A thousand voices
Friends, I wish I could insert audio files into these blog posts, or that I had some way to adequately describe to you what I experienced this morning. It was nothing short of awesome.
I walked into church and was surprised to see a full choir and chamber orchestra set up in front of the pews. The altar was moved from its normal position to the middle of the main aisle, amidst the congregation. It took a few seconds for me to register what was going on, but once I spotted a poster for the Norwegian Church Music Symposium and Organ Festival, it all made sense.
I was in for a treat.
The sanctuary was packed with people, much more than on a normal week. I've been pleasantly surprised by the number of people attending my church in Stavanger anyway, and according to one of my housemates, Stavanger lies in the so-called Bible Coast. There is something so powerful, so validating about being surrounded by other people in church. It reminds me that I'm not alone in my faith.
The choir performed several arias, recitatives, and choruses following the sermon, and I was in musical heaven. Transfixed. Enthralled by the interplay of the clarinet and the second violin, by the lightness of the cellist's bow strokes, the spot-on intonation as the trumpet joined in unison with the soprano. Baroque chamber music, my friends, cannot be beat. No other style of music carries the same lightness, interweaves such a color tapestry of sound, lifts the heart like Baroque.
My fascination turned to heartfelt emotion when I finally opened the bulletin and discovered the piece just performed had been written by Johann Sebastian Bach, with words by Martin Luther. The text was written out in its original German alongside the translation into Norwegian. As the organist hit the bass to signal the beginning of the next hymn, it was all I could do to hold myself together. Friends, there is something so excruciatingly familiar about words by Martin Luther set to music by J.S. Bach - it speaks to my childhood, my year in Germany, to every single thing I know to be true.
The organ, the cello, the choir, the hundreds of people around me that I can barely even communicate with, but who believe in the same God that I do - friends, this music filled the air like a vibrant, colorful gas. The very rafters of the church struggled to hold in the sound. I felt the bass line enter my body through my gut, vibrating my lungs, my rib cage, stirring me to song. The notes shot out of my mouth like lightning because what else could one possibly do in this beautiful crowd but sing praises to our God - sing, sing, with all that I have, even though my sobs threatened to steal the high notes.
I hit an E, then an F, following the notes on my page with moist eyes, but then realizing the sopranos soared an octave above me, reinforced by the viola line, dancing over the trumpets, as the violins twirled around them and the cello provided the foundation. The organ, that solid rock, pushed me forward until finally, it all came to a head and every voice ceased. It took a full minute for the church to stop ringing.
Of all of the things that are new and different about my life in Norway, church feels very much like home. Every time the organ sounds a hymn tune that I recognize, it reminds me that God is the same everywhere. He is my rock, the solid ground on which I stand. Praise be to God, who met me in church today.
I walked into church and was surprised to see a full choir and chamber orchestra set up in front of the pews. The altar was moved from its normal position to the middle of the main aisle, amidst the congregation. It took a few seconds for me to register what was going on, but once I spotted a poster for the Norwegian Church Music Symposium and Organ Festival, it all made sense.
I was in for a treat.
The sanctuary was packed with people, much more than on a normal week. I've been pleasantly surprised by the number of people attending my church in Stavanger anyway, and according to one of my housemates, Stavanger lies in the so-called Bible Coast. There is something so powerful, so validating about being surrounded by other people in church. It reminds me that I'm not alone in my faith.
The choir performed several arias, recitatives, and choruses following the sermon, and I was in musical heaven. Transfixed. Enthralled by the interplay of the clarinet and the second violin, by the lightness of the cellist's bow strokes, the spot-on intonation as the trumpet joined in unison with the soprano. Baroque chamber music, my friends, cannot be beat. No other style of music carries the same lightness, interweaves such a color tapestry of sound, lifts the heart like Baroque.
My fascination turned to heartfelt emotion when I finally opened the bulletin and discovered the piece just performed had been written by Johann Sebastian Bach, with words by Martin Luther. The text was written out in its original German alongside the translation into Norwegian. As the organist hit the bass to signal the beginning of the next hymn, it was all I could do to hold myself together. Friends, there is something so excruciatingly familiar about words by Martin Luther set to music by J.S. Bach - it speaks to my childhood, my year in Germany, to every single thing I know to be true.
The organ, the cello, the choir, the hundreds of people around me that I can barely even communicate with, but who believe in the same God that I do - friends, this music filled the air like a vibrant, colorful gas. The very rafters of the church struggled to hold in the sound. I felt the bass line enter my body through my gut, vibrating my lungs, my rib cage, stirring me to song. The notes shot out of my mouth like lightning because what else could one possibly do in this beautiful crowd but sing praises to our God - sing, sing, with all that I have, even though my sobs threatened to steal the high notes.
I hit an E, then an F, following the notes on my page with moist eyes, but then realizing the sopranos soared an octave above me, reinforced by the viola line, dancing over the trumpets, as the violins twirled around them and the cello provided the foundation. The organ, that solid rock, pushed me forward until finally, it all came to a head and every voice ceased. It took a full minute for the church to stop ringing.
Of all of the things that are new and different about my life in Norway, church feels very much like home. Every time the organ sounds a hymn tune that I recognize, it reminds me that God is the same everywhere. He is my rock, the solid ground on which I stand. Praise be to God, who met me in church today.
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