ossia, Taminophile's Credo
Leonard Bernstein was once quoted as saying "This will be our reply to violence: to make music more intensely, more beautifully, more devotedly than ever before." There is a reason people seek out choral music in good times and bad. After what we now call 9/11, performances of Brahms and Mozart Requiems could be found in abundance. I'm told this is exactly what happened after the JFK assassination in 1963. And there's another quote I love: "He who sings, prays twice."
Let me be clear. I trained to be a public school music teacher. I know about boundaries, particularly between church and state. I don't care what you believe. That's not what I'm about. I want you to have understanding and empathy for people whose beliefs and world views are different from your own. If I were teaching Durufle's "Ubi caritas" or Bruckner's "Locus iste" to a high school choir (my dream when I started college--OK, I still dream of doing that!), I would want the students to understand world views that were part of these amazing works. Think of the fear and desperation in the "Libera me" of Verdi's Requiem. Think of the stately elegance and reverence of the masses Mozart and Haydn left us. Think of the absolute adoration and adulation, leftover from Medieval era ideas about monarchy, in Parry's "I was glad".
All of this contemplation was brought about by finding a beautiful performance of the Mozart Requiem on YouTube. The Simón Bolivar Orchestra and Simón Bolivar National Youth Choir of Venezuela, under the direction of Gregory Carreño, performed in March, 2012. I was blown away by the reception the maestro received just walking on stage, and the ovation at the end of the work was heartwarming. Mostly, I was moved by the phrasing, the dynamic shading, the subtleties of this performance. Tears were shed.
Thinking about this, I can recall meeting with advisors at various times in my life for various purposes, and each time starting off with a lot of head knowledge and analysis. That's my way. Without exception, once they got me talking about music or opera, my expression changed, my manner of speaking changed, everything about me changed. It's about beauty. It's about spirit.
One such advisor taught me that dear St. Francis once wrote, "God, you are beauty." Being the son of an English teacher, I know that this also means, "Beauty, you are God." I can not express how freeing that was. It's OK to revere and draw spiritual strength from beauty, whether it's in nature or in man-made works. It's OK to be more drawn to a clergyman's needlework stole than his words. It's OK to find a huge, descending Advent wreath more beautiful than the ascending chandeliers at the Met.
I'm not about obsequious worship. In my favorite church tradition, we sometimes say, "We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs from under thy table...." I appreciate the archaic language in the same way I appreciate the language of Shakespeare and the Victorian fiction writers, the way I appreciate the faith I imagine is behind the great works of J.S. Bach and dear Mozart.
In the end, I'm there for the beauty. The beauty of the words, the beauty of the music, the beauty of the architecture sometimes, the beauty of the spirits around me, and yes, sometimes the physical beauty of a few individuals. It's all there to be enjoyed, to find connection, and if crumb-gathering is your thing, to be worshiped.
I started this article writing about choral music. To me, choral music and opera--music in which the voice grants us beauty and feeling and countless other gifts--is the ultimate expression of beauty. Bach's St. Matthew Passion and B-minor Mass, Mozart's Mass in c-minor and Requiem, Verdi's Requiem--the list in endless. To me these, along with totally amazing operas that I could list for days, are the ultimate expression of beauty, and thereby of God.
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