From the Psalter of St. Louis and Blanche of Castile, 13th c.
“…how did the monks train? By singing the psalms. Here is the key to the power, such as it is, of medieval communal prayer: it was focused on the psalms. And why on the psalms? Because, as every medieval Christian knew, they are focused on Christ the Lord, the Word who is with God and who is God, through whom everything was made (John 1), who set his tabernacle in the sun and came forth as a bridegroom from his wedding chamber (Ps. 18:6), the king of glory mighty in battle (Ps. 23:8) who entered into his temple (Heb.) to rescue his people from their sins (Ps. 21).
“Religion, properly speaking, is about worship, and it is the object of worship that defines the community. If the community worships itself (as a city, nation, or empire) then its religion is about belonging to the group (see, pagan Rome, and its opposition to Christians). But a community worshiping Christ is defined by Him—and its individual members have strength to stand up against other communities who define themselves by something other than Christ.”
Today is Hobbit Day, that is, the birthday of both Bilbo and Frodo Baggins. Maybe next year I will manage to have a party in their honor. I only thought of it a week in advance this year, and that’s not enough time. Besides, Monday is not the best day for a party.
Has any of you, my readers, ever hosted or attended an event on Tolkien’s birthday or that of his hobbit characters? We had one at our house on January 3rd (Tolkien’s birthday) a long time ago, and it was a lot of fun. But this year, I’ll just post this song (with a musical link below it) from the tale of hobbits and their adventure:
MISTY MOUNTAINS
Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away ere break of day To seek the pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells, While hammers fell like ringing bells In places deep, where dark things sleep, In hollow halls beneath the fells.
For ancient king and elvish lord There many a gleaming golden hoard They shaped and wrought, and light they caught To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the misty mountains cold To dungeons deep and caverns old We must away, ere break of day, To claim our long-forgotten gold.
Goblets they carved there for themselves And harps of gold; where no man delves There lay they long, and many a song Was sung unheard by men or elves.
The pines were roaring on the height, The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread; The trees like torches blazed with light.
The bells were ringing in the dale And men looked up with faces pale; Then dragon’s ire more fierce than fire Laid low their towers and houses frail.
The mountain smoked beneath the moon; The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall, to dying fall Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the misty mountains grim To dungeons deep and caverns dim We must away, ere break of day, To win our harps and gold from him!
I like the YouTube video of Clamavi De Profundis singing “Misty Mountains”, an expanded-version cover of the original soundtrack of “The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.” The song comes from the chapter “An Unexpected Party” of The Hobbit, and this group adds verses from later in the book. It’s not a poem I am likely to memorize, but the tune I can’t get out of my head. That’s okay. Its mood seems to be in harmony with my own daily paths:
The King is come unto his hall Under the Mountain dark and tall. The Worm of Dread is slain and dead, And ever so our foes shall fall!
My first day in the Greek city of Thessaloniki has been splendid — even though I went to the “wrong” church for Divine Liturgy. What brought me here I will tell you later, but I wanted to report back briefly to everyone who’s been waiting with bated breath to find out where the plane was taking me Saturday.
Hagia Sophia Church in Thessaloniki
I was told that the Sunday morning Matins service was at 7:30, Liturgy at 8:30. As I had crashed utterly spent into my hotel room in the evening, I didn’t have it in me to go to Matins.
I made the short walk in time to arrive a little early for Liturgy, before Matins had ended, and was immediately translated to ancient Christianity by the nine deep and strong voices rising into the heights of the space, amplified by the bare marble floors and stone walls. It really hit me then, that my prayers had been answered and I had made it to my second and last destination of this trip. Thanks to God ❤️
Ascension of Christ – Dome of Hagia Sophia Thessaloniki
After the service the person I was planning to meet didn’t show up… I texted her and we still couldn’t find each other, until she figured out that I was not at the church she had given me Google directions to, which was the Panagia Archeiropoietos. What happened was, the wrong church was pretty much on the path I was following to the other, and I just stopped looking at the map on my phone, and went into the first really old temple I came to. To be safe, my friend came and retrieved me herself from Hagia Sophia Church and took me to the right church briefly.
Acheiropoietos
Surely I will have at least a little more to tell you about these churches and others I’ll be visiting, and about the several people who have already been so hospitable to me. But right now it’s time for bed; I hope Byzantine chanters will sing in my dreams.
A little girl is singing for the faithful to come ye Joyful and triumphant, a song she loves, And also the partridge in a pear tree And the golden rings and the turtle doves. In the dark streets, red lights and green and blue Where the faithful live, some joyful, some troubled, Enduring the cold and also the flu, Taking the garbage out and keeping the sidewalk shoveled. Not much triumph going on here—and yet There is much we do not understand. And my hopes and fears are met In this small singer holding onto my hand. ….Onward we go, faithfully, into the dark ….And are there angels singing overhead? Hark.
Gladsome Lights 