On a Clear Day, You Can See Incomprehensible Necessity and Solve an Easter Mystery (Bach, Mathews, Mozart, Schubert, Brahms, Wagner)

Grief and loss are a funny thing if they go a long time ... they will have you fighting back to what is your own ... and 30 years is a long time ... but on clear days in the spring, one can begin to see one's way clear.

I have had to practice to levels I have not for many years for a late April concert that I did not expect and did not want to be in ... in March I was dismayed to hear that someone had planned my calendar for one day, and then extended it another day by the time I gathered that in. It was not a pleasant experience when I caught up with certain folks ... and yet some days later, one of those people reached out to me with a special request ... a semi-retired singer at Kurt Möll's level in her field did not have an accompanist at the moment, but had agreed to sing at the concert anyway because of the cause, by faith that someone would be found at her caliber who also would be willing to come by faith.

I did not know the level yet of the person I was being asked to play with ... nor did I have to know that, for I heard the One Who called me say to me: "Say yes." So I did ... and then found out why.

Having said yes, I remember what I said last week to the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past

Once upon a time, I was a good enough pianist to have maybe been allowed somewhere on the margins of a list that you might have needed an accompanist for, provided there was a traffic jam, an earthquake, and a storm keeping all the truly great pianists away.

I imagined myself somewhere on the margins of a list ... and got plucked right off the margins and put where no other pianist on earth could be. I imagine a certain basso profondo chuckling as the echo of God's own excellent sense of humor! It is said that "Man proposes, God disposes," and was later said just as wisely: "Man proposes, and God laughs!"

All that said, my desire to put that much time at the piano is not what it was when I was youthfully exulting on the keys. I have many more responsibilities, and I have accepted, for the sake of the younger people in my community, a limited musical role that does not demand the highest level of my ability. This decision has cost me, more than I realized until I went back to the practice room and looked at the technique hill that has to be climbed from where I am -- not that far up, for I have kept up my skills far above what is necessary ... but the old joy was gone.

But at least I was free from the old pain, for upon resting my broken heart in the Blessed Hand on the matter, I found peace far deeper than the pain ... outside of the Negro Spiritual, only Bach can even come close to explaining that kind of discovery ... when you are in 30 years of pain, and all of it, in its fullness, meets full relief ...

So at least I was not hindered, and that left me the possibility, through discipline, of pushing through to new joys ... for as I said last week ...

I might consider being just a little excited.

I am still not there yet ... but it is the same lesson as last week, just written much larger:

Just keep going, and attend to the things that are yours.

And so, on have come flashes, on my own ground ... when you are raised in church, but you love Thelonius Monk, and you know you are also the daughter by heritage of Hazel Scott and Dorothy Donegan as much as you are of Marian Anderson and Henrietta Horace ...

... and then, I figured out the last figuration changes I need to complete my piano miniature that we will see next week ... IRONICALLY, the name that came to me was "A Return to Love," for music is my first artistic love ... and of course in these more mature years I have blended my arts ... these posts are music, photography, writing, and sometimes some fractal art ... Hive allows me to put forth a harmonious blend of the ideals I had when very young of bringing things together. So then, to return to the first love through all the layers... it is not the same, but it cannot be the same ... there is not just a weight of grief but all the other layers, too ... only by attending carefully will I even see what new joys can be sustained.

Whatever doors open, I have peace now ... all I need to do is attend to what is mine. There is no shrinking back now. I have climbed, and climbed, and climbed ... all there is now is to keep climbing. There is nothing for anyone that chose not to keep pace, and there is plenty for those climbing on my trail as I do right by this opportunity. So be it. It is enough.

Now I also got a new pair of walking shoes, so I was doing jumping jacks in Sunday School class with the little ones to demonstrate the lessons to them ... forgetting entirely that the anemia is not yet gone ... just rolling heavy-duty jazz into church music and running around the church like I am the 24-year-olds I'm trying to pass some of these balls to ... and of course, my knees and my back and my anemia all let me know afterward that it's April, not July, and I'm still a bouncing 44, but not a bouncing 24!

Was it worth it? YES!

"Like me on that orchestra box, Frau Mathews, forgetting Osmin is a villain -- you are happier than you know you are!"

