BWV 244: planting the Easter message in unlikely places

The Lord promises that His Word will endure forever (1 Peter 1:25) and that He will leave a remnant to preach and hear the Gospel.  Sometimes God's Word may seem so very hidden in the secularity of modern-day America, especially in our colleges and universities.  The public educational system infused with liberal theology, atheistic morals, Eastern religious philosophy, etc. doesn't appear to welcome or tolerate historic Christianity, particularly as it is viewed through the clear lens of the Reformation.

That's where the choral tradition comes in.  One of the few places where the Gospel has been guarded its place is in the great choral music of the church, now also shared with the classroom and the concert hall for its artistic value and teaching significance.  Singing the liturgical mass settings (based on Scripture, arranged in a Law and Gospel format around the means of grace) as well as the fine chorale settings by J.S. Bach keeps the true message of the cross alive in some very dark places.

 Bach's setting of the St. Matthew Passion (BWV 244) is one of the richest proclamations of the Gospel (in its Christocentric or Lutheran framework) that remains in the public square today.  It not only relates the Passion account from the gospel of Matthew, Picander's libretto calls for additional hymn verses and poetic texts which support the sola principles of the Reformation.

A couple of years ago, I attended a semi-staged performance of the St. Matthew Passion at a state university.  While the choir sang the German text, English subtitles were provided in the program on the screen.  The dramatic movement of the singers onstage also influenced the depiction of the story, and altered the role of the chorus from angry mob to mournful disciples of Christ.  I thought to myself - how else could one go to such as institution and hear the pure Gospel delivered for three hours straight?  Definitely not in the psychology classroom or the biology lab.  The choir still proclaims the Gospel in its best musical apparel long after it has been rejected in other academic disciplines.

Every Holy Week, I try to listen to the entire St. Matthew Passion in its entirety (which, from my perspective, is the most edifying way to take it in).  It considers several themes which, broadcasted from any other part of a college, would be offensive and untolerated:

- All of us, not only the disciples, are those for whom Christ died (1 John 2:2).
- We deserved the punishment Jesus received because of our sins (Is. 53:5).
- We must recognize these sins and repent (Mark 1:15).
- In this life, we endure persecution as Christians facing the devil, the world, and our flesh,  In this way, we share in the sufferings of Christ (1 Peter 4:13).
- Jesus Christ, even in the darkest part of His humiliation, retains His Godhood as well as its divine glory and attributes (the string "halo" around His words).  It is evident that the Man dying on the cross and paying for the sins of the world is God's own Son (Matthew 27:54).
- He is also truly human.  He feels pain and thirst, and does truly bear in His body the sufferings of hell, as well as true abandonment by the Father.  Because of His humanity, He is truly our Mediator (1 Timothy 2:5).
- Because of His sufferings, the Christian is able to look with confidence to Him for comfort in his or her trials (2 Cor. 1:3-4).  Christ died so that we may not be afraid of our own earthly hardships, even death.

Overall, the Lutheran hermeneutics of BWV 244 bring out the "for-you-ness" of the salvation story, the gravity of sin, the "joyful exchange" of Christ's vicarious satisfaction, and the consolation it gives to each believer.

Of course, the Passion ends with Jesus' body being laid in the grave by His sorrowful friends - the resurrection is saved for Easter Sunday.  Yet, new listeners whose hearts have been stirred by the Gospel should be inspired to seek out the conclusion to the story, to which the many chorales and poetic texts have alluded.

Recording:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eU6QEklM4SA

Translation:  http://www.emmanuelmusic.org/notes_translations/translations_cantata/t_bwv244.htm

The Lord's blessings on your Holy Week and Easter celebrations!

Catching stars...

March 11, 2018

There may well be two varieties of people in the world:  those who are aware it is easy to catch a star, and the (unfortunately) greater part that has never tried.  Dear reader, which one are you? 

Some years ago, but not too many, there lived a young man who was very much loved by a young woman.  She would wrap her arm around the young man's shoulder, and lead him with laughter out of their village up to her favorite hill, where they would sit on the grass and daydream.  

“Someday, more than anything I want to collect a star, but I need you by my side to help me," she declared.  "I’ll help you catch one for yourself, too.” 

He laughed and withdrew from her arms.  “Darling, you can’t even touch the stars.  If one could, it would be too costly a venture.”  He gestured to her empty hands and pockets.  “I don’t intend on attempting something so daring, and I think you ought to stay in the village.” 

The young woman sighed, and the gleam in her hazel eyes faded.  Yet, her idea was not entirely extinguished.  He would arrive at the notion that she could - that they could.  Nevertheless, aside from an occasional quarrel, the two were inseparable.  Her zesty-but-perceptive humor balanced with his illuminated sense of wit. The villagers loved them, and they shared many wonderful friends.

One evening, the young man visited and told her, "You are the most beautiful woman in the world.  I want to spend the rest of my life with you."  He kissed her gently, as all of her fears melted away. 

