“A person who...does
not regard music as a marvelous creation of God, must be a clodhopper indeed
and does not deserve to be called a human being; he should be permitted to hear
nothing but the braying of asses and the grunting of hogs."[Foreword to Georg Rhau's (1488-1548) Collection Symphoniae iucundae, 1538]
― Martin Luther
Martin
Luther was on to something.
Mr. Pettit
and I attended two ceremonial events in the past week: A wedding and a funeral. Music was invited to both gatherings; it
amplified celebration at one and eased grief at the other.
At some
point we’ve all been asked whether we’d rather become blind or deaf---that
question is a good way to jump-start a conversation that’s ready to move on
from the weather but not quite up to a discussion of federalism. I might be in the minority, but I’ve always
chosen the “blind” option, because as much as I’d hate to lose the sight of my
loved ones’ faces or the glory of a harvest moon the idea of living without
music is worse.
As I write
this I’m listening to the “Silver Screen” channel on DIRECTV. Only you, dear readers, can speak to the
quality of my work, but I can say the words flow more readily when I write with
a musical accompaniment. “Also Sprach
Zarathustra” (the 2001: A Space Odyssey theme) is playing now. I feel the urge to write about majestic,
monumental things, to dip my toe into the creation of the universe.
The hymns
and instrumental pieces played at our niece’s wedding underscored both the
seriousness of the vows being made and the joy of the couple making them. What if Clark’s “Trumpet Voluntary,” Bach’s
“Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring,” and Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” had been missing
from the proceedings? A wedding without music would be like a ham sandwich
without Duke’s mayonnaise: dry and incomplete.
(Duke’s mayonnaise is the greatest condiment ever created by man. This is an incontrovertible fact.)
The soaring
melodies of the ceremony gave way to the no-holds-barred celebratory tunes of
the reception. Current dance music
combined with disco, country and South Carolina beach music to keep all the
ladies and a few intrepid gentlemen on their feet. “Carolina Girls” restored momentary youth to
those of us who relinquished our girlhood long ago.
While we
were away at the wedding we received word that a friend from church had died. We attended his funeral two days after our
return home.
The news of
his death was not unexpected; this good man had not been in good health for
some time, and his condition had worsened dramatically in recent months. Still, goodbyes are never good; I’m grateful
that once again music showed up.
Two pastors
recited Scripture and shared memories of our friend, but the songs bypassed my
brain and spoke to my heart in its native language. The selection was eclectic: “Loving God,
Loving Each Other” sung by a family friend and recordings of “How Great Thou
Art” by Elvis and “Go Rest High on That Mountain” by Vince Gill. Say what you will about Elvis, his drugs, and
his fried peanut butter-and-banana-sandwiches, that man could sing as if he
were in a quartet with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I came
across this quote by Dietrich Bonhoeffer that sums up the soothing effect of
music at funerals: “Music... will help dissolve your perplexities and purify
your character and sensibilities, and in time of care and sorrow, will keep a
fountain of joy alive in you.”
“A fountain
of joy”: Those words make me smile. When I read newspapers these days it seems
folks are becoming brittle, tightly wound creatures, ready to snap or lash out
at any real or imagined offense. I wonder if regular doses of George Strait or
Frank Sinatra or Mozart would coax them back from the edge and allow them to reconnect
with their nonverbal selves. What would
happen if the world had less computing and more Copland?
Let the music
play, be it Beethoven or Bentley, Paganini or Pitbull, Shostakovich or Shakira. Play on.