Christmas Eve/Day In A Minor Key
Sermon
Sermons on the Second Readings
Series II, Cycle C
Object:
One of the best things in the modern church is the creation of our Common Lectionary. For most of our mainstream churches, including Roman Catholic churches, we have settled on a common reading from the Hebrew Bible, the gospels, the New Testament letters, and the psalms, for each Sunday of the church year. In all our diverse congregations we centered our preaching on the readings from the letters: Thessalonians, Philippians, and Hebrews. We found rich and stirring words in these readings, and we discovered a unity beyond our honest differences.
Tonight, on Christmas Eve/Day, we have a reading from the book of Titus. Unlike most of the other readings that change on a three-year cycle, Titus remains the reading for Christmas Eve/Day each of the three years. I must tell you, those of us who have determined to preach from the letters during this season of the church year find it somewhat difficult to put together an inspiring Christmas Eve/Day sermon from Titus. Titus has no stirring words or rhythmic cadences like other possible selections from the New Testament Letters. Certainly those who created our Common Lection could have chosen a more spiritually challenging reading from one of Paul's letters, or from other letters written in his name, or in Hebrews.
Yet here tonight/today we have Titus, a plodding and subdued voice, and quite a contrast with what might have been our text this evening/today. Titus has no "Hallelujah Chorus" stuck within its lines, lifting us out of our spiritual doldrums. Titus is a bit like Seinfeld, the television sitcom. Nothing extraordinary or meaningful ever happens. It just goes along episode after episode after episode. The committee that selected Titus for Christmas Eve/Day must have been in a Psalm 131 mood.
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and marvelous for me....
-- Psalm 131:1
Titus is like a piece of music written in the minor key, not raising our eyes too high. It is nothing like great music that lifts us out of our pew.
Great Music In A Minor Key
In music class in elementary school we learned that the scale used to create music could be in either a major or minor key. A major key would go: do, ra, mi, fa, so, la, ti and end with do. A major key sounds cheerful and optimistic. Most music, popular or classical, is written in a major key. But then there is a minor key. Being a bit simplistic, the difference between a major and minor key is how we treat "mi," the third note in the scale. To produce a minor key all we do is flatten the mi, playing it a half step down. So music written and sung in a minor key has a much different sound than music in a major key. Minor-key music has a brooding quality, as if there is some hidden pathos or sadness mixed in the music. It is even emphasized in how a major and a minor key are listed. Major keys are noted with a capital letter, but minor keys are designated with a small letter: F Major or F minor.
Sometimes it seems that some of the great music is written in a minor key, not a major one. Many of us are familiar with Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, written in the minor key of C. At the beginning of the first movement we hear what is called the musical equivalent of the Morse Code for the letter "V" -- dot-dot-dot -- dash. Beethoven pounds out this little phrase over and over again, all in a tense minor key. Some musical commentators say this recurring theme is Beethoven's musical way of lamenting his growing deafness, something devastating for a musician. If true, no wonder this symphony is written in a minor key.
Take the nineteenth-century Russian composer, Peter Tchaikovsky. Tchaikovsky was a gay man in a world where this sexual drive and preference could not be openly admitted. Hence, in much of his music he poured out his inner pathos, in fact, his Sixth Symphony in B minor is often called "The Pathetic Symphony." Did his inner secret and its suffering spill over into the rich minor tones of that symphony?
So if Titus seems a bit minor rather than major, even on a "high holiday" such as Christmas Eve/Day, we might ask if there is something profound in this reading that our more celebrative Christmas Eve/Day readings suggest. While we prefer major-key music, the minor-key reading of Titus could be a wholesome corrective to our overdosing on the major-key offerings.
Christmas Eve/Day In A Minor-Key World
The late Louis "Sachmo" Armstrong sang in his inimitably gravelly voice, "What A Wonderful World." The song touched something within us. Yet our ability to sing such an affirmative song comes from recognizing that our Savior was born into a terribly violent, cruel, and far from a wonderful world. No sooner do we rightly rejoice at Bethlehem's stable, than the family rushes in the night to Egypt, escaping the murderous terror of King Herod.
