David M. Gordon Mysteria Fidei innova 049 726708604929 1. Fader, stilla våra andar (2002), 6:02 for soprano and piano 2. Consolation New (2018), 13:56 for one pianist playing two microtonally-tuned pianos Mysteria Incarnationis (2015), 38:55 for soprano, violin, and prepared piano 3. Shbih hakimo, 4:19 4. Man hi tamrah, 7:26 5. Manu yab lo (Lullaby 1), 10:11 6. Manu mtse dnimar, 4:15 7. Lo aten ber (Lullaby 2), 7:00 8. Brikh hu dlo sokh destayakh, 5:44 Far Song Kayleen Sánchez – soprano, toy piano, button gongs, vibra-tone, glass globe Paul Sánchez – pianos, harmonica, wine glass Eka Gogichashvili – violin, autoharp Total: 58:55 Concerning Mysteria Fidei The original concept for this album was fairly simple: it was to be a collection of sacred chamber works written for, and/or championed by, the soprano and piano duo Far Song. As the project gradually unfolded, however, deeper connections between its constituent compositions revealed themselves. To begin with, all of the works on this recording are based—to one degree or another—on pre-existing Christian hymns. The first two pieces deconstruct extant Protestant congregational songs, while the third sets various hymn texts by fourth-century poet and theologian Ephrem the Syrian. Although this emphasis on Christian hymnody was not premeditated, it serves as an important unifying element throughout the album. Even more significant, though, are the closely-related sentiments expressed in these sacred songs. All of them voice a desire for a more expansive, divinely-illuminated perspective in the face of perplexity, pain, or discontentment. What each of these hymn writers yearned to grasp are “mysteries of faith”—realities far beyond the scope of human understanding or attainment. Be they famously abstruse Christian doctrines (such as the incarnation) or the more commonplace concerns that people of faith have wrestled with for millennia (such as the achievement of peace within hardship), these mysteries stubbornly defy finite logic and ability. Only God, who is limitless in knowledge and power, can divulge them. In the end, then, this is an album about searching amidst life’s many difficulties—searching for understanding, searching for rescue, searching for hope, searching for fulfillment, searching for joy, searching for God. Concerning Fader, stilla våra andar Fader, stilla våra andar, for soprano and piano, was written in memory of my grandfather, Gilbert Earnest, and is loosely based on a hymn written by his father, Frank Earnest. Although the text of the hymn was originally composed in English, I chose to set it in Swedish, the language used in Frank Earnest’s few other remaining vocal works. The opening melody and harmonic progression of the hymn served as points of departure for Fader, stilla våra andar, which fragments and restructures those basic building blocks in a variety of ways. The text itself had particular relevance at the time of this piece’s writing, since I was still grieving the death of my grandfather. As a prayer, it elegantly expressed my need for God’s comfort in a time of loss. In even deeper terms, however, it served as a reminder that both my grandfather and great-grandfather were—and still are—tangibly experiencing the transcendent peace and exultation that can only be found in the glorious presence of Christ. Fader, stilla våra andar is lovingly dedicated to my wife, Valerie, who has encouraged and upheld me for over two decades. Text and Translation fader, stilla våra andar när dagen ändes; låt stillheten från högre nejder lugna den strävande mänsklighetens lidande. låt himmelens vidder lyfta våra tankar till högre sfårer; låt hetsen efter ägodelar bli ädel strävan. amen. father, give a tranquil spirit as the day comes to its ending; let the peace of higher places still the woes of striving mankind. let the vastness of the heavens give our thoughts a loftier setting; let the fever of possession pass in nobler aspiration. amen. —Eric G. Hawkinson Concerning Consolation New Consolation New derives most of its material, as well as its title, from a nineteenth-century shape-note hymn. The first published version of the hymn, which contained only tenor and bass parts, appeared in John Wyeth’s 1813 Repository of Sacred Music, Part Second under the name Consolation. It was subsequently included in several other tune books, though typically with a third voice added and the title amended to Consolation New in order to distinguish it from another, more famous hymn bearing the name Consolation. Perhaps the best-known arrangement of Consolation New, and the one from which I drew, is found in William Walker’s 1835 Southern Harmony & Musical Companion. Like all other versions of the hymn, Walker’s sets a short text from Charles