Liturgy Lessons: February 24, 2019
Call to Worship: Zech. 14:9; Isaiah 11:5-6,8-9; Ps. 72:19
Hymns of Adoration: Jesus Shall Reign (#441); Across the Lands
Confession of Sin: based on Philippians 2:1-11 and Kyrie Eleison
Assurance of Pardon: Romans 8:32-34
Hymns of Faith: Wonderful, Merciful Savior; Come, Holy Ghost
Catechism/Congregational Prayers
Reading of the Word: Luke 9:37-50
Doxology: #731 (a capella)
Sermon: Rev. Shiv Muthukumar
Tithes and Offerings
The Lord’s Supper: Man of Sorrows (#246); My Shepherd Will Supply My Need
Closing Hymn: God of Grace and God of Glory
Benediction
The world is charged with the grandeur of God,
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to greatness, like the ooze of oil.
– Gerard Manley Hopkins, “God’s Grandeur”
With the oil of grace so free,
Mercy fills that lamp for me,
Jesus lights the sacred flame,
Hallelujah to His name!
– W.H. Doane, Good as Gold: A New Collection of Sunday School Songs, 1880
Kyrie Eleison – “Lord, Have Mercy”
Text: God
Music: Me (and countless others throughout history)
Litanies and liturgies from ancient Rome to modern-day Manhattan have included the prayer “Lord, have mercy.” It is one of the most familiar phrases in all of Christian worship, and one of the few ingredients included in the weekly feast for both eastern and western churches. If one were to take an Epcot tour of Christian worship, one would hear this phrase in every conceivable tongue, from Afrikaans to Arabic, Basque and Bulgarian, Chinese and Czech, German and Gaelic, Hebrew and Hungarian, Romanian and Russian, Icelandic and Italian, Samoan and Sanskrit. I imagine that some of these would be more conducive to singing than others. The natural rhythmic lilt of “Signore, pietà” (Italian), or the alliterative ease of “miserere mei” (Latin) just flows off the tongue and begs to be sung. Not so the case with the vowel-starved Welsh version “Arglwydd, trugarha wrthym.” But the language that is the aesthetic and authentic best of them all is, of course, the original Greek: Kyrie eleison (pronounced kee-ree-ay ay-lay-ee-zon).
Ky-ri-e e-le-i-son. These beautiful and biblical seven syllables have been set to music hundreds (maybe thousands) of times, often being inlaid in the gold of masterpieces by the greatest composers in history. I encourage you to choose one (or a few, or all) of the links below and let it/them play while reading the rest of this. Go ahead. I’ll wait. Oh, and I won’t be offended if you linger here or get sidetracked. That’s what happened to me. I present this feast in chronological order.
Your KYRIE menu:
Gregorian Chant (ca. 950)
Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179)
Guillaume Machaut (1300-1377)
Palestrina (1525-1594)
Bach (1685-1750)
Mozart (1756-1791)
Beethoven (1770-1827)
Schubert (1797-1828)
Rossini (1792-1868)
Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
Stravinsky (1882-1971)
Durufle (1902-1986)
Bernstein (1918-1990)
Arvo Pärt (b. 1935)
What a buffet! Now, if we went a la carte, and I had to choose from these items, I would probably start with the Gregorian Chant as an appetizer, the Bach as my entrée (with a side dish of the Vaughan Williams), and the Arvo Pärt as dessert. Perhaps I like these because they were all intended for liturgical use, and not the concert hall.
The ancient prayer Kyrie eleison is taken from a Biblical phrase that appears often in the Psalms (Ps. 4:1, Ps. 6:2, Ps. 9:13, Ps. 25:16, Ps. 27:7, Ps. 30:10, Ps. 31:9, Ps. 51:1, Ps. 86:16, Ps. 123:3). In the New Testament, the exact Greek phrase occurs three times in the gospel of Matthew (Matt. 15:22, Matt. 17:15, Matt. 20:30), and in each of these cases it is a cry for healing and deliverance. The translation of this phrase as it appears in modern English Bibles is either “be gracious to me” or “have mercy on me.” I prefer the latter, if only because the word “on” assumes physical contact, whereas the word “to” suggests only a directional stance. God is inclined toward us, yes, but he also stoops to meet us and holds us in his arms. I imagine that I am praying “Lord, pour out your mercy ON me.” Douse me, dunk me, drown me, devour me in your mercy. This would be much closer to the original meaning of the Greek. The book of Orthodox worship gives some of the etymology and deeper connotations of the prayer. Brace yourself, because this reveals some of the brilliant subtlety, poetry, and gathered wisdom of historic worship.