The subdued "I do not occupy myself with things/too great and marvelous for me ..." mood of our Christmas Eve/Day reading from Titus may be in a minor key. It has no stirring major-key music about itself. But as it doesn't imitate Luke's shepherds in "rushing over to Bethlehem to see this thing that has happened." Titus knows that there can be moments "when the cheering stops."
President Wilson experienced this when he went to Europe to arrange the Peace Treaty in 1919, ending the slaughter of World War I. The popular crowds hailed him as the savior of Europe in city after city. But when the task of hammering out a just and fair treaty began, the cheering stopped. Europe's political leaders wanted no just and fair arrangements. They wanted revenge and the destruction of Germany as a major power. Even today the glad hopes of world peace and justice are sung against the minor key of national insecurity, selfishness, and an unwillingness to sacrifice for such dreams. Titus reminds us that the great hopes are still with us, but they are cast in a somber and frightening minor key. In short, Titus may be the most realistic reading we can muster this or any Christmas Eve/Day. In Bruce Caton's trilogy on the Civil War, he writes that one battalion from Massachusetts furled their flags and banners before they went into battle. They knew that war is killing and awful violence, not glory and flag waving. Says Caton, "They knew there was no poetry in a fight."
Christmas Eve/Day In Our Minor-Key Lives
In some of the modern and revised liturgies for the Sunday morning service in many mainstream churches, a congregational prayer of confession has become optional. The older worship liturgies have seemed out of place for those of us who want upbeat lives. We are desperate to think highly of ourselves. We are encouraged to "stuff" any recognition that there are serious moral and spiritual dislocations in our lives. Famous preachers and congregations have made a point of celebrating the gospel only in a major key. Self-esteem, even to the point of blatant dishonesty about how we stand with God is the rule. No wonder we don't want to impede this quest by interrupting our major-key spiritual mentality.
Along comes our Titus reading and it seems to be saying, "Now wait a minute. There is a darkness about ourselves with which we must come to terms. Otherwise, we will fall victim to our unwillingness to tell it like it is." A great American theologian often said that we are redeemed in principle, but not in fact. What he meant is that our sins no longer lodge themselves between God and ourselves, thus we are redeemed in principle. In fact, we are still sinners easily resisting the love of God and our call to love our neighbor.
In our terribly "immediate and now" world we are often under the curse of thinking that only the present holds any saving truth for us. Hence, we have jettisoned centuries of Christian thought and understanding because they are not current and supposedly up-to-date. We are under the spell of the now and we are paying a huge price for abandoning this spiritual treasure. Cutting loose from some of our traditional Christian reflections that call into question our shallow and current modernisms, we doom ourselves to despair when we finally own up to the minor-key elements in our personal lives.
We would do well to listen again to one from the fifth century C.E., Saint Augustine, the Bishop of Hippo. There is little in his exposition of the Christian faith that is shallow and spiritually mushy. Augustine tells us something not frequently heard in many modern Christian circles, that the love of God and neighbor is not something we can will. We cannot roll up our emotional sleeve and really love that pesky neighbor, or a God who presides over a world full of violence and tragedy. Love cannot be commanded. It must come from the Spirit beyond us. This is certainly a minor-key theme, putting a damper upon our self-deceit, claiming that we are really an admirable loving sort of gal or guy.
Hence, Titus as a Christmas Eve/Day reading is much more realistic and saving than many of our celebrations of the birth of Jesus. Titus says quite straightforwardly, "For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all" (2:11). Then, with no apology to our "we must have this now" spirituality he says, "We wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ" (2:13).