Wesley’s 1749 Hymns and Sacred Poems, which reads as follows: come on, my partners in distress, my comrades through the wilderness, who still your bodies feel; awhile forget your griefs and fears, and look beyond this vale of tears, to that celestial hill. My own reimagining of Consolation New is scored for a single pianist simultaneously playing two pianos—a normal grand piano and a microtonally-tuned upright piano. The upright is tuned a quarter-tone lower than the grand piano, and one of the strings for each of its multi-stringed keys is then lowered an additional 40 cents. As a result, the upright piano produces an intense, dissonant shimmer whether played by itself or alongside the grand piano. In keeping with the topic of its unvoiced text, Consolation New is a meditation on suffering and the nearly universal desire for liberation from it. I myself entered into a prolonged period of difficulty soon after the work's completion, so it has come to feel oddly prophetic ex post facto. Inspired by the mystical symbolism of Russian composer Sofia Gubaidulina, I have employed the microtonally-tuned upright piano as an emblem of the pain and malevolence endemic to God’s fallen creation—a pale, disfigured shadow of reality as it was originally intended. Although the grand piano represents life in its ideal state, that instrument is rarely heard by itself, just as good and evil are inextricably intertwined in the dysfunctional world we inhabit. Indeed, the microtonal “shadow world” of the upright piano exhibits its own kind of aberrant beauty, since darkness has a special allure to corrupt humankind. (Despite the way it may appear, this is not intended to be a statement on the aesthetic superiority of standard equal temperament. On the contrary, I personally find alternative tunings far more interesting than our usual one. My figurative use of conventional and unconventional tunings as respective tokens of peace and distress is merely a recognition that, to many listeners, microtonal tunings sound abnormal, if not altogether wrong.) Like life’s tumultuous journey, the musical narrative of Consolation New is unpredictable. Periods of seeming repose are repeatedly disrupted by surges of anguish and aggression. All the while, material from the original hymn is contorted into various peculiar shapes. Resolution is only achieved when the imagined protagonist’s delicate heartbeat slows to a halt, for it is then that he or she is finally able to see “beyond this vale of tears, to that celestial hill,” where—as the author of Revelation writes—God will “wipe every tear from your eyes” and “there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” Consolation New was written for the prodigiously gifted pianist Paul Sánchez, who has championed my music far beyond any scenario that I could have rationally anticipated. Concerning Mysteria Incarnationis One of Christianity’s most distinctive claims is that God, the creator and sustainer of all things, became a human being and lived on earth for over thirty years. This divine man, Jesus Christ, was not simply human in appearance, but took on all the essential qualities—the very nature—of humankind. As the author of Hebrews states, Christ “had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people." The gospels attest to the fact that Jesus faced all of the limitations and difficulties that we associate with humanity. He experienced exhaustion, hunger, thirst, sorrow, frustration, uncertainty, anxiety, and temptation to sin. Although he was often privy to insights unavailable to other humans, he had finite knowledge and thus needed to acquire information through questioning and discovery. Moreover, Christ did not enter the world as an adult, with fanfare, riches, or authority, but as a fragile infant who needed, like all children, to grow “in wisdom and in stature." He was born to a young girl in unsanitary conditions and raised in poverty by normal human parents, all in a time and place where life expectancy was low, living conditions were poor, and technology was relatively primitive. Yet despite the seeming ordinariness of his human characteristics and historical circumstances, Christ retained all the attributes of deity. According to the Apostle Paul, Jesus “is the image of the invisible God.... For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell." The letter to the Hebrews further asserts that Christ “is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power." While on earth, Jesus revealed himself to be far more than a typical human being by performing supernatural healings, casting out evil spirits, exercising control over the forces of nature, forgiving sins, claiming to be the source of eternal salvation, and referring to himself as “I am," a