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| Along with the old La-Z-Boy and a small refrigerator, this went with me to my freshman dorm to fortify me for my studies. Mom and Dad never missed it (they said). OF COURSE I still have it. |
FOR ALL THE WORLD! FOR ALL THE WORLD! FOR ALL THE WOORRRLLLD!
The sopranos shrilled with all their might, but in German, which is even stranger: DER GANZEN WEELLLLTT! I could not help but chuckle. The music is magnificent; Beethoven’s Symphony #9 in D Minor. I was enjoying it as I drove up the highway for my day off on (another) wretchedly wintery day, leaving me ravenous for the beauty and energy of the musical marvel. I had recently been reading about how other composers were paralyzed by awe of this work, some believing that in it, Beethoven had done everything that could be accomplished in the symphonic form. I could hear in each movement what they found so intimidating, but the fourth movement, the one with the chorus, is clearly ‘next level’.
But therein lies the the source of my chuckle. The text so masterfully put to music is a work of the venerated poet Schiller, the “Ode to Joy” (Click for text), which to modern ears is more than a little sweetly precious, even treacly in its sentiment. The line that caught my attention is from the strophe, You millions, I embrace you. This kiss is for all the world! Teehee. It makes YOU chuckle too, doesn’t it, even without hearing it sung in all earnest full-throated effort by over a hundred adults?
Realizing that my appreciation is increased by my ability to understand most of it and even (sort of) sing along with some, I remembered who taught me German back in college. Professors B. S. Stephenson (first year and 20th century literature) and M. K. Follo (romantic lit and semester abroad) are largely responsible for that elevation and that ability. Both men were learned and enthusiastic about music, too; the former mad for Wagner, the latter trying to get me into Bartok. Stephenson died just before I started seminary; Follo and I are still in touch.
I look back with gratitude on my undergraduate encounter with language, art, and music, thought and beauty, and my friendship with these two men is a kernel of the whole. I learned so much in those short but intense years, and because of what I learned then, I learned so much more over the ensuing four (gulp!) decades.
Just as the growth in knowledge and understanding did not end at graduation, neither did it begin with freshman year. My high-school Spanish teacher, Bill Sullivan, loved all languages and language itself. He also taught me some German, and was a friend. I remember my dad teaching me from his own school-day storehouse a list of German words for a project when I was in maybe sixth grade.
Not only that, but the Beethoven’s Ninth that I so treasure even now, the 1959 recording of the Berlin Phil with Ferenc Fricsay conducting and Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau the baritone soloist, I originally obtained (swiped?) from my mom and dad. That was an LP, now what I have is a digital file. I haven’t found a newer performance I can enjoy as much, but recently decided it is time to start looking again.
On the scale of knowledge and understanding, below vocation, there is avocation, then perhaps hobby. Below even those there is a level of awareness that is far from mastery but gives a foundation that is sufficient for delight and gives ground on which to stand and reach for more. Education need not obtain expertise to merit the effort and the expense. What I have learned – what I have been taught – about language, art, music, history, literature, and culture was not part of the training for my profession, but was my preparation for life. It makes my life better. All the associations, nuances, and relationships that it awakens in my mind and soul make for riches surpassing the dreams of avarice.
This is no boast, but rather an acknowledgment. What have you that you did not receive? If then you received it, why do you boast as if it were not a gift? (1 Cor 4:7b) To be able to appreciate and enjoy a masterwork of the millennium like The Ninth is the fruit of many, many gifts accepted and employed.
Finding new delight in an old recording on a dreadful February day is a gift. My rejoicing that grizzly morning was not simply that the Ninth exists, but also that I can find so much in a hearing of it that gives me joy and remember the people who made that possible. To remember with gratitude a song or a singer, a lesson or a teacher, a profound thought or an inside joke and the one who first shared it with you, is to reach out a strong hand and pull a worthy soul away from the consuming maw of the memory hole.
A chuckle on a gruesome February day is a gift in itself; thank God it is just one in a long and wondrous series, to be continued. FOR ALL THE WOORRRLLLD!
