April 23, 2023 - Pastor Brian Hamer

The pillars of the earth are the Lord’s, and he hath set the world upon them.
​ – 1 Samuel 2:8

​Most of our readers have probably heard of Eton College near London, but the Eton Choirbook may be less familiar. Harry Christophers and his choir, The Sixteen (the ensemble began as sixteen singers singing sixteenth-century music, in case you were curious), have recorded five remarkable CDs of music from the Eton Choirbook. It seems fitting, then, to give Mr. Christophers the first word in this column: 

​And what was this providential miracle? 

The Eton Choirbook contains “awesome, intricate, and often massive compositions from England of the 15th and early 16th centuries” (The Musical Times 133:1787, p. 50). Many of us might be unfamiliar with composers Richard Davy, William Cornysh, and Walter Lambe. Many of the contributors have the dreaded “circa” next to their birth date or death date or, in the case of Robert Wylkynson, both dates!

We will return to the Eton Choirbook from time to time to explore the flowering of genius that laid the musical foundation for Thomas Tallis and William Byrd. Therein we will discover some of the most glorious polyphony ever written, with special focus on settings of the Magnificat. For now, however, let us consider a unique work that is fitting for Eastertide, “Jesus passing through their midst” by Robert Wylkynson (c. 1450–c. 1515).

As you survey the text below, you will easily recognize it as the Apostles’ Creed, but arranged in twelve phrases (instead of three for the three persons of the Trinity) and the twelve Apostles, based on the charming legend that each of the Apostles penned one phrase of the Creed. (Even though this is probably medieval legend, those who promulgated this idea gave it some serious thought, for each Apostle “sings” a phrase that corresponds to his own unique biblical narrative, such as Thomas confessing the resurrection.) This legend aside, the theological connection is truly profound: the Creed is the doctrine of the Apostles, now passed from generation to generation in an unbroken chain of Christian confession, lasting to the end of days.

The three-word antiphon, “Jesus autem transiens,” is unique to the Eton Choirbook. The Latin grammar in the Vulgate appears to echo Luke 4:30, “But passing through their midst, [Jesus] went away”—Luke’s description of Jesus escaping the angry mob in Nazareth as they tried to throw him off a cliff. But I do not think that is the primary referent here because Jesus was escaping in Luke 4, but He does something far different for the Apostles after His resurrection!

In my estimation, this antiphon developed organically some time before 1500 as a theological interpretation of John 20:19, “Then came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, ‘Peace be unto you.’” Thus Jesus passed through the midst of ten disciples that first Easter Sunday, offering them peace and proving that He had indeed risen from the dead. He passed through the midst of eleven disciples again a week later and equipped them with the preached word of forgiveness. Jesus continued to abide with them in subsequent resurrection appearances, and to dwell sacramentally with His church until His final appearance in majesty on the last day.

The musical form chosen to depict Jesus standing amidst His Apostles stands in contrast to the elaborate polyphony in the rest of the Eton Choirbook. This work is what conductor Peter Phillips calls “a one-off . . . an exercise in extreme sonority” (The Musical Times 158:1939, p. 58). The musical form is a canon (literally “law”), wherein each subsequent voice imitates the opening statement, continuing the pattern in thirteen parts. Thirteen singers—one voice the antiphon and one for each Apostle—sing through the entire score, resulting in a single voice at the beginning and the end, all thirteen voices at the dynamic climax, and every numerical combination (two, three, four, etc.) of voices in between.
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As you follow the video link below, consider the theological significance of the antiphon and how it shapes the entire musical Creed.

​The net musical effect is arguably a bit chaotic, with thirteen voices singing nine pitches over a range of an octave and a half. And yet, the theological image and musical portrait is profound. During this Eastertide, we remember the good news that Christ is risen, He is risen indeed, and He is passing through our midst every time we confess the Creed. Consider, for a moment, why the simple three-word antiphon is sung continuously throughout this work. Peter Phillips writes, “These will also be the last words to be heard, so it could be said that Jesus has really ‘passed through the midst’ of them” (The Musical Times 158:1939, p. 58). This is a profound musical and theological reminder that the Creed, not unlike the earthly foundation of the cathedrals for which this music was written, is “built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ himself being the chief corner stone” (Eph 2:20).
 
The header quote that I have chosen for this issue of “Lifted Voice” is from the “Old Testament Magnificat,” Hannah’s canticle (1 Sam 2:1-10). Similarly, the CD which first introduced me to Wylkynson’s setting of the Apostles’ Creed is entitled “The Pillars of Eternity: Music from the Eton Choirbook, Volume III” (Collins CD 13422; reissue: CORO CD 16022). The concept of the pillar is particularly fitting for cathedral music. Consider, for instance, that of the three great architecturally-based tourist attractions—the Egyptian pyramids, the Greco-Roman ruins, and the European cathedrals—only the cathedrals are still used for their original purpose, that is, Christian worship. Like the gospel itself, these majestic pillars have withstood the test of time, the ransacking of Henry VIII, the bombs of Hitler’s Luftwaffe, and much more. In contrast to the crumbling architecture, ephemeral trends, and every false doctrine, sacred music for “the church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth” (1 Tim 3:15) joins us with the choir of angels and archangels to worship Jesus, who is passing through our midst every time we confess our faith in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