designation reserved for God alone. Indeed, his resurrection from the dead, which is often cited as the definitive evidence of his divinity, served merely as a confirmation of the unique status that he had already divulged through his words and miracles. For the reasons cited above, Christian orthodoxy has consistently maintained that Jesus Christ is both fully God and fully man. In the more technical language of the Chalcedonian Creed, Christ is “perfect in deity and perfect in humanity, truly God and truly man, of a rational soul and body, consubstantial with the Father according to his deity, consubstantial with us according to his humanity, like us in all respects, apart from sin... one and the same Christ, Son, Lord, Only-begotten, to be acknowledged in two natures without confusion or change, without division or separation, the difference of the natures being by no means removed by the union, but rather the property of each nature being preserved and concurring in one person and one subsistence, not parted or divided into two persons, but one and the same Son and Only-begotten, God the Word, the Lord Jesus Christ." Even though this doctrine is considered a cornerstone of the Christian faith, its logical implications have served as a source of perplexity and contention for nearly two millennia. As it stands, the doctrine of the incarnation seems to entail a rather substantial contradiction, since—by most definitions—the concepts of divinity and humanity are logically incompatible. God is traditionally described as omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent, incorporeal, and sinless, whereas human beings are known to be limited in power and knowledge, confined to specific spatial locations, clothed in physical bodies, and prone to sin. The authors of the Chalcedonian Creed may not have felt the need to speculate about how such extreme qualitative differences could be reconciled within a single person, but the same cannot be said of many other Christians. Professional and lay theologians have made numerous attempts to provide a rational explanation for Christ’s dual nature, with varying degrees of success. In the end, most have been forced to concede that this doctrine entails an element of mystery that transcends human comprehension. Regardless of how sophisticated or compelling any given explanation may be, a certain amount of paradox always remains. And then there are the more concrete—but no less intriguing—questions raised by the biblical portrait of Jesus as God-man. Was he fully cognizant of his divinity from birth, or was it revealed to him gradually? Was Jesus actually capable of sinning? How well did his parents understand his unique makeup, and how did their understanding impact their ability to relate to him? Were Jesus’ supernatural abilities and knowledge fully—or even partially—at his disposal while he lived on earth, or was access to them granted by his Father only under special circumstances? For much of my life, my position on the incarnation was fairly unreflective. I was content to accept the bare facts expressed by the Chalcedonian Formulation without further pondering their ramifications. Speaking about the council that penned that historic statement, Irish theologian Alister McGrath explains that “it merely restated a crucially important insight—it didn’t explain it, or lay down some specific way of making sense of it.... So long as Jesus was recognized as being both God and man, all was well." I had taken a similar view of the incarnation, aware that the doctrine involved an apparent contradiction, yet undaunted. It was only in my late thirties that I began to give this critical truth more careful thought. Although I am still comfortable with the notion that human intelligence is insufficient to unravel the incarnation’s mysteries and hence do not feel the need to resolutely adopt a theological response to its philosophical challenges, I have found that contemplating its puzzling intricacies provides fresh perspectives on God’s divine qualities and deeds. Mysteria Incarnationis (“Mysteries of the Incarnation”), for soprano, violin, and prepared piano, is designed to stimulate both personal and corporate contemplation of the issues outlined above. My goal is to provide a space in which listeners and performers must confront their own beliefs about the meaning and relevance of orthodox teachings on the incarnation. The work’s theological musings assume a broadly Chalcedonian framework, but do not impose any particular interpretation upon it. Put somewhat differently, Mysteria Incarnationis is mainly concerned with questions about the incarnation, not answers. It revels in the ostensible paradoxes of Christ’s dual nature, especially as they are displayed