For the Living

I learned two mull-worthy things during an afternoon community choir performance. The first is that Brahms' Requiem is unique because unlike all the other compositions marking death, it is a prayer for the living who are left behind in sorrow. It is music for those in this world; it is not a prayer for the dead. Therein lies a tangle of theological implications, but what strikes me is that Requiem is Brahms' longest work -- "comprising seven movements, which together last 65 to 80 minutes (Wikipedia)." That says something of the magnitude of human grieving if an artist's attempt to meet loss with comfort and intercessory prayer required his greatest musical endeavor.

Today was Autumn, with a capital "A". On the way to church the sun warmed the car quickly and I had to scramble under the seat to find my shades in order to safely drive. Two hours later the sky showed dark gray, the wind was growing fierce and there were snowflakes/ice shavings mixed in with the cold rain. Turnout for a 3:00 p.m. show was sparse, but the choir was well-rehearsed, the director was prepared and the concert successfully wove beautiful harmonies with alternately rousing, then reflective, German lyrics.

The close of the second number brought my second lesson of the day. If the audience is small, every person matters. Whether singing along (by invitation), applauding, or staying awake for an hour -- we were vital to the success of the event. One piece contained four solos, and it required concerted effort to sustain the applause long enough to include each musician. Frankly, if I hadn't made the commitment to attend I would have been home with a cup of tea and a book. Having "gone to all the trouble" despite the weather, I would have normally been satisfied with desultory attendance. But out of respect for the workmanship of the musicians, I couldn't allow silence to descend during their bows. Seventy of us applauded energetically and still we were a mere smattering of sound in that great vaulted auditorium.

When it is my choice, I prefer to leave the work of caring to the crowd. I like to blend into a larger number and maintain my superior solitude. The program said, "Oktoberfest", but the afternoon held more impact than a momentary lifting of the spirits. This human condition is sometimes one of great hardship and grief, and each one of us is crucial -- to mourn, encourage, sing, applaud, direct, compose or admire. No matter the trouble that preoccupies me, I have work to do.

In the world it is called Tolerance, but in hell it is called Despair...the sin that believes in nothing, cares for nothing, seeks to know nothing, interferes with nothing, enjoys nothing, hates nothing, finds purpose in nothing, lives for nothing, and remains alive because there is nothing for which it will die. Dorothy Sayers