and trees are not bare. / Carol the summer, and welcome the Christ Child, / warm in our sunshine and sweetness of air.
Commenting on how she approaches such seasonal carolling in a 1996 interview, Shirley said: “All our theology in New Zealand is upside down. We don’t have springtime at Easter. Instead, we think of burning leaves and planting bulbs for the spring. We can’t talk about robins and reindeer and snow at Christmas time, which is why I wrote Upside Down Christmas. This explores the images that make sense to us in summertime.” (Peace is Her Song p.137).
Joy Cowley, in her introduction to the 1996 collection that was entitled Carol Our Christmas, wrote: “For this country and its people, the prevailing symbol of the Christmas season is not snow but light. The star that heralds the Christ child in our midst is the sun, and even the sound of its name is symbolic blessing … In this volume of New Zealand carols … not only do the words and the music here reflect Christmas in Aotearoa, they offer us a wide experience of music and rejoicing.” (Peace is Her Song p.115)
In a 2004 interview, Shirley Murray said: “Carols are one of my favourite areas of work, because they are so challenging, not just because I am a southern hemisphere person when Christmas comes. They are the most theologically challenging part of the story for me. Incarnation is much more important than arguing about resurrection; being embodied is more important than talking about where we go hereafter.”
So in “Summer sun or winter skies”, she writes a carol with many of the “classic” carol elements (Christmas, shepherds, angels, silent night, lullabies) but with a potent message for the contemporary world: “silent night a violent night, hawks are in control of a nation’s soul … goodness will outclass the gun, evil has no tooth that can kill the truth”.
She continued: “Carols have always posed a lot of questions. How do you relate to what might be called the gaiety and festivity of what Christmas is meant to be and how do you say something about the child in the manger? … I have written about 20 carols and every Christmas, I struggle again to deal with humanity and God and this amazing baby. Carols have kept hustling me, annoying me, making me work on them.” (Peace is Her Song p.114)
So in 2013 she published The Christmas Child is a Troublesome Child, containing the insightful words that this child was “as troublesome as the Word that stirred the waters from the deep … who questions given rule, who flouts convention’s pious face … whose vision takes a thorny path whose cross may be our own”.
Commenting on this carol, Murray observed: “The childhood of Jesus … was surely like any other kid’s. Jesus became very annoying to the system. When you remember that, carols cease to be throw-away, jolly songs, and start to dig at you, to make you worry and wonder what God is saying through this. I sometimes introduce imagery from my own country but generally I write songs that will apply to almost anybody wanting to talk about the Jesus person, not just the Jesus baby.” (Peace is Her Song p.114)
I am going to include the words of a wonderful Epiphany hymn that she wrote in tomorrow’s post in this series. But for today, perhaps a novel way to end this exploration of Murray’s Christmas carols is to offer the words of her Lullaby for Judas (2001). In Peace is Her Song, her grandson Alex specifically notes this hymn, and reflects on how his grandmother “wanted to picture the human experience in its highs and lows, humans as fallible beings, with weaknesses and strengths. She dealt with the light and the dark of human experience—she didn’t gloss over things. She had the courage to confront the difficult topics, I find this particularly inspiring, and it is what makes her reputation so great.” (p.167)
The child is sleeping sound whose star is yet to rise. Like any baby born, an innocent he lies, this Judas child, a happy child, with laughter in his eyes.
The child can never dream the wonders he will meet: the hungry filled with bread, the bitter lives made sweet, the friend, forgiving to the end, who sees his heart’s deceit.
The child is sleeping sound who knows no horoscope: his kiss that will betray, his hand to grasp, in hope, the money bag, the silver swag, and then, the knotted rope.
Unfortunately the hyperlinks no longer appear to be active.
Shirley’s life and contribution to the worldwide church are now told in a biography, Peace is Her Song: The life and legacy of hymn writer Shirley Erena Murray. Written by journalist Anne Manchester, the book draws on rich sources of material, particularly Shirley’s own words as recorded in several audio and video interviews, and published articles.
