Bruce Munro (British, 1959–), Light Shower, 2010. Temporary installation at Salisbury Cathedral, England.
For Christmas 2010, Salisbury Cathedral commissioned a site-specific light installation from multimedia artist Bruce Munro. Called Light Shower, the piece consists of an invisible wire matrix suspended from the ceiling above the transept, from which dangle hundreds of optical fibers lit with tiny LEDs. As the title implies, they look like drops of light descending like rain.
There is a light Bright star shining In the dark night Old tales come true
All of our fears Hopes and prayers He has heard And answered us
The light came down Cast the darkness away He appeared A helpless child The light of God came down
There is a light A new day dawning Old things pass All things made new
Prophets have spoken All he would accomplish When the light of God Would dwell with men
The light came down Cast the darkness away He appeared A helpless child The light of God came to save us To the world that he made us O Lord and Savior Alleluia
This is the final post in the 2023 Advent series (daily Christmas posts will follow through January 6). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
LISTEN: “Joseph mon cher fidèle” (Joseph, My Dear Faithful One), traditional carol from the French West Indies | Performed by Robert Mavounza on Bakwa Nwel (2005)
Marie: Joseph, mon cher fidèle, Cherchons un logement, Le temps presse et m’appelle A mon accouchement. Je sens le fruit de vie, Ce cher enfant des cieux, Qui d’une sainte vie, Va paraître à nos yeux.
Joseph: Dans ce triste équipage, Marie allons chercher, Par tout le voisinage, Un endroit pour loger. Ouvrez, voisin la porte, Ayez compassion D’une vierge qui porte Votre rédemption.
Les voisins de Bethléem: Dans toute la bourgade, On craint trop les dangers, Pour donner le passage A des gens étrangers, Au logis de la lune, Vous n’avez qu’à loger, Le chef de la commune Pourrait bien se venger.
Marie: Ah! Changez de langage, Peuple de Bethléem, Dieu vient chez nous pour gage, Hélas! Ne craignez rien. Mettez-vous aux fenêtres, Ecoutez ce destin, Votre Dieu, votre Maître, Va sortir de mon sein.
Les voisins de Bethléem: C’est quelque stratagème On peut faire la nuit, Quelque tour de bohème, Quand le soleil ne luit. Sans voir ni clair, ni lune, Les méchants font leurs coups, Gardez votre infortune, Passants, retirez-vous!
Joseph: O ciel quelle aventure, Sans trouver un endroit, Dans ce temps de froidure, Pour coucher sous le toit. Créature barbare, Ta rigueur te fait tort, Ton coeur déjà s’égare En ne plaignant mon sort.
Marie: Puisque la nuit s’approche Pour nous mettre à couvert, Ah! Fuyons ce reproche, J’aperçois au désert Une vieille cabane, Allons mon cher époux, J’entends le boeuf et l’âne Qui nous seront plus doux.
Joseph: Que ferons-nous Marie, Dans un si méchant lieu, Pour conserver la vie Au petit Enfant-Dieu? Le monarque des anges Naîtra dans un bercail Sans feu, sans drap, sans langes Et sans palais royal.
Marie: Le ciel, je vous assure, Pourrait nous secourir, Je porte bon augure, Sans crainte de périr. J’entends déjà les anges Qui font d’un ton joyeux, Retentir les louanges, Sous la voûte des Cieux.
Joseph: Trop heureuse retraite, Plus noble mille fois, Plus riche et plus parfaite Que le louvre des rois! Logeant un Dieu fait homme, L’auteur du paradis, Que le prophète nomme Le Messie promis.
Marie: J’entends le coq qui chante, C’est l’heure de minuit, O ciel! Un dieu m’enchante, Je vois mon sacré fruit, Je pâme, je meurs d’aise, Venez mon bien-aimé! Que je vous serre et baise! Mon coeur est tout charmé.
Joseph: Vers Joseph votre père Nourrisson plein d’appas, Du sein de votre mère Venez entre mes bras! Ah! Que je vous caresse, Victime des pêcheurs, Mêlons, mêlons sans cesse, Nos soupirs et nos pleurs.
