Handel's Messiah

Saturday, I attended a performance of the Messiah by a semi-professional, German choir. It was overall a great experience. Although, the tempo was occasionally rushed, the pronunciation a bit shaky, the chorus did an excellent job. As for the soloists, although the soprano and alto weren't particularly good, the bass and tenor more then made up for them - particularly the tenor with his youthful energy and memorable gestures.

The piece is not unfamiliar to me. When I was a sophomore in high school, my mom bought me the Sir Colin Davis two-disc recording. Why, I don't quite remember (I think she might have been singing it in her church choir and wanted me to hear it). I remember listening to it and being struck by the last section, the Amen chorus. Sometimes, on the way to school, I would put that particular track on and listen to it with the volume turned up. It gave me a huge buzz; I think it even made me cry a few times, potent stuff.

During my senior year, we performed parts of the Messiah for our giant, middle of the year concert; we hired soloists, orchestra, conductor - everything. It was not a particularly enjoyable experience and our performance was terrible, a risk always taken when performing difficult pieces. (On a side note, our most successful 'difficult' piece, and, in my opinion, the most enjoyable, was Faure's Requiem; a stirring funeral piece, I get chills just thinking about it). Yet, I believe, somehow, through the experience, Handel’s Messiah ingrained itself permanently in my brain.

So, as I said, the piece is not new to me. In fact, when I heard it on Saturday night, I was surprised by how much I not only recognized, but actually knew. Yet, in spite of all my knowing, something unexpected occurred during the concert: the piece I knew so well became transfigured. The notes hung suspended in the air, glimmering, their echoes of the cold, grey stone filled the room with light. During the course of the more than two hour concert, I reflected, literaly; the music shone down upon me and filled me with thoughts.

Here's one distinct 'reflection' I remember. It occurred to me during the section, "He trusted in God". The short section is a little over two minutes, depending on how it’s sung. There aren't to many words: "He trusted in God that He would deliver Him, let Him deliver Him, if he delight in Him". Throughout this short piece, these words are repeated over and over again. The four voice parts cascade over each other in typical Handle style, repeating and slightly modifying earlier motifs (a fugue, I believe), only to have all four voices come together at various, climatic moments.

While listening, an image came to mind - Jesus on his cross with onlookers saying those words: "He trusted in God that He would deliver him, let Him deliver him, if he delight in him". Not to anyone particular, they said it as a question to themselves, those around them too, and then, finally, to Jesus. And as the words repeated, I saw Jesus on his cross listening to them (in fact, I really did see Jesus – a giant stone Jesus hanging in the back of the church). And then, as the choir continued singing, I imagined him dying.

From this thought, I arrived at a memory. Two years ago, a friend passed away from Leukemia. During the time of her illness, people were in constant prayer for her. There were even fasts and 24-7 prayer chains. For a while, it looked like she was going to get better; there were even rumors that a prophetic women had 'seen' her recovery. Yet, despite these ‘signs’, things took a sudden turn for the worse and she passed away. As this memory came and passed, the choir continued singing.

As the song ended, I realized two things. First, everyone claiming to believe in the Christian God will hear this song as they go through inexplicable suffering: "she trusted in God the He would deliver her, let Him deliver her, if He delight in her" (or, perhaps, in substitute for the last clause, “if He exists”). Of course, these aren't necessarily malicious thoughts; they're perfectly natural. The implicit questions - some would call them accusations - are directed at both her, Christians in general, and God. Had she done wrong? Did she not trust in God? Had the Christians praying for her done wrong? Did they not trust in God? Did God do something wrong? Did God care? Was and is God there? There are others, more difficult and complex, but those seem to be the primary questions.

Are there answers? Yes, but only indirect and paradoxical, which lead me to my second realization. The only comfort during times of inexplicable suffering for a Chrsitian is to know that Jesus, the despised and rejected one, dwells within the sufferer and comforts them. If the sufferer dies, he enters fully into Christ’s death. Then, the question is asked once more, has God delivered them. If Jesus’ resurrection did happen, the question is paradoxically answered: yes and no. The life of Jesus was to suffer and die by the hand of man and God; the death of Jesus was the path to eternal life, peace and joy. The life of a Christian is to suffer and die with Chirst; but his death is the place of rebirth/ressurection through Jesus into eternal life, peace and joy, as a heir to the Kingdom of God.

A poem from 04/05/06

Inununme

The navel undulates
Like a ship on throbbing water
The rage of my own tempest in her belly
Tensed as to birth a screaming world
Shaking the 57 sq foot cosmos in a white room

My love
She floats
On black linoleum sea tiles
Kicking like a horse
Her body sweating clouds
I watch her shrink as she spills
into the ocean all around her

The ceiling stars
Look down
Stationary and hard

I am a cloud
The sea beneath
the mist between

Post

If you're lonely, send yourself an email.  Then, at least, you'll know someone cares.

Musically Uninspired

I'm going through a dry spell. Little has caught my ear for the past two years, and I'm wondering why. As far as I can tell, there are two root causes. The first, hormonal changes; the second, overexposure.

When nothing inspires you, it is hard to create. Maybe this is just an excuse, maybe not.

What am I doing in Germany?

I used to write gefühl poetry, an excess not easily forgiven.

So, Lord, what seed am i now - you know
the parable, fear always arose when
i heard it because i knew
the two possibilities, and now,
with thorns on every side,
and one crawling up my leg,
i wonder, is it a
a ruler or a picture.

A poem by John Donne written during a near fatal illness:

I read this poem in high school and it made a strong impression on my young, religious mind. Alongside two or three other religious poems by George Herbert and a few others by Donne, I periodically return to its words in reflection. Two years ago I sent the poem to a very sick friend who, unlike Donne, did not recover, which for me imbued the poem with a deeper significance. Today, I rediscovered the poem in an old document and decided to share it here. Its effect remains strong on my middle-aged, religious mind.

A Hymn to God the Father

i.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

ii.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

iii.

I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ;
But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as he shines now, and heretofore ;
And having done that, Thou hast done ;
I fear no more.

[ps: the typography of this poem is very aesthetically pleasing. it is unfortunate that blogger does not preserve it through cut and paste! Look here for a prettier version]

Yes.

"the reality of my written work echoes the harsh reality of life: there is but one draft."
-SBG on 'The Thesis'

this quote means a lot to me right now considering the state of my own thesis and its immanent due date.