During my master's degree, I took a wonderful class on music theory, rhythm, and meter that shaped much of how I view the work of music theory. Incidentally, that semester also shaped much broader ways in which I view the world – it was at that time that I was first encountering Side B theology and also began to hear the word "neoliberalism" for the first time in discussions around contemporary musicology. During this time, CRT was being endlessly demonized by conservative (often Christian-identifying) voices in the media, and a scandal in music theory began to emerge when conservative theorists attempted to demonize Dr. Philip Ewell – a respected Black scholar who challenged the field to confront its history of white supremacy.
The other thing that happened during this semester was that my rhythm & meter class included a fairly non-standard final project: we would apply our theoretical knowledge by collaborating with incarcerated individuals at Lee Correctional Facility in South Carolina. Together, we would compose and then premiere an hour-long performance inside the prison, loosely following the spirit of Leonard Bernstein's MASS as inspiration.
As a lead-up to this project, we spent two class sessions learning about the history of slavery, segregation, white supremacy, police brutality, for-profit prisons, the school-to-prison-pipeline, and mass incarceration in America (and particularly in South Carolina).
Our instructor tirelessly negotiated any number of difficulties in making this project happen – the hostile and dehumanizing nature of the prison made it difficult to send materials to the residents. They needed guitars, staff paper, music books, recordings, a CD player, and other items to help facilitate their work and performance. We had to collaborate with our colleagues remotely via a secure video feed at specified times, but often the feed was interrupted for higher-priority legal proceedings, or the facility capriciously decided to refuse the meeting time to the residents for one reason or another. On the day of the performance, our entire class of 20-odd students (and our instructor) arrived early, spending the better part of an hour passing through security and getting set up for our first and only rehearsal with our fellow musicians before that afternoon's performance.
In spite of it all, our incarcerated colleagues were patient with the process and excited to meet with us and give a performance that afternoon. They wrote music of unparalleled immediacy and sincerity. They performed holy music.
The lead-up to this project was the context in which I first really spent time with Bernstein's MASS. While the occasion for the premiere of that work could not have been more different from our collaborative project at Lee – the piece was commissioned for the opening of the Kennedy Center – the work's themes and socio-spiritual urgency resonated with the new piece that we were performing. MASS is Bernstein's response to the sweeping changes of the mid-20th century. The work reflects the turmoil of the 60's (desegregation, the Vietnam War, the Civil Rights Movement, religious and existential doubt in the aftermath of WWII, etc.).
The work is based off of the structure of the Tridentine mass and calls for extremely large forces – soloists, orchestra, "formal" choir, boy's choir, "street singers," rock and marching bands, etc. MASS focuses on the interactions of these different groups of people (representing broad swathes of the American populace – believers and non-believers alike) as they respond to the service. The doubts, anger, and grief of these various factions rises over the course of the work – turning the work into an emotional exploration of theodicy and social injustice – until the "congregation" interrupts the primary soloist (the Celebrant) during the elevation of the host at communion.
After a brief "mad scene" involving the Celebrant (this is a common trope of tragic opera where the main character's grief drives them towards a mental break), the remainder of the work involves "picking up the pieces" after faith is lost, damaged, or broken.
While Bernstein was no paragon of faith or moral behavior and parts of MASS are of uneven quality, the work as a whole powerfully elucidates some of the most painful aspects of the faith experience and serves as a balm or catharsis for the present day's turmoils. In the rest of this essay, I will examine a number of instances from MASS that speak particularly clearly for today's social and religious landscape. (I've included some excerpts from a particularly good recording with Jubilant Sykes effortlessly filling the demanding role of the Celebrant).
Trope: "Thank You"
I'll start with the aching solo "Thank You", sung by a nondescript member of the congregation:
"There once were days so bright,
and nights when ev’ry cricket call seemed right,
And I sang Gloria,
then I sang Gratias Deo.
I knew a glorious feeling of thank you
and … thank you. …
The bend of a willow,
a friend and a pillow,
a lover whose eyes
could mirror my cries of Gloria …
And now, it’s strange,
somehow, though nothing much has really changed,
I miss the Gloria,
I don’t sing Gratias Deo.
I can’t say quite when it happened,
but gone is the … thank you …"
This small aria is striking for its simplicity and directness – without any context, the congregant sings "There once were days … and I sang Gloria", situating a transcendent experience of nearness to God and gratitude for His work in an inaccessible past. Unlike later passages in MASS, this aria focuses on small, quiet experiences of the loss of faith and the confusion that comes with not knowing how such a change could have happened. I think it resonates for many at the start of a process of "deconstruction" who are perhaps not yet even aware of what it is that is "wrong" but who can nevertheless sense that their faith is not as it once was. This doesn't preclude its resonance for those who have had much sharper "breaks" in their experience of faith – the ache for a simpler, more innocent experience of the transcendent is just as present.