While we are looking into carols for the season of Christmas: what about The Twelve Days of Christmas? This English Christmas Carol, some have claimed, had a pietistic purpose: a kind of sung catechism about the central features of the Christian Faith, put into code by Roman Catholics in England when their faith was outlawed. (One is Jesus, two symbolises the two testaments, three indicates faith, hope and love, four refers to the Gospels, five to the Books of Moses, and so on …)
Nice theory, but there is no evidence at all that this was the case … and the origins of the theory go back no further than a speculation by a Canadian hymn writer in an article published in 1979. (And snopes.com agrees; you can read the detailed rebuttal at http://www.snopes.com/holidays/christmas/music/12days.asp )
The Twelve Days of the #twelvedaysofchristmas technically refer to the days from Christmas Day, the first day of Christmas, through to Epiphany, Twelfth Night. So the song should be sung from Christmas Day onwards. And the gifts that are given each day accumulate until the twelfth night, the evening before Epiphany, when gifts were given to Jesus by the Magi visiting from the east.
Professor Bruce Forbes writes that “In 567 the Council of Tours proclaimed that the entire period between Christmas and Epiphany should be considered part of the celebration, creating what became known as the twelve days of Christmas, or what the English, called Christmastide. On the last of the twelve days, called Twelfth Night, various cultures developed a wide range of additional special festivities. The variation extends even to the issue of how to count the days.” (Christmas: A Candid History, 2008, p.27).
Forbes also notes that there are divergent chronologies at work in different parts of the church: “If Christmas Day is the first of the twelve days, then Twelfth Night would be on January 5, the eve of Epiphany. If December 26, the day after Christmas, is the first day, then Twelfth Night falls on January 6, the evening of Epiphany itself.”
There’s a suggestion that The Twelve Days of Christmas song was originally sung in French . . . or, at least, that the line for the First Day originally included both French and English terms for the bird; thus, “partridge” (in English, and then in French, “perdrix” (pronounced per-dree) . . . which makes no sense, really; but this is a Christmas Carol, and such songs don’t really have to make sense, do they?
On the Second Day, two turtledoves are to be given. But for what purpose? Since this song relates to Christmas, can we assume that there is some religious or spiritual significance with this gift??
Turtle doves could be offered as a sin-offering (Lev 5:7). Is this why they were given? Or perhaps, as the alternate offering for a poor woman, seeking purification after giving birth (Lev 12:8)? This at least links in to the Christmas story (at Luke 2:24), which is what the song is supposed to be about! But it does seem like a long shot …
So, what about as a guilt-offering when cleansing a leper (Lev 14:22)? Or maybe for a Nazirite who has touched a corpse (Num 6:9)? Or as a means of cleansing after sexual discharge (Lev 15:14)? Or maybe the text is multivalent, and we are supposed to bring all of these allusions to mind. Because we know our Bible so well. And we know this is meant to be symbolic. Eh?
Next, on Day Three, the gift to be given is three French hens. Some suggest they are Faith, Hope and Charity, the key Theological Virtues. But only three? There are actually four types of French Hens (Faverolles, La Fleche, Crevecoeurs and Marans). So do we know which one of the four missed out on its moment of glory in this Christmas carol? It’s a worry.
On Day Four, four birds form the gift. Ah, but what type of birds? Calling birds? So you might think. But older versions of the song identify them as Colly Birds. Which are … …??? A colly bird is a black bird. A coal mine is called a colliery, so ‘colly’ or ‘collie’ is a derivation of this and means black like coal. So, no more whitewashing, let’s sing “four black birds”, and be clear about it, eh?
And … while we are at it … Day Five: Five Golden Rings? But they are surrounded by flocks of birds (swans, geese, colly birds, hens de la France, turtle doves, and a partridge). Rings are out of place. So, it is believed that this verse originally referred not to jewellery but to ring-necked birds such as the ring-necked pheasant. So, let’s now sing: “five ring-necked birds”! Context is everything!
The sixth of the #twelvedaysofchristmas is the midpoint of the 12 days, when we can look back on the story of Christmas (the birth and the shepherds), and forward to the story of Epiphany (the visit of the Magi). The gift for the Sixth Day focusses on new life: six geese a-laying.
It is said that, while chickens lay eggs regularly (usually each day ), geese only lay 30-50 eggs a year. This means they are a less productive bird to keep. It takes longer to increase the size of the flock for meat production. And their eggs are very high in cholesterol. Was this a wise gift? (Of course, you may well score the goose that lays the golden egg.)