within the nativity narrative, and uses them as a catalyst for worship. The ancient Latin term “Mysteria” is thus used here in the ecclesiastical sense of “a religious truth known or understood only by divine revelation; especially a doctrine of faith involving difficulties which human reason is incapable of solving." By directly engaging with these complex doctrines, audience members and performers will hopefully be led to a fuller appreciation of God’s immense power, wisdom, humility, and sacrificial love. I also aim to defamiliarize the incarnation by clothing the nativity story in unfamiliar poetic and musical garb. As I have discovered firsthand, the strong associations between Christmas—especially in its more sentimental manifestations—and the incarnation can easily deaden the latter’s intellectual and emotional impact. Rather than calling to mind God’s boundless grace, unfathomable wisdom, and passionate, self-abasing commitment to the human race, it often conjures images of a handsome baby boy peacefully slumbering in a quaint manger as his parents look on adoringly. These impressions are not wholly inappropriate, of course, since they find their origins in the Bible’s own account of Christ’s birth, but they often draw one’s attention away from the fact that the incarnation was an unprecedented act of divine sacrifice. God, the source of all reality, became a helpless infant, unable to see clearly, control his limbs, regulate his bodily functions, or even lift his head. The Perfect, Eternal, All-Knowing, All-Powerful One needed to be cared for and instructed by his own wayward creations, all so that those creations could be redeemed from their transgressions and restored to a right relationship with their maker. This is a picture of a rather different sort—one which elicits a profound sense of gratitude, awe, and even sorrow. It is this alternate vision of the incarnation that I hope to evoke. Mysteria Incarnationis is a cycle of six interconnected songs using texts by fourth-century poet, composer, and theologian Ephrem the Syrian (ca. 306–73). The texts are taken from Ephrem’s Hymns on the Nativity, a series of extended poetic meditations on the wonders and enigmas of Christ’s incarnation. Many of these hymns—which Ephrem himself referred to as lullabies—were likely composed for liturgical use on the Feast of Christ’s Birth and Manifestation to the World. Although they were originally set to music, and perhaps even sung by female choirs, their melodies have long since been lost. Ephrem often employed paradox as a literary device in his poems, and that is nowhere more apparent than in his Hymns on the Nativity, which repeatedly highlight the paradoxes inherent in Christ’s dual nature and relationship to mankind. These are profoundly beautiful and thought-provoking works, emphasizing the incarnation’s assorted mysteries through a rich array of biblical allusions, religious symbols, metaphors, and aporias. Accordingly, one of my top priorities in setting them to music was to let them speak for themselves. Though my music is meant to heighten the hymns’ emotional thrust and amplify their theological assertions, it is in no way intended to serve a hermeneutic function. Like all of Ephrem’s writings, his Hymns on the Nativity were composed in Syriac, a dialect of the Aramaic language that Jesus himself spoke. Syriac is rarely used in Western art music and is quite far removed—both in its sound system and grammar—from the Romance and Germanic languages in which Western classical singers are normally trained. Nevertheless, I resolved to set Ephrem’s poetry in its original language so as to preserve its distinctive sounds, rhythms, and historical associations. The unfamiliarity of Syriac, at least to most listeners, also helps to place the subject matter in a foreign context. The first song in Mysteria Incarnationis—“Shbih hakimo”—sets a single stanza from Hymn No. 8. In that short excerpt, Ephrem praises God for the wisdom he displayed in uniting human and divine natures within the person of Jesus Christ. He vividly compares God to a painter who mixes pigments in order to bring about a new color. Given that this text describes the incarnation abstractly, divorced from the concrete historical narrative of Jesus’ life, I thought it best to set it as a chant, albeit of a rather rarefied sort. I ordinarily associate chant with the proclamation of divine truths, since it has served as a medium for sacred teachings and devotions for over 2,000 years, and so it seemed a natural complement to these particular lines. The melody makes extensive use of quarter-tones, however, which lend it a strangely alien quality that is meant to suggest the “otherness" of God’s ways. In Isaiah 55:9, the Lord