The Ghost of Musical Greatness Past just bounced through for a moment with a bouncing bass pirouette on my kitchen floor and then bounced right back up on high after leaving me rolling laughing at his antics -- he was right! He was right!

But then I had to consider that -- he had interrupted my thoughts at just the right moment to get me to put some things together that were nagging at my mind -- as Osmin, he was in his element, for he loved a comedic situation and a chance to stretch out that huge voice and dance around with it, being perhaps the 20th century's only German who combined basso profondo and buffo (a little higher and lighter in general) with coloratura agility like a soprano -- so, as Osmin, it all comes together, and he carries himself, the orchestra, the cast, and the audience away in his joy!

So, what is going on with me ... what have I been dimly realizing ... while in the church service, the impetus to go further into even MORE new ground came strongly to me and I got my foot in the door after I rested ... started, at least... but something was pulling at the back of my mind, and at last it occurred to me what it was. I was experiencing great joy where I was because I was not contradicting some wisdom I had not thought of in this phase of my life.

New wine cannot be put in old wineskins, for it will burst them, and the wine and the skins will be ruined, but put new wine into new wineskins, and both will be preserved.

That was the Lord Jesus Christ Himself, explaining why the message He had of God's salvation to all mankind strictly based on belief in Him and in His work on the cross -- this is Holy Week, as it happens -- was not going to fit into the existing religious structures of His day. He would call His people out to form the early church, a new creation based around a new message -- and He gave the world at large only three years of His personal presence before moving on with His own! Many were called -- size that up to everyone in the world. Few are those who walk as chosen (even accounting for all the professing Christians in the world) even to this day. But I testify: He indeed walks with those who walk with Him.

Now I had not thought of that in common grace, when it comes to trying to get progressive information into people settled into their comfort zone. Progressive information is ultimately for those who want progress.

I then thought back to my beloved bass when he was a music professor in Cologne, which as a boy he had dreamed of rebuilding. He could have stayed, but before age 40, he had already discovered who he was: a Meistersänger. Not that German master singers can't be professors, but one day he got a call from Munich ... a door opened for him to be all that he was called to be. Now, he could have commuted, kept that good, steady job ... tried to make everybody happy ... but, no ... aber nein.

Martti Talvela came along and helped me out as Commendatore this week! He is usually so emotionally accessible and moving, gentle in his way, so this was a shock -- the huge, immense, metallic ringing voice at its full power makes it clear why Leporello's response is, "Master, we are so DEAD!" Mr. Talvela is the Iron Commendatore, who comes in obedience to the Captain of the Hosts of the Lord, no doubt, and cares about faithfully conveying the invitation to repent and be saved, but whosoever will not does not have to come!

It is required of servants that they be found faithful, but no less, and no more, and for a set time in any situation. The Iron Commendatore wastes no time getting through "A tempo piu non v'eh!" -- there is no more time. No D2 to open up things below, not even the least hint of regret -- he's completely done, and so is Don Giovanni!

Now, see, had I encountered Martti Talvela's Commendatore first ... completely different model of a messenger... but my heart might not have connected there with the cold side of him although I would have been quite impressed with and maybe just a little scared by his thunderous interpretation, and sitting there thinking: "OK, Don Giovanni, I'm not getting how you don't get this -- how you can hear that and not immediately get your life all the way together is beyond me!" I was more naive in those days ... although on some level, it will never make sense how Don Giovanni ends up how he does, where he does ... I will never understand. I do understand now, however, that those who would make such a decision are equally entitled to deal with the consequences. One can have three suns in the sky, and wish they would all go out because "they are not my suns!"

... but the challenge is, the request will be granted!

Bass-baritone Theo Adam's Winterreise is the second big discovery of the week, and it is *devastating," especially in light of his oh-so-lovely "Der Tod, das ist die kuehle Nacht" ... he is the bass-voiced analog of the nightingale he sings of in that song by Brahms as the character closes his eyes to the world for the last time and hears only that song of love in that last dream ...

