The following was a reflection from the Bach Vespers service at St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Terrace Park, Ohio, on February 5, 2023.
Experienced blue-water sailors will tell you that the first few days away from land are the most difficult. Time on land can take away the sea legs of even the most veteran sailor. Adjusting to life on a constantly shifting surface, in a home that is small and cramped, with the truly unpleasant possibility of seasickness can drive just about anyone back to shore. “A ship in a harbor is safe,” you may have heard, “but that is not what ships were built for.”
Usually, though, after a few days, a sailor adjusts to life on the ocean. The daily routine is settled and is centered around the boat, the weather, and the crew. Nothing else matters. The winds may increase, and adjustments are made. The routing may have to change, and it does so with careful consideration of those three essentials: boat, weather, and crew. The sailor might encounter surprises: good ones, like a pod of dolphins dancing in front of the bow, or a bird who uses the boat as a resting place before setting off into the sky. There might be bad ones, as well: a surprise squall, a rare rogue wave, or a late-night encounter with a giant tanker. For all of these, the good sailor is equipped and responds. And despite these risks, many open-water sailors will swear that the middle of nowhere, at sea, is still the best place to be.
When Bach paints a sea-picture in his music, he is painting the centuries of fables, myths, and history of the ocean handed down by previous generations.
It is highly unlikely that Bach ever sailed. The only time that he might have even seen the ocean was during his three months in Lübeck, where he famously walked to hear the Baroque master Dietrich Buxtehude play. So, it is logical to assume that any allusions Bach makes to the sea are not based on real-world experience. The sea, to Bach, was more like a fable, as the South Pole might be to you and me today. We can imagine it, based on readings and photographs, but we likely haven’t felt the cold blowing off South Georgia Island. When Bach paints a sea-picture in his music, he is painting the centuries of fables, myths, and history of the ocean handed down by previous generations.
But fables and myths can have their truth. The origin of Bach’s cantata Ich hab in Gottes Herz und Sinn (BWV 92) is notable for a few reasons. It was written in January 1725, in the middle of his chorale cantata cycle. For a full church year, he based every cantata on a German hymn, most likely in celebration of the bicentennial of the first Lutheran hymnal published in 1524. Cantata 92 was also unusual because he based it off the same chorale he had used the previous week. Either he especially liked this tune, or he felt he had unfinished business with it.
But most interesting is his complete ignoring of the lectionary readings for the week. There is no reference in the cantata to either the epistle or the gospel for that feast day. Instead, Bach based the cantata on a single line of text from the chorale, and three lines of response from an unknown poet:
Even if he tosses me into the sea,
The Lord still lives upon the high seas,
he has shared my life with me,
therefore I will not be drowned in them.
From this, a cantata was born.
If you listen to this cantata, you may detect the feel of the ocean in this music. There is a sea journey hidden here. The opening chorus depicts the setting out to sea, with a gentle bobbing of a boat under unsettled clouds. The tenor and bass arias are the storms at sea, relentless and overpowering, with the word-painting of lightning and rain in the instruments. Twice Bach inserts an unusual form: a recitative and chorale
It is a surreal vision inside a vivid story.
in the same movement. The shifting back and forth between these two can sound abrupt and unsteady, like an unstable boat through rough seas. The final soprano aria is an anomaly. Like nothing else in the cantata, it is a patch of peace in the midst of fright. I imagine that the sailor has been cast from the boat during a storm and has ended up alive, and on a peaceful bit of grass near the shore, waking to find sheep gently grazing, with a shepherd keeping watch nearby. It is a surreal vision inside a vivid story.
You may listen and see something else. In any case, this remains a remarkable example of Bach’s storytelling and picture painting through music. Like life on the sea, and like a shadow of our lives, it is uneasy, unpredictable, and beautiful.