J. S. Bach on PBS

The first music I ever heard in public was by Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750). I don’t remember the piece—in fact, I don’t remember anything from those days—but I know I heard it at St. John Lutheran Church, Salem, Oregon. The date was Sep 30, 1962. I was baptized on that Sunday. It was the first time I was "brought out in public," the first time I worshiped, and I was only a mere twenty days old at the time. Needless to say, my role in that service was entirely passive. On that day, the regular organist, Mr. Fischer, had selected a Bach prelude to begin the event. I later learned that he nearly always selected a Bach prelude to begin the service. I subsequently found out that on that occasion Mr. Fischer played Bach’s “Prelude in C” (BWV 547), fitting for the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels (Sep 29). That’s the first music I ever heard in public.

Growing up in that congregation, I heard a lot of Bach. Mr. Fischer routinely played the Eisenacher's  organ works, as did Mrs. Holsing, who rotated Sundays with Mr. Fischer. After Mr. Fischer’s death, my childhood friend, Beth Sorsdahl, alternated with Mrs. Holsing. (I remember being quite impressed that a teenage peer not only wanted to play Bach, but wanted to do so by learning the most difficult of all musical instruments, the one at which Bach himself excelled.)

Haussmann's famous portrait of Bach (1748)

In those youthful days, I didn’t know the significance of the name “Bach,” nor did I understand his music. (I still don't, at least not fully! Who does? There's always more depths to plumb than even multiple soundings provide.) Maybe because they were so complicated, I simply didn't pay close attention to the pieces of his that were played in the services at St. John. Back then, I was more into the Beatles and Led Zeppelin and KISS and eventually U2. But J. S. Bach was in the mix, too, nearly every Sunday throughout my childhood. I couldn’t avoid him. In fact, in retrospect, his music became a cantus firmus for my life, even if I didn’t always sense the tunes properly or appreciate them fully. He's become more important to me as I've grown older.

When I was a young boy, I served as an acolyte in my home congregation and sat behind Mr. Fischer’s organ bench. (The adults in the congregation called him “Bud,” but I only knew him as “Mr. Fischer.”) I still remember the wry smile on his face when he would turn around during the “sharing of the peace” and extend his hand to shake my own. I was always impressed by how he was able to translate what were for me the indecipherable black notes of his organ sheet music into the beautiful, soulful sounds that came from the pipes hidden behind the curtains on the walls above, on either side of chancel. I didn't know then just how well he was able to do that. I do now. Sunday was often mystical in that way, at least for me. (It helped that Mr. Fischer always wore a white organist's robe over his Sunday best. That gesture communicated something serious about the important task at hand.)

"Bud" Fischer at the organ; my dad is behind him (1960)

Bach resonated deeper in me in college, and still further in seminary. That resonance became even more profound and personal when I developed and taught a university course on Luther and Bach, during my stint as the director of Valpo’s study-abroad program in Germany. During those years, I took students to Eisenach (Bach’s birthplace), Erfurt (where for generations his family had been well-regarded as musicians), Weimar (where he served as court Kappelmeister), and finally to Leipzig, where he served as music director for more than two decades. Yes, we also visited the museums that are devoted to his life and work, and we traversed the venues where he lived and moved and had his being. But tell me, how can a Christian of the church of the Augsburg Confession not get teary-eyed while standing above Bach’s resting place in the chancel of the St. Thomas Church, Leipzig, receiving Holy Communion at the end of a Sunday service in the presence of “all the company of heaven”? Talk about a mystical experience!

While that Luther/Bach course continued to be taught in Reutlingen after my departure, sadly it has recently come to an end. So, I plan to teach it anew this next spring, on campus. (Maybe in the future I'll tie it to a spring-break trip to Germany.) So much has been written about Bach since 2010. I have a lot of catching up to do before January.

Tonight, I was encouraged in that endeavor after watching the PBS special, “Now Hear This: The Riddle of Bach,” hosted by Scott Yoo. What a great episode! (A few years back I was blessed to have participated in the Bach Institute at Valpo, organized by my friend and colleague, Chris Cock, and partially led by Dr. Christoff Wolff, who makes an important appearance in this evening's PBS show. Back then, the Institute was gearing up for a performance of Bach's St. John Passion. Another mystical experience!)

For details on the show, go here.

I told my wife the other day that if it is at all possible, I would be very grateful if Bach’s music were the last I were to hear in this earthly life. Talk about a stairway to heaven! (Or better: Talk about a foretaste of heaven on earth!)