When faced with such a senseless, horrible tragedy, we turn to music to help us find some peace, to help us heal, to help us move on.

A Requiem is a Roman Catholic mass said to pray for the soul of departed person. Today, Requiems are still said (and sung) in a liturgical setting; however, the beauty of the words and the human obsession with death have caused many composers to write their own Requiems, regardless of their faith (or lack thereof). Particularly famous Requiems include those by Mozart, Berlioz, Brahms, Faure, and Verdi – and ironically, none of these is known to have much, if any, faith. After those, there are a number of “underdog” requiems that are known by choirs, but not by orchestras. Among these is the Requiem by Maurice Duruflé.

This serenely beautiful work takes the melodies of the Gregorian Chant Requiem and dresses them up with lavish accompaniment by organ and orchestra. The result is a work that expresses the sorrow we feel when a loved one dies, but also a sincere hope in an afterlife. Unlike the more famous Requiems I mentioned earlier, Duruflé’s does not paint a terrifying picture of the end of time, with God as a cruel judge; instead, we are left with a calm, peaceful vision of heaven, where tragedies might be finally explained.

Whenever you see Olivier Messiaen‘s name in a program, be it a sacred or secular event, his deep Catholic faith will be mentioned. What sets him apart from other religious composers is his mystical approach to writing. It’s common for composers (regardless of their beliefs) to set religious texts to music, or perhaps write dramatic music for a particular religious event. Messiaen, on the other hand, eschewed the traditional texts and instead tried to capture the essence of God in the music he wrote. The result is some truly astounding compositions that sound other-worldly, and, ironically, can’t be used in worship services because many people can’t (or are unwilling to) wrap their brains around them. Those who love Messiaen’s music find a powerful, intense river of joy, often lying beneath a calm, serene texture.

And so, today, on the Feast of Corpus Christi, I give you Messiaen’s only choral motet that is functional in a worship setting: O Sacrum Convivium. Though a traditional Eucharistic text, Messiaen’s music goes way beyond a setting of words – the low, misty beginning, the burning passion that builds the piece, the climatic high point, the serene settling. If you’re only going to write one choral piece, this is the way to do it.

“What is this? Now there is something one can learn from!” That’s a huge compliment, especially as it was uttered by the arrogant Mozart when he heard the music of J. S. Bach.

The six motets of Johann Sebastian Bach are beautiful beyond measure, perfectly composed, and fiendishly difficult to sing. “Der Geist hilf unser Schwachheit auf” (The Spirit gives aid to our weakness) was composed for a funeral, but the text is equally perfect for the Christian day of Pentecost – the day the Holy Spirit descended upon the disciples and the birthday of the Church. The piece begins with the double-chorus singing back and forth to each other, like the biblical “rush of wind” that occurred on the first Pentecost. A fugue follows, as a sort of response to the fiery opening section – listen for the constant hissing of different s’s, again, giving the effect of rushing wind, or perhaps speaking in tongues. The motet closes with a sweet setting of a hymn which Martin Luther wrote for Pentecost, and would have been well known by any 18th century German Protestant.

0:00 – double-chorus singing in dialogue
The Spirit gives aid to our weakness, for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; but the Spirit itself makes intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.