On Day Seven, the gift is seven swans a-swimming. Well, yes; that’s what swans do. But who in their right might give this as a gift? Where would they all be put so that they could keep swimming? In a huge bathtub? This is quite unrealistic. Anyway, I guess it proves that the carol was not written by a football-mad fanatic. (They would have had swans kicking goals.)
On Day Eight, we are exhorted to give eight maids a-milking. In older English, to “go a-milking” could mean to ask a woman for her hand in marriage; OR to ask a woman to go “for a roll in the hay”, as it were. Is this Christmas carol concealing a reference to illicit sexual encounters? And does that make it more interesting than just getting some milk in order to make some cheese?
Today is Day Nine. The gift is nine ladies dancing. Liturgical dances, I presume? In explore the significance of these ladies, I am somewhat stumped. Any clues, anyone?
Meanwhile, I am starting to compile my list of ‘not relevant downunder’ secular Christmas carols. Because here, in Australia, we are in the midst of summer—not winter, as all the upover northern hemisphere Christmas songs assume. So, not relevant to downunder would include: Anything with snow, for a start. And bells. And holly. And fir trees. And … well, the possibilities are endless.
Tomorrow, on Day Ten, the gift is to be ten Lords a-leaping. Alliteration, indeed; but why leaping? Perhaps there is a textual transmission problem here. Maybe it should be: Lords a-leasing? (what to do with their huge old castles and manors)? Or Lords a-sleeping? (in the upper chamber of the British parliament)? Or perhaps Lords a-weeping? (at the decline of their much- loved aristocratic powers). Who knows?
Then comes the eleventh day of (the season of) Christmas. With eleven pipers piping. So perhaps this comes from a Scottish variant (like day one comes from the French version). Perhaps the Scots packed their song full of food? In this, the gifts would include twelve alka seltsers, eleven Blue Lagoons, ten creme de menthe, nine vodka and limes, eight nips of whisky, seven rum and cokes, six Carlsberg specials…you get the picture? (Yes, I know, this is becoming quite speculative!!)
Or — does the Scottish reference (bagpipes) mean that I should refer to the crackpot theory that this whole carol was a coded reference to the right of Bonny Prince Charlie to regain the British throne? Yegods … …
But I do note that, in other versions, there are eleven ladies spinning, eleven ladies dancing, eleven lads a-louping, eleven bulls a-beating, and eleven badgers baiting!! Make of them, what you will.
Finally, we will arrive at the ultimate (last) of the #twelvedaysofchristmas. Day Twelve. Twelve drummers drumming. Since the gifts are cumulative, and repeated on each day, on Day Twelve we actually have drummers drumming, along with piping pipers, leaping lords, bleating cows, tapping toes, shuffling shoes, a horde of aviary escapees, and the whole schemozzle. It’s all too loud, I think — and the incessant fights amongst all those squawking birds! Oh dear; time for a doze, instead.
The evening of this twelfth day will, quite obviously, be Twelfth Night. What follows that is Epiphany, a day to celebrate the coming of the magi to the infant Jesus. Time, indeed, to rest.
The lectionary for this Sunday suggests, as a companion piece to Luke’s account of The Baptism of Jesus, when the Spirit descends on Jesus (Luke 3:1–22), a short section from Luke’s second volume telling of further baptisms and gifting of the Spirit to new believers in Samaria (Acts 8:14–17).
In chapter nine of Acts, Saul is “converted” by a vision seen on the road to Damascus, is struck blind, then has his sight restored, is “filled with the Spirit”, and receives his commission to preach to the Gentiles (Acts 9:1–19). This would prove to be a significant turning point in the story Luke tells, which soon morphs into an account of the travels undertaken by Saul, who adopts the name Paul, and his various companions, as they preach to Jews and Gentiles in many different towns and cities.
In chapter ten of Acts, Peter is likewise “converted” by a vision seen on a rooftop in Joppa, travels to Caesarea, preaches to the household of Cornelius, and sees that “the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God” (Acts 10:45–46). This was a second crucial turning point, for it enabled Peter, at a later gathering of leaders in Jerusalem, to affirm that “God made a choice among you, that I should be the one through whom the Gentiles would hear the message of the good news and become believers” (15:7), and then that God “testified to them [the Gentiles] by giving them the Holy Spirit, just as he did to us; and in cleansing their hearts by faith he has made no distinction between them and us” (15:8–9).