  There is one thing to preach, the wisdom of the cross. -- Martin Luther

Robin Leaver describes the St. Matthew Passion of J. S. Bach (1685–1750):

Likewise, Michael Maul writes that the Passion introduced the congregation and musicians to “perhaps the greatest test of the Bach era, but which also strained the attention span of the congregation with it three-hour length” (Bach’s Famous Choir, p. 190). Attention spans have arguably shortened significantly since the Enlightenment, so I will treat our journey through Bach’s Passions as a long-term project. Please join me this Holy Week to explore a magnificent aria from this high point of the liturgical year in Leipzig, “Make Clean, My Heart” from Bach’s St. Matthew Passion.  
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The aria that I have chosen for this issue of “Lifted Voice” occurs during the narrative of Jesus’ burial, where we read, “When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus’ disciple: He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered” (Matt. 27:57-58). Here the church reaches a key moment in her creedal confession, “He was buried,” and a wonderful opportunity for poetic and musical elaboration. This aria, a perennial favorite for baritone soloists, applies the good news of Jesus’ burial to the believer. Building on the image of Jesus’ pending burial (the narrative of His actual burial follows the aria), the text petitions the Lord to be interred in the believer and to find His rest and sweet repose in His own dear children. What do you think is the theological significance of the lilting, 6/8 meter and the use of two oboes? 

​The oboes “ride the wave” up and down the largely stepwise melody in what Michael Steinberg calls “a masterpiece of serene euphony” (Choral Masterworks: A Listener’s Guide, p. 31). The baritone soloist follows suit, asking Jesus to enter his heart and find rest in him. The music changes dramatically for the quasi-exorcistic admonition, “World depart,” and returns to the A section to recap the petition for Jesus’ indwelling in the believer. 

The timing of this aria in its original context is a gem unto itself. The Passion Vespers in Leipzig started at 3:00 p.m. on Good Friday. Since the St. Matthew Passion is about three hours long and this aria comes towards the end of the work, it would have been sung at about 6:00 p.m. on Good Friday—the very hour of Jesus’ burial before the Sabbath. Musically, however, there is no hurry to keep the old laws, which have been fulfilled. Rather, the believer is at rest in his heart because Jesus’ body is about to be laid to rest. As the hymn puts it, “O Ground of faith, Laid low in death, Sweet lips, now silent sleeping!” (The Lutheran Hymnal 167.5).

As for the two oboes and the 6/8 meter, this is pastoral music– shepherd’s music–depicting Christ as the Good Shepherd, who laid down His life for His sheep and now leads them with the rod and staff of the Law and the Gospel. As you meditated on the text of this aria, did you think of Holy Baptism and what it means for daily living? You were made clean in Holy Baptism, robed with the righteousness of Christ Himself. Now what? Live baptismally, that is, in daily repentance and faith. Martin Luther summarizes your baptismal pattern of daily living in the Small Catechism:

That is to say, “World, depart! Let Jesus in.” Yes, crucify worldly vice that lurks in your body and soul through repentance. And dwell at the foot of the cross, where Christ is your light and your life.
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Taken together, Luther’s theology and Bach’s musical sermons stand together to preach one thing—the wisdom of the cross—but with one nuanced difference: 

​This is most certainly true! This aria, along with every word of Bach’s various Passion settings, do not merely speak of Jesus’ Passion. Even more so, they preach, present, and proclaim in a rich palette of musical vocabulary the Passion of Christ for the sake of the hearers. Here we see, perhaps more than any other point in the history of sacred music, the shape of the cross in speech and in life. Christ died and rose again. And so you, O Christian, die to sin through repentance this Good Friday, that you may live with Christ now and in eternity. “Christ is risen! He meets our eyes. Savior, teach us so to rise” (The Lutheran Hymnal 159.4). 

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​Extra Choral Credit:  Hearing Bach’s St. Matthew Passion in its Entirety

In his last recorded interview before his death in 1999, choral conductor Robert Shaw (1916–1999) expressed his regret that he never had a chance to record the St. Matthew Passion. But he also noted that perhaps a masterwork dealing with sacred mysteries should only be heard in person, not recorded. This would-be minister and preacher’s son from California was certainly onto something, and perhaps in more ways than one. Sacred music, like preaching itself, is intended to deliver the comfort of the Gospel in person; in a mouth-to-ear interaction, wherein faith comes by hearing.
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That said, live performances of this nearly three-hour work only come along every now and then, so I invite you to set aside some time to listen to the entire Passion (perhaps in small doses?), following the English translation as you listen. Here is the link to a superb performance of the entire Passion by the Netherlands Bach Society, from which the previous link was extracted: 

https://gbt.org/music/St_Matthew_text.pdf

You who have suffered for us, have mercy upon us!
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