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In 1851 John Mason Neale, a guiding light of the Oxford movement in worship, architecture, and hymnody, translated and versified the Latin text as "Of the Father's Love Begotten." Translation always modifies the original, especially in hymnody, where stringent rules of meter and rhyme must be observed. Even the opening line of the English translation departs significantly from the Latin, which is literally "born of the parent's heart." Neale's English text was revised by Henry Williams Baker for inclusion in the first edition of the monumental Hymns Ancient and Modern in 1861. A doxological stanza was added at a later date. To the poem of a fifth-century Spanish poet, and a tune found in medieval Italian and German trope collections (Divinum mysterium), the English translation added the imprint of mid-nineteenth-century Great Britain during a time when the Anglican Church was attempting to reclaim the glory of the medieval church. England also left other cultural marks on this text when the previously monophonic, unaccompanied melody was harmonized and accompanied on the organ, and when it was sung not by choirs at monastic gatherings but by congregations. The hymn comes to many of us in our hymnals more or less in the manner conceived by Neale and Baker in mid-nineteenth century England. The story is not over, however. Federico Pagura, a bishop in the Argentine Methodist Church and a fine poet in his own right, translated the original Latin poem into Spanish, a language descended from Prudentius' proto-Catalonian native tongue. Though the Spanish of Pagura's Argentina is vastly removed in syntax, time, and space from Prudentius' Latin, the Spanish translation, "Fruto del amor divino" (1962), offers Spanish-speaking Christians a way to sing this great classic hymn in their own language. Furthermore, it is a way for contemporary descendants of folks from the Iberian peninsula to claim through song a sense of unity with a church dating back to the fifth century.32 The incipit of the Spanish translation, literally "fruit of the divine love," once again departs from the original Latin. "Fruto del amor divino" appears in Mil Voces Para Celebrar (1996), the United Methodist Spanish-language hymnal, with an organ accompaniment from Hymnal 1940, an earlier hymnal of the Episcopal Church in the United States. With Pagura's translation and the new harmonization, this classic hymn is given a thoroughly American (South and North) treatment. The spirit of Prudentius' original poem pervades the versions we sing today, although regrettably many current hymnals have omitted some of the most important stanzas. After several translations and adaptations, however, this is not the original poem. Neither is the musical experience of singing this hymn today similar to that of the monastic world of Prudentius' day. The versions of "Corde natus ex parentis" offer a cross-cultural mosaic of fifth-century Spain, medieval Italy and Germany, nineteenth-century England, twentieth-century Argentina, and the United States. While this is a more complex example than some, whenever we sing Martin Luther's "A Mighty Fortress," Isaac Watts's "Our God, Our Help in Ages Past," Charles Wesley's "Hark, the Herald Angels Sing," Fanny Crosby's "Blessed Assurance," the anonymous American folk hymn "Wondrous Love," or Charles Tindley's "Stand by Me," we are entering into a cross-cultural experience that has countless permutations depending on translations, textual modifications, and musical arrangement. "Siyahamba"—an African case study.33 This well-known Zulu song has been incorporated into several recent hymnals and is widely sung in North America.34 Rather than being composed for congregations, it emerged out of struggles in the streets and townships of South Africa, being conceived orally and only later written down. The South African ethnomusicologist David Dargie notes that "Siyahamba" originated as a freedom song with Amadodana, a Methodist young men's group, within the cultural context of apartheid political oppression. Though the words are few, they are as pregnant with meaning as an African proverb—especially to those who live in the culture. Usually translated as "We are marching in the light of God," the simple text contains layers of meaning. "We" is a word of community, the community of those living, as well as the community of the living dead, the ancestors. "Marching" is an action that unifies the members of the community as they move physically and spiritually in the same direction. It is a physical, kinesthetic response to the Spirit, not a passive acquiescence. "The light of God" has meaning on several levels. While light is a symbol of creation and of Jesus Christ, who is "the light of the world," it is also a common subject of songs of healing, or ngoma, throughout Southern and Central Africa. The refrain, "Let darkness be replaced with light," is coded language for "seeing clearly."35 God is the source of clear sight in the midst of the struggle; that is, God is the source of discernment and truth. As we march we can see our way ahead—even though armed police may be in our way. Our path is clear. Where there is light, there is hope. "Siyahamba" and many of the South African freedom songs available in current hymnals were forged in the fires of the anti-apartheid struggle. Out of defining events like the Sharpeville Massacre in 1960 a song emerged that when sung in the streets could convey hope in the face of oppression, maintain dignity in the face of violence, and unite people in the face of turmoil. When this message is sung, the words are embodied in the lives of the community that sings and dances it. The song's cyclic musical structure immediately draws in everyone present. As "Siyahamba" was conceived orally, and is performed without written music, its portability allows the song to be taken to places of darkness where its message can expose evil in its myriad forms, and offer the singers hope. It allows the performers/participants to add to the basic song a message that draws into it the existential reality of the situation. "We" grow in number as we "march," for there are those who join us literally on the way. The song accommodates and even facilitates a growing, evolving community of believers. "We are marching," knowing we are never alone in our struggle. The living dead are always singing with us. When this song is taken into the liturgy as a processional it brings with it the struggle of the streets, and it sanctifies this struggle in the liturgy. Singing "Siyahamba" says that liturgy is not hermetically sealed from daily life, but is a place to mend the wounds of oppression, and to receive a blessing to return to the streets in hope for freedom. Three cross-cultural messages. As North American congregations sing these songs in worship in the twenty-first century, they receive not only their textual and musical content, but also aspects of their culture. "Jesus Shall Reign" is an icon of the English monarchy at the height of its missionary zeal and colonial expansion. Though hymnal editors have excised the stanzas that manifest its most parochial aspects, vestiges of eighteenth-century colonialism remain. Yet "Jesus Shall Reign" reflects for us, as much as for eighteenth-century Christians, a vision of a world where Christ is sung—in the words of "From All That Dwell Below the Skies," Watts's paraphrase of Psalm 117, "through every land, by every tongue." It is a cross-cultural expression whose "kingdom" images present a challenge to Christians living in a democratic, non-monarchial political system such as the United States. Yet its cross-cultural message is still relevant. "Of the Father's Love Begotten" is a much more complex example which draws from several cultures through seventeen centuries. It is a historical cross-cultural masterpiece that caries with it vestiges of early Christian theology, medieval plainsong, the Oxford movement of the nineteenth century, with twentieth-century permutations. The essential Trinitarian theology that emerged from the councils of the early church is still relevant to Christians today. "Siyahamba" differs from the other two in that it is a song growing out of a relatively recent struggle—against apartheid in South Africa, one of the most insidious forms of sustained institutionalized political oppression perpetrated by a dominant government on its people. Though the experience of oppressed South Africans may seem far removed from our lives, those who join in solidarity with them by singing "Siyahamba" sing of resistance to all forms of oppression. Furthermore, singing "Siyahamba" may give voice to those who have experienced oppression within the United States and to others who wish to stand in solidarity with them. |
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