Gentle readers, please allow me a second moment of reflection on the challenges of secular journalists attempting to cover news stories centering on great works of sacred choral music. I have, after all, been a choral musician since I was 6-years-old and I didn’t jump into journalism until I discovered that it’s hard to major in music at a major university if one cannot play the piano.
The other day, I took a look at a New York Times feature about the unsuccessful efforts at the KIng’s College at Cambridge University to carry on — damn the coronavirus, full speed ahead — with its world-famous Christmas Eve performance of “The Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols.”
As you can tell from my snarky headline, I thought it was strange that the Times team didn’t include anything about the contents of this Anglican worship service, including the fact that the “lessons” are, in fact, lengthy passages of scripture. Thus, the headline: “New York Times asks: Did COVID shut down live festival of content-free lessons and carols?”
I didn’t expect a religion-beat story. However, I still thought it was strange (or, alas, not so strange) to completely skip over the religious intent and message of a worship service held in a chapel. After all, as noted in this Cambridge essay about the rite:
Wherever the service is heard and however it is adapted, whether the music is provided by choir or congregation, the pattern and strength of the service, as Dean [Eric] Milner-White pointed out, derive from the lessons and not the music. ‘The main theme is the development of the loving purposes of God ...’ seen ‘through the windows and words of the Bible’. Local interests appear, as they do here, in the bidding prayer, and personal circumstances give point to different parts of the service. Many of those who took part in the first service must have recalled those killed in the Great War when it came to the famous passage ‘all those who rejoice with us but on another shore and in a greater light’. The centre of the service is still found by those who ‘go in heart and mind’ and who consent to follow where the story leads.
So might these Bible passages about life, death, suffering and new hope have been relevant during the COVID-tide of 2020? Apparently, that is not a topic one could expect to read about in The New York Times.
But what about the even more famous scripture passages, images and themes in “The Messiah” by George Frideric Handel?
Surely the Times team couldn’t produce a feature story — “Meet the People Who Can’t Bring You ‘Messiah’ This Year” — about why this work is so important to listeners and performers without discussing the content of this sacred classic? Maybe a tiny splash of digital ink, like one or two paragraphs?
After all, it’s strange enough that “The Messiah” — an Easter oratorio — has become a fixture of American public life at Christmas. However, noting that irony requires looking at the actual libretto and theological themes in this masterpiece. In most performances, these days, the work is slashed to pieces and ends with the “Hallelujah Chorus,” rather than “Worthy Is The Lamb,” which proclaims:
Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing. Blessing and honour, glory and power, be unto Him that sitteth upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for ever and ever. Amen.
In America, however, “The Messiah” has turned into a cultural event. As a Smithsonian essay notes:
… Messiah was originally an Easter offering. It burst onto the stage of Musick Hall in Dublin on April 13, 1742. … The men and women in attendance sat mesmerized from the moment the tenor followed the mournful string overture with his piercing opening line: "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God." Soloists alternated with wave upon wave of chorus, until, near the midway point, Cibber intoned: "He was despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." …
Now, of course, Messiah is a fixture of the Christmas season. Woe to the concert hall in the United States or Britain that fails to schedule the piece around the holiday, when, as well, CD sales and Web downloads of the oratorio soar.
The purpose of this Times feature — “Meet the People Who Can’t Bring You ‘Messiah’ This Year” — is to explore the thoughts of solo musicians who, under normal circumstances, would be cashing paychecks this time of year for performances of this work.
The story actually starts strong, which caused me to get my hopes up:
Every year, Handel’s “Messiah” is a communal ritual — a glittering parade of recitatives, arias and choruses that binds listeners and performers together in a story of promise, betrayal and redemption.
But not this year. In 2020 the oratorio, if you listen to it at all, will be by necessity a private matter. And many artists for whom it is a beloved (and remunerative) staple remain almost entirely out of work. In this context, the emotional arc of “Messiah” — from comfort to grief to eventual relief — can feel more powerful than ever.
The question, of course, is whether this journey from “comfort to grief to eventual relief” is merely a matter of civic ritual, as opposed to having something to do with the scriptures, themes and images at the heart of the oratorio.
The tone is set right up top, with this reflection by tenor Brian Giebler:
When you step up to the stage at the beginning of “Messiah,” every eye in the room turns to you. For the next three minutes you have complete command over everyone’s emotions.
“Comfort ye” is my moment to take everyone’s anxiety, and pause for a second to reflect on why we’re here. You come after the overture, which is this almost chaotic moment, like everybody bustling about trying to get presents, or running to Carnegie Hall after a busy day of work. And then the beginning of “Comfort ye” is so solemn.
What I’m after is a sense of calm. It’s all about long lines. Baroque ornamentation is fun, but here, it’s about taking time and not doing anything too flashy.
What about the words? The message? Might that have something to do with reflecting on “why we’re here”?
Moving on. There is talk here of grief, “healing,” rejoicing, ecstasy, hope and excitement about a “secret you can’t wait to tell.” Then again, there are also hints at Donald Trump-era politics.
What does this have to do with the contents of the work, as opposed to its musical fireworks?
Finally, countertenor Reginald Mobley offers some insights into the text of “He was despised,” including a brief, daring mention of who the “He” is in this statement.
You as the artist are the conduit: You have to be a prism for this incredibly heavy emotion that sets the stage for the Passion portion of “Messiah.”
If you speed up the “A” section and slow down the “B” section — which usually sounds like a cavalry charge — then you can hear the flagellation, you hear Christ being tortured. My job is to transmit the personal horror and shame of being responsible.
At this point, Mobley — an African American — links these images to contemporary American life. For me, this was totally valid and, ironically, this link to social justice may be why Times editors included the remarks about the torturing of Jesus. Mobley notes:
In 2014 I was singing the aria in Kansas City. This was the year of the Ferguson riots following the killing of Michael Brown. As I was singing, I thought of him and all the others who have been murdered by an unjust system. I thought, I get to be a survivor and tell the story of my brothers, my sisters, who were scorned and shamed and spited and spat upon. And I have to carry that shame. …
Did other performers, in these interviews, make personal comments linked to the explicit Christian content of this sacred oratorio? Did any others use religious language when discussing one of the world’s most famous works of Christian art?
Conductor Joe Miller, conductor, discussing “All we like sheep,” mentions:
“What Handel is good at doing is creating amazing emotional contrast. At the very end of this piece is the crux of humanity: The iniquity of everyone is going to be laid on this one person. Up until then you have this comedy of sheep turning around and running away — I always think of an English sheepdog trying to round everyone up — and all of a sudden it comes down to this very profound moment.”
But that moment passes, whatever the “moment” was.
Soprano Jolle Jolle Greenleaf, while discussing “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” mentions her own battles with cancer and death. Thus, there is this:
I see this as an opportunity to share a message of hope and love during a season when it’s getting darker, when people are looking for meaningful connections and ways to manage their emotions through the holidays. I try to look out at the audience and make as many personal connections with the people there so that they can feel that there truly is hope, that I’m a vessel for that hope.
Wait, the message of this great “Easter” oratorio is that listeners can find hope, in the face of death, through emotional “personal connections” in musical events?
I have no way to know of any of these performers, during these interviews, discussed matters of faith, doubt, life and eternal life. I do not know if Times journalists made efforts to find Christian soloists and other artists — there are choirs of them in New York City — who would have brought their theological convictions and knowledge with them to this worthy discussion.
But what ended up in print in the world’s most influential newspaper?
The bottom line: “The Messiah” is another civic event that meets people’s cultural and, yes, emotional needs during the trying Christmas season.
Easter? No thanks.