We had a fairly freewheeling, free-spirited pastor while I was growing up. Probably a bit too free-spirited for Lutherans, frankly, and there was a constant low hum of disapproval -- silent disapproval, of course; we were still Minnesotans -- from some of the older set, who preferred their cold fire with a side of frozen brimstone (not to forget the jellied, lye-infused fish on white toast). Anyway, I swear that a little overindulgence with the communion wine led to a yearly ritual in which he encouraged us to sing "Go Tell It On the Mountain" somewhere in the midst of Advent.
Now, it's true that nothing moves a person to spirituals more than the warm glow of a northern Minnesota winter. And it's also true that no one is impassioned by the spirit of the music quite like a church full of transplanted Scandinavians, more than half of whom have been vanned over from the nursing home just across the street. One of whom regularly (wo)manned the organ for this festival of wild abandon. As a study in unintentional polyrhythm and hilariously stilted clapping (always, always, always on 1 and 3, to the extent that those could be discerned from the organist's earnest keying), it was unsurpassed. I wish I had it on video.
Now, it's true that nothing moves a person to spirituals more than the warm glow of a northern Minnesota winter. And it's also true that no one is impassioned by the spirit of the music quite like a church full of transplanted Scandinavians, more than half of whom have been vanned over from the nursing home just across the street. One of whom regularly (wo)manned the organ for this festival of wild abandon. As a study in unintentional polyrhythm and hilariously stilted clapping (always, always, always on 1 and 3, to the extent that those could be discerned from the organist's earnest keying), it was unsurpassed. I wish I had it on video.
Remind Theresa to tell you about last night's Tex-Mex dinner in Delft, which commenced with a "mojito," continued with "fajitas" that couldn't be ordered until pronounced as if the word were Dutch, and finished with a realization that the steak was spiced for the tandoor.But apparently the rigid white Germans singing songs in English qualified as gospel in the local cultural context.