Mary: Joseph, my dear faithful one, Let us search for lodging; Time is pressing and calling me To give birth. I feel the fruit of life, This dear child from heaven Who, with a holy life, Will appear before our eyes.
Joseph: In this sad predicament, Let us search, Mary, Throughout the neighborhood For a place to stay. Open the door, neighbor; Have compassion For a virgin who carries Your redemption.
The people of Bethlehem: Throughout the town, There is too much fear of danger To offer shelter To strangers. Under the moonlight Is where you can go lodge; The town’s ruler Might seek revenge [on us].
Mary: Ah! Change your words, People of Bethlehem; God comes to us as a pledge. Alas! Do not fear. Stand by your windows, Listen to this destiny: Your God, your Master, Will come forth from within me.
The people of Bethlehem: It’s some kind of ploy, Which they can work at night, Some vagabond trick, When the sun isn’t shining. Without seeing clearly, without the moon, The wicked carry out their deeds. Keep your misfortune; Passersby, be gone!
Joseph: Oh heavens, what a hardship, To not find a place In this cold weather, A roof to sleep under. Barbaric creatures, Your harshness does you wrong; Your heart is gone astray, Not sympathizing with my fate.
Mary: As the night draws near To wrap us with its cover, Ah! let us escape this reproach. I see in the desert An old shed. Come, my dear husband: I hear the ox and the donkey Who will be kinder to us.
Joseph: What shall we do, Mary, In such a wretched place, To preserve the life Of the little Child of God? The king of angels Will be born in a manger, Without fire, without sheets, And without a royal palace.
Mary: Heaven, I assure you, Will come to our aid; I carry good omens, And no fear of perishing. I already hear the angels, In a joyful tone, Resounding with praises Under the vault of heaven.
Joseph: What a blessed retreat, A thousand times nobler, Richer, and more perfect Than the abode of kings! Lodging a God made man, The author of paradise, Whom the prophet calls The promised Messiah.
Mary: I hear the rooster singing; It’s the hour of midnight. Oh heavens! A god enchants me. I see my sacred fruit; I faint, and am overcome with joy. Come, my beloved [son]! Let me hold you and kiss you! My heart is completely charmed.
Joseph: Come to Joseph, your father, Darling boy; Come into my arms From your mother’s breast! Ah! Let me caress you, Sacrifice for sinners! Let’s mingle, let’s mingle without ceasing, Our sighs and our tears.
* This English translation by Djasra Ratébaye was commissioned in 2023 by Art & Theology.
Written as a dialogue between Mary, Joseph, and the people of Bethlehem as the couple first arrives in town, this traditional Christmas carol is from the French Caribbean islands of Guadeloupe and Martinique. As for its approximate date of origin, I found several of its verses appearing as far back as 1703, with a complete version showing up in an 1817 carol collection, but it very well could have circulated prior to that.
The song was famously recorded by Manuela Pioche, Henri Debs, and Guy Alcindor in 1969 on Noël Aux Antilles (reissued on CD in 1993), but overall, I prefer Robert Mavounza’s recording from 2005. In Mavounza’s version, a chorus of voices sings what sounds like “waylo” after every line. The person who translated the song for me is neither Guadeloupean nor Martinican and wasn’t sure of the meaning of the word; he suggested that it’s either a wordless vocable used for embellishment, or else a creole word.
“Joseph mon cher fidèle” is part of the popular repertoire of the Chanté Nwel, the tradition of communal carol singing (with live percussion accompaniment!) that takes place throughout December in Guadeloupe and Martinique. It’s one of the most convivial times of the year.
The Holy Couple’s anxious search for lodging as Mary’s labor pangs begin is a feature of many retellings of the Christmas story, though it’s not present in either of the two Gospel narratives of Christ’s birth. Luke simply says that Joseph “went to be registered [in Bethlehem for the census] with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth and laid him in a manger, because there was no place in the guest room” (Luke 2:5–7 NRSV).
