Music and Lent part I: Music is my religion

A few posts back I mentioned the brush fire of thoughts regarding lent and music and so here we go with my little series. It became pretty clear to me that music - the highest achievement of humanity in my view - is my religion, since it is close to the only thing that reaches that very deep spiritual spot inside me. I am not sure how to describe this internal place. It is a place of complete harmony, where everything is connected and energy flows, where the physical world stops to exist and gives room to something much bigger. I had a few key experiences when music brought me to this spiritual place, in a way a feeling of total bliss and etheral existance in that moment alone, where everything else falls away.

If somebody would talk about my early childhood, they would probably mention that I seemed to sing and dance through every moment of the day, music was with me at all times. The first time I was deeply touched by a specific piece of music was as a six year old listening to Schubert’s 8th (the unfinished one). Actually my mother had this compilation record that she was playing over and over and introduced me to some fantastic music. It is absolutely ingrained in my brain. One or two years later we went to a concert in our church St. Johannis on Maundy Thursday where Claus Bantzer was playing the organ and I deeply felt the passion of Jesus, it was like a revelation to have experienced such a profound expression in the music and scary as well, because of the depth of the emotion that I had not felt that way before. I kind of grew up in that church, since we lived in the parish house and therefore had the luck that he played at our wedding in that church.

Another musical moment of perfection happened to me on a month long bike trip through Sweden with our youth group. We camped in the yards of the parish houses. In the church building in Sätila at the end of the Lyngern Fjord (the photo is from the Sätila kyrka website) south of Gothenburg stood this brand new wonderful Steinway grand that had been tuned to absolute perfection. I sat there forever and just played a note at a time, listening to it resound and fade and it’s reverberations. The sound was beyond striking the strings with a felted hammer, it was incredible and unforgettable. Later a member of our group - who was a brilliant player and an arrogant prick - could with his harmonies not get the same reaction as just one note had did for me. I am convinced that in order to experience these moments, we need to open our soul all the way to let this indescribable synergy of music in and touch us.

Many years later I threw myself into the youth ministry at one of our churches in the hope to somehow find some kind of faith. Some of my friends and I used to attend Taize* evenings and so I found myself one evening sitting in a circle and the burning light of the setting sun threw itself threw one of the stain glass windows into my face while I was chanting and I had this sudden epiphany, this certain feeling of the existence of something higher and bigger and something that just cannot be put into words, I would not define it as define per se though. I had just lost my god father and uncle and maybe I was just seeking solace, it is hard to say.

I once was on the road to pick up my husband (then boyfriend) and the radio was playing Antonin Dvorak’s 9th (New World) Symphony. I had listened to it many times, but at that moment, it reached much deeper. I had to pull over and stop the car. I sat there in our little red Peugeot in a complete trance and did not even have any thoughts, it was like a meditation, but at the end I was crying and could not stop. It was truely amazing. Isn’t it incredible how art can touch us in these ways?

One of the most influential musicians in my life has been Paul Winter and the first time I attended the solstice concert with the Paul Winter consort in the cathedral St. John the Devine in New York, it was to me like a religious experience. When he came out on the stage and started playing his soprano sax, it hit me. I sat right in front of the stage. What an amazing feeling, I am unbelievably grateful for that. Arvo Pärt’s Kanon Pokajanen touched me in such a profound way, that I will give it a whole post by itself. And anyway, this post is already a bit too long for a blog entry.

* The Taizé Community is an ecumenical christian monastic order in Taizé in Burgundy/France. The music is chant like with repetitive and beautiful lines (often from psalms), sometimes sung in canon and bringing the singers to a different meditative state.