... by contrast to that same beautiful voice so utterly expressing such complete lostness at the end of Winterreise ... there is a wrongness to it, like one is listening to something that should not be happening. Theo Adam is the voice of the incomprehensible loss, the one that touches me where I once raged over the body of a lost loved one who did not have to be lost, if only, for whose life I begged and pleaded and wrestled right to the edge of the pit, and whose loss bent my mind with its magnitude. The incomprehensible necessity of what would be completely unnecessary except for every person's right to the consequences of his or her own choices, and the incomprehensible powerlessness of one who loves so much in the face of that ... it is the specter that has haunted me for ten years ... so many losses ... and yet, the only thing to do is turn from it yet again, and climb ...

But this week, one is especially reminded: there is hope of the Redemption. All souls will not be lost. Some of the "Whosoever Wills" will indeed come, for the way was made for them to do so by the Lord Jesus Christ in His death on the cross -- so if that matter is taken care of, then there is hope enough for every situation. And, considered another way: Mt. Calvary is not for me to climb, for the ultimate sacrifice there is done, and could not have been done by me. I count on Christ to have forgiven me of my own sins -- I certainly cannot atone for anyone else's. Holy Week this year therefore comes with hope on one side, humility on the other.

On the fictional side of the fourth wall, it being Thursday as well as it is on the non-fiction side, it was a day too early for the Good Friday Music from Parsifal ... I figured all that would be going on at the Music Concourse in Golden Gate Park anyhow, and I was not of a mind to go that far, contenting myself to begin my walk in the second mini-redwood grove of Golden Gate Park's near meadows to me.

I had not accounted for the 20th century's most beloved German basso profondo still needing or wanting to warm up in his ethereal run as the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past in Q-Inspired ... but some habits, apparently, are hard to break even in eternity. Between the great trees rustling and the cars not too far off, he was not easily heard as he was softly vocalizing, and I could not actually see him at first, those trees being large enough to conceal even his imposing height and width ... but that 4.5 octave stretch from F1 to B flat 4 was unmistakable because it was smooth as glass from one end to the other, as ever.

For the moment, he had chosen the sound space between the wind and the cars, weaving his vocalizing through it like counterpoint, lower when it was just the breeze, higher when the cars on Fell Street nearby added their sounds in their regular, timed rush. One had to have a tremendous amount of range and breath control to pull this off ... but this was nothing out the ordinary, being just an approximation of his mortal ability. It was also extraordinarily beautiful. I could have listened for hours, and I noticed several people stopped for a few minutes to look around and see where that glorious sound was coming from before passing on, assuming it was from some recording because they could not see him either.

At length, he stopped, and actually began outlining the highs and lows of a known melody to him ... it was the Good Friday Music of Parsifal, and he was thinking aloud about where Richard Wagner had put his emphases, note-wise and melody-wise ... and then over again, using the many timbres he could evoke in his own voice to either reinforce or gently make an additional indication of importance. Now he in his mortal years had sung Gurnemanz so many times one would hardly think this was necessary ... but that is the difference between the average and a true Master Singer, which he was ... even ethereal and immortal, he still took the time with the details.

And again, "marking the text" ... now softly singing through certain passages -- half-whispering, really, compared to his capacity for volume. A couple of subtle variations came by in some passages. He was known to adjust a vowel and lean on a consonant when he felt the need, and has people on YouTube upset about his Italian singing to the present hour -- but then would also go on and adjust a word or two or five in German or have someone do a whole rearrangement of a text -- the man was bold, I tell you, and got away with a lot! But on this occasion, because of this text and the message it had, his adjustments were subtle when present, mostly dealing with the imperfection of outdoor acoustics as opposed to the operatic stage.

And then he was finished with all that and sang ... the best we can do here is point up his Good Friday recording on YouTube, of course, because attempting to record him in immortal voice was and is impossible even in Q-Inspired ... the infrasonic undertones would mess up my equipment, your equipment, and probably whatever Hive node there is between us. Not that YouTube has us at a loss -- by no means!

So then, imagine him in Golden Gate Park's equivalent of a real spring meadow, thus singing of the death of Christ on the cross for the sins of all mankind so that mankind could be reconciled to God and forgiven ... powerfully projecting through the trees and across to and through the trees of Oak Street. The drivers and the joggers with their earbuds on heard little to nothing as they went by at too high a speed with their own sounds. Some people were enjoying their own conversation and company too much to pay attention as well. But as ever, the message was for those with ears to hear ... and just in case the German was a problem, the performance was repeated, translated into English ... he had found an English translation and would sing both the next day at the Music Concourse.

