ERBARMEDICH: THE TEMPTATION OF PETER IN BACH’S ST. MATTHEW PASSION
Peter’s Denial in the stained glass of Ely Cathedral. Photo by Steve Day.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Our article today discusses Bach's St. Matthew Passion, which you can find online at this YouTube link. Occasionally, the article links to a specific point in the video so you can hear the examples referenced in the text.
Peter's denial of Christ, recorded in all four Gospels, has been a point of mystery for theologians and artists throughout the centuries. One of the more poignant portrayals of this story occurs in the St. Matthew Passion of Johann Sebastian Bach, where we hear a musical drama: witnesses, both solo and choral, seek to expose Peter's relationship with Jesus; Peter pridefully denies his connection to Christ; a cock crows, and Peter crumbles outside, weeping bitterly. What transpires in this short account may be read as a microcosm of temptation, and how one man, who in the days before Jesus' arrest had precociously placed himself above temptation (Matthew 26:33), finds himself the perpetrator of heartbreaking betrayal. Bach's handling of Peter’s story contains several musical elements that lend deep emotion to the story: the layers of voices surrounding Peter, the falling melody that mimics the cock's crow, the sour sound of weeping, the shatteringly beautiful aria that follows.
The St. Matthew Passion of Bach is a massive oratorio set for double chorus and orchestra, multiple soloists, and an Evangelist. Written in 1727, the St. Matthew Passion represents a large-scale intersection of composition and Lutheran theology. As with many of his sacred vocal works, Bach collaborated with theology faculty at the University of Leipzig to produce his sacred texts (the bulk of the St. Matthew Passion’s poetic text was written by the theologian-poet, Christian Friedrich Henrici, known popularly as Picander).
Especially remarkable about this Passion setting is Bach’s treatment of crowd scenes: the short choruses that swirl in and out of the drama are devilishly difficult and require performers to insert themselves squarely into the narrative, and it is in one such crowd that Peter is overcome by the temptation to distance himself from Jesus. However, the bulk of the Passion narrative is driven by the Evangelist. The Evangelist’s role was fashionable in 18th century sacred drama and musical storytelling as a type of oracle, an omniscient presence that dictates narrative action. In the St. Matthew Passion, the Evangelist’s recitatives – sections of quick-moving, semi-melodic text on top of sparse orchestra – propel the story from one chorus, aria, and chorale to another. While the Evangelist exposes Peter’s downfall, Peter’s story is contextualized by both a crowd scene and a mezzo-soprano aria, two movements that give Peter deeper significance within the larger Passion story.
Bach sets up the scene in tiers. First, Peter is an outside observer, then the subject of crowd attention, and finally the center of the story. He follows Jesus into the palace of the high priest, where the elders and entire council find no reason why Jesus should be put to death. A number of false witnesses come forward and question Jesus further, adding to the confusion. Bach’s crowd scenes here are disorienting. Solo voices from the chorus loosen the texture, and this addition of characters evokes chaos. Outside, Peter is confronted by two servant girls who recognize him as one of Jesus’ disciples. Peter’s first two denials are handled in simple recitative, but as he feels more threatened, the musical drama heightens. A crowd draws near, and with a brief, four-measure chorus, calls Peter to associate himself as one of Jesus’ followers: Wahrlich, du bist auch einer von denen; denn deine Sprache verrät dich. (Truly, you are also one of them; your speech betrays you.) At this point of the third denial, Peter’s voice, a bass, becomes desperate and declamatory. His words ich kenne des Menschen nicht (I do not know this man) are delivered as a descending 6-note scale, and immediately afterwards the Evangelist, mimicking Peter’s scale, tells us that a cock has crowed.
