Over the years, the way we read the Bible has changed. A hundred years ago, it was possible to buy a 'life of Christ' - a book giving an account of the life of Jesus with bits selected from each of the 4 gospels, put into an assumed chronological order. But now, we wouldn't dream of doing such a thing. Today's approach to Biblical study affirms the differences between the books of the Bible: differences of authorship, intended readership and context, as well as the agenda of those who compiled and edited them. And so, today, we will read an account in the Gospel of St Mark, and a rather different account in the Gospel of St Luke, without thinking that we have to try and harmonise the two.
In Handel's day, the Bible was rather more simply 'the Bible', and texts were often chosen to illuminate one another without our modern critical hang-ups. In today's recitative and aria, for instance, Charles Jennens, the librettist places words from Isaiah 60 immediately before words from Isaiah 9. For him, I suspect, Isaiah was Isaiah. For us, there are probably 3 Isaiahs, and we might have problems with this juxtaposition of texts. (A bit of 3rd Isaiah followed by a bit of 1st Isaiah.)
We also look at these words through particular liturgical spectacles - through our experience of them in worship. 'The people that walked in darkness' is for us a Christmas text - and we link it in our minds with the birth of Jesus - the light being born into the darkness. (Hence the choice of the opening of St John's Gospel as the second lesson this evening.) But we hear the words from Isaiah 60, with its reference to the coming of kings, as an Epiphany text - linking it in our minds with the visit of the Magi to the infant Jesus.
Whatever our background - whether it's as critical scholars of the Bible, or as worshippers in Church - we bring certain interpretative baggage to these words. We can become victims of our own scholarship. So I would suggest that we should visit the left luggage department if we are to enter fully into what Handel does with them.
CONTEXT
As Ally was saying last week, it's important to remind ourselves of the context of this Recitative and Aria within the oratorio as a whole. The Recitative follows on from the Aria and Chorus O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion and the Aria leads into the Chorus For unto us a child is born. In other words, in the grand scheme of things, they stand between the promises of the coming Messiah and his birth as the baby of Bethlehem. In fact they form part of the 'good tidings' that are told to Zion - the promise of light in the midst of darkness.
The Recitative
The recitative begins on a unison B with a slow semiquaver figure that spells uneasiness. Handel creates a powerfully dramatic backdrop to the entry of the singer.
We are already prepared to hear words which will unsettle us:
'For behold, darkness shall cover the earth,
and gross darkness the people.'
This opening figure is not peculiar to Handel. We hear it again and again in other music of the period. Those of you who know your Vivaldi might have recognised it as being quite similar to the opening of the slow movement of 'Spring' from 'The Four Seasons'.
Here, the figure is used to depict 'sleep' - the sleep of a goatherd, as it happens! (As you probably know, Vivaldi's Four Seasons concertos are all based around poems.)
Whilst being cautious about transferring meaning from one work to another, if this was indeed an accepted musical figure to depict slumber, then we can see more clearly what Handel is getting at. The 'gross darkness' which covers the people is the darkness of spiritual sleep to which the promise of the Messiah comes as a wake-up call.
And then after this wonderfully evocative music of 'gross darkness' the sun rises as Handel sets the words 'but the Lord shall arise upon thee'. There is a beautifully crafted rising legato vocal line to a high D and an effortless melisma on the word 'glory'. We can't create the whole effect here because it also relies on a change in the style of the string playing as the tonality shifts to D major and the music broadens out. But here's the passage again:
After the gloom of the opening this is light indeed. And as the listeners we might well be satisfied. But no, there's still more to come. Handel goes on to set what is actually the most theologically significant part of the text:
'and the Gentiles shall come to thy light,
and kings to the brightness of thy rising.'
The writer of these words in Isaiah has caught the vision of the universal nature of God's light - that it's not only for God's ancient people the Jews but for everyone. And so, for the first time in the work, it becomes clear that the promise of the Messiah is a promise to all people - whatever their race or background. Before this we've had references to the Temple, to the sons of Levi, and to Zion - all references to the Jews - but this is something quite new. And in case we miss it, Handel gives us a gentle prod by emphasising the word 'gentiles' with some poignant harmony.
The Aria
We move straight from the recitative into the aria, which is a wonderful example of word painting. To create the impression of people walking (or, should I say, stumbling about) in darkness, Handel gives us virtually no harmony - just a melody for the bass soloist which is doubled in unison by the orchestra. The melody itself is chromatic - slithering around by semitones and strange intervals - and so we're given a musical picture of someone blundering around without really much idea of where they're going. And in case the singer and players are tempted to smooth out the melody into nice even pairs of notes, Handel has written some quite extraordinary bowing marks into the violin parts, which add further to the feeling of lack of orientation.
And then in sharp contrast to the tortuous opening, when the words 'have seen a great light' are set, we plunge into the brightness of D major, with not as single accidental in sight. And, now and then, the accompaniment is allowed the odd snatch of harmony. The music works with the text to reinforce in us as we listen that it is only through the shining of God's light that we can find our direction.
But before long, we are plunged back into a minor key for the second half of the text:
'and they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death….'
The word 'death' is painted musically by an almost sepulchral pedal note before the bass soloists goes on to assure us that it is upon those living under the shadow of death that the light has shone.
But we end in the minor key (albeit with some harmony, in contrast to the opening unison.) Why? Surely, if we have affirmed the shining of God's light in darkness and the shadow of death we should have moved conclusively into the major. Well there is the matter of convention - and to begin an aria in one key and end it in another was not the norm (though of course, as Ally showed us last week, Handel does this elsewhere). But perhaps there is something else going on here.
Tonality - light and darkness
Both the Recitative and the Aria are in B minor and, although there are some wonderful D major passages where the sun breaks through the gloom, that minor tonality is around for most of the time. This, I believe, reveals Handel's profound understanding of the nature of God's light 'which shines in the darkness'. And it's an understanding which fits very closely with the view taken in the prologue to St John's Gospel.
The picture which the fourth Gospel gives us (as we heard in the 2nd lesson) is of light shining 'in the darkness' and which the darkness 'does not put out' - but equally the light does not eliminate the darkness. St John's prologue reaches its climax in those mind-blowing words: 'the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us'. God, chooses to live in human form, as light in the midst of the darkness of a world where people have lost their way. Handel's insistence on sticking to minor tonality through these two numbers seems to reflect this understanding of light and darkness. That although we hear snatches of the major key for the important words about light, they occur within the context of a minor key darkness.
For us it means that, whilst we continue to live in world where there is much that is dark - where things go wrong and where we can so easily lose our way - because of the incarnation - because God has taken human flesh in Jesus and shared that darkness - we can know his light to guide and illuminate in the middle of it all. It isn't that the darkness is done away with. It’s still very much there as we all know too well. Any version of Christianity which suggests that darkness is utterly banished in this world - that we should 'believe and all our problems will go away' is unbiblical and false. (And, I suspect, not true to our experience either.) What we are promised in Jesus is the presence of the leading of God's kindly light in the midst of what can seem to be an all-encircling gloom.
In Handel's Messiah, the listeners to this evening's recitative and aria are left in no doubt by what follows that it is in Jesus we can see and know that light: light for living, for God's ancient people and for us all.