So it was that, in Luke’s telling of the story, these two key figures each pressed the case that “God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life” (11:18, my emphasis added). The third dominant figure in the early days of this movement, James the brother of Jesus, joined his voice to theirs at the council in Jerusalem, giving the final decision of the council that “we should not trouble those Gentiles who are turning to God” (15:19)—they are to be fully accepted within the fellowship of the growing movement. The council sent four members to Antioch with the declaration that “it has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us” to convey this good news (15:28).
Before all of this, in chapter eight of Acts, there is another story involving the Spirit. Philip travels to Samaria, preaches to crowds of people, encounters a man named Simon, a local magician, and rejoices when Simon, as well as many others, accept his message and are baptised (8:4–13). However, there is a problem; as Luke comments in a narrator’s aside, “as yet the Spirit had not come upon any of them; they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus” (8:16). So the two lead apostles, Peter and John, are despatched to Samaria to deal with the situation.
This is the story that the lectionary chooses to place alongside the account of the baptism of Jesus for this coming Sunday, the first Sunday in the season of Epiphany. This day is designated each year as the time to recall the baptism of Jesus. So this passage from Acts seems a suitable companion reading.
In particular, it invites us to explore a little further the place of the Spirit in the early decades of the movement initiated by Jesus. And although the selected passage stops short at verse 17, the narrative continues on, describing the disruption which came from the preaching of Philip and the visit of Peter and John. It was a disruption that brought transformation to Simon the magician (see his prayer at 8:24) and to the Samaritans in other villages where the good news was proclaimed (8:25).
Giorgio Vasari (1511-1574), “Apostles Peter and John Blessing the People of Samaria”
In this short narrative of the apostolic visit to Samaria, the Samaritans who had already “received the word of God” from Philip (8:14) were enabled to “receive the holy spirit” through the laying on of hands by the apostles who had been sent to the region (8:15-18). Although the gift of the spirit (8:17) had been separated from baptism (8:12), as it would later be in a narrative concerning events in Ephesus (19:1-7), Luke does not intend this pattern to be read as prescriptive for all situations, as other accounts of baptisms indicate (2:38-41; 8:38; 10:44-48; 19:1-7).
Baptism had been proclaimed as necessary by Peter, on the day of Pentecost (2:38); this appears to link baptism closely with the gift of the Spirit (2;1-4, 17-21). However, there is no formulaic pattern or process to be followed each time a baptism takes place. The various narratives are somewhat ad hoc. The spirit guides Philip in the encounter with a eunuch returning from Jerusalem to Ethiopia (8:29, 39)—but the spirit appears to have no direct contact with the Ethiopian himself.
Baptism is accompanied by the laying-on of hands here in Samaria (8:15-16) and later in Ephesus (19:6), but not with the Ethiopian. The laying-on of hands results in the holy spirit coming upon those in Ephesus (19:6), a link similar to that made in Samaria (8:15-17, 19) and Antioch (13:3-4). The gift of the spirit leads to speaking in tongues in Ephesus (19:7), as in Jerusalem (2:4) and Caesarea (10:45-46), but not for the Ethiopian.
In Acts, baptism may come both prior to (2:38-42; 8:14-17) and after (10:44-48; 11:15-17) the gift of the spirit; further, the gift of the spirit is not necessarily linked with baptism (for instance, at 2:1-4 and 4:31). Confused? We need to remember that Luke is telling stories, recounting happenings that he has been told about or that he has read in earlier sources. He is not setting out precise liturgical or doctrinal instruction. So, whilst the time sequence of the elements of spirit—laying on hands—water—baptism is found in different patterns, the collation of similar elements across all these stories implies a consistent cluster of elements. Read this way, there is strong continuity with events in Jerusalem, Samaria, Caesarea, and Ephesus. The baptisms in Samaria fit, by inference, within that sequence.
