Jesus, Name All Names Above

Saint Theoctistus of the Studium, ca. 890

Yesterday’s meditation on the word tawdry got me to thinking, “What hymn could I possibly come up with that would have the slightest connection to that?” Not that you’ll find tawdry in any hymns — though I used to think, as youngsters will do, that when we sang about “poor ord’nary people” in the wonderful Wexford Carol, it was “poor ornery people,” which actually might be an accidental improvement. What do you say? I did find an article in The New York Times, from February 16, 1925, in which the bishop of Liverpool was reported as saying, “In the cathedral, we ought not to sing or use any hymns which are not of the very best. We are surrounded by magnificent art and craftsmanship, and we have no business to be offering as praise to God anything mean or tawdry in music or words.” So he decided he’d better teach his flock to sing good hymns, right away. Clearly, he was using “tawdry” to signify what was cheap, tacky, poorly made, clumsy — no moral shading intended, and likewise with the word “mean.” Those sure were different times.

Tawdry, as I noted yesterday in Word of the Week, came from Saint Audrey, by way of the cheap neck-ribbons you might buy at Ely during the yearly Saint Audrey’s fair. Those ribbons were called Saint Audrey lace, which became tawdry-lace, and then tawdry was detached from the lace, to denote something that was cheap and common. Only later did the word acquire a negative moral sense. Poor Saint Audrey, to lend her name to the precise opposite of what she was in life! “But what’s in a name?” you might ask. Shakespeare has the young lady Juliet ask it, when she pronounces, lovingly, the name of Romeo, whom she has just met and spent perhaps five minutes talking to. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” says Juliet. Everyone’s heard those words, right, and believed that Shakespeare meant us to take them at face value? Perhaps. I wouldn’t put it past Shakespeare to be nudging us a bit there, because Romeo’s name was for a pilgrim who went to Rome, to venerate the image of the face of Jesus — and Romeo himself, in his first words to Juliet, says that his lips are pilgrims, ready to kiss Juliet’s hand. She replies, playfully, that “palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss,” punning on palm, since you were a palmer if you went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, because you’d invariably bring back branches of palm.

You see, the older belief was that names are consequent upon the things they name — that was the Latin saying that I’ve translated here — and that you can delve deeper into reality by pondering names. Saint Audrey’s name wasn’t always tawdry. Her name was Aethelthryth — well-born strength; and she had it, too. Christians have long dwelt upon the name of Jesus, Hebrew Yeshua, meaning The Lord saves; and it’s right to dwell upon it. When Adam names the beasts, he exercises a God-like authority, because we’re to understand that he names them according to their nature. He knows about them, and that’s why he gives them the names they have.

We don’t know much about the original author of what was paraphrased by John Mason Neale as our Hymn of the Week, “Jesus, Name All Names Above.” He’s known as Theoctistus the Studite, to distinguish him from a couple of other better-known people with his name. The Studium was a monastery in Constantinople, devoted to learning and iconography. It was founded in a time when you could get yourself thrown into prison by the emperor for making images of Jesus or Mary or the apostles or the saints. I wish it were still standing, but when the Turks took Constantinople in 1453, most of it was destroyed. They rebuilt it as a mosque, but that too was ruined, and people have gathered stones from it to repair their houses. But Theoctistus wrote a hymn that is still well-known and chanted in the Orthodox churches; the part that concerns us today begins with the words Iesou glukutate, O sweetest Jesus. Such hymns were for chanting, not for stanzas with a repeated melody. Hence Theoctistus repeats, again and again, lovingly, that holy name. It is music upon his lips. But Neale, the great translator, took the general ideas of the hymn and formed them into what we have now. It’s been revised, and you don’t often get all of Neale’s stanzas included in a hymnal, and sometimes they are presented in an order other than what Neale gave them. I will give all six below, because they form a unitary whole. “Jesus, Jesus above all names,” says Neale, “do for this sinner what you did for that man who died beside you on Calvary.”

We could not find a choral version of our favorite tune for this week’s hymn, St. Throctistus (composed by Frederick Ouseley), but we did find the tune, with accompanying words for anyone who would like to sing along today.

Jesu, name all names above,
Jesu, best and dearest;
Jesu, fount of perfect love,
Holiest, tenderest, dearest;
Jesu, source of grace completest,
Jesu purest, Jesu sweetest,
Jesu, well of power divine,
Make me, keep me, seal me thine!

Jesu, open me the gate
That of old he entered
Who, in that most lost estate,
Wholly on thee ventured;
Thou, whose wounds are ever pleading
And thy Passion interceding,
From my misery let me rise
To a home in Paradise!

Thou didst call the Prodigal,
Thou didst pardon Mary;
Thou whose words can never fall,
Love can never vary:
Lord, to heal my lost condition,
Give -- for thou canst give -- contrition;
Thou canst pardon all my ill
If thou wilt -- O, say, "I will!"

Woe, that I have turned aside
After fleshly pleasure!
Woe, that I have never tried
For the heavenly treasure!
Treasure, safe in homes supernal,
Incorruptible, eternal,
Treasure no less price hath won
Than the Passion of the Son!

Jesu, crowned with thorns for me,
Scourged for my transgression,
Witnessing, through agony,
That thy good confession!
Jesu, clad in purple raiment,
For my evils making payment,
Let not all thy woe and pain,
Let not Calvary be in vain!

When I reach Death's bitter sea
And its waves roll higher,
Help the more forsaking me
As the storm draws nigher:
Jesu, leave me not to languish,
Helpless, hopeless, full of anguish!
Tell me -- "Verily, I say,
Thou shalt be with me today."

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