Hark The Herald Angels Sing

I don’t know, is it too cliché to post a Christmas blog? Well… whatever.

It’s weird, but it’s taken me twenty five and a half years to figure out how powerful Christmas carols can be. I’ve always just sort of acknowledged their presence as a sign of the times and sung along with them without realising what’s actually happening.

It starts sometime in mid October when you first hear some old fashioned crooner singing Silent Night in a manner that suggests that he doesn’t actually know where the right note is, so he’ll just slide up and down the scale until he finds it. Shortly thereafter he’ll be joined by Boney M singing Mary’s Boy Child and then whichever pop diva happens to be hot this year murdering O Holy Night.

It’s a crazy time to be a church musician. I’ve played three carols services already, and we haven’t even got to Christmas Eve yet. If I wasn’t nicking off to Tassie for Christmas, I could probably rack up the half-dozen before the season is out without trying too hard.

Playing carols is very different to normal music. With normal music, you’re always looking for a way to spice things up and keep it interesting. With carols, it’s almost impossible to do them any way except the ‘traditional’ way without completely destroying them. It makes them very frustrating to play sometimes, but it is, I think, one of the sources of their great power. Everyone knows how they go, even if we don’t know what half the words mean anymore.

Shepherds, why this jubilee?
Why your glorious strains prolong?
What the gladsome tidings be
Which inspire your heavenly song?
Gloria in excelsis Deo!

We did one service in an old folks home just up the road from our church, and it didn’t seem to matter that some of the words were completely opaque (although, some of the residents looked like they might have been around when Latin was still in common use), because they knew the tunes and had a vague idea what they were about. And that was enough to get them all perked up and smiling. Either that, or someone had slipped something into their tea.

The most random service I’ve done this year was to help out a friend of a friend who was running a community church carols night in Wollstonecraft. All the musicians from that church had gone off on Christmas holidays, so we were the last minute ring-ins. We rocked up about and hour before the start, practised the songs once through and then did the service. Nothing to it, but the locals were so grateful that each of us left with a six-pack of locally produced beer and a giant toblerone bar. Church musicians aren’t usually looking to get paid, but somehow the term ‘precedent’ did come to mind.

But the best one this year was definitely last night. Our church puts on a big community event with a jazz concert followed by a carol and readings service on the north shore under the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Somewhere in the region of 700 people came down to join in. The set-up was great, with the harbour and the Opera House as a backdrop, lights, a big sound and a fresh breeze to blow your sheet music everywhere. When our minister got up to give his Christmas message, I reckon they could hear him saying “God is with us” from North Sydney train station.

I don’t think you could get 700 Australian randoms together for a religious sing along at any other time of the year. But chuck in Oh Little Town of Bethlehem and find some sopranos to do the descanty bit of O Come All Ye Faithful and it’s on for young and old. That’s powerful.

So from all of us here at Far From Home, here’s hoping you have a very merry Christmas, and a safe and prosperous new year.

Far From Home



Garry with 2 Rs

Ecumenical Experiments - Part 2

Last Sunday evening I went to a church service at Hillsong in the city. Hillsong is arguably the best known church in Sydney. I was at their smaller Waterloo centre, not the Baulkham Hills headquarters. They run the service in a really modern style; the whole place was full of smoke from the smoke machine, and there were coloured lights and big screens; the whole works. Although the church has been running for years, I couldn't help but notice that, besides a few of the paid staff, there wasn't anyone there over about 30 years of age. That's not necessarily a bad thing – every church has their own niche demographic that they serve.

The music was fantastic. The band covered the whole front of the church and there was a video projection stretching from the floor to the ceiling. It was obviously a well drilled and rehearsed group, and the main worship leader really knew how to work up a congregation.

The worship was more like a rock concert than a church service. The words were put up on the screen, and we followed along with the tune as best we could. It was nice, but I think anyone who wasn't an overly self confident rock star (fortunately I am one) might find it difficult to engage with the service in any meaningful way. But it was nice to listen to.

The sermon was bizarre. They were starting out a new series entitled ‘will you marry me?’ This week they were considering the idea of ‘for better or worse’. I've grown accustomed to having a scripture passage read out and fully explored in depth, to make sure the full meaning of a passage is understood. The pastor just took one passage from Genesis two about marriage then gave us a testimony about the moments his married life had seemed better, and the moments it had seemed worse. His conclusion was that when things are good, that’s great, and when things are bad, if you pray and have faith God will make them better again. It was a little simplistic, and doesn’t really hold up under comparison with scripture or experience, but the congregation seemed to find it helpful.