says, “as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts." The exotic, micro-chromatic chant is accompanied by an ethereal drone, played by the pianist on a tuned water glass, which symbolizes the eternity of both God and his plan to redeem mankind through Christ, the God-man. This musical metaphor is drawn from the music of the Eastern Orthodox Church, which often employs long, sustained tones known as isons to accompany melodic lines. Christ’s dual nature is represented throughout this song—as well as in subsequent portions of the cycle—by a commonplace musical device known as doubling. At a number of critical junctures, the voice and violin perform in unison, creating a hybrid timbre. Unlike mixed visual colors, which generally lose their individual characteristics as they are combined, aural “colors" are able to retain their distinctive qualities while simultaneously fusing into a new sound. In other words, separate timbres join “without confusion or change... the difference of the natures being by no means removed by the union, but rather the property of each nature being preserved.” In this case, listeners hear a voice/violin amalgam, and yet are also able to perceive its component timbres as discrete sonic entities. It would appear that this is one analogy to which music is especially well suited. “Man hi tamrah," the second song in the cycle, begins by underscoring the internal conflicts that Mary undoubtedly faced as the mother of Christ. How was she to treat him? As God or a human child? Who had authority over whom? Should she rely upon him or provide for him? Guide him or be guided by him? All Christians face questions of this kind, though typically in a far less acute form, since scripture describes Christ as our God, savior, bridegroom, teacher, high priest, shepherd, king, friend, and brother. We relate to Jesus on multiple levels, and this inevitably generates a certain amount of cognitive dissonance. My setting of the first stanza thus projects tension and uncertainty, combining music of child-like simplicity with intimations of grandeur and ritual austerity. Distantly-related keys are superimposed, creating discordant clashes, and concurrent melodic lines move at opposing speeds. All the while, quarter-tones continue to permeate the texture, imbuing the music with an unearthly aura. After reaching an agitated climax, the music becomes increasingly diatonic and spare, signifying a turn from indecision to an acceptance of the truths recounted in the second and third stanzas. Even if their implications are not fully understood, the scriptural portrayals of Jesus as creator, son of God, redeemer, high priest, king, and descendent of Abraham can be internalized by faith. The chant-like ambiance of the first song eventually returns, though now shorn of melodic quarter-tones and hence more “earthly" in tone, as the transcendent reality of Christ’s nature is filtered through limited human intellects. Ephrem’s designation of his Hymns on the Nativity as lullabies is fitting, since many of them feature Mary singing directly to her infant son. “Manu yab lo (Lullaby 1)" sets two such passages: a lengthy excerpt from Hymn No. 5 and a single stanza from Hymn No. 16. Here, Mary meditates on the deep mysteries of the incarnation in theological and philosophical terms. She does so, however, using the language of paradox, since the concepts that she is pondering surpass human reasoning and language. Jesus was confined to a tiny, frail, human body, and yet simultaneously present in the entire universe. Here was “an aged babe" who gazed “entirely everywhere... as the Director of all creation above and below." Though he could not yet speak, he was able to communicate directly with God. Though he could not yet command his own muscles, he served as “Commander of the universe." How could Mary hope to provide nourishment to the source of all sustenance? How could she clothe in rags “the One arrayed in streams of light"? How could she have given birth to the one who birthed her? These ruminations are, in fact, set in the manner of a lullaby, but the rhythmic and timbral complexity of the music suggest that these strains are addressed to a truly unusual child. Melody and accompaniment often move at different tempos. Out-of-tune children’s instruments, such as toy piano and harmonica, freely intermingle with more conventional ones. The singer and pianist are called upon to play multiple instruments at the same time. On a large scale, “Manu yab lo" is organized similarly to a theme and variation set. A simple, modal melody is presented in several different guises, as though Mary is attempting to disentangle the complexities of the incarnation by viewing them from alternate vantage points. The music