What happens next is a spiraling of emotion in the style of Baroque grand opera. The Evangelist imitates the sound of Peter’s weeping in a sour melisma on the word “wept” (weinete) that begins with a descending scale and leaps to the top of the range before resolving on the word “bitterly” (bitterlich):
This text painting – a device used extensively in the Baroque to imitate sounds of nature– was certainly not new to Bach’s stage, but is striking in the context of religious drama. With it, Bach draws the listener into Peter’s denial. The narrative vehicle has stopped right at Peter’s foot, and we are drawn deeply into his humanity, the grievous side of temptation, the dark night of an individual wrestling with his fallen nature.
In 18th century Lutheran theology, a case like Peter’s would have been used to display a stark contrast between the effects of sin (betrayal, wickedness, selfishness) and the grace of God (redemption, forgiveness). These binaries were popularly played in the theatre of German Baroque church; Bach’s handling of Peter drives that duality into the forefront of the modern imagination.
And perhaps the whole ordeal with Peter would have been forgotten in the St. Matthew Passion had Bach not proceeded to bestow upon Peter’s character one of the most shatteringly beautiful arias in all of sacred music, Erbarme dich (Have mercy on me). A solo violin, often used in the Baroque era to portray the voice of the human soul, plays elegiacally on top of a continuo that outlines the melodic line to the well-known Passion hymn, O sacred head, now wounded:
This layering effect of thematic material is subtle yet essentially Bachian: the consummate Lutheran, Bach reminds us again that, especially in our grief, we should remember Christ who sacrificed himself for our redemption. So when the violin closes out its extended solo, it invites the voice of the mellow mezzo-soprano to take over, begging for radical mercy in the midst of devastating betrayal:
Erbarme dich, mein Gott,
Um meiner Zähren Willen!
Schaue hier, Herz und Auge
Weint vor dir bitterlich.
Erbarme dich, erbarme dich!
Have mercy, my God,
for the sake of my tears!
Look here, heart and eyes
weep bitterly before you.
Have mercy, have mercy!
Following this passionate plea for forgiveness, Bach closes his short chapter on Peter with a chorale, the final verse from the 18th century Lutheran hymn, Werde munter mein Gemüte, known in contemporary hymnals as Come with us o blessed Jesus. As in all of Bach’s chorales, this one not only allows us to feel rich empathy for Peter, but also reminds us that we too are participants in the story. We too are drawn close to God through the redemption of Jesus Christ:
Listen: Chorale, Bin ich gleich von dir gewichen
Bin ich gleich von dir gewichen,
Stell ich mich doch wieder ein;
Hat uns doch dein Sohn verglichen
Durch sein Angst und Todespein.
Ich verleugne nicht die Schuld,
Aber deine Gnad und Huld
Ist viel größer als die Sünde,
Die ich stets bei mir befinde.
Though I have been separated from you,
yet I return again;
even so your Son set the example for us
through his anguish and mortal pain.
I do not deny my guilt,
but your grace and mercy
is much greater than the sin
that I constantly discover in me.
While the arc of Peter’s temptation and denial is brief, it sums up one of the most tragic betrayals in all of scripture. Bach’s Matthew Passion follows Peter from the periphery of the narrative into the center of the story, pausing the entire Passion to reflect on Peter’s humanity, fear, and agony, all of which are ultimately redeemed by God’s grace. After all, as Bach reminds us in his merciful handling of Peter, separation from God is not eternal. (Bin ich gleich von dir gewichen, Stell ich mich doch wieder ein/Though I have been separated from you, yet I return again.) Even in our darkest moments of temptation to escape our own surroundings, we remember that God’s mercy is greater than all.
Perhaps in this time of social distancing, of crossing streets to avoid others, of washing and rewashing our hands, of uncertainty and fear and anxiety, we too are tempted to deny God’s love and mercy towards us. Perhaps we too may know that, like Peter, we are God’s no matter what level of darkness we enter. And in the words of the Psalmist, in whose poetry Peter and Jesus alike took comfort, may we genuinely know that weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning. (Psalm 30:5b)
Performance: Netherlands Bach Society, Jos van Veldhoven, conductor