But for one man, transfixed on the spot, this was the day ... and he went to the unseen spot to speak with the singer at the end.

"I haven't been in a church building for 30 years," he said, "and I certainly wasn't going tomorrow of all days ... but your singing is the echo of the Love on high Who will not let me go, Herr Altesrouge! I was not going to come to the Music Concourse tomorrow because I knew you were going to do this, and yet here you are!"

"The One Who bids me sing here today appears to be rather intent on not bringing you back to any church building, but to Himself, my good man, and as it is written: 'Now is the accepted time.'"

"Now is the only time," the man said, "for I hear His voice beyond yours, calling and calling to my heart -- and I will come! I will come home!"

He knelt down by the tree right there, and the singer gave up his spot, at last coming into my view, and at length walked into an earthly reward -- my warm embrace.

"O, thou good and faithful echo -- you have shown and taught me a whole lesson, already!"

"Fancy meeting you here," he purred as he returned my embrace, and we walked across into the meadow.

"As it was last week, only a little commentary is necessary, for you have seen and you have heard. Literal thousands of people in their cars and on their bikes and on foot have passed by in the hour you have sat watching and listening to the drama of Redemption presented in this way. All barriers to comprehension were removed -- no less a great evangelist in his everyday life on this earth but Jerome Hines prepared for me that text from Wagner's own libretto in English, and since Jerome very much believes while Wagner very much did not, he took a few clarifying liberties here and there using the New American Standard Version of the Bible.

"But, Frau Mathews, in the end, the message is for those who believe and receive it, and only for them. Not even the Lord Himself forces His way, nor will He condescend to beg when He is refused, as if His offer is that poor. He values Himself and His offer as He should!

"Now, we are mere mortals, and of course we are going to experience uncertainty at times in matters both of special and common grace ... are we presenting what we are given to present well enough ... is it the proper time and place ... and so forth. But presume all due preparations have been made, and the message has been put forth faithfully if not in the perfection that mortals cannot attain. The responsibility then is no longer ours.

"Jerome, himself being a magnificent teacher, put forth a question that I had to then look up for myself, and therefore was prepared to put to you, a question not addressed directly by any of the standard Easter music either of us know across our traditions in English or German. Jerome did search it out with me across Latin as well, and Vladimir Pasjukov looked with us across Russian, Greek, Glagolithic, and Church Slavonic. So far, we have found no direct answer ... but it would take a bold composer indeed to set the answer to music."

"I am a bold composer who is now quite intrigued by this Easter mystery," I said, and he smiled.

"Therefore, here it is, Frau Mathews, in its first form: to whom among those in unbelief did the Lord appear after His resurrection?"

I had to think about that for a long moment.

"Well, no one but the women who came to the tomb fully believed, at first," I said, "so there is a sense in which His presence was the necessary prerequisite for belief for everyone else."

He smiled.

"You and Jerome both put time in studying fine detail -- he said you would pick that up, and of course you know nothing has changed."

"Divine presence by the Holy Spirit, divine purpose, and divine patience is still necessary for anyone so far removed from the events to believe," I said.

"Very good, Frau Mathews. You are indeed well-studied. So then I add a single word to the question I asked before: to whom among those in confirmed unbelief did the Lord appear after His resurrection?"

I had to think about that for a long moment as well. That one added word made a big difference, for the past and for the future.

"To no one," I said. "He will not appear to those who have settled in unbelief in this world again until He returns -- and not to convince anyone. It is said that the nations will mourn at the sight of Him, and then will have their armies instantly attack -- call it their last bad decision."

"Jerome and I discussed the fact that the rest of Revelation 19 that George Frederic Handel chose not to put to music after the 'Hallelujah' Chorus is quite graphic. There is good reason for Handel, or any composer, not to note that. If you live and work as a musician in a culture that somehow names Christ but does every anti-Christ thing imaginable, you do not note such things unless divinely ordered to do so if you want to keep your job, and at extreme moments, even be permitted to live. The Negro Spiritual contains instances of extraordinary boldness in such matters at Christmas time, referencing the Slaughter of the Innocents by King Herod, so I wonder if that body of music covers it."