also builds in intensity as Mary considers her elevated position in Christ, reaching an emotional apex in stanza 21. Following that point, the song becomes progressively more eccentric, as Mary sinks deeper and deeper into the intractable paradoxes of the incarnation. Finally, in a forlorn, exposed passage, Mary questions what she should even call her newborn child, who is “a stranger to us." Should she call him Son? Brother? Husband? Lord? The fourth, and shortest, of Mysteria Incarnationis’ songs—“Manu mtse dnimar"—is also its most unusual. The opening stanza sets the tone, posing the rhetorical question “Who is able to speak about the hidden Son Who came down and put on a body in the womb?" The assumed answer is no one but God himself. This is a mystery too great for the minds and speech of humankind. Following this bold assertion are two homely, yet striking, images: Christ feeding at his mother’s breast and crawling among other infants. As the father of two young children, I found these seemingly mundane pictures to be thoroughly disorienting. While I was writing this movement, my son, Miles, was only two years old. Though he was a delight at that age, he was also obstinate, messy, temperamental, clumsy, mischievous, and prone to destroying valuable objects. He left a trail of half-eaten food behind him wherever he went, and he was continually injuring himself as he attempted treacherous physical feats. For an ordinary human child, those behaviors are unremarkable, but for God, who is “majestic in holiness, awesome in glorious deeds," they border on the absurd. And yet this is the very portrait of Christ that Ephrem presents to us—the “Son of the Ruler of all" breastfeeding and crawling alongside other children. No doubt Jesus displayed many of the same tendencies as my own son, since he was fully human, but I am yet to fully internalize such an outlandish notion. As a result, my musical setting of these two brief stanzas is mostly inscrutable in its emotional content. The prepared piano has a sheet of paper placed over its strings, producing a raspy, buzzing sound, and even excepting this special alteration, its pitches are cold, metallic, and non-tempered. Meanwhile, the violin speaks with guttural scratches and groans as the voice intones a snaking, chromatic melody. “Lo aten ber," the second of Mysteria Incarnationis’ two lullabies, merges a tender affect with an otherworldly atmosphere. The text, which is taken from Hymn No. 16, is both deeply intimate and profoundly mystical. Mary now contemplates Christ’s love and care for all people, paradoxically affirming his physical presence with her and his spiritual presence with the entire human race. Not only is Jesus her beloved son, whom she is cradling in her arms, but he is also God, Lord, and Brother to all mankind. Although he exited her womb at birth, his “hidden power" remains within her. He is both within her and outside of her, acting at once as her savior and child. She further contrasts Christ’s outward, human form with his “hidden," divine form, which is united with God the Father. Like “Manu yab lo (Lullaby 1)," “Lo aten ber (Lullaby 2)" features music of child-like innocence, but with a distinctively foreign flavor. The pianist plucks the instrument’s strings while the violinist performs on a retuned autoharp, suggesting the sound of a large, exotic zither. Quarter-tones once again enter the sonic landscape, calling to mind the mysterious workings of God’s mind, as well as the incomprehensible riches of his grace. Though the music is gentle and introspective, it is also somewhat discomfiting, as it traverses strangely distorted harmonic and melodic terrain. During the third stanza, the crystalline drone from the first song reemerges, once again asserting God’s unchanging perfection and wisdom. The final song in the cycle—“Brikh hu dlo sokh destayakh"—is a regal expression of worship, joyously exclaiming God’s grace, majesty, and sacrifice. As the music progresses, it becomes increasingly emphatic, working itself into a controlled celebratory ecstasy. Despite its late occurrence in the work, this is the first section in which the pianist plays full chords, which evoke the resonant chiming of large church bells. The voice and violin declaim the text in octaves as a concluding symbol of Christ’s dual nature, and the melody soars ever higher in celebration of Christ’s redemptive incarnation. Despite—or perhaps even because of—its profound mysteries, the coming of the God-man is cause for exultation. “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." Mysteria Incarnationis was written for, and is gratefully dedicated to, my dear friends Kayleen and Paul Sánchez. Texts and Translations i. Shbih hakimo 2. shbih hakimo dhoyen