Whenever Christians think about the Spirit—and specifically about the dynamic force that is displayed by the Holy Spirit—our attention goes most immediately to the story of the Day of Pentecost in Acts 2. That’s when the coming of the Spirit was experienced as “a sound like the rush of a violent wind [which] filled the entire house where they were sitting”, followed by “tongues, as of fire … resting on each of them” (vv.2–3).
In the chaos that resulted—“all of them … began to speak in other languages”—the crowd that heard them were bewildered, amazed, astonished, and thought that they were drunk! That’s a disruptive event initiated and impelled by the Spirit right there. The story of Pentecost is a story about God intervening, overturning, and reshaping the people of God. The Spirit certainly was active at Pentecost. It was a transformative moment.
As Luke tells the story of Pentecost, he is deliberately linking his second volume, not only to the activity of the Spirit in Hebrew Scriptures, but also to the way the Spirit overshadowed Mary (Luke 1:35), nurtured John, son of Zechariah and Elizabeth (1:80), descended upon Jesus at his baptism (3:22), led Jesus out into the Judean wilderness (4:1) and then back into Galilee (Luke 4:14) to sustain the activities and preaching of Jesus (4:18; 10:21).
Luke, of course, had received the account of the active role of the spirit in the baptism and testing of Jesus (Mark 1:10, 12) and developed it, just as Matthew had done likewise, introducing the saying of Jesus, “if it is by the Spirit of God that I cast out demons, then the kingdom of God has come to you” (Matt 12:28).
Certainly, the activities of Jesus can only be thought of as both disruptive—framed by the breach of the heavens at his baptism, the tearing of the temple curtain at his death—and as transformative—signalled by the transfiguration on the mountain top, as well as the change in the disciples effected by their time with Jesus.
Some interpreters have noted that the book of Acts is less about “the acts (deeds) of the apostles” than it is about “the acts of the Holy Spirit”.
The author himself described the two-volume work (Luke’s Gospel and Acts) as an orderly account of the things that have come to fulfilment amongst us. The work highlights how the Holy Spirit plays a central, active role in what is being reported—how the Spirit might be seen to bring, first disruption, and then transformation, in the movement that Jesus inspired.
The events reported in Acts are generated from the dramatic intervention of the Spirit into the early community formed by the followers of Jesus after his ascension. The story of that intervention reports that Jews came from around the eastern Mediterranean are gathered in Jerusalem for the annual festival (Acts 2:1–13), when the Spirit comes upon them. Each bursts out, “speaking about God’s deeds of power” (2:11). The joy and excitement is tangible even as we hear the story at two millennia’s distance.
Unthinkingly, the wider group of pilgrims hear the cacophony of Spirit-inspired voices, and assume that this is a sign of drunkenness (2:13, 15). Actually, as Luke has made clear, the tongues being heard are not the unintelligible gibberish evident in Corinth, but known languages from the various places of origin of those speaking. And the disruptive element is not from the tongues spoken, but from the actions undertaken by believers in the days, months, and years ahead—as the narrative of Acts conveys. It’s a dramatic story with clear theological guidelines.
Another dramatic story of the coming of the Spirit is told at a later point in Acts—after Peter sees a vision in which God declares “all food is clean”, and he is summoned to the home of the Gentile centurion, Cornelius, in Caesarea (10:1–33). As Peter preaches to the Gentiles, the Spirit falls on them, “just as it had upon us [Jews] at the beginning (11:15). This event is specifically portrayed as a complementary event alongside the falling of the Spirit on Jews on the Day of Pentecost (2:1–4). It is a further disruptive action that the Spirit impels. And its consequences—full acceptance of the place of Gentiles in this movement—were fully transformative.
The activity of the Spirit is noted at various places in this sequence of events. The Spirit guides Peter to meet the men sent by Cornelius and travel with them to Caesarea (10:19; 11:12). In reporting to the church in Jerusalem about the arrival of messengers from Cornelius (11:11–12), Peter notes simply that “the spirit said to me to go with them without criticism” (11:12; cf. 10:19–20).
In this report to the Jerusalem church, Peter is short on factual reporting, as it were; he simply states that the spirit fell on them (11:15). His omission of many details (character traits, travel details, conversation and personnel; even, surprisingly, the name of Cornelius) places the focus on the role of the spirit. Once again, what the Spirit impels from this vision, visit, and sermon, is highly disruptive and thoroughly transformative for the early communities of faith.