"There is such a Spiritual," I said. " 'Oh Yes, Yonder Comes My Lord' is a direct reference to Revelation 19, and it has never made it to concert arrangement or recording for large publication for the same reason."

"So then can you think of why so many people might not realize who the Lord did not appear to after His resurrection?"

I thought for a long time about this as well.

"People hate the fact that God has the right to firmly reject those who have firmly rejected Him, so if you want your church building to have good numbers, you don't teach that."

"Hmmmmmmmmmmm..." he rumbled. "So many bad things have taken place and come forth from those buildings ... I wonder why? I know there are people like you ... Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Niemoller, Marian Anderson, Kathleen Ferrier ... who go to the buildings, but then why are the others who so clearly hate everything Christ stands for allowed to be so comfortable there? Hmmmmmmmmmm... ."

He paused, and then lowered his voice to its deepest gravity.

"In the end, does it matter how comfortable people settled in their unbelief are made?"

"No," I said. "What happens is that the firmness of the divine rejection embraces everything and everyone that joins them in rebellion. That is why it is also written, 'Come out from among them, and be ye separate, and I will receive you as sons and daughters, saith the Lord.' It is also said more strongly in the Old Testament to the Jews living comfortably in Babylon at a particular time: 'Come out of her, my people, that ye receive none of her plagues.'"

"And for ten years, Frau Mathews, in many different situations, you have been faithful to the light you have. Yet you were confronted this winter with a situation for which you were not prepared ... it seemed that your old friends were at last ready to come on the climb, and for a good while they did, right to the edge of the spring ...

"... and then decided to bivouac and get comfortable ... the practice of climbing was something that cost too much to be sustainable when results did not come right away ... there was no helicopter, apparently, to reward them ... no train going up the mountain like one of the faces of Mt. Eiger has now."

"But you can't take a helicopter up like that anyhow -- even Mt. Eiger is a bit much from the bottom to the top without acclimatization," I said. "Too much taller than Mt. Eiger, and death would occur almost immediately."

He smiled warmly, though he was shaking his head gently.

"I adore you, Frau Mathews, in all your brilliant intellect, gone off on a tangent and completely missing the point because you are trying to figure out how to save lives in the deep details of a hypothetical situation. I adore you, mein geliebtes Blumenkind, so I will break the analogy and bring the helicopter to you anyhow. Since you are literally thinking of Mt. Eiger and also Mt. Everest, where death would be nearly instantaneous, would you be safe climbing on either mountain with people who don't know why you can't take a helicopter to the top?"

"Oh, no," I said, and then added, "You just airlifted me to the summit -- the point, didn't you?"

"Because what you were doing was not a refusal to climb, so I took you where you were going," he said. "Anyone can need to get a better understanding, can be confused, can be distracted -- but if the climber is intent to climb until the summit is attained, and the ability is there and has been made ready for the task, then a strong, dedicated guide can help any such climber overcome the occasional mental challenges. On the other hand, there is nothing a guide can do with a firm refusal to climb further, or even insufficient attention to and preparation for how such things must be done.

"But since you have us already at the top of Mt. Eiger, or Mt. Everest, enjoying the view, I will give you the tour of my approach to the summit -- the point -- in this way. It is April. Is it a good time to bivouac on either mountain?"

"Only an April fool on Eiger between early spring storms and greater times of sunlight and so increased possibilities of avalanches," I said, "and with Everest above a certain height it does not matter what time of year: only a fool!"

"It is only adding to the absurdity but we will finish the tour: suppose they decided to decorate the bivouac, Frau Mathews?"

I started laughing.

"And suppose it began to look a whole lot like the place you and they climbed out of?"

"My dearest bass," I said, "it was over when the decision to bivouac was made, in April, just because climbing isn't comfortable. It would have been better for those who do not want to climb to have stayed where they were."

He made his voice very gentle.

"You are right," he said, "and thus you know what the situation is around you, after the winter, in this April. There are those with you ready to climb on. There are those around you firmly refusing. You already know what is necessary to do."

"Yes ... yes, I do."

On a clear day on top of Mt. Eiger, Mt. Everest, or even in the near meadows of Golden Gate Park, things can become perfectly clear.