holet alohutho 'am noshutho hath men raumo whath men ’umqo kyone mozegh akh samone whowe tsalmo alo bar nosh 2. glorious is the wise one who allied and joined divinity with humanity, one from the height and the other from the depth. he mingled the natures like pigments and an image came into being: the god-man. —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 8:2 ii. Man hi tamrah 1. man hi tamrah timar labro akh batslutho sabro deme akh aloho rhumo wabro akh bar nosho bdehlo wrohmo zodeq lemokh datqum quthmaik 2. bar boruyat dome labui akh ’obudo ’bath le bkharso faghro nakhfo labshe wanfaq walbesh shubho lamhiluthan brahme deiti men tseth abui 3. men melkizdeq kumro rabo zufo etho lokh kursyo wtogho men beth dawid tuhmo wgenso men abrohom man hi timar hokhan labro akh demokh lokh 1. who will dare speak to her son as in prayer, to the hope of his mother as god, to her beloved child and her son as man? in fear and love it is right for your mother to stand before you. 2. you are the son of the creator, who resembles his father. as maker, he made himself in the womb; he put on a pure body and emerged; he made our weakness put on glory by the mercy that he brought from his father’s presence. 3. from melchizedek, the high priest, the hyssop came to you; a throne and a crown from the house of david; a family and a people from abraham. who will speak so to her son as your mother to you? —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 9:1–3 iii. Manu yab lo (Lullaby 1) 19. manu yab lo lamgazeito dtebtan tilath hath sagiyo z’ur of sagi dtsethai kule wtseth kul kule 20. yaumo d’al be hau gabriel tseth meskinuth hirto wamtho ’abthan men shel amtho no ger dalohuthokh wemo no tub dnoshuthokh moro wabro 21. men shel amtho hwith bath malke bokh bar malko ho mshafalto bghau beth dawid metulothokh o bar dawid ho bath ar’o mtoth lashmayo bashmayono 22. kmo kei ethar darmo quthmai ’ulo sobo dkul lashmayo talyo ’aine kath lo shole rethmo dfume mo dome li d’am aloho malel shetqe 23. manu hzo kai ’ulo dhoyar kule lkul duk dome hezwe dhuyu mdabar kul beryotho dal’el wdalthaht dome hyore lhau foqutho dalkul foqeth 24. aikan eftah mabu’ halbo lokh mabu’o aikan etel tub mozuno lokh zoyen kul men fothure aikan eqrub tseth ’azruraik ’tif zaliqe 9. aikan eqrekh nukhroi menan dawo menan bro kai eqrekh aho eqrekh mkhiro eqrekh moro eqrekh mauled leme yaldo hrino 19. who has granted to the barren one to conceive and give birth to the one who is also many, to the small who is also great, who is fully present in me yet fully present in the universe? 20. the day when gabriel entered my poor presence, he made me immediately a free woman and a servant; for i am a servant of your divinity, and i am also mother of your humanity, my lord and my son. 21. suddenly a handmaiden has become daughter of the king by you, son of the king. behold, the lowly one is in the house of david because of you! o son of david, behold, the daughter of the earth has reached heaven by the heavenly one. 22. indeed, how much i am amazed that an aged babe is set before me—one who lifts his gaze entirely to heaven without ceasing. the murmuring of his mouth—how it seems to me as if his silence were speaking with god! 23. indeed, who has seen a babe who gazes entirely everywhere? he gazes as the director of all creation above and below. he looks as the commander of the universe. 24. how shall i open the fount of milk for you, the fount? how shall i give sustenance to you, the all-sustaining, from your own table? how shall i approach with swaddling clothes the one arrayed in streams of light? 9. what can i call you, a stranger to us, who was from us? shall i call you son? shall i call you brother? shall i call you bridegroom? shall i call you lord, o you who brought forth his mother in another birth? —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 5:19–24, 16:9 iv. Manu mtse dnimar 193. manu mtse dnimar ’al bar kasyo danheth weth’ataf faghro bkharso 194. nfaq wo wakh ’ulo aineq halbo wbeth shabre shafef bar more kul 193. who is able to speak about the hidden son who came down and put on a body in the womb? 194. he came out and like a babe he sucked milk, and the son of the ruler of all crawled among infants. —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 4:193–194 v. Lo aten ber (Lullaby 2) 1. lo aten ber dof ’am tewe wof ’am kulnosh hwi aloho ladmaude bokh wawi moro ladfolah lokh wawi aho ladrohem lokh dalkul tahe 2. kath bi shre wait bi walbar men shroth rabuthokh wkath iledthokh tub galyoyith hailokh kasyo lo shani men at lghau men wat lbar men mafhe leme 3. dehze tsalmokh hau baroyo daqthom ’ainai tsalmokh kasyo tsor bar ’ainai btsalmokh galyo hzithe lothom wabhau kasyo hzithe labukh dammazegh bokh 1. i shall not be jealous, my son, that you are both with me and with everyone. be god to the one who confesses you, and be lord to the one who serves you, and be brother to the one who loves you so that you might save all. 2. while you dwelt in me, both in me and outside of me your majesty dwelt. while i gave birth to you openly, your hidden power was not removed from me. you are within me, and you are outside of me, o mystifier of his mother. 