Let us sing more cheerful songs
I had a (somewhat) tidy homily written on Friday evening of last week. This is always the goal: have a good draft of a homily by the time my head hits the pillow on Friday night so that I can sleep in on Saturday and have at least somewhat of a sabbath day with family. I was on schedule! And then, well, you know what happened on Saturday afternoon. Shots fired. Former President down. Shooter killed and innocent bystander killed. People ducking for their lives. Raised fists and bird fingers to cameras. Continued rage, division, and trauma (yes, real trauma). End scene.
I knew it was going to be a rough election season. And here we are… In the middle of July with almost four months left before the General Election… And blood has already been spilled.
The homily I wrote was rendered pretty much useless. Back to the drawing board. And even then, I didn’t have a cogent word package to give people. A neat and tidy nugget for people to put in their pockets and take home. I drew up a rough outline and went with more of a guided lament on the violence and rupture at the heart of our nation that’s been worsening since I can remember.
…
My dear friend, Owen, has been in Carmel-by-the-Sea all month singing in the Carmel Bach Festival just down Hwy 1 from us.
My wife and I met Owen and his wife, Lindsay (and their two adorable kiddos) in the Sierra Valley where we used to live. They’re both classically-trained musicians (he at the New England Conservatory and she at Julliard). They’re the creme of the crop. When they became parents, they went from being full-time performers in the Big Apple to running their musical non-profit, Musica Sierra, to enhance music offerings for schools in underfunded rural Northern California.
Owen’s been singing in this festival for the last ten years. According to him, it’s the highest-level of classical music on the West Coast. I’ve long wanted to go (I mean, Bach is, after all, a Lutheran icon) and Owen is able to get us deeply discounted tickets. So on Sunday night, the fam’ and I got all gussied up and ventured to Carmel-by-the-Sea to behold Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9 (the one that features the tune to ‘Ode to Joy’).
I know what you may be asking… Why did you opt for a Beethoven jam at a Bach festival?
I appreciate your concern, dear reader, but do know that we’ll be returning for Bach’s St. John’s Passion this weekend. But the reason we went with Beethoven 9 first is that it’s a bucket list item for us (especially my wife). We had tickets to see it at the Chicago Symphony in the spring of 2020 and, well, you know what happened then. The Symphony, along with the whole world, was shuttered for awhile. This was our chance to give it another shot. And let me tell you. It was perfect timing.
…
I could go on about the historical significance of Beethoven’s 9th Symphony.1 Here’s a snippet:
The years since composing his eighth symphony had been times of bitter disappointment at the oppressive reactionary political developments after the Congress of Vienna, but also of personal suffering. They were also years of growing resistance to reaction, and the revival of the revolutionary ideals, betrayed by the upper middle classes. The Ninth Symphony symbolizes powerfully the struggle through night into light, of progress against reaction, to which Beethoven dedicated his whole life and work. It is often expressed in a struggle between a dark minor key and a brilliant affirmative major key. The finale of the Ninth anticipates and celebrates the victory of this ideal: a future society, in which freedom, equality, universal fellowship is fulfilled, in which Joy can reign.
The more I look at history, the more I see that extreme societal division really has been the constant of human life since the beginning.
The history of this symphonic masterpiece is so rich…
Between 1905 and 1933 the “Ninth” was frequently performed in Germany to a large number of workers’ audiences with the participation of workers’ choirs including a “Peace and Freedom Celebration on New Year’s Eve 1918.” The beginning of this concert was scheduled so that at stroke of 12, the final movement began with Friedrich Schiller’s “Ode to Joy.” These concerts were stopped by the Nazis in 1933.
Some call his 9th Symphony a humanist utopia. But I beg to differ. It’s soaked with divine proclamation. The symphony consists of four movements that last about 30 minutes each. The first three movements are entirely instrumental. They all build toward the final fourth movement where Schiller’s poem, Ode to Joy, is sung (with some flourishing touches and creative arrangement by Beethoven himself).
