BWV 21

In my youth, Neil Peart was something of a god. He was the drummer and lyricist for the iconic band Rush and known for his incredible skill and creativity. As a lyricist, he was inventive, fantastical, and deeply philosophical. 

Peart’s journey was not an escape, but an act of survival. He wrote:

“Without knowing it, I had identified a subtle but important part of the healing process. There would be no peace for me, no life for me, until I learned to forgive life for what it had done to me, forgive others for still being alive, and eventually, forgive myself for being alive.” 

Peart’s book mirrors the emotional landscape of Bach’s cantata, Ich hatte viel Bekümmernis, which at this point might strike you as a rather unusual repertoire choice to kick off a new season of Bach Vespers. #FeelGrief may not be the best promotional slogan. Like his long and arduous rides, this lengthy cantata traces a path from deep sorrow to the eventual emergence of joy. In both cases, grief is not dismissed or minimized; it is acknowledged, lived through, and ultimately transformed. If you were listening carefully, you may have sense a spiritual pivot point in the last chorus. We are already moving away from grief. 

Another book I read this summer was James Runcie’s novel The Great Passion. It is a fictional imagining of the months leading up to the first performance of the St. Matthew Passion in Leipzig. The central character is Stefan Silbermann, a grief-stricken thirteen-year-old who arrives as a chorister at the Thomasschule following the death of his mother. He finds solace as he is taken under the wing by the character only referred to as the Cantor. The cantor tells the boy, “Grief is not a moment… it’s the whole world, for as long as you live.” During a rehearsal another chorister speaks to Bach:

“Sometimes I still find it too hard,” Stolle confessed. “There’s so much sorrow, I don’t know if I can bear to go on.” 

The Cantor responds:

“That may be so if it all comes at a rush. But this is what our rehearsal time is for, Herr Stolle. We rehearse more than the words and the music. We practice our grief too.”

This is what art is for. It is what liturgy is for, and certainly what our Vespers service is for. We are here to practice the great highs and lows of the human experience, to acknowledge grief, to celebrate joy, to face fear, and to seek stillness. We are gathered for spiritual exercise, and our weights are the works of Bach. We take tonight’s emotional journey in order for us to prepare for those moments in life when the journey becomes real.   

Peart’s journey ended up being one of 55,000 miles. Following the experience, he remarried and eventually returned to playing and touring with the band. In 2009, he and his new wife welcomed Olivia Louise Peart into the world. 

The Great Passion ends this way:

We stood there in the summer dusk, knowing that I should leave, and that Catharina would soon light the first candle of the evening and prepare the house for night. I imagined the Cantor was still there, writing at his desk, making demands of the next copyist, setting out the music for the forthcoming Sunday and giving someone else the chance to sing of new sorrows and fresh triumphs, asking even more questions in the great examination of what it means to be alive. 

Time stops for the dead, but it comes back again and again for the living. It is always there for us, and slowly we start to understand what it is like to live with our grief. We learn to be watchful, to breath more carefully and smile more cautiously, to see once more even if we have been blinded by loss. We look steadily towards the advancing light.  

-Carlton Monroe, Artistic Director