Centuries of misinterpretation of the Greek word kataluma as “inn” (instead of the more accurate “guest room”) has led to the invention of an innkeeper character who coldly refuses the needy parents the accommodations they seek. By extension, the whole of Bethlehem is often characterized as inhospitable, for how dare they let the King of the universe be born in a lowly stable? In all historical likelihood, Mary and Joseph were welcomed by family when they got to Bethlehem, but the house where they were staying was full because of the large number of out-of-towners present for the census registration. Adapting to space limitations, Mary and Joseph stayed with their baby in the room where the animals were kept, which would have been attached to the family’s living quarters. Mary most likely would have been assisted by one or more midwives in giving birth and surrounded by family afterward.
Nevertheless, “Joseph mon cher fidèle” is a part of the tradition that imagines a more tense and harrowing birth narrative. When Joseph and Mary arrive in Bethlehem and, hurried by Mary’s increasingly regular contractions, desperately knock on doors to ask for lodging, they are turned away again and again. The townspeople know how suspicious Herod is of strangers, how easily threatened, and they don’t want to risk his ire by harboring one, so they tell the strange couple to go sleep outside somewhere. When Mary tells them she is about to give birth to God, they accuse the couple of trickery and lies; if “God” comes forth from this woman, they chide, it would be some kind of wicked conjuration they produced under the dark cover of shadows.
Joseph reprimands the people of Bethlehem for their rejection and mistrust while Mary resourcefully sets her sights on a distant stable. Joseph laments its unsuitability for such a son as theirs, but Mary reassures him that it will suit Jesus just fine and that God will protect them all through the night. The humble shelter, Joseph concedes, will be made magnificent and holy by the Holy One who inhabits it.
At the hour of midnight, Jesus starts to crown. Mary is ecstatic to meet her son at last, and Joseph sweeps him up into her arms to be showered with love and kisses.
I love that Joseph gets more treatment in this carol than in most others. He gets the last word—the final stanza is in his voice—which is full of such fatherly affection. He and Mary sigh together in relief for a safe delivery and cry together tears of joy, which mingle with the wails of their newborn.
Despite the conflict and stress in the narrative, the music is bright and upbeat throughout. This is, after all, a party carol! Mary maintains a steadfast faith in the God who called and empowered her for the task of bringing God-in-flesh into the world.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Timur d’Vatz (Russian, 1968–), Vision, 2020. Oil on canvas, 31 1/2 × 43 5/16 in. (80 × 110 cm).
LISTEN: “People, Look East” | Words by Eleanor Farjeon, 1928 | Music: French folk melody | Performed by Amy White (voice, Celtic harp) and Al Petteway (guitar) on Winter Tidings: An Appalachian Christmas, 2006
People, look east. The time is near Of the crowning of the year. Make your house fair as you are able, Trim the hearth and set the table. People, look east and sing today: Love, the guest, is on the way.
Furrows, be glad. Though earth is bare, One more seed is planted there: Give up your strength the seed to nourish, That in course the flower may flourish. People, look east and sing today: Love, the rose, is on the way.
Birds, though you long have ceased to build, Guard the nest that must be filled. Even the hour when wings are frozen God for fledging time has chosen. People, look east and sing today: Love, the bird, is on the way.
Stars, keep the watch. When night is dim One more light the bowl shall brim, Shining beyond the frosty weather, Bright as sun and moon together. People, look east and sing today: Love, the star, is on the way.
Angels, announce with shouts of mirth Christ who brings new life to earth. Set every peak and valley humming With the word, the Lord is coming. People, look east and sing today: Love, the Lord, is on the way.
This is probably my favorite Advent hymn text. Isn’t it wonderful?
See how the flowers all burst anew, Thinking snow is summer dew; See how the stars afresh are glowing, All their brightest beams bestowing.
Hark! Even now the bells ring round, Listen to their merry sound; Hark! How the birds new songs are making As if winter’s chains were breaking.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
“They will hunger no more and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat, for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
—Revelation 7:16–17
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.
And he said to me, “These words are trustworthy and true, for the Lord, the God of the spirits of the prophets, has sent his angel to show his servants what must soon take place.”
“See, I am coming soon! Blessed is the one who keeps the words of the prophecy of this book.”
—Revelation 22:1–7
LOOK: The Supper of the Lamb by Wayne Forte
Wayne Forte (Filipino American, 1950–), The Supper of the Lamb, 2004. Oil on canvas, 60 × 48 in.