Jews had been used to eating separately from Gentiles and selectively in terms of food, in accordance with the prescriptions of Leviticus. Now, they are now invited—indeed, commanded—to share at table with Gentiles and to put aside the traditional dietary demarcations.
This is disruptive: just imagine being commanded by God to become vegan and eat meals with the family of your worst nightmares, for instance! And it is transformative: from this sequence there emerge inclusive communities of Jews and Gentiles across the Mediterranean basin, sharing at table and in all manner of ways. That becomes the way of the church.
The importance of the Spirit in Luke’s account of the early movement cannot be underestimated. The significance for the church today of the Spirit’s disruptive, empowering, transformative presence at Pentecost is likewise high. And that transformative activity continues on throughout Acts.
After Peter’s sermon in Caesarea and the gifting of the Spirit to the Gentiles (Acts 10—11), the Spirit guides Barnabas and Paul to Seleucia and onwards (13:2) and then later guides Paul away from Asia Minor, towards Macedonia (16:6–7). This latter move marks a critical stage in the story that Luke tells.
At this key moment of decision in Troas, three injunctions are given; each one is from a divine source. The first of these, an instruction not to speak in the southern region of Asia, comes from the Holy Spirit (16:6). The second direction, a prohibition against any attempt to head north and enter Bithynia, comes from the same spirit, here described as “the spirit of Jesus” (16:7). The third divine interjection takes place at Troas, where a vision is seen in the night with a petition to “come across into Macedonia” (16:9).
The new spirit-inspired direction of travel is disorienting; a serious disagreement between Paul and Barnabas had just occurred (15:39). But this disruption provides the springboard for Paul and Silas to undertake a new mission in Philippi, Thessalonica, and Beroea (16:11—17:15), before visiting the centre of Greek philosophy and politics, Athens (17:16–34), and then Corinth, where Paul stayed eighteen months (18:1–17). Indeed, all that takes place, as Paul travels relentlessly with various companions across many places (13:4—21:17), is driven by the Spirit (13:2, 4), a constantly disruptive and transformative presence.
Much later, Paul’s final visit to Jerusalem and his subsequent arrest takes place under the guidance of the Spirit (20:22-23; 21:11). That event had hugely disruptive consequences for Paul, of course, as he is arrested and spends the rest of his life as a prisoner under Roman guard.
The story of the early years of the movement initiated by Jesus, then, is of multiple events inspired and propelled by the Spirit over these years—intrusive, disruptive, yet transformative events. The Spirit who guides all of this brings both disruption and transformation. We need, today, to be open to the same disruption and transformation.
I guess those with diligent true loves are busy, today, trying to feed the seven partridges, twelve turtle doves, fifteen French hens, sixteen colly birds, twelve laying geese, and seven swimming swans that their true loves have delivered to them (thus far) to commemorate the twelve days of Christmas. And I hope they have their fifteen gold rings locked away securely!
For my part, I am offering a further carol for The Season of Christmas: another one from the early centuries of Christianity, when theologians wrote the words of songs for the faithful to sing—thereby providing them with meaty teaching in the faith (at least as they understood it). Today, it is one by the forth century theologian Ambrose, who was Bishop of Milan from 374 until his death in 397.
Four Doctors of the Church Four panels from a partially-preserved polyptych, dated c. 1495, and attributed to Galleria Franchetti, Ca’ d’Oro, Venice
Amongst the western church, dominated by Roman Catholicism, Ambrose of Milan (339—397) is counted as one of the four Doctors of the Church, along with his contemporaries Augustine of Hippo (354—430) and Jerome of Stridon (342—420). Pope Gregory the Great (540—604) is accounted as the fourth Doctor. All four had the title Doctor attributed to them, in the true sense of the word (it comes from the Latin word for Teacher).
In the eyes of many theological writers, the fourth century was critical in the development of classic orthodoxy, for this was when the various disputes about the nature of Jesus took place. Those who were leading the theological argumentation—including Ambrose, Augustine, and Jerome—contributed to the development of orthodox dogmas which were confirmed by various church councils: Nicea in 325, Constantinople in 381, Ephesus in 431, Chalcedon in 451, and others in subsequent centuries.