That kiss would be their last.  Five twilights later, the same young man told her, "I don't have any feelings for you."  The final moment had confirmed to him that he did not love her.  Leaving few words trailing after him, he slipped out into the night.

The young woman felt inconsolable.  The people of the village would soon learn of the matter; she could not return as she was.  What to do?  One possibility extended itself:  she could try to obtain a star on her own.  So, she went out to her favorite hill, empty pockets and all, and lifted her face to the brightest star - one that the young man would never approve of her catching.  Then, with trembling fingers, she interlaced them and lifted them into the indigo expanse. 

Much to her awe – it fell directly into her hands!

The young woman jumped in astonishment.  It felt both hot and cold at the same time, similar to peppermint, and as it cooled it turned many colors, which she could see up close.  Each layer glistened as she turned the smooth, irregular shape in her hands.  A smile warmed on her face, and the golden flecks in her olive-green eyes relit.

“I caught a star!” she exclaimed half to herself, half to the village below - but no one was awake, much less near enough, to hear her.

--

During the daylight, the young woman returned to walk about the streets of the village where she lived, going about business as usual.  Her small feet found their way into the old familiar cracks in the road and cobbled paths, but the scenery was different.  People often shyly stepped aside when they saw her approaching; there were rumors that she indeed left to pick things from the sky in the evening.  To ordinary folk, she looked the same as always, but the sheen of stardust on her coarse-but-able hands betrayed her diversion.  Her usual route was now sprinkled with fresh faces and unfamiliar voices.

“Aren’t you the villager here who collects stars?  What’s so special about them, anyhow?”

A few echoed what the young man said.  “Isn’t it expensive to travel into the sky, and pick a star yourself?”

"How can you catch a star?  It's many, many miles away and much too enormous to be held. That's impossible!" exclaimed the resident proponents of practicality.  

“If you’re going to chase such a silly thing, you might as well not do it alone,” chided the young lovers, who were not wholly unsympathetic to her.

Several women chimed in, “Why didn’t you get married, and stay here near the village like we did? You could have done something more important, like raise children.”  The young woman glanced down at her shoes. 

"I think one can raise children and catch the stars," other wives quietly contended.

“I have always loved the stars, but I don’t deserve to hold them,” the young woman told her acquaintances new and old.  “They simply fall into my hand.”  Of course, many refused to believe her. 

“What will you do with all of them once you’re done?” they interrogated.

Well, they were stars; does one craft things with the stars?  “I don’t know,” she replied.  “I- I suppose if I collect enough of them, I could build a palace with them.”

“But, for yourself?” they retorted.  “Why would you build a palace just for yourself?”  They did not know what she meant. 

The new inhabitants of the village did not remember the young man.  They wondered why the young woman shied away from the village dances - for her, merely holding hands with someone unfamiliar reopened all of the memories.  They also could not quite understand the sparkle that the young woman, who seemed to be a native villager, carried with her - even though she did not mind them asking. 

Several well-weathered friends had been out near the heavens at night themselves and possessed a few stars of their own.  When intrigued individuals requested to see the gems, she took out her basket and showed them her trove.  She described in arresting detail all of the colors and peculiarities about them, where they had been, and how she found them.  They also believed her when she told them that gathering the stars was not hard.  Amongst those who also found delight in them, she shared the jewels freely. 

“The others don’t understand,” she sighed, with tears in her eyes.  “It was easy for me.  They simply fell into my hands.  I didn’t do anything at all.”

“We know,” her wiser friends said. 

Her closest companions knew where to find her on the hill, where she waited with her basket to see the new stars appear.  They pointed to the most radiant ones and encouraged her to reach for them.  Yet, no one remained by her side to help.

--

After the incident, the village did not hear very much about the young man.  Rumors grew that he had left the village, and no longer cared for the truths the village sang to one another.  Nevertheless, at an unexpected moment, he came and happened upon the young woman alone in her spot, watching for the newest, most dazzling star to fall.  He had received word about the basket and needed to observe its riches for himself.

There it rested; the tales were true.  He could hardly believe that she had accomplished what she had only dreamed about underneath his arm; much less bear the task alone.  The young woman studied him from beneath her eyelashes.  There was no familiar glisten on his hands as of one who chased the night, no basket of stars of his own.  He had never longed for them in the manner she did, and now his deep carnelian eyes were guarded and cold.  The person who kindly listened to her as she told stories had vanished, and a stranger filled his place.

“Please,” he implored.  “I am sorry for what I said and how I treated you when we were together here before.  Will you let me stay and catch stars with you?  I could even build us a simple, nice house with some of the stars you collected.  We could sell them and buy things that are more important.” 

As he spoke, he looked up at the newest star, shimmering directly over the young woman’s head.  He reached for it, but – as the young woman watched – the star did not fall into his hands.  “Please,” he said.  “I just wish to remain here, with you and your stars.”

“No,” she responded with one word, and that was that.  The young man departed, and he never traveled out to the hill again.  The young woman continued chasing and pursuing the treasures that appeared for her in the night sky – and, by and by, there were two baskets of stars by the palace steps near the hill, with many small hands to help fill them.