In this eschatological painting by Wayne Forte, the slain and risen Lamb reopens Eden, welcoming us all to the feast. He holds a palm branch, symbol of the martyr’s victory, and stands atop a table set with bread, wine, and the fruits of the tree of life. A river issues forth, further underscoring that this is a place of refreshment.
In the foreground, the iron grillwork of the gate depicts key events from salvation history: the Fall and Expulsion, Noah’s Ark, the Sacrifice of Isaac, the Exodus, the Nativity, the Crucifixion, and the Resurrection. Originating in the early Christian era, the IHS monogram at the top denotes the first three letters of the Greek name of Jesus, ΙΗΣΟΥΣ: iota, eta, sigma. Later it came to be mistakenly (but appropriately!) interpreted as an acronym for the Latin Jesus Hominum Salvator, “Jesus, Savior of Humanity.”
LISTEN: “Behold, Behold” by Caroline Cobb, performed with Sean Carter on AHome and a Hunger: Songs of Kingdom Hope (2017)
I see a city coming down Like a bride in whitest gown Purely dressed I see the pilgrims coming home All creation finds shalom The promised rest The Lamb of God will be her light The sun will have no need to shine
Refrain: Behold, behold God makes his home with us He’ll take his throne, forever glorious Behold, behold God makes his home with us He’ll take his throne, forever glorious The curse will be undone O come, Lord Jesus, come
The Lord will banish every sin All that’s broken he will mend And make new And we will see him face to face As he wipes our tears away And death is through And all the ransomed and redeemed From every tongue and tribe will sing
[Refrain]
At last the darkness will surrender to the light But we, unveiled in glory, will forever shine At last the powers of hell will drown in lakes of fire But we will freely drink the crystal streams of life
Come, thirsty, taste and see Come, hungry, to the feast Come, weary, find your peace The Bride and Spirit sing Come! Come!
[Refrain]
Based on Revelation 21–22, “Behold, Behold” is the last song on Caroline Cobb’s album A Home and a Hunger, which traces kingdom hope from Genesis to Revelation, each song focusing on a different biblical book.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Born in Harlem to Black Bermudian immigrants, Norman Lewis began his art career making social realist paintings but after World War II turned increasingly to abstraction. He is known for his rhythmic lines and shapes.
New World A’Coming is one of his later works. In it “a crowd of figures, abstracted in geometric frenzy, gather in processional unity under the glow of a crimson sun,” the Bill Hodges Gallery writes. “Enveloped in a burnt-umber haze, the dark silhouette of the congregation is accented by a bright white glow that seems to emanate from within the crowd”—they are a holy people. The upward curve suggests movement, ascent. It’s as if the people are dancing their way to a new dawn.
“New World a-Comin’” by the famous African American jazz pianist, composer, and bandleader Duke Ellington is a single-movement work for piano and ensemble. Ellington premiered the earliest version with his eponymous jazz orchestra at Carnegie Hall on December 11, 1943, with himself on piano. He edited and reprised the piece throughout the years, orchestrating it for symphony orchestra in 1966 (the score is lost) and sometimes performing it as a piano solo without accompaniment. He never made a definitive studio recording of “New World a-Comin’” in its original form, and he never wrote down the piano part.
Above is a recording of the live premiere performance. But here it is, below, with the symphony orchestration, recorded in 1970 with the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra, directed by Erich Kunzel, and again featuring Ellington as soloist. This recording appears on the album Duke Ellington: Orchestral Works (released on CD in 1989):
Of all the renditions, though, Harvey G. Cohen writes in his book Duke Ellington’s America that Ellington’s unaccompanied solo performance at the Whitney Museum of Art in 1972 may be the most poignant; it’s “searching and delicate,” Cohen says (239).
If you want to see a video recording, here’s Ellington soloing it up at a sacred music concert at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco on September 16, 1965 (view the full concert):
The title of this piece comes from the Peabody Award–winning book New World A-Coming: Inside Black America by the prominent Black journalist Roi Ottley, which documents the daily lives of African Americans in Harlem during the 1920s and ’30s as well as their hope for a better future.