3. when i see your outward image before my eyes, your hidden image is portrayed in my mind. in your revealed image i saw adam, but in the hidden one i saw your father who is united with you. —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 16:1–3 vi. Brikh hu dlo sokh destayakh 2. brikh hu dlo sokh destayakh 3. rabuthokh kasyoi menan taibuthokh galyo qthomain eshle mor men rabuthokh wemalel ’al taibuthokh taibuthokh ettalyath bokh warkenthokh tseth bishuthan taibuthokh ’ulo ’bathtokh taibuthokh nosho ’bathtokh qefsath feshtath rabuthokh brikh hailo daz’ar wireb 4. shubho ldawo tahtoyo kath ’alyo hu bakyone hwo bhube bukhro lmaryam kath bukhro dalohutho hwo bashmo yaldo lyausef kath yalde hu d’eloyo hwo btsebyone barnosho kath alohau bakyone shbih tsebyonokh wakyonokh brikh shubhokh dalbesh tsalman 2. blessed is the unlimited who was limited! 3. your majesty is hidden from us; your grace is revealed before us. i will be silent, my lord, about your majesty, but i will speak about your grace. your grace seized hold of you and inclined you toward our evil. your grace made you a babe; your grace made you a human being. your majesty contracted and stretched out. blessed is the power that became small and became great! 4. glory to him who became earthly although heavenly by his nature! by his love he became firstborn to mary although he is firstborn of divinity. he became in name the child of joseph although he is child of the heavenly one. he became by his will a human although he is god by his nature. glorious is your will and your nature! blessed is your glory that put on our image! —Ephrem the Syrian, Hymns on the Nativity 23:2–4 Concerning the Artists Composer David M. Gordon holds a Ph.D. in music composition from the University of Chicago, as well as B.M. and M.M. degrees in composition from Northern Illinois University. He has written works for a variety of celebrated ensembles, including Eighth Blackbird, the Pacifica Quartet, the Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra, the Chicago Sinfonietta, Contempo, the Quey Percussion Duo, and the Motion Trio. For further information, go to davidmgordon.com. Far Song is Kayleen Sánchez, soprano, and Paul Sánchez, piano. The husband-and-wife duo champions contemporary music, with CD releases on the Albany and Soundset labels. Praised for her “keen technical virtuosity… her voice [that] thrills along the spine” (Sherod Santos, 2016), Kayleen is a specialist in early and new music. She is on faculty at the College of Charleston, and studied with Rita Shane and Carol Webber. Lauded as “a great artist” (José Feghali, 2013; Cecilia Rodrigo, 2019), Paul Sánchez is a composer and pianist. He is Director of Piano Studies at the College of Charleston, and studied with Tamás Ungar, Douglas Humpherys, Maria Teresa Monteys, and Alicia de Larrocha. For further information, go to farsongduo.com, kayleensanchez.com, and paultsanchez.com. Violinist Eka Gogichashvili is Associate Professor of Violin at Baylor University. She holds B.M. degrees from Balanchivadze College of Music and Rowan University, an M.M. degree from Tbilisi State Conservatory, and both M.M. and D.M.A. degrees from the Louisiana State University. For further information, go to baylor.edu/music/index.php?id=952984. Credits Recording Engineer, Producer, and Audio Editor – Paul Sánchez Mastering Engineer – Paul Sánchez, with special thanks to Andrew Reinartz Recorded December 17–24, 2018, and May 5–8, 2019, in the Simons Center Recital Hall, College of Charleston, South Carolina. Recorded on Steinway and Yamaha pianos. Piano Technician – John Krucke Designer – David M. Gordon Swedish Translation of Father, Give a Tranquil Spirit – Anne Rova Syriac Transliterations and Vocalizations of Hymns on the Nativity – Gabriel Aydin English Translations of Hymns on the Nativity – Kathleen E. McVey innova Director – Philip Blackburn Operations Director – Chris Campbell Publicist – Tim Igel innova is supported by an endowment from the McKnight Foundation Special thanks to Valerie Gordon, Charlene Gordon, Nancy Brooks, Jeffery Carl, Paul Cline, Mark and Karin Edwards, Brendan Fox, Andrew Gerlicher, Charles Hoffner, Erick Jones, Elliot Leung, Vicki McDonald, Elliot Miller, John Rakow, Shulamit Ran, Mike Rowlands, Christine Swallow, Cheryl and Tom Todd, Howard Whitaker, and William White