…
As the fourth movement began, the choir began to take the stage. And then, walking stealthily from the back of the auditorium to the front and stopping right beside where we were sitting, emerged a booming baritone voice out of nowhere - the voice of Dashon Burton - filling the entire space and proclaiming the opening line to the poem:
“O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!” (Trans: “O friends, no more these tones!”
Dashon embodied the passionate cry of a bouncer-like peacemaker, his entire personhood being channeled through the sacrament of his voice to say, “Halt! Knock it off!”
Then he continued marching toward the stage as he went deeper into the poem before the rest of the choir joined in. They sung the ode in German with the translation on a screen above them.
There was no way to stop the tears at this point. Both Alex and I were a mess. (I’m sure Rory was like, Um, you guys okay?)
A flurry of thoughts and emotions flooded in during that final movement. Elation that we’d finally seen this classic display of musicality we’ve been longing to see for so long. Appreciation that a transcendent event that once was limited to wealthy aristocrats is now accessible to the masses. Low-level anxiousness trying to hold on to the moment as fully as possible to take it all in. And then there were the more existential things…
There is - and has long been - so much tumult and uncertainty in the world (and in our mundane lives). But musicians get up every day, practice endless hours, years, and decades to come together to perform these timeless masterpieces. They’re not making oodles of Justin Bieberish money doing this. And yet here they are, together in Carmel, on a Sunday night in July, playing thousands upon thousands of flawless notes - joy springing from their every pore as they wrestle their instruments into harmonious submission - to bring the world this gift.
Vocation…
What is the small gift that God has tuned in you to bring into the world? We get so caught up in the big, sweeping cosmic things. We want to go and just make it all okay right now. But as a minuscule instrument in the grand orchestra/body of Christ…
What is the little thing that lights you up?
“Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”
Howard Thurman
Ode to Joy, this poem written in the summer of 1785 by German poet, playwright, and historian Friedrich Schiller that inspired Beethoven when he was a child to one day add it to his brilliant symphony still preaches to us today.
And since this is the case… Since we still care about preserving this classical music… Since we still come together to make and enjoy old music and art…
Since we are still inspired by (to loosely quote Schiller) “A loving Father God above the canopy of stars who calls us to sing more cheerful songs, more full of joy!” (see full lyrics below) and respond to this divine love rather than our fear… Well, there just may be a yeast of hope and unity hiding in the batter of humanity. This is resurrection hope. This is the Christ that moves with, in, and between us. This is divinization. The hope that sparks the imagination behind works like Ode to Joy, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony, and the Great City of Unity at the end of St. John’s Book of Revelation. This is big, bold, nonsensical, and eschatological Christ-soaked hope that we’ll NEVER get from the headlines that are designed to trigger our most primal fears.
I’ll leave you here with the lyrics to Schiller’s poem.2 Try reading it slowly and meditatively on its own or with the music.
And here’s a PDF by Carnegie Hall with the German and a newer version that’s also wonderful:
Oh friends, no more of these sounds! Let us sing more cheerful songs, More full of joy! Joy, bright spark of divinity, Daughter of Elysium, Fire-inspired we tread Thy sanctuary! Thy magic power reunites All that custom has divided; All men become brothers Under the sway of thy gentle wings. Whoever has created An abiding friendship, Or has won A true and loving wife, All who can call at least one soul theirs, Join in our song of praise! But any who cannot must creep tearfully Away from our circle. All creatures drink of joy At nature’s breast. Just and unjust Alike taste of her gift; She gave us kisses and the fruit of the vine, A tried friend to the end. Even the worm can feel contentment, And the cherub stands before God! Gladly, like the heavenly bodies Which He set on their courses through the splendor of the firmament; Thus, brothers, you should run your race, As a hero going to conquest. You millions, I embrace you. This kiss is for all the world! Brothers, above the starry canopy There must dwell a loving Father. Do you fall in worship, you millions? World, do you know your Creator? Seek Him in the heavens! Above the stars must He dwell.
In Joy,
Jonas
You can click here to go further down the rabbit hole if you have the time - it’s well worth it. Quotes in this post are from the same article.
If it helps, know that when older works use masculine pronouns, they often (and I’d say in this case) mean everyone (man=(HU)man).