In his 1976 memoir Music Is My Mistress, Ellington wrote, “I visualized this new world as a place in the distant future where there would be no war, no greed, no categorization, no non-believers, where love was unconditional, and no pronoun was good enough for God” (183).
“Musically,” writes Los Angeles Philharmonic content director Ricky O’Bannon, “that hope takes the form of a virtuoso showpiece for Ellington at the piano—unusual for the bandleader and a more-than-capable pianist who preferred showing off his skills as a composer. The beautiful theme and variations are supported with rich overtones and chords that Ellington scholar Mark Tucker describes as reminiscent of Ravel to the point it ‘might be called Fox-Trots Nobles et Sentimentales’ and is first-rate Ellington. Other parts might be evocative of the Romantic sweetness of Rachmaninoff.”
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Be attentive to this [God’s message] as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts.
—2 Peter 1:19b
LOOK: Bridge of Glory by Nicholas Roerich
Nicholas Roerich (Russian, 1874–1947), Bridge of Glory, 1923. Tempera on canvas, 82 × 163 cm. Nicholas Roerich Museum, New York.
LISTEN: “Yonder Come Day,” African American spiritual | Performed by the Schola Cantorum of St. Peter’s in the Loop, dir. J. Michael Thompson, on Music for Advent II (2005)
Yonder come day, day is a-breakin’ Yonder come day, O my soul Yonder come day, day is a-breakin’ Sun is a-risin’ in my soul
This spiritual originated in the nineteenth century in the enslaved Black communities of St. Simons Island off the coast of Georgia. Daybreak here can be read as a metaphor for salvation, happiness, death/beatification, or possibility. The latter was an especially common application, as the song was typically sung at Watch Night services, a New Year’s Eve tradition of Christian prayer, worship, song, and dance lasting from around 7 p.m. until midnight.
Recorded in 1963 in Los Angeles, the performance below is from the short film Georgia Sea Island Singers (1964), available on the DVD The Films of Bess Lomax Hawes (2003) and streaming on Kanopy:
The singers are, from left to right, John Davis, Bessie Jones, Emma Ramsay, Henry Morrison, and Mabel Hillary. They sing these lyrics:
Yonder come day (O day) Yonder come day (O day) Yonder come day Day done broke Into my soul
Yonder come day (I was on my knees) Yonder come day (I was on my knees) Yonder come day (I was on my knees) Yonder come day Day done broke Into my soul
. . . I heard him say . . .
. . . It’s a New Year’s day . . .
. . . Come on, child . . .
In 2016, Paul John Rudoi arranged “Yonder Come Day” together with “Hush, Hush,” “Steal Away,” and “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,” creating a medley of spirituals in which “Yonder” is the through line. The medley is performed in the following video by the University of Oregon Chamber Choir, featuring soloist Alexa McCuen:
The coming of Christ is often described as the rising of a new day. That goes for his first advent in Bethlehem; his second, future advent; and his advent in the human heart, as people receive him and are flooded with spiritual light. “Yonder Come Day” is an apt song for remembering with gratitude one’s own conversion, that moment when Christ came to you and transformed you from the inside out.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Wood scuplture of the Madonna and Child, Yorubaland, Nigeria, mid-20th century. Photo: Lee Boltin.
This sculpture by a Yoruba artist from Nigeria shows the Christ child seated on the lap of his mother, Mary, who wears a traditional Yoruba hairstyle and dress. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably by George Bandele Areogun (1908–1995), as it is commensurate in quality and style with his other work.
The image appears as figure 27 in the 1974 book The Faces of Jesus by Frederick Buechner (which contains an excellent selection of full-color art from around the globe!) with the vague caption “Madonna and Child, wood, Africa, contemporary.” At the time of publication, the sculpture was in the private collection of Maurice Lavanoux (1894–1974), a specialist in church art living in New York, but I don’t know its current whereabouts.
LISTEN: “Et incarnatus est” (And was incarnate) by J. S. Bach, from his Mass in B minor, BWV 232, completed 1749 | Performed by Robin Johannsen, Marie-Claude Chappuis, Helena Rasker, Sebastian Kohlhepp, Christian Immler, and the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin, dir. René Jacobs, 2022
Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto, ex Maria virgine; et homo factus est.
