Peter in the Passion: Part III
Christ Mocked by Duccio di Buoninsegna (1255–1319)
This article is the third in a series on musical treatments of Peter in the Passion. In my first article, I analyzed Arvo Pärt’s treatment of Peter’s rejection of Christ in Passio, seeing Peter as an emblem of wider social disaffiliation from the divine. In the second, I looked at Peter’s lament in Osvaldo Golijov’s La Pasión Según San Marcos with a focus on the universality of remorse, especially in the experience of forsaking a friend. Both analyses pointed to a common theme of imbedded (and often unexpected) hope. In this final installment, on Sir James MacMillan’s St John Passion, I explore the hope communicated in the responsibility bestowed upon Peter by Christ—a hope that MacMillan extends in turn to the audience of his Passion setting.
MacMillan stated at the turn of the millennium that he was “drawn again and again to the Passion.” But it was only nearly a decade later, in 2007, that he composed his first Passion setting. St John Passion is a large-scale work scored for baritone solo (as Jesus), small choir (as narrator), large choir, and orchestra. It was first performed in 2008 by the London Symphony Orchestra under the direction of its dedicatee, Sir Colin Davis. The work is widely considered one of MacMillan’s best, uniting his understanding of the Passion’s centrality in musical history with his theological commitments as a Roman Catholic composer in the twenty-first century.
Though most of MacMillan’s compositions are written for the concert hall, many are overtly spiritual. When musing on his musical vocation, MacMillan said that “the responsibilities on the Christian composer are to open up windows on the divine, windows on the things hidden to normal everyday experience for most listeners, for most music lovers.” MacMillan is keenly aware of music’s ability to intersect sacred and secular, and sees this transept as a profound potential for encounter with the divine.
One of the ways MacMillan musically conveys this sacred intersection is through musical and thematic juxtapositions. Instances of stark juxtaposition fill St John Passion: silence interspersed with cacophony; a soloist in dialogue with the choir; slow passages that suddenly accelerate. Each of these provide the listener access to the source of Peter’s Christian hope, which is itself juxtaposed with the ostensible despair of Peter’s rejection of Christ. MacMillan inclines the listener toward this tension, pointing to the divine through a “window” afforded (and mirrored) by musical contrast.
Raphael, Christ's Charge to Peter, 1515.
The second movement of the piece is populated by conversations between Peter and his inquisitors. In each of the three exchanges, a choir of overlapping voices demands whether Peter affiliates with Christ. Peter responds to the first two accusations with an equally hostile collection of voices. The third response is overtaken by the narrator, who then quietly recounts the rooster’s crow. A moment of silence follows. Then, suddenly, a battle between earthly and heavenly voices unfolds. An explosive collection of trumpets and percussion break through the stillness, reminding the audience of the cataclysmic weight of Peter’s rejection. The instruments stop only when interrupted by the entire symphonic choir—here representing the divine—which sings the first line of a stirring motet: Tu Es Petrus (“You Are Peter”). In this moment, the heavenly choir recognizes Peter’s dignity. The trumpet-percussion combination returns to punctuate the voices with the same force as its first entry, as if to draw attention away from Peter. The choir, interrupting the instruments once more, reclaims the soundscape: this time, much more quietly, as if beckoning the listener into its realm—into the same recognition that Peter has received.
The choir’s next line is, perhaps, one of the most powerful interpolations in St John Passion: et super hanc petram aedificabo ecclesiam meam (“and upon this rock I will build my Church”). The choir, increasing in volume, is supported by the strings, a technique reminiscent of Bach’s string “halo” in St. Matthew Passion, in which the strings underscore Jesus’ lines, reminding the listener of his holiness. In MacMillan’s St John, the strings help the listener recall the words of Christ. Trumpets and percussion pepper the remainder of the motet, but are unable to overtake the heavenly voices.
Tu Es Petrus is a motet referencing Matthew 16:18: “And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church.” This verse in Scripture is preceded by Peter’s affirmation of Jesus as the Christ. After this recognition, Jesus deems Peter the foundation of the Church. MacMillan’s musical juxtapositions treat Peter as a source of paradox: here, a fallen man who has rejected God himself has been called by God be the rock for his Church. This passage bears particular weight in the Catholic Church as the scriptural justification for the papacy. MacMillan’s inclusion of Tu Es Petrus—a papal motet—recognizes the imperfection of the human person called by God to such authority: “there's a tongue-in-cheek association - presenting this flawed person, then all this papal glory simultaneously,” MacMillan says, “but there's drama in that conflict, which goes right to heart of the conflict in the Church.” The interpolation of this motet is not an attempt to detract from Peter’s rejection, which MacMillan sees as emblematic of any fallen person, but rather looks toward God’s mercy in the midst of this fallenness.
Through intertextual interpolation, MacMillan engages with tradition—both musical and spiritual—as a composer in the twenty-first century, instantiating his thesis that “tradition will always make its impact in one way or another.” To consciously expose an audience to elements of tradition (like Tu Es Petrus) is to open a window to divine activity not only in the present, but throughout history. The motet cannot be fully appreciated without understanding its wider scriptural context, its musical and ecclesial heritage, and MacMillan’s own convictions.
Like much of MacMillan’s oeuvre—especially his large-scale compositions—St John Passion is grand, dramatic, and violent. “The fact is that if history had to be changed,” says MacMillan, “if we had to be changed, then God had to interact with us in a severe way,” a severity conveyed through ninety minutes of brutality and anxiety interspersed with brief flashes of hope. The work reflects MacMillan’s compositional desire to engage with the world while looking beyond it.
Toward the end of the piece, MacMillan includes a musical setting of the Reproaches, a series of questions and responses in the Good Friday liturgy. In the Reproaches, Christ addresses all people, asking: “My people, what have I done to you? How have I offended you? Answer me!” Through this inclusion, MacMillan invites the audience to consider the love of Christ, communicated through Christ’s pained voice. The focus, however, is not on his people’s ineptitude, but on God’s exorbitant mercy. After listening to the ways in which the innocent Christ has been violated and forsaken—even by his closest friends, like Peter—the audience is now forced to consider the measure of Christ’s sacrificial love.
Feed My Sheep James Patrick Reid
For centuries, composers, performers, and listeners have engaged with musical settings of the Passion to enter more deeply into the Paschal Mystery—to suffer with Christ, to unite with one another, and to experience the story in a way that goes beyond words, allowing the imagination, senses, and intellect to unite. MacMillan’s treatment of Peter invites the audience to hear God’s mercy pierce through darkness. It encourages one to offer hope and forgiveness to those who “trespass against us” (Matthew 6:12). “Tongue-in-cheek” as it may be, MacMillan’s Tu Es Petrus conveys a salient point in Christian soteriology: that, through Christ’s sacrifice, death does not have the last word; and that mercy and love should extend to all.
Victoria Costa is a postgraduate student in sacred music at the University of St Andrews, where she specializes in musical aesthetics in liturgical time.