“The word mercy in English is the translation of the Greek word eleos. This word has the same ultimate root as the old Greek word for oil, or more precisely, olive oil; a substance which was used extensively as a soothing agent for bruises and minor wounds. The oil was poured onto the wound and gently massaged in, thus soothing, comforting and making whole the injured part. The Hebrew word which is also translated as eleos and mercy is hesed, and means steadfast love. The Greek words for ‘Lord, have mercy,’ are ‘Kyrie, eleison’ that is to say, ‘Lord, soothe me, comfort me, heal me, show me your steadfast love.’ Thus mercy does not refer so much to justice or acquittal (a very Western interpretation) but to the infinite loving-kindness of God, and his compassion for his suffering children!”
So, let’s assume we are a Greek family coming for the first time to the early church. Our names are Iosanas and Phaedra Christopolous. We put on our “Sunday best” togas and ride to the temple in our wagon. We hitch the horses, Zoe and Zeus, and carry our young children, Achilles and Calliope, inside. As we enter, we hear the beautiful chanting of Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison, Kyrie eleison. The first thing we notice is how much like “eleos” or “elaion” the word sounds. “Are they singing about olive oil?” we whisper to each other. We are reminded of the oil we placed in the clay lamp last night, and how that illuminated and warmed the dark stone room. We remember the medicinal herbs we combined with oil to heal our young child. We can almost smell the memory of the fragrant oil mixture that perfumes our home. And we can recall the taste of olive oil from our meals. As we listen closer, we realize that it is a prayer for mercy, but the sense is so much richer, so much fatter. The prayer now seems to be infused with essential, medicinal, and nourishing healing for the soul.
Scripture is replete with this image. Shemen, the Hebrew word for “oil,” appears 192 times in the Old Testament. The Good Samaritan bound up the beaten man’s wounds, “pouring on oil and wine” (Lk. 10:34). David delights in the Lord who “anoints my head with oil, my cup overflows” (Ps. 23). God, in his mercy, gives us the “oil of gladness” (Ps. 45:7) that a causes our “face to shine” (Ps. 104:15).
Brothers and Sisters, please don’t miss this point. When we kneel and sing “Lord, have mercy,” we are not doing so as a criminal begging the Judge for acquittal or leniency. We need not squirm nor strive, pleading to get off the hook for our crime. No, that penalty under the law has already been accomplished (Rom. 10:4), and those who believe in Christ will not be put to shame (Rom. 10:11). Let us remember the name of the place where Christ, in submission to the Father’s will, accepted his cup of woe and began to fill it with blood and tears. The garden of Gethsemane (Gat shmanim in Hebrew, Gaḏ-Šmānê in Aramaic) is literally translated as ‘oil press.’ Christ was crushed for our iniquities, and his veins are the very vessel through which God pours out his lovingkindness upon us. Out of his wounds blood, water, and the oil of mercy flows. The prophet Isaiah declared that “the Lord longs to be gracious to you; therefore he will rise up to show you compassion!” (Is. 30:18). This prophecy finds its fulfillment at the cross.
Therefore, the kind of mercy that we ask for is the compassionate, tender, healing mercies of the Great Physician. In confession, we recognize and reveal the extent of our sin, the illness and infection of it all. And by singing Kyrie Eleison, Lord Have Mercy, we come face-to-face NOT with a tribunal, but with the triune God who salves and saves our souls. This “oil of gladness” (Heb. 1:9) comes from the One whose blood was poured out for our sake. This is the Christ who loves us, “and gave Himself up for us, an offering and a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma” (Eph. 5:2).
Oh, my soul sing of the goodness of God. The sweetness of His mercies and steadfast love.
Man of Sorrows, What a Name!
Words and Music: Philip Bliss, 1875
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering.”