English translation: And [he] was incarnate by the Holy Spirit, of the Virgin Mary; and was made man.
Comprising twenty-seven movements in four parts, Bach’s B minor setting of the Latin Mass is widely regarded as one of the highest achievements of classical music. “Et incarnatus est” is the fourth movement of part 2, “Symbolum Nicenum” (Nicene Creed).
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
—Luke 1:39–45
LOOK: Mary and Elizabeth by Kate Green
Kate Green (British, 1965–), Mary and Elizabeth, 2018. Watercolor and ink on paper.
LISTEN: “Praise the Lord” by Phillip A. Peterson, written for and performed by Grace Seattle Experimental Orchestra on Oratorio of Prayers: Supplication (2007)
Praise to the Lord Who has visibly blessed your state Who has rained streams of love from the heavens
Consider What the Almighty can do He who meets you with such love
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
Ustyug Annunciation, Novgorod, ca. 1120–30. Tempera on wood, 23.8 × 16.8 cm. State Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow.
This icon is among the oldest extant Russian icons, being one of the few to have survived the Mongol invasion of Russia in the thirteenth century. Even though it was produced in the Novgorod region, it is called “Ustyug” because of its association with that village in local histories and hagiographies.
The icon shows the angel Gabriel approaching Mary with the news that she has been chosen to bear the Son of God into the world. In Mary’s left hand she holds a skein of scarlet thread, as tradition says she was one of the women responsible for weaving the veil of the temple in Jerusalem. Following the thread upward to her right hand, we see a remarkable detail in her midsection: a shadowy figure of Christ Emmanuel, fully formed within her and gesturing blessing. The iconographer has compressed together the moments of announcement and conception, suggesting that Mary’s miraculous pregnancy has already been effected.
At the top center, in a blue semicircle representing the heavens, sits the Ancient of Days, a symbolic depiction of God the Father. Fiery red cherubim and seraphim surround his throne. He holds a scroll in his right hand, while his left is raised in benediction. Earlier descriptions of the icon mention a ray of light emanating from God’s throne to Mary, traveled by the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove, but time has worn away this detail.
LISTEN: “Annunciation” piano quintet by Philip Glass, based on the Greek Orthodox communion hymn for the Feast of the Annunciation, 2018
>> Performed by Paul Barnes, Laurie Hamilton, Maria Newman, Scott Hosfeld, and David Geber at Symphony Space, New York, 2019:
Sharing a love of ancient chant traditions, pianist and Greek Orthodox chanter Paul Barnes [previously] and composer Philip Glass have engaged in collaborative projects ever since they first met on an airplane in March 1995. Most recently, Barnes facilitated the commission of a piano quintet by Glass—his first—based on the melody of the Greek Orthodox communion hymn for the Feast of the Annunciation, whose text is Psalm 132:13: “The Lord has chosen Zion, he has desired her for his dwelling place.” (Hear Barnes chant the hymn here.)
A piano quintet is a work of chamber music written for piano and four other instruments, usually a string quartet (two violins, one viola, one cello).
Glass’s “Annunciation” piano quintet premiered April 17, 2018, at the Lied Center for Performing Arts in Lincoln, Nebraska, with the Chiara String Quartet and Barnes on piano.
In the program notes for the piece, Barnes writes:
The work is in two parts. Part One opens with a meditative chromatic chord progression which eventually leads to the first entrance of the chant first stated in the piano. Glass develops this beautiful theme as it is shared by the various members of the quintet, culminating in an opulent neo-romantic closing section recapping the introductory chromatic chord progression. A partial restatement of the theme ends the movement with a brooding D minor coda.
Part Two is a poignant musical meditation on Part One revealing Glass’s innate ability to connect the transcendental ethos of the original chant with his own spacious approach to musical time. A particularly expressive section features the piano in soaring sparse octave melody over undulating eighth notes in the violin and cello. The work ends with an increasingly energetic and ecstatic 7/8 coda based on the opening chant transformed into scale passages that ascend and dissipate into a pianissimo chromatic flourish evocative of incense rising.
