Lileks on Easter Services

James Lileks has some typically funny thoughts on Easter services, both in the traditional sense that his Lutheran church does them, and in some services he's attended at a local megachurch.

The rest of the hymns were standard fare, and again – as usual – I wondered why we sang these hymns, why we had this style of music. The meters never vary; the language is from the Honest Abe era, and the general tune-vibe brings to mind images of dust-bowl tent revivals, where some old lady in a faded dress clutches a Bible to her bony bosom as the pianist pounds out “Old Rugged Cross” and other slabs of piety-glazed boilerplate for the seven-hundredth time. I’ve just never liked hymns, that’s all. Spiritual yearning parcelled out in small squares, like Hershey bars. And they’re always pitched six steps above my range, so I can either belt them out and alarm the pewmates or whine them through my nose and give myself a headache.

The imagery never quite clicked, either: the old "Rugged" Cross makes it sound like it’s Built Ford Tough. Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me, let me hide myself in thee? As a kid you imagine yourself wedged into an elderly stone. (Which has a hairlip.) Of course there’s the transportation of the Sheaves, which are brought in amid much rejoicing. None of this stuff makes much of an impression on a child. And when the lyrics say “O come Emmanuel” and you actually have an uncle whose last name is Emmanuel, it’s more confusing. You expect everyone to start singing about Bringing in the Johnsons and hiding them in the rugged old rock-gash.

Not all churches rely on the 19th century Hot 100, of course – I’ve visited a megachurch where the music was so brassy and modern and upbeat you would not have been surprised if Johnny Olsen read the Gospel lesson and Pastor Bob Barker came through gigantic sliding doors. I have too much cradle-infused Lutheranism in me to cotton to Gospel; in my church, when people started shouting and clapping like that you’d wrestle them to the ground and put tongue depressors in their mouths.

I can relate on both counts. Read the whole thing here.

Due to our travels this weekend and other obligations, we didn't make it to any Easter services, but I well remember many services in the past. One year, when I was still a teenager, I was asked to lead the music in the sunrise service at 6am. Although my voice hadn't fully dropped to its current bass timbre, I pretty much had to stand on my toes to hit some of the notes on "He Lives, He Lives". The ending is a killer.

Another year (again, as a high schooler) I was asked, along with two other trumpet players, to do a special fanfare at the beginning of the Easter service as the choir came in. I wrote a short piece for the occasion, and it went well in rehearsal. While we were waiting in the balcony for the service to start, the three of us were talking about our competition marches that we played in high school. Each march was very different, and when we went to play the fanfare our minds were on the wrong songs and we each headed off in a different tempo and direction. It sounded like a three trumpet pile-up and embarrassed the heck out of me. Fortunately, nobody in the crowd knew what it was supposed to sound like, and I actually had several compliments afterwards.

The other Easter memory I have is of my cousin who was pretty young at the time and attended the services with us. We asked her what she liked about the service, and she said her favorite song was the "Gravy Song". What's the 'gravy song', we wondered. Thinking back through the program, we realized she was referring to "Up From the Grave He Arose". It sounded like 'gravy song' to her.

Oh well, maybe we'll make it next year.