So I started reading the newest book in Thomas Cahill’s Hinges of History series – Mysteries of the Middle Ages – The Rise of Feminism, Science, and Art from the Cults of Catholic Europe. I love his books. I fully realize that he writes pop history and I’m usually itching for more extensive footnotes when I read him, but I enjoy it nonetheless. Reading Cahill is a good reminder that all history is interpretation (as is all theology, but we’ve been there on this blog already…). Half the time I’m just envious of his vocabulary and command of language.
His book are full of fun little details, sidenotes, and commentary about history. Like the origin of the term “bugger” or commenting how the lack of a sound system or buildings with decent acoustics prevented women and non-alpha males from regularly addressing large groups of people in the ancient world – it just wasn’t physically possible. Anyway, I thought I’d blog on some of the details I found most interesting.
Cahill includes the following verses from the late Medieval Christmas Carol “My Dancing Day” (read the full song here) –
Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;Chorus
Sing, oh! my love, oh! my love, my love, my love,
This have I done for my true love!In a manger laid, and wrapped I was
So very poor, this was my chance
Betwixt an ox and a silly poor ass
To call my true love to my dance. ChorusThen up to heaven I did ascend,
Where now I dwell in sure substance
On the right hand of God, that man
May come unto the general dance. Chorus
Of course I liked the imagery of the dance, but reading the song and its history amused me by its similarity to today’s praise songs. “My Dancing Day” was sung as part of the mystery plays – dramas that told (interpreted, elaborated, and contextualized) bible stories to the common folks. And the chorus is from a secular love song which probably because of its popularity was “baptized” and conjoined with the Christmas story. So here we have a version of the “Jesus is my boyfriend” songs from the late Middle Ages – popular because its familiar tune and down-to-earth images the common folks could understand. A song that celebrates the incarnation and its implications for our lives. So for the number of times I’ve heard complaints about praise and worship music (or done the complaining myself) it is interesting to think about what the implications for incarnation are for those songs. How do they connect people with out world or teach us how to be the incarnation of love? Do they invite us to join the dance no matter how simple their lyrics? Do songs have to be theological masterpieces to be meaningful or useful?
Just some thoughts and fun reflections sparked by history…
In Ode’s most recent issue, I read a fascinating article about a project to help street kids in the slums of India become literate and educated by providing free internet connected computer kiosks. On these computers the children can play literacy games, surf the web, learn geography, and “draw” pictures (a novelty for kids with little to no access to pencils and paper). Observes (through webcams) have noticed that even without supervision the children organize systems of turn taking and through experimentation figure out how to use the technology. In a country where education (where it exists at all) is poor and still relies on rote learning methods the ability to think critically and independently and have technology skills is a huge asset to these children.
The founder of this project, Sugata Mitra, believes that providing the poor with education and skills will help foster global cooperation and peace. While economic disparity can lead to theft and violence, the acquisition of knowledge requires friendship. He just want to help make access to that knowledge available to everyone. In some ways his project is similar to the 
Although it makes use of a lot of the traditional symbols associated with Mary, it challenges tradition as well. Of course in expected fashion it was rejected by critics of Rosetti’s day because it was new and different. Contemporary critics howled with outrage at the picture, denouncing it as ‘an example of the perversion of talent which has recently been making so much headway’. I liked it because it depicts a Mary who has emotions – who reacts in some way to the appearance of the angel and his startling request. Here she is scared to death, cowering in the corner, unsure of her fate. Rossetti (using his sister Christine Rossetti as a model) portrays a real person here and I like that.