Overall, I could have come up with plenty of better ways to spend an hour and a half. I just didn't come away from it feeling like I'd gained anything useful.

I don't want to be too negative. The pop-culture religion style works for some people and if you can get past the shallowness of teaching and the endless emotional hype that comes with it, at least they’re worshipping the right guy. It's just not my thing, and it certainly made me appreciate my church a whole lot more.

Ecumenical Experiments - Part 1

Last Sunday morning I went to a church service at St. James' Anglican in the city. St. James is the oldest church in Sydney, and they run the service in the old-school traditional style; the whole place was full of smoke from the incense canister thing, and there were candles and robes and a procession; the whole works. Although it's known as the heart of the city, I couldn't help but notice that, besides me and a few of the choristers, there wasn't anyone there under about 40 years of age. That's not necessarily a bad thing – every church has their own niche demographic that they serve.

The music was fantastic. The pipes for the organ were on both sides of the church, and stretched from the floor to the ceiling. It was obviously a well maintained organ and the organist really knew how to use it.

They did a sung Eucharist and everything. We were all given handouts with the liturgy and a melody line all written out. It was nice, but I think anyone who wasn't a trained musician (fortunately I am one) might find it difficult to engage with the service in any meaningful way. But it was nice to listen to.

The sermon was interesting. I've grown accustomed to having a scripture passage read out and fully explored in depth, to make sure the full meaning of a passage is understood. The pastor (Priest? Minister? Rector? Primate? I don't know) just took one phrase "Prepare ye the way of the Lord" and gave us his thoughts on how what this might look like in a modern context, since we're still waiting for Christ's return almost 2000 years later. It wasn't what I was used to, but at least it made sense and I could see where he was coming from.

Overall, it was a nice way to spend an hour and a half, but I just didn't come away from it feeling like I'd gained anything useful.

I don't want to be too negative. The old school traditions still mean a lot to some people, and if you can get your head inside all the pageantry and symbolism, there's some fantastic truth there. It's just not my thing, and it certainly made me appreciate my church a whole lot more.

Last time I was in Florence

Well… It's now December. 35 days from today until I leave for Madrid. Final preparations are being made. I've started putting the finishing touches to my plans, getting quotes from removalists and that sort of thing.

I've also stocked up on green and gold clothing with 'Australia' written on it. The last thing I want to do is get in a taxi with a disgruntled nationalist who thinks I'm American. And to keep warm, I've bought a rather dashing Bourke and Wills coat. Actually, I think winter in Spain is a fair bit more temperate than say England or Switzerland, but I reckon it will get cold enough to get away with it. Actually, I just want to wear a Bourke and Wills coat and walk around saying "g'day" a lot.

People at work are getting to the part where they offer me advice on where I should go while I'm over there. While I’m sure it’s all well intentioned, it actually makes me want to hit them sometimes.

“Oh, you’re going to Spain? How lovely. I remember when I was in Europe. What city are you staying in? Madrid? Oh no, you don’t want to go there. Make sure you get out to Salamanca. They’ve got this fantastic bakery you have to check out.”

“You’re going to Madrid? Oh, I much preferred Barcelona, to be honest. I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time, but make sure you get up north. It’s much nicer.”

“Are you going to France at all? What do you mean, filthy?”

“Well, if you go travelling, make sure you get down south. Are you heading over to Morocco? Yeah, see the south, that’s where the real Spain is. Madrid was just so cold and boring.”

You know what? It might well make me an uncultured Strine, but I’ve never actually been further afield than Invercargill (I’m measuring in distance from Darwin, so technically I think Singapore is closer). I have it in mind to see as many new things as I can while I’m there, and to be honest, even dull, cold old Madrid is going to be a big adventure for this particular Territorian, so I really don’t care how many darling antique silverware shops you found last time you were in Venice. And I don’t want to see photos of your last skiing holiday in Germany. I have no interest in the classical guitarist you met this one time in Lisbon.

I’m not interested in comparing notes with you before I’ve actually taken any. And no. I can’t speak freaking Spanish (kiss me) yet.

Far from home (how ironic)



Garry with 2 Rs