– Isaiah 53:3
This hymn has quite a bit more in common with the Kyrie Eleison than you might imagine. Gospel songs of this era often featured a refrain, but this hymn is slightly different. Each stanza concludes with the identical text, “Hallelujah! What a Savior!”. This is written into the metrical structure of each verse. In this way, the hymn is similar in construct to the ancient German “Leise,” a type of folk hymn in which each stanza ends with the same text. This text was often called “kyrieleis,” from the “Kyrie eleison.” The verses of Bliss’s hymn also celebrate the eleos, the oil pressed down and running over for us, by illuminating suffering and glory of Christ. Therefore, by its form and content, this hymn is rooted in the ancient prayer for God’s healing mercies. Oh, and if that weren’t enough parallels for you, then you should know that in some hymnals, this tune is given the name “Gethsemane.”
This is the rare hymn where both text and tune are authored by a single individual. Phillip Bliss was a 19th-century hymn writer of some renown. He is credited with the authorship of over 200 hymns, some of which are widely known. He composed the music for “I Will Sing of My Redeemer,” “Dare to be a Daniel,” “Oh, How I Love Jesus,” and the one that could have let him retire early, “It is Well.” The self-proclaimed “Presby-Lutheran” musician and liturgist Johathan Hehn has this to say about Bliss:
“A contemporary of Dwight Moody, Ira Sankey, and George Root, Philip Bliss made a huge contribution to American evangelical hymnody. Bliss was raised in a farm family in central Pennsylvania and first learned the rudiments of music at the age of eighteen in a singing school run by J.G. Towner. He later attended a convention headed by the legendary musician William Bradbury and over the next few years actively pursued a musical education. Eventually his abilities and training as a musician enabled him to become a music teacher in Rome, Pennsylvania. Around that same time he began to become active as a church musician, first in the Presbyterian church in Rome, then as an itinerant music teacher, and in later years as a staff member at the Chicago publishing firm Root and Cady. The Festschrift known as Memoirs of P.P. Bliss records that he wrote his first song at the age of twenty six, and his last at the age of thirty eight, which would mean an average output of about twenty songs per year. Julian says that Bliss was originally a Methodist and later a Congregationalist, but his memoirs tell of a man who claimed no firm denominational allegiance. At various points in his life, both professional and personal, he was associated with Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Seventh-Day Baptists, Disciples of Christ, and others. As with many itinerant music teachers, and many nineteenth-century evangelicals in general, he easily crossed denominational boundaries, sharing his gifts with many churches in the process. Philip Bliss’s life was tragically cut short in 1876, when a railway crash in Ashtabula, Ohio, killed both him and his wife.”
This hymn was born during the 19th-century revival movement. As might be expected with a text of that era, “Man of Sorrows” is full of gospel-oriented language about sin and redemption. In particular, the second and third verses utilize strong sacrificial language when speaking of the atoning death of Jesus Christ:
Bearing shame and scoffing rude,
in my place condemned he stood,
sealed my pardon with his blood:
Hallelujah, what a Savior!
Guilty, helpless, lost were we;
blameless Lamb of God was he,
sacrificed to set us free:
Hallelujah, what a Savior!
The wonderful thing about this hymn is that is doesn’t just stop there. Beginning in verse four, “Man of Sorrows” moves beyond the death of Christ, into his resurrection, ascension, and second coming. In so doing, it traces the full narrative of the paschal mystery, not simply stopping with the cross, but allowing the exaltation and reign of Christ to literally have the final word.
One of the winsome things about the music to this hymn is that the final acclamation of praise, “Hallelujah! What a Savior!”, contains the highest pitched note in the melody. The verse plods along in pretty steady quarter notes until arriving at a dotted rhythm that ramps the voice up to the high note on “Hallelujah” before settling down on the fifth for “Savior.” Such synchronicity between text and tune would suggest that the lyricist and the composer were closely acquainted.
I worked up an arrangement of this for Sunday that quotes “O Sacred Head” in the interludes between verses. I spent a good deal of time with it this week, and this delightful work of Mr. Phillip Bliss really grew on me. I think it is a hymn that is worth more of our attention, and I’m only sorry that it’s taken me three years to include it in one of our liturgies. It is a worthy meditation on the Man of sorrows. As you sing this on Sunday, may it Phil you with Bliss. Sorry, I had to.
– Sheet music
– Recording