I studied Philip Glass’s experimental opera Einstein on the Beach in my Western music history survey course in college—Glass is one of the twentieth century’s most influential composers—and I was delighted to encounter this newer, religiously inspired work of his that Barnes planted the seeds for and is active in promoting and performing.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
LOOK: Virgin and Child with a Prophet catacomb fresco
Virgin and Child with a Prophet, 3rd century. Fresco in the Catacomb of Priscilla on the Via Saleria, Rome. Photo: Scala / Art Resource. [view wider shot]
Deep in the Catacomb of Priscilla in Rome, one of the early Christian underground burial places (named after the donor of the land), is an arched ceiling fresco of a woman breastfeeding her child under an apple tree. Beside her a man points up to a star that’s resting over their heads among the fruit.
Dating to the third century, this image is the earliest known depiction of the Virgin Mary, and one of the oldest of Christ. The identity of the third figure is less sure, but it’s most likely the Gentile prophet Balaam, who, in the power of God’s Spirit, prophesied to King Balak of Moab that “a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel” (Num. 24:17).
Although this prophecy had a more immediate fulfillment in King David, it has also been interpreted in a messianic sense since as early as Justin Martyr (ca. 100–165), who wrote, “And that he [Christ] should arise like a star from the seed of Abraham, Moses showed beforehand when he said, ‘A star shall arise from Jacob, and a leader from Israel’” (Dialogue with Trypho, chap. 106).
Irenaeus (ca. 130–200) wrote that the star the magi followed to seek out the newborn Christ was the one prophesied by Balaam (Against Heresies, bk. 3, chap. 9.2), and Origen (ca. 185–254) maintained that Numbers 24:17 was the Hebrew Bible verse the magi found that instigated their journey (Against Celsus, bk. 1, chap. 60).
Arched ceiling detail from Gallery 3 of the Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome. The central image, in stucco, portrays a shepherd and two sheep, while at the far right, oriented in a different direction, is a fresco of the Virgin and Child. The artworks are damaged by age.
Other suggestions put forward as to the identity of the pointing figure in this catacomb fresco have been a magus; the Hebrew prophet Isaiah, who declared that “a virgin shall conceive” (Isa. 7:14) and enjoined his people to “arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee” (Isa. 60:1); and, from Hans-Ruedi Weber, John the Baptist, who “came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe. . . . The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world” (John 1:6–9).
LISTEN: “There Shall a Star from Jacob Come Forth” (original title: “Es wird ein Stern aus Jacob aufgeh’n”), from Christus, Op. 97 | Original German text compiled by Christian Charles Josias von Bunsen, 1846, from Numbers 24:17 and the hymn “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” by Philipp Nicolai, 1599; English translation of lines 4–10 by Catherine Winkworth, 1863 | Music by Felix Mendelssohn, 1846–47, based on Nicolai’s hymn tune | Performed by the St. Olaf Choir, the St. Olaf Cantorei, the St. Olaf Chapel Choir, the Manitou Singers, Viking Chorus, and the St. Olaf Orchestra, dir. Robert Scholz, on Love Divine, Illumine Our Darkness: Christmas at St. Olaf, 2002
There shall a star from Jacob rise up, And a sceptre from Israel come forth, To dash in pieces princes and nations.
How brightly beams the morning star! With sudden radiance from afar, With light and comfort glowing! Thy word, Jesus, inly feeds us, Rightly leads us, Life bestowing. Praise, oh praise such love o’erflowing.
The musical work “Es wird ein Stern aus Jacob aufgeh’n” (There Shall a Star from Jacob Come Forth) is from an unfinished oratorio by Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847), which the composer’s brother Paul gave the name Christus and published posthumously as Opus 97. The first performance took place in 1852.
The first three lines are taken from Numbers 24:17, while the latter portion is from the Lutheran hymn “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” (How Brightly Beams the Morning Star) by Philipp Nicolai, written in 1597 and first published in 1599 with the title “Ein geistlich Brautlied der gläubigen Seelen von Jesu Christo ihrem himmlischen Bräutigam, gestellet über den 45. Psalm des Propheten David” (A spiritual wedding song of the faithful soul about Jesus Christ, her heavenly groom, made over the 45th psalm of the Prophet David). The tune it was published with was adapted by Nicolai, it appears, from an older tune found in the Strasbourg Psalter of 1538—which is further adapted here by Mendelssohn.
