Life in a pandemic takes thought down intertwining paths. As spring approaches, I find myself in a peculiar headspace. Lament and exultation dance in counterpoint, as do death and life. Sometimes words are not enough to explain what I feel. It takes music to fully express these binaries and span the range of emotions disturbing the heart.
The season of new growth asserts itself, insisting that life and light prevail ~ æssmith photo
While Lent and Easter have come and gone, at least on the calendar, their ripples still radiate through the days. In my part of the world, sorrow over the ravages of a deadly virus has been compounded by a rare explosion of violence that claimed many lives. Into this darkness, the season of new growth asserts itself, insisting that life and light prevail, always and evermore. It is unstoppable, greening and burgeoning, swelling and springing.
How will the tender heart reconcile such a contradiction, if not through the medium of music? While I may be safe and secure for the time being, how can I not lament for all the lives uprooted and lost because of a ravaging virus? How can anyone be immune to the fear and grieving felt by victims and survivors alike, and the physical hunger and need of the poorest and least resilient among us?
The Easter message tells us we never suffer alone. Jesus, the Lamb of God, gave his own life so that you and I might choose eternal life. We are freed to focus our lives on bringing about his Kingdom here on earth. Reliving the cruel treatment and death of Jesus prior to Easter gives rise to the same feelings of sadness prompted by the pandemic. I feel them perfectly expressed by the Agnus Dei movement of Maurice Duruflé’s Requiem, sung by the University of King’s College Chapel Choir.
Yet even in the midst of heartache, little bursts of joy emerge, like the green shoots in spring from last year’s dead foliage. Working outside under a fresh blue sky is exhilarating, yet I am conscious every moment of those confined to rooms without access to nature’s solace. I pray for small miracles, that God will somehow take my sorrow on their behalf and make of it a blessing, a green leaf in the beak of a dove landing on a city window sill. Even so, spring asserts its delights, as uplifting as Beethoven’s Pastorale.
Looking for a bridge from the mourning of the Requiem to the glad sound of the Pastorale, I was drawn to a simple but compelling work by French composer Paul de Senneville. Its distinctive combination of quicksilver pace and minor key speaks perfectly to the mingled joy and sadness of this pandemic spring.
As the soft, newborn heads of young ferns push out of the damp earth, I am reminded that just as death is always with us, so is the Resurrection. Given space to leave behind the hectic addictions of postmodern life, we can choose to make lasting changes. Out of isolation may come renewed community, out of sympathy may come a commitment to action and making society more just, out of a different perspective may come more purposeful lives. Whatever your hopes, whatever your fears, let the voice of music speak every emotion beyond the scope of words.
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For further reading:
In the link above, Danish pianist and composer Jacob Ladegaard plays the George Davidson arrangement of Paul de Senneville’s Mariage d’Amour. At Jacob’s Piano you can find his account of a persistent error on YouTube that mistakenly attributes this work to Frédéric Chopin.