A Music Lesson

The impact of a beautiful melody.

Photo by leah hetteberg on Unsplash

My first encounter with this particular sacred piece was in high school choir.

Mr. Murphy, my high school choir director, one of my English teachers, and my piano teacher for a few years, was a man with the ability to impress into impressionable, hormone riddled, easily distractible pre-adults, something deep, important, and lasting. Much of who I am musically and spiritually is thanks to him.

In addition to his kindness, encouragement, and high artistic and academic standards, he was able to connect with my soul through my ears in a way that would affect how I heard and thought about music from that time on. Somehow he planted little, initially dormant, seeds that would, over time, sprout into a botanical garden. The sounds, chords, and blending voices, all working together, I discovered, could express something passionate — even when sung in a foreign language no less. This was high school choir for me under a profoundly talented musician and really good man.

We first sang O Sacred Head Now Wounded in German. It was part of a large chorale piece composed by Johann Sebastian Bach entitled St. Matthew Passion. I don’t recall singing the entire oratorio. He just pulled this section out. The fact it was in German was actually a good thing because I was able to hear the sounds without the words being of any distraction. At that time, I didn’t know anything about the Bible and spent as little time as I possibly could in a church. I’m not sure this was part of Mr. Murphy’s plan to keep the English words a secret, but I wouldn’t put it past God. I guess my point in telling you this is that while a secular teenager, I heard what I still consider one of the most hauntingly beautiful melodies ever written, and much later when I heard this tune again, I was drawn to want to understand the words as deeply as I could. That’s still the case today.

One more story about Mr. Murphy’s impact on me. He was a crafty devout Catholic, so he would introduce sacred music like the Bach piece into the high school choir’s repertoire. But that wasn’t all. Every December in one evening he would have us go to a number of convalescent homes in town and sing to the patients and nursing staffs. We would start in some common room, like a dinning room, and the elderly that could walk or be wheeled in came to listen to our little mini-Christmas concert. Once we finished there, Mr. Murphy would have us go down all the halls singing carols to those who could not leave their beds. If you want to impact secular teenagers take them into a convalescent home to sing Christmas carols. As we passed each room we would see the faces, some with eyes closed asleep, some confused, but others with tears and smiles because we came to see them. They were touched. So we’re we. It was all a bit overwhelming— and exactly what was needed to peel away some of the selfishness of youth.

One last thing. This melody was not composed by Bach. He appropriated it. Listen carefully to see if you can hear the sounds of the monasteries of the Middle Ages. It’s almost Gregorian Chant-like. Another similar tune is one of the oldest carols we still sing — O Come, O Come, Emmanuel.

It’s in a minor key and its ending is unresolved. This adds to its haunting nature. You can’t just listen and walk away. It goes with you like a shawl rapping you in its warm and love. Thanks Mr. Murphy for sharing your passion to young people like me. You broadened my musical world beyond pop and rock and roll.

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O sacred Head, now wounded
With grief and shame weighed down
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns, Thine only crown
How pale thou art with anguish
With sore abuse and scorn
How does that visage languish
Which once was bright as morn

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered
T'was all for sinners' gain
Mine, mine was the transgression
But Thine the deadly pain
Lo, here I fall, my Savior
'Tis I deserve Thy place
Look on me with Thy favor
Vouchsafe to me Thy grace

What language shall I borrow
To thank Thee, dearest friend
For this Thy dying sorrow
Thy pity without end
O make me Thine forever
And should I fainting be
Lord, let me never, never
Outlive my love for Thee