Those whose arguments failed to persuade—or who were condemned by decree of one of the councils—are known to us as “heretics”; they include Theodotius of Byzantium, Nestorian of Constantinople, Paul of Samosata, Apollinaris of Laodicea, Eutyches of Constantinople, and perhaps most famously of all, Arius of Alexandria. Legend has it that at the Council of Nicea, Arius slapped Nicholas of Myra (the historical figure who later morphed into Saint Nicholas and then Santa Claus) and so was temporarily defrocked and imprisoned.
Although their writings were instrumental in developing orthodox theology, such men have long been denigrated as heretics—although, in my mind, a number of these “heretics” offered wise and helpful insights. But the verdict of history stands, cemented now by centuries of church tradition and theological dogma.
Ambrose of Milan
It is in this context of debate, disputation, denigration, and entrenched doctrinal disagreements, that Ambrose penned this carol, Veni redemptor gentium (Come, Redeemer of Nations). It is filled with patristic theologising, reflecting the debates of the day, depicting Jesus as “a giant in twofold substance in one” and “equal to the Father”, whilst also affirming his mother as having “virgin honour all unstained”, a “royal home of purity”. These are the seeds for the theological affirmations about Jesus in some of the much later Christmas carols that we sing today!
Here is the hymn of Ambrose in a translation of the original Latin by John Mason Neale (whom we noted a few days ago provided us with the English of Good King Wenceslas).
Closely related to this carol, there is another carol in a 15th century manuscript, the Selden Carol Book, a document which contains music and words for thirty carols of the day. (The manuscript is held in Oxford at the Bodleian Library.)
A page from the manuscript of the Selden Carol Book
This carol, number 28 in the collection, both uses the refrain of Ambrose’s original, and, in verse 3, refers directly to the work by Ambrose. Its author, as with all the carols in the Selden manuscript, is unknown.
Veni, redemptor gencium, Veni, redemptor gencium.
This worle wondreth of all thynge
Howe a maide conceyved a kynge;
To yeue us al therof shewynge,
Veni, redemptor gencium.
Whan Gabriel come with his gretynge
To Mary moder, that swete thynge,
He graunted and saide with grete lykynge,
Veni, redemptor gencium.
Ambrose saide in his writynge
Cryst sholde be in a maide dwellynge;
To make sothe alle that syngynge,
Veni, redemptor gencium.
And Davyd saide in his spellynge
That truthe sholde be in erthe growynge
To us, byer of alle thynge,
Veni, redemptor gencium.
Cryst, ycrowned at oure begynnynge,
Be with us at oure endynge
Us to thy ioye for to brynge,
Veni, redemptor gencium.
The text is from Richard Greene, The Early English Carols (Oxford, 1977), p.36. A version in modern English is offered at
I have been amazed to learn that, back in the fifth century, the poet Prudentius wrote a number of hymns that tell the story of the slaughter of innocent children, ordered by King Herod.
Whilst the basic theological orientation of these hymns is clearly patristic orthodoxy, they do contain a gritty realism that seems to have largely flown out the window when modern day carols are sung!
Here is a hymn which remembers those innocent children who were, according to the theology of Prudentius, “victims slain for Christ the King”.
All hail, you infant martyrs’ flow’rs,’
Cut off in life’s first dawning hours
As rosebuds, snapt in tempest strife
When Herod sought the Savior’s life.
O tender flock of Christ, we sing
Of victims slain for Christ the King
Oppression’s loud lament we raise,
Then join the martyrs’ song of praise:
All honor, laud, and glory be,
O Jesus, Virgin-born, to thee;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To Parent and to Paraclete.
(Prudentius, 5th century, alt.)
This hymn is a cento (a patchwork quilt of words from various sources) from the twelfth and last poem in the Cathemerinon of Prudentius, and in its full form it contains 208 lines. The first line of the complete hymn is Quicumque Christum quaeritis. Four beautiful centos from this hymn were included in the Breviary by Pius V (1568); see https://media.churchmusicassociation.org/pdf/hymnsofbreviary.pdf
The original Latin text of the hymn is:
Salvete, flores Martyrum, in lucis ipso lumine Quos ssevus ensis messuit, ceu turbo nascentes rosas.
