And There is None Beside (Canto I)

Mark Reagan
Douglas Wilson (text)

Speak gentle words and glorious comfort comes 
so comfort all the wretched people here
your God has spoken all these words of grace 
speak peace and comfort to Jerusalem
and call down comfort on her bended head.

what shall I speak? 
what can I know? 
though comfort strains to speak.

Her warfare done, and all her battles past 
iniquities are pardoned fully now
for she receives from God’s own righteous hand 
a double wage for all her crimson sins
and now her war is peace complete and full.

The voice of one who cries out in the wild
prepare the way so that the Lord might come
make straight a highway for our savior God
across the desert, come prepare the way
a voice that calls, that in the desert cries.

the Tishbite comes 
with water comes 
to cleanse and wash the dead.

And every valley shall be lifted up
and every mountain, every hill brought low
the crooked straight, the rough place plain 
our mountainous pride is humbled here
the lowly stand when their salvation comes.

The glory of the Lord shall be revealed
all mortal flesh shall see it when it comes
for now the mouth of God has spoken it 
and eyes will see what eyes cannot behold
the glory of the Lord shone round about.

A voice said, cry—what can a mortal cry?
all flesh is grass, and like the meadow flowers
the grass dries up, the flower fades away
all men are grass, like grass they brown and die
in this dry wind, the spirit of the Lord.

obey the voice 
and hear a plaintive cry 
the way of flesh 
is withered brown.

The grass turns brown, the flower fades away
the words of God are ever lush and green 
and this good news is Zion’s living hope 
for God is life and all His words alive 
but all created plants are withered through. 

O Zion’s voice, you bring the great, good news 
so get yourself up to the sloping hills 
lift up your voice in living, rolling strength 
ascend the mountains with no craven fear 
and Judah’s cities all will heed the word.

can withered grass 
bear this good news? 
and cities live
where cities died?

Requiem – Gabriel Fauré (1845–1924)

Program Notes

This concert is in error, at least by Protestant standards. Gabriel Fauré was a catholic composer, in the marginally catholic country of France, so it comes as no surprise when things like prayers for the dead sneak into his Requiem (The sacrifice of praise and prayers we offer, Lord, receive them on the behalf of those we today remember). Nevertheless, Fauré has given us something unique even by catholic liturgical-musical standards. Many famous composers have set the Requiem text (the Mass for the Dead), often with dramatic spectacle. The centerpiece of the Requiem mass is the Dies irae (Day of Wrath), a liturgical song that provided fodder for the musical imagination of many composers. Its fiery text was matched with equally infernal music, and in the 19^th century its tune was quoted with some regularity even in secular music. Most famous is probably the “Witch’s Sabbath” scene in Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique. 

But the show-stopping Dies irae moment in the requiems of other composers (on YouTube enter search terms “Verdi Requiem bass drum”—you’ll get the picture) doesn’t even appear in Fauré’s Requiem, at least not in full force. It’s touched upon but twice: once in the prayer Libera me and again in the lyrical Pie Jesu. This second reference extracts the last and mildest of the song’s fifty-seven lines: “Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them rest.”

Fauré’s Requiem is a rather significant departure from other famous settings. Not only is his Requiem much shorter—35 minutes compared to Mozart’s 50 or Verdi’s 90 minutes—but Fauré’s is free of the anxieties of hell fire and is instead fixed on the comfort of eternal rest in the presence of God. It is difficult to say what Fauré personally believed (his frequent womanizing isn’t a credit to his faith) but the ethos of his Requiem is consistent with the faithful preaching of the Gospel: “blessed are they that die in the Lord.” His setting of the song In paradisum, which closes the work, leaves no doubt as to his focus on eternal rest in the New Jerusalem.

Counterpart to the Requiem, And There Is None Beside, Canto I, was actually the first of the two works to be programmed in this evening’s concert. Wilson’s entire poem, a paraphrase of Isaiah 40-48, touches on several biblical themes including the temporality of human flesh contrasted with the enduring nature of the Word of God. Canto I paraphrases Isaiah 40:1-9. The phrase all flesh is grass (Isaiah 40:6) is as reminiscent of a Requiem as any in Scripture, and the conclusion of Canto I—can withered grass/ bear this good news?/ and cities live/ where cities died?—leaves life and death in the balance. 

The two works not only share religious themes, but they share the same keys of F major (Agnus dei) and d minor (Introit, Libera me). They also share the same instrumentation—a mellow combination of bassoons, trumpets, horns, timpani, harp, low strings (violin is reserved for solo passages) and organ—an ensemble Fauré conceived as befitting funeral music.

But far from being a funeral piece, Canto I develops other happier themes: comforting God’s suffering people (also present in the Fauré), truth proclaimed in the dead places (John the Baptist/Elijah preaching in the wilderness), and God’s earth-quaking justice (flattening out rough spots, humbling the proud). The soprano, mezzo-soprano, and baritone soloists are the main vehicle for proclaiming the words of Isaiah’s prophesy. They are answered by the chorus, who, as in Greek drama, speak virtue into the situation. They react, question, comment, and even laugh at what the prophet says, always clinging to the ancient truths they’ve received.

This canto is set in four sections. First, “Speak Gentle Words” is a serene, somewhat atmospheric description of the Isaiah’s comforting words. “Her Warfare Done” is an excited anticipation of future peace. “And Every Valley” is the lyrical centerpiece of Canto I, but it ends on a dour note, considering that God’s future justice does not bring comfort but should worry us apart from Christ Jesus. Finally, “The Grass Turns Brown” is a further digression upon the eternal nature of God and fleeting flesh. This perplexing reflection is interrupted by the soprano who proclaims to the cities of Judah: behold your God! but the chorus rebuts with a “reality check,” scoffing at the idea that Judah’s wasted cities will see restoration and Canto I ends in a whimper of tragic desolation.