Epistle: "The Word of the Lord"
I have reflected on this number from MASS elsewhere, but there is more of this passage to examine in the context of the broader drama of the work.
This movement situates several "lessons" which are spoken by members of the congregation among a short homily sung by the Celebrant.
Celebrant
Dear Brothers: This is the gospel I preach; and in its service I have suffered hardship like a criminal; yea, even unto imprisonment; but there is no imprisoning the word of God …
A Young Man
Dearly Beloved: Do not be surprised if the world hates you. We who love our brothers have crossed over to life, but they who do not love, abide in death. Everyone who hates his brother is a murderer.
Another Young Man
Dear Mom and Dad: Do not feel badly or worry about me. Nothing will make me change. Try to understand: I am now a man.
Celebrant
You can lock up the bold men,
go and lock up your bold men and hold men in tow,
you can stifle all adventure for a century or so.
Smother hope before it’s risen,
watch it wizen like a gourd,
but you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.
Celebrant and Street Chorus
No, you cannot imprison the Word of the Lord.
Celebrant
For the Word was at the birth of the beginning,
it made the heavens and the earth and set them spinning,
and for several million
years it’s endured all our forums and fine ideas.
It’s been rough but it appears to be winning!
There are people who doubt it and shout it out loud,
oh they bellow and they bluster
’til they muster up a crowd.
They can fashion a rebuttal that’s as subtle as a sword,
but they’re never gonna scuttle the Word of the Lord.
Celebrant and Street Chorus
No, they’re never gonna scuttle the Word of the Lord!
An Older Man
Dear Brothers: I think that God has made us apostles the most abject of mankind. We hunger and thirst, we are naked, we are roughly handled, and we have no fixed abode. They curse us and we bless. They persecute us and we suffer it. … They treat us as the scum of the earth, the dregs of humanity, to this very day.
A Young Girl
Dear Folks: Jim looked very well on my first visit. With his head clean-shaven, he looked about nineteen years old. He says the prison food is very good. For the first few days he is not allowed any books except his Bible. When I hugged him he smelled so good, a smell of plain clean soap; he smelled like a child when you put him to bed.
Celebrant
All you big men of merit who ferret out flaws,
you rely on our compliance
with your science and your laws.
Find a freedom to demolish while you polish some award,
But you cannot abolish the Word of the Lord.
Celebrant and Street Chorus
No, you cannot abolish the Word of the Lord.
Celebrant
For the Word created mud and got it going,
it filled our empty brains with blood and set it flowing,
and for thousands of regimes it’s endured all our follies and fancy schemes.
It’s been tough, and yet it seems to be growing!
O you people of power, your hour is now.
You may plan to rule forever, but you never do somehow!
So we wait in silent treason until reason is restored,
and we wait for the season of the Word of the Lord.
We await the season of the Word of the Lord.
We wait, we wait for the Word of the Lord. …
| In a MASS Interview.pdf | program note entitled MASS, Civil Disobedience, and Father Daniel Berrigan, Nina Bernstein Simmons (Leonard Bernstein's youngest daughter) describes this portion of the work, and its Leftist spirit of protest against the senseless violence of the Vietnam War as well as its setting of the perspectives of conscientious objectors. (I should note that Bernstein was placed on an FBI watch list for the work's anti-war convictions). |
In the same program note, Nina Bernstein Simmons also mentions that the melody for this portion of the work originates in a Chilean folksong that her mother – Felicia Montealegre – was particularly fond of. This connection calls to mind the use of the protest song ¡El pueblo unido jamás será vencido!* in Frederick Rzewski's The People United Will Never Be Defeated! , another particularly timely work and a cornerstone of the contemporary piano repertoire.
In light of all of these extra-musical connections, it is clear that Bernstein is constructing a particularly urgent, pointed sort of proclamation of the Word of the Lord – one that accents those passages of the Torah and the New Testament which Bernstein would have viewed as naturally resonant with his social convictions – God's preferential treatment for the poor; the injunctions to care for the sojourner, the widow, and the orphan; the vision of the Kingdom of God in which swords are fashioned into plowshares, captives are set free, and all people are dignified before the powerful holiness of the Almighty.
"The grass withers; the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever."
– Isaiah 40:8 (NRSVUE)
In situating this homily in the middle of MASS, Bernstein confronts the institutional audience at the opening gala for the Kennedy Center, telling the gathered senators, jurors, political insiders, and policy makers (these "big men of merit"):
"You cannot imprison the Word of the Lord…
You're never gonna scuttle the Word of the Lord…
You cannot abolish the Word of the Lord…
O you people of power, your hour is now.
You may plan to rule forever, but you never do somehow!