In Mendelssohn’s piece, the first two lines about an emerging luminary from the lineage of Jacob are lovely and lofty, repeated in different and overlapping voices over the course of a minute-plus. But then the third line cuts in with emphatic force: “To dash in pieces princes and nations.” Its violence is jarring, very far from the peaceful sentiments we’re used to associating with this time of year! Even as it adds drama and interest to the composition, its militant language is unsettling.
But it does honor the larger context of Balaam’s prophecy:
So he [Balaam] uttered his oracle, saying,
“The oracle of Balaam son of Beor, the oracle of the man whose eye is clear, the oracle of one who hears the words of God and knows the knowledge of the Most High, who sees the vision of the Almighty, who falls down but with eyes uncovered: I see him but not now; I behold him but not near— a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel; it shall crush the foreheads of Moab and the heads of all the Shethites [a Moabite tribe]. Edom will become a possession, Seir [an alternative name for Edom] a possession of its enemies, while Israel does valiantly. One out of Jacob shall rule and destroy the survivors of Ir [‘City’].”
(Num. 24:15–19)
The mercenary prophet Balaam had been hired by Balak, king of Moab, to curse Israel. See, the Israelites had escaped slavery in Egypt some forty years prior and were looking for land to settle. Having been refused passage through, they had just conquered Amorite country, which used to belong to Moab, and Balak feared Moab would be next.
Despite being a non-Israelite, Balaam heard words from Yahweh, Israel’s God. Balak recognized Balaam as an authority, as did others, and thought he might be persuaded for a fee to issue a prophecy in Moab’s favor. But Balaam told him he would speak only the words of Yahweh.
The passage above is the fourth and final oracle Balaam pronounced on this mission to Moab. In it he says that Moab and Edom would be conquered—a prophecy that came to pass with King David (2 Sam. 8:2–12; cf. Psalm 60:8).
Christians, as we have seen, often extract verses from longer Old Testament passages, prophetic or otherwise, and read into them messianic significance—pointers to Jesus Christ. Even the New Testament authors, and Jesus himself, did this. Did the Old Testament authors intend such meanings? Probably not in most places, not to the extent that premodern Christian interpreters suggested. (That’s not to say Jesus didn’t fulfill biblical prophecies. Quite the contrary!)
But many Christian biblical scholars acknowledge what’s been called the sensus plenior, or “fuller sense,” of scripture—a term popularized by Raymond E. Brown in his book The Sensus Plenior of Sacred Scripture (1955). Sensus plenior, Brown writes, is “that additional, deeper meaning, intended by God but not clearly intended by the human author, which is seen to exist in the words of a biblical text (or group of texts, or even a whole book) when they are studied in the light of further revelation or development in the understanding of revelation.”
Some people consider this kind of reading to be distortive. But others, including myself, consider it creative. Rabbinical literature often does the same thing: finds meaning in and beyond a scripture passage’s strict historical context that the original authors likely did not intend but that open up the text in new ways. Sensus plenior says that studying a book of the Bible only in its historical and immediate textual context and for what it would have meant to its original audience is limiting, incomplete. Of course, the opposite approach, which does run rampant in many Christian communities, is also problematic: divesting scripture passages of their contexts, reflexively backfilling all the Old Testament with “Jesus” at the expense of understanding the texts on their own terms.
I think the application of “To dash in pieces princes and nations” (a paraphrase from Balaam’s prophecy) to Jesus’s birth is confusing, as Jesus was nonviolent, rejecting conquest. Perhaps you could say that Christ’s rule would (rhetorically) dash Herod’s kingdom to pieces, as it challenged the modus operandi of empire. There’s a new caesar in town, a new king on the throne, and his law of love, his gospel of peace, trumps the laws and proclamations of all earthly rulers.
The last six lines of Mendelssohn’s song return to the sweet, gentle tones of the song’s opening, exulting in the radiant glory of Christ, the Morning Star (Rev. 22:16), who shines forth from the pages of God’s word.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
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