A Word from Pastor Nathan

In late August, I auditioned for the Cleveland Orchestra Chorus. Hands down, it was a harrowing musical experience. The audition was on a Sunday evening following a sleepless Saturday night and a long day at WACC. Potential members must prepare two solos, one of which must be in a foreign language, a choral excerpt (from Brahms’ Requiem, which is in German), and sight sing.

I left the audition with my tail between my legs. I drafted a Spire article about having experienced failure and eating a modest slice of humble pie. Two days after the audition, I received the rehearsal schedule and notification that the full score of Brahms’ Requiem was in the mail. I’m still not over the intimidation factor or feeling that I got in by the skin of my teeth.

Three weeks ago, the Chorus had its first performance since Christmas 2019. Chorus members knew the event would be celebratory, but we couldn’t imagine how good it would feel to be in Severance Music Center singing in front of a full house. Though we performed in masks and audience members had to wear masks and show proof of vaccination or a negative COVID test, the night couldn’t have been more hopeful or hope-FULL.

When we hear the word requiem, we usually think of something in Latin and a musical setting to honor the dead within the Catholic Church. Brahms’ Requiem is different: first, the language; second, the texts are a departure from the traditional setting. This major work is as much a requiem for the living as it is for those who have passed. During performance week, I realized all of us needed a requiem.

Many are familiar with the anecdote that “music is the universal language.” At the Thursday evening performance, we proved that maxim to be true. Though the text of the requiem is clearly within the Christian tradition, singers and audience members—of no/many faith traditions—joined in creating an event that in any other context would be impossible. Together, we grieved, and in the singing and the hearing, we were comforted.

I think that collective work is similar to what we do on Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings. We come together in-person and online to participate in something mysterious that is much larger than any one of us. In both silence and sound, we find faith, hope, love, and the blessings of God.