Easter means resurrection, but the joy of resurrection comes with a knowledge of crucifixion built in. So in Bach’s B Minor Mass, we are led through the slow agony of crucifixion to experience the overpowering joy of resurrection:
We may think of the B Minor Mass as a long work, yet the crucifixion and resurrection are compressed into a few minutes of music. We know that in the ancient world, the crucifixion of Jesus is said to have taken six hours, with the resurrection occurring two or three days later.
The future is a foreign country — they do things differently there. So in our modern world the crucifixion comes after someone has died. This is true of both Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy. While they both lived, they faced some opposition, true. But their living presence on earth made it difficult for detractors to eclipse their profound achievements. After they died, it became easier for critics to torture them with unimaginable lies. Why do they do it?
For very ancient reasons, as I discuss in “Self-Interest, Self-Giving, Low Ethics, and High Ethics.” Low ethics loves to torture high ethics because low ethics feels it will be shown up by high ethics. It cannot compete fairly, so low ethics cheats or says that the goal is not worth reaching.
What is the goal that both Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy reached? The goal of compassion, mercy, and self-giving. Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy knew each other and understood each other well. It was because they both spoke the same language, the language of compassion, mercy, and self-giving, that they could easily be friends.
Sri Chinmoy composed songs honouring Mother Teresa, and some of his students performed those songs for her. Here’s the group Mountain-Silence performing two Mother Teresa songs (link to follow):
In the first song, Sri Chinmoy sets Mother Teresa’s own words to music:
The fruit of Silence is prayer.
The fruit of Prayer is faith.
The fruit of Faith is love.
The fruit of Love is service.
The fruit of Service is peace.
— Mother Teresa
In the second, he refers to her as “Affection-Sister, Compassion-Mother Teresa divine.”
According to Pope Benedict, “Mercy is what moves us toward God, while justice makes us tremble in his sight.” The Pope has declared 2016 a Jubilee Year of Mercy. What better time to stop torturing Mother Teresa and Sri Chinmoy with unimaginable lies? Let us instead bow to them, to their achievements, to their good hearts and immortal souls.
Mother Teresa receives a visit from Sri Chinmoy and his students
The image at the top of this post is a child’s drawing of the Stations of the Cross, from “3 ways to teach your children the Christian meaning of Easter,” by Rachel Campos-Duffy. What an interesting piece of art!
Sidebar: David Amram on the B Minor Mass and Religious Experience
Source: Vibrations: The adventures and musical times of David Amram, 1968, The Viking Press
During that summer with Holly I had my first conscious religious experience in music. Although my background as a Jew conditioned me for a whole other kind of expression much later on, at this point in my life I was not aware consciously of my Jewishness in any musical sense. With the exception of hearing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah, and an occasional record of Near Eastern or Jewish music, I cannot remember being aware of music in any way evoking a specific religious feeling until the summer of 1948 when I was performing in the Bach B Minor Mass at the Carmel Bach Festival.
I was allowed to take ten days off from my job as a carpenter’s helper to go with Holly to this exciting festival. I played horn for some of the concerts and sang in the chorus the rest of the time. Although I had sung the choral music of Bach all through high school and had performed the trumpet parts in many of his cantatas, I only thought of the music as music and had never had any apocalyptic visions. In fact the only apocalyptic vision I ever had was at the age of seven on the beach in Florida with my mother at sunset when I told her I saw God in the sky and went racing up and down the beach until she calmed me down.
During the final rehearsal of the B Minor Mass, I noticed the pause following the unearthly harmonic progressions of Bach’s musical invention during “Crucifixus,” the part of the text where Christ is finally nailed to the cross and dies. These harmonies had always moved me in a peculiar way since the first time I had heard them, but I never gave it much thought except as part of the wealth and genius of Bach’s mind and music.
During the following section, the “Et Resurrexit,” the trumpet players had taken it easy during rehearsals because of the extremely difficult entrance for the three trumpets in D. The first trumpet player that summer was so temperamental that he would not play the part most of the time. At the final rehearsal, however, the trumpet players decided that they would really do it and after we sang the final chorus of the “Crucifixus,” there was an unearthly silence. Then the trumpets came soaring in with the great golden sound that seemed to come from heaven.
Suddenly it was as if I had seen a vision. The moment that the trumpets came in, I was overwhelmed by the feeling that someone who died had been resurrected by a God in heaven. I realized it was a combination of the impact of the harmony at the end of “Crucifixus,” the very crucial silence during which time I was able to feel Christ being taken from the cross, the sadness of all those believers who watched him and then the great glorious moment that all the believers must have felt when they knew he had been resurrected.
I went back with Holly to the broken-down rooming house we shared with other young hopeful musicians and singers. We talked about this amazing moment in the Mass for most of the rest of the night. Holly was Christian, but her religion was nothing more than a kind of relaxed area of social life. Church was a place for her to go for weddings, funerals and get-togethers. But because of that unconscious near-madness that so many Jews possess and because of the necessity to discover everything in and out of music for myself as a personal experience, I actually had a vision of what the first Christians must have felt when they discovered that Christ had been resurrected. It was the closest I ever came to being converted to Christianity.
During the performance of the B Minor Mass I waited for this moment to see if it would happen again. It occurred even more strongly this time, but after the first few measures, the first trumpet player in his excitement and egomania played so loudly and ferociously that he missed about five notes in a row. He turned to his right to the other two trumpet players as if to indicate that it was their fault and they began missing too, and his face, which had begun to turn purple from overblowing, now began to blacken with rage. Still, the moment was there and has remained in my mind ever since.
Most of the rest of the Mass I felt was much more eloquent than any speech or sermon that could be preached. I began then, at seventeen, to think seriously of how I could write a piece someday that would lend itself to my religious convictions, even though I was not sure what they were. I knew that they were Jewish, but I was not sure what the Jewish experience was and more important what my Jewish experience was or how it could be expressed through music.
“Bach’s St. John Passion: Crucifixion”
* * *