Art does not come easy

A Bach Vespers Reflection

The following is a reflection delivered at Bach Vespers, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Terrace Park, on Sunday, December 12, 2021.

Why don’t we talk politics?

I want to share with you two statements made by politicians, one fairly recently, and the other a few years ago. Not that it matters at all, but one was a Democrat and one was a Republican.

The first statement is this: “Zero is the only acceptable number of deaths and serious injuries on our roadways.”

The second: “It is the policy of the United States to seek and support the growth of democratic movements and institutions in every nation and culture, with the ultimate goal of ending tyranny in our world.”

Both of these statements are rooted in hope and good intentions, but they do not seem to be grounded in the reality of human experience.

It is perilous for us to take the position that we begin perfect and are marred by experience.

Life is what happens when our aspirations meet the reality of the world. Traffic deaths don’t occur just because of failed policies or low standards; they also happen because people make mistakes. Tyranny exists in the world because its impulse starts in the human heart. It is perilous for us to take the position that we begin perfect and are marred by experience. As Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote in the Gulag Archipelago:
“The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart.”

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We don’t know the occasion for which Bach composed the motet Jesu, meine Freude. The six motets of Bach we have today give us no clues about their performance, unlike the cantatas, for which we mostly have precise liturgical dedications and dates. There is speculation that they might have been written for funeral services; the omission of instruments is one indicator of this possibility. However, we do know for certain other pieces written for funerals including cantata 118, which called for voices and brass instruments, an orchestra that could feasibly perform outdoors.

Another suggestion by scholars, and one that I believe has more merit, is that these were written to be educational pieces for Bach’s students. Jesu, meine Freude is, in fact, fiendishly difficult. Its eleven movements are cast in an arch form, with the first reflecting the last, the second and the tenth, and so forth. The center of the piece, the sixth movement, is a double fugue for five voices, a compositional feat so difficult that I liken it to juggling three axes and three chainsaws at the same time. Additionally, through these varied movements, Bach explores many voicing possibilities, including trio movements for upper and lower voices, and a movement with the bass voice is removed completely. This is a kind of textural variety that we see nowhere else in Bach’s works except for the B-Minor Mass.

Besides the range of musical expression exhibited in this twenty-minute work, there is a profound spiritual message as well. In Leipzig, Bach was responsible for his student’s musical and spiritual education. The text of this motet combines two sources: the Biblical text from the Book of Romans, Chapter 8, and a Lutheran hymn written in 1650 by Johann Franck. In constructing the piece, Bach alternates between hymn verses, whose general theme is a turning away from the world and toward God, with the epistle verses which contrast the “world of the flesh” with the “world of the spirit.” This lesson, one in which the world is portrayed as flawed, imperfect, and burdensome, while the next life, the life of the spirit, is a perfect and happy union with God, is common in much of Bach’s sacred music. It would make sense that it would have been central to his instruction as well.

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So what now? As our Bach Ensemble motto says, we are interested in “Timeless Music Today.” What is so “today” about this piece? I like to make two points in this regard.

The first point: we suffer today from the cult of “me”. In this way of thinking, we are born unique and wonderful and perfect, and the world must adapt to our magnificence. Whether you like it or not, this music, this text, and much of the whole history of human philosophy and religion are dedicated to the opposite proposition. The line is down the middle of our hearts, and we are free to choose.

The second point: that choice and this music are a struggle. There is no way to perform this piece without looking failure in the face. We sounded bad long before we sounded good. The trial, the ordeal, the journey are a part of the choice between the world of the flesh and the world of the spirit. I am reminded of the beginning of the book, A River Runs Through It where the author describes his father, a Presbyterian minister and a trout fisherman, thusly:

“To him, all good things—trout as well as eternal salvation—come by grace and grace comes by art and art does not come easy.”

To choose the spirit…is to give up yourself to gain the universe.

It does not. To choose the spirit is to embrace your own hunger while feeding another. It is to choose forgiveness instead of vengeance. It is to seek beauty rather than prestige. It is to strive for grace and art, and the hope that we can be saved. It is to give up yourself to gain the universe. It is to recognize that our lamentable failures, be they traffic deaths or tyranny, are a regrettable part of the journey to our greatest triumph.