Dan Schutte 2: "Holy Darkness" and Songs of Suffering

During the workshop, Schutte had us all sing his "Holy Darkness", based on the writings of St. John of the Cross. The refrain begins with the lovely blessing, "Holy darkness, blessed night, heaven's answer hidden from our sight", and the first stanza is quite beautiful: "I have tried you in fires of affliction; I have taught your soul to grieve. In the barren soil of your loneliness there I will plant my seed." (Please write Oregon Catholic Press for the full score, Catalog #9906 for SATB arrangement and "assembly edition"—words and melody only.) We had sung several other songs and then politely waited for his comments, but at the end of this performance, everyone clapped. I think we were relieved that someone has written a song about depression and suffering, when all the rage right now is how happy we are and how Jesus satisfies our suburban dream.

What songs about suffering does the American church sing on a regular basis? We have the songs of Passion Week, of course. We have "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God", with its implied suffering: "Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also. The body they may kill; God's truth abideth still…" But I don't think we have enough songs that acknowledge our suffering and allow us to hallow it. We will all suffer; we are all in big trouble if we have not been prepared with hymns that grant us strength of character to withstand it.

My favorite song of suffering is Bonhoeffer's "By Gracious Powers So Wonderfully Sheltered", especially the stanza, "And when this cup You give is filled to brimming with bitter suffering, hard to understand, we take it thankfully and without trembling, out of so good and so beloved a hand."

A few rounds of "Kyrie Eleison" never hurt either. I feel the American suburban churches are so complacent that whenever I play a "Kyrie Eleison" or "Agnus Dei" during a service, I try to make the organ wail. If somebody won't cry, then something has to cry. And perhaps it gives people a chance, however fleeting, to acknowledge there may be tears inside themselves, now or later.