Aber Jesus gab ihm keine Antwort

Last Wednesday, I went to a concert in the BOZAR, Bach’s Johannes-passion, conducted by Mr. Kuijken. As expected, it was pure, simple, beautiful. Only eight singers (I have a VonKarajanesque version on CD, it’s horror) The female cellist was wonderful (aren’t they always…) as she played her long and difficult part with true passion. She even got into trouble with the tension of the strings. Nevertheless, she managed to play the basso continuo er… continuously. At the end of the piece, she blushed when the audience gave her a warm applause. (a good artist is a humble one ?) The movement wherein Jesus died, Mr. Kuijken played the viola da gamba, the instrument of melancholy. I was moved.

It’s always nice to hear a good story once more.

Whilst listening, I remembered the days when I was a young servant during the catholic Mass held the village I grew up in. Attending the mass on Good Friday was always a “highlight”: a dark church, a capella singing, a morbid atmosphere, no bells to ring nor wine to serve. The old priest – a very literate and gentile man, I still hold him very high – telling us the tale of an innocent man being killed by the Resident Powers. Even when I was very young, I could feel that something terrible, something horrifying tragic had happened.

It’s a good story: betrayal, murder, friendship & love, a long spun verdict, a prophecy, special effects… Since I red The Master and Margarita (Mikhail Bulgakov), I feel sympathy for the Procurator, Pontius Pilatus. Of course, when promoted to the only religion-of-state in the Roman Empire, the Christian doctrine embellished the role of this harsh Roman a bit, but still.

“What is truth?”
That question must have been snarled with an undertone of bitterness.