Would a minor-key Christmas Eve/Day halt the flow of people from the congregation after Christmas Eve/Day? The sentimental warmth of much of our celebrations of this great event does not last. Not only do these emotions fade -- the shallow presentations of our Christmas Eve/Day falter against the darkness of world and our inability to manage a life of love against our sins. Could neglected Titus be the locus of an evangelistic renewal of the church?
Tonight, on Christmas Eve/Day, we have a reading from the book of Titus. Unlike most of the other readings that change on a three-year cycle, Titus remains the reading for Christmas Eve/Day each of the three years. I must tell you, those of us who have determined to preach from the letters during this season of the church year find it somewhat difficult to put together an inspiring Christmas Eve/Day sermon from Titus. Titus has no stirring words or rhythmic cadences like other possible selections from the New Testament Letters. Certainly those who created our Common Lection could have chosen a more spiritually challenging reading from one of Paul's letters, or from other letters written in his name, or in Hebrews.
Yet here tonight/today we have Titus, a plodding and subdued voice, and quite a contrast with what might have been our text this evening/today. Titus has no "Hallelujah Chorus" stuck within its lines, lifting us out of our spiritual doldrums. Titus is a bit like Seinfeld, the television sitcom. Nothing extraordinary or meaningful ever happens. It just goes along episode after episode after episode. The committee that selected Titus for Christmas Eve/Day must have been in a Psalm 131 mood.
O Lord, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and marvelous for me....
-- Psalm 131:1
Titus is like a piece of music written in the minor key, not raising our eyes too high. It is nothing like great music that lifts us out of our pew.
Great Music In A Minor Key
In music class in elementary school we learned that the scale used to create music could be in either a major or minor key. A major key would go: do, ra, mi, fa, so, la, ti and end with do. A major key sounds cheerful and optimistic. Most music, popular or classical, is written in a major key. But then there is a minor key. Being a bit simplistic, the difference between a major and minor key is how we treat "mi," the third note in the scale. To produce a minor key all we do is flatten the mi, playing it a half step down. So music written and sung in a minor key has a much different sound than music in a major key. Minor-key music has a brooding quality, as if there is some hidden pathos or sadness mixed in the music. It is even emphasized in how a major and a minor key are listed. Major keys are noted with a capital letter, but minor keys are designated with a small letter: F Major or F minor.
Sometimes it seems that some of the great music is written in a minor key, not a major one. Many of us are familiar with Beethoven's Fifth Symphony, written in the minor key of C. At the beginning of the first movement we hear what is called the musical equivalent of the Morse Code for the letter "V" -- dot-dot-dot -- dash. Beethoven pounds out this little phrase over and over again, all in a tense minor key. Some musical commentators say this recurring theme is Beethoven's musical way of lamenting his growing deafness, something devastating for a musician. If true, no wonder this symphony is written in a minor key.
Take the nineteenth-century Russian composer, Peter Tchaikovsky. Tchaikovsky was a gay man in a world where this sexual drive and preference could not be openly admitted. Hence, in much of his music he poured out his inner pathos, in fact, his Sixth Symphony in B minor is often called "The Pathetic Symphony." Did his inner secret and its suffering spill over into the rich minor tones of that symphony?
So if Titus seems a bit minor rather than major, even on a "high holiday" such as Christmas Eve/Day, we might ask if there is something profound in this reading that our more celebrative Christmas Eve/Day readings suggest. While we prefer major-key music, the minor-key reading of Titus could be a wholesome corrective to our overdosing on the major-key offerings.
Christmas Eve/Day In A Minor-Key World
The late Louis "Sachmo" Armstrong sang in his inimitably gravelly voice, "What A Wonderful World." The song touched something within us. Yet our ability to sing such an affirmative song comes from recognizing that our Savior was born into a terribly violent, cruel, and far from a wonderful world. No sooner do we rightly rejoice at Bethlehem's stable, than the family rushes in the night to Egypt, escaping the murderous terror of King Herod.