Vos prima Christi victima, grex immolatorum tener, Aram sub ipsam simplices palma et coronis luditis.
Quid proficit tantum nefas ? Quid crimen Herodem juvat? Unus tot inter funera impune Christus tollitur.
Inter coaevi sanguinis fluenta solus integer, Ferrum quod orbabat nurus party’s fefellit virginis.
Qui natus es de Virgine Jesu, tibi sit gloria, Cum Patre, cumque Spiritu, in sempiterna secula.
Another of his compositions recounts the same story from the perspective of King Herod.
With boding fears the tyrant hears A King of Kings is hard at hand, Who rule shall claim o’er Israel’s name And high in David’s palace stand.
With wild surprise, ” We die,” he cries, “ Around us lurks a traitor brood ; ” Up, guard, awake, thy weapon take, “ And every cradle drown in blood.”
What boots his ire, and dark desire; What help, if he his thousands slay ? Alone of all, around that fall, The Christ is safely borne away.
Jesu, to Thee all glory be, Of Mary, Virgin-Mother born ; To God Triune all praise be done, Through endless life’s unwaning morn.
The Latin text:
Audit tyrannus anxius adesse regum principem,
qui nomen Israel regat teneatque David regiam.
Exclamat amens nuntio, successor instat, pellimur;
satelles i, ferrum rape, perfunde cunas sanguine.
Quid proficit tantum nefas, quid crimen Herodem iuvat?
unus tot inter funera inpune Christus tollitur.
Iesu, tibi sit gloria, qui natus es de Virgine,
cum Patre et almo Spiritu, in sempiterna saecula. Amen.
This is the 12th and last poem in his Cathemerinon, and in its full form consists of 208 lines. It is found in a 5th century manuscript in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Paris (Prudentius, Opera, 8048, f. 39b).
Though one of the finest poems of Prudentius, it was apparently little used in the services of the Church until the revision of the Roman Breviary after the Council of Trent.
“The Massacre of the Innocents,” an 1824 painting by Léon Cogniet, held in the Musée des Beaux-Arts
Yesterday, we focussed on “the slaughter of the innocents” which is commemorated in the Western Church on 28 December. Today, 29 December, is the day when this commemoration takes place in the Eastern Church.
This this potent story, full of pathos, is so resonant with events in the world in which we live today: people dying in invasions and wars; people fleeing, seeking refuge, in a safe place. Sadly, this part of the story has all but faded from view in “the Christmas story” that is recounted each Christmas. So here are some more thoughts—largely from the words written by contemporary hymn writers that tell this story.
There are clear words in these carols which show how the story challenges political values and policies and how it connects with the deepest feelings of human existence.
One contemporary hymn writer who has turned his attention to the story of Herod’s tyrannical rampage against the male children in Bethlehem, is the British Methodist, the Rev. Dr Andrew Pratt. Here is a powerful hymn which he has written about this story.
Another person who has worked well with words over many decades is the late Shirley Erena Murray, a Presbyterian from Aotearoa New Zealand. She was right on the money when she highlighted the violence and fear at the heart of the story, claiming that the infant in the story has “come to plead war’s counter-case”, and articulating the hope that “goodness will outclass the gun, evil has no tooth that can kill the truth.” Here’s her words:
Summer sun or winter skies, Christmas comes —
shepherds, angels, lullabies, words recorded by the wise:
read it in the book — take another look . . . .
Shadows track the hawk in flight, Christmas now —
children born in fire and fight, silent night a violent night,
hawks are in control of a nation’s soul.
There where terror plies its trade, Christmas now —
children learn to be afraid, minefields of distrust are laid,
evil is in force on a winning course.
Child of peace, God’s human face, Christmas now —
come to plead war’s counter-case, bring the dove a nesting place,
though her wings are torn, though her blood is drawn.
Winter skies or summer sun, Christmas comes —
still the threads of hope are spun, goodness will outclass the gun,
evil has no tooth that can kill the truth.
This ancient story resonates so strongly with our situation today, not because “it really happened, exactly like this”, but because (like a good myth does) it takes us to the centre of our humanity and reveals the depth of God’s presence in our midst. We ought to sing more about it!
An Informed Faith 