So we wait in silent treason until reason is restored,
and we wait for the season of the Word of the Lord."
For all its significance to the political landscape of the 60's, I view this passage of MASS as finding even greater purchase in the aftermath of the "Moral Majority" and neoliberal policies – the most striking calcification of reactionary politics, Evangelical legalism, money, greed, and lust for power in contemporary American history.
In first encountering MASS without knowing all of the history and significance of the work, I heard the third spoken text of this movement in a very different way – when approached from the right angle, it reads not as a confession from a conscientious objector but as a coming out:
Another Young Man
Dear Mom and Dad: Do not feel badly or worry about me. Nothing will make me change. Try to understand: I am now a man.
In light of Bernstein's widely acknowledged bisexuality, it seems plausible that this passage can be read in such a polyvalent manner – some editions or recordings include the ambivalent text above, and others read "Nothing will make me change my mind," giving greater weight to the reading of the speaker as one evading the draft on moral grounds.
In either case, it is clear that Bernstein is intentionally bringing the margins of 60's counter-culture to the fore in his setting of the liturgy of the mass in a way that feels vital today.
Gospel-Sermon: “God Said”
The Word of the Lord is followed immediately (is almost interrupted) by the raucous number "God Said" – a biting, acerbic satire that spotlights the wide array of mis-readings and perversions of scripture which reactionary, institutional Christianity has historically embraced.
The number begins with an initially-benign recitation of the creation narrative, with a street preacher (not the Celebrant) singing in call-and-response with the congregation.
When the text arrives at the refrain "and it was good," familiar from the narrative in Genesis 1 and 2, we find a wrinkle of profanity that has infected the sermon:
"And it was good, brother
And it was good, brother
And it was good, brother
And it was god-damn good."
As the number continues, the street preacher patently celebrates blasphemy, reveling in the powerful stealing from the poor, the desecration of nature through the extinction of species, the forceful proselytization of subjugated societies, the imposition of legalistic moral teaching on non-believers, the "nominal" spiritual practices of haughty church-goers, and the use of Scripture to justify an celebrate violence. At the end of this number, the congregation and street preacher gleefully sing:
"God made us the boss.
God gave us the cross.
We turned it into a sword
to spread the Word of the Lord.
We use His holy decrees
to do whatever we please.
Yeah!
And it was good! Yeah!
And it was good! Yeah!
And it was god-dam good!"
By the last line, the orchestra has grown to a cacophonous roar and the sopranos in the street chorus are practically shrieking their ecstatic enthusiasm.
Bernstein vividly portrays what I have come to feel is the Evangelical death-drive of Dispensational Theology. The world is destined to be consumed in fire and we, the true believers are promised to have an escape route, so we don't need to bother too much about how we interact with creation or with non-believers. Either you believe and are saved or you don't and are damned. As for us, things are god-damned good.
Now, of course, this is not a view or belief explicitly held by most in the orbit of American Evangelicalism – I grew up in what tried to be a loving and edifying Christian community of people who took the Word of God seriously. That being said, it is hard for an Evangelical viewpoint in the years after the rise of the "Moral Majority" not to fall captive to the many allures of power and influence that the American empire offers to it.
The place where I find the Word of the Lord to God Said sequence most powerful, however, is in thinking about contemporary discourse around deconstruction. Though this was almost certainly not terminology that Bernstein would have known about or recognized during the composition of MASS, I think that much of what the work engages is now familiar to us in the guise of contemporary conversations around deconstruction, "ex-vangelicals," and the hand-wringing in conservative spaces over those young believers who have been leaving reactionary Christian communities in greater and greater numbers.
The utility of Bernstein's perspective is one of chronology – in this two-movement sequence, Bernstein clearly positions the orthodoxy of the Torah first – outlining the extreme sacrificial and empire-ending ethic of scripture in The Word of the Lord to set the stage for what follows in God Said.
In this way, when the street preacher arrives next with his angry, raucous, and disaffected congregation, we are primed to view this ethical confrontation in a proper context – the celebration and institutionalization of power and domination in Christian communities is the deconstruction of the Gospel. This is by no means a new or original observation that I am making, but I think it is valuable to emphasize how in adopting the use of deconstruction from the history of French thought and Continental Philosophy, we are perhaps failing to exhort the American church for it's willing, enthusiastic, and morally degenerate deconstruction which has taken place now for decades with the willing participation of its leadership.
In my own life, this framing has been particularly liberatory – it helps me to make sense of a phenomenon for which I and my peers are consistently (and viciously) blamed. Christians like myself who hold to the radical ethics of Scripture cannot rightfully be accused of a violent "deconstruction" in light of the context of the misdeeds and mis-teaching of the contemporary Evangelical church in America.
Last modified: 11-23-2024