The subdued "I do not occupy myself with things/too great and marvelous for me ..." mood of our Christmas Eve/Day reading from Titus may be in a minor key. It has no stirring major-key music about itself. But as it doesn't imitate Luke's shepherds in "rushing over to Bethlehem to see this thing that has happened." Titus knows that there can be moments "when the cheering stops."
President Wilson experienced this when he went to Europe to arrange the Peace Treaty in 1919, ending the slaughter of World War I. The popular crowds hailed him as the savior of Europe in city after city. But when the task of hammering out a just and fair treaty began, the cheering stopped. Europe's political leaders wanted no just and fair arrangements. They wanted revenge and the destruction of Germany as a major power. Even today the glad hopes of world peace and justice are sung against the minor key of national insecurity, selfishness, and an unwillingness to sacrifice for such dreams. Titus reminds us that the great hopes are still with us, but they are cast in a somber and frightening minor key. In short, Titus may be the most realistic reading we can muster this or any Christmas Eve/Day. In Bruce Caton's trilogy on the Civil War, he writes that one battalion from Massachusetts furled their flags and banners before they went into battle. They knew that war is killing and awful violence, not glory and flag waving. Says Caton, "They knew there was no poetry in a fight."
Christmas Eve/Day In Our Minor-Key Lives
In some of the modern and revised liturgies for the Sunday morning service in many mainstream churches, a congregational prayer of confession has become optional. The older worship liturgies have seemed out of place for those of us who want upbeat lives. We are desperate to think highly of ourselves. We are encouraged to "stuff" any recognition that there are serious moral and spiritual dislocations in our lives. Famous preachers and congregations have made a point of celebrating the gospel only in a major key. Self-esteem, even to the point of blatant dishonesty about how we stand with God is the rule. No wonder we don't want to impede this quest by interrupting our major-key spiritual mentality.
Along comes our Titus reading and it seems to be saying, "Now wait a minute. There is a darkness about ourselves with which we must come to terms. Otherwise, we will fall victim to our unwillingness to tell it like it is." A great American theologian often said that we are redeemed in principle, but not in fact. What he meant is that our sins no longer lodge themselves between God and ourselves, thus we are redeemed in principle. In fact, we are still sinners easily resisting the love of God and our call to love our neighbor.
In our terribly "immediate and now" world we are often under the curse of thinking that only the present holds any saving truth for us. Hence, we have jettisoned centuries of Christian thought and understanding because they are not current and supposedly up-to-date. We are under the spell of the now and we are paying a huge price for abandoning this spiritual treasure. Cutting loose from some of our traditional Christian reflections that call into question our shallow and current modernisms, we doom ourselves to despair when we finally own up to the minor-key elements in our personal lives.
We would do well to listen again to one from the fifth century C.E., Saint Augustine, the Bishop of Hippo. There is little in his exposition of the Christian faith that is shallow and spiritually mushy. Augustine tells us something not frequently heard in many modern Christian circles, that the love of God and neighbor is not something we can will. We cannot roll up our emotional sleeve and really love that pesky neighbor, or a God who presides over a world full of violence and tragedy. Love cannot be commanded. It must come from the Spirit beyond us. This is certainly a minor-key theme, putting a damper upon our self-deceit, claiming that we are really an admirable loving sort of gal or guy.
Hence, Titus as a Christmas Eve/Day reading is much more realistic and saving than many of our celebrations of the birth of Jesus. Titus says quite straightforwardly, "For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation to all" (2:11). Then, with no apology to our "we must have this now" spirituality he says, "We wait for the blessed hope and the manifestation of the glory of our great God and Savior, Jesus Christ" (2:13).
Would a minor-key Christmas Eve/Day halt the flow of people from the congregation after Christmas Eve/Day? The sentimental warmth of much of our celebrations of this great event does not last. Not only do these emotions fade -- the shallow presentations of our Christmas Eve/Day falter against the darkness of world and our inability to manage a life of love against our sins. Could neglected Titus be the locus of an evangelistic renewal of the church?
