A Swedish St Mark Passion
- background and conception

It had occurred to me, during an extended period as a church musician, that there weren’t many alternatives to the often-performed Bach passions. Was this due to the fact that these monumental works discouraged other composers from even attempting to create something new? No, that ought not be the real reason, since the great works rather, through history, have inspired new compositions. Not being able to present the essential passion drama in alternate guises – and not least in my own language – appeared insufficient to me as a practicing church musician. This had been a natural course of events all since the 17th century. Up to that time the Bible texts had been sung entirely in Latin, until the clergy realized the power of giving the congregation the narrative in its own tongue.
Bach’s music also calls for considerable resources, like soloists and a larger orchestra, while the technical demands have disheartened many from even trying a staging. I was, however, aware of at least three relatively new passions in my neighboring country Norway. (St. Matthew Passions by Trond H. F. Kverno and Johan Varen Ugland, and a St. John Passion by Kjell Mørk Karlsen). I wondered when something similar would happen at home in Sweden.

It never occurred clearly to me that I would even attempt to set the passion text to music. I was deterred by several reasons, so consequently I never consciously formulated the challenge. In retrospect I realize that my arguments against the task were, amongst other, the sheer length of the text and my concerns about how to add some musical value while not diverting attention from the content. I felt I lacked a necessary concept, i.e., the method, the starting point and the means that make up an indispensable unity, which translates to a natural structure for the listener. The music cannot be allowed to obscure the text. On the contrary, it should enhance the text.

But then it suddenly hit me, in the fall of the year 2000. I had heard a soprano recite around folk melodies at a concert that I was involved in. In my head a voice recited the opening phrase: “Now the Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread were only two days away…” and the idea for my St. Mark Passion was born.
It was clear to me from the start that I’d use Mark’s text. I had always been fascinated by its language and structure; concise and unsentimental. The gospel showed a kind of popular character befitting the melancholy Swedish folklore.

For starters I screened the entire gospel text, and to maximize my feeling for it I simply copied it, chapters 14 and 15, word by word. Next step was to make the natural casting from what was obvious in the text. I ended up with five parts in addition to the evangelist. They were Jesus, Peter, Pilate, the High Priest and a servant girl. Strictly speaking, there were other possible roles, but they were deleted as they came up, replaced by the choir. I wanted to strip down the set to avoid too many details. I realized that it still would be possible to present the structure and architecture of the text, with its abundance of symbols and mystery. Before venturing deeper into the work I understood that a host of secrets lay hidden within, invisible to the causal observer. This proved a successful insight.

Further into my work around the text I allocated the chores of the choir, and it dawned on me that choir chorales could become a natural means of commenting the sequence. It also felt important to render the work a contemporary ambience also textually, though I quickly realized the need for restraint in this respect as well. Our [Swedish] folk chorale treasure being as rich as it is, I could easily have overloaded the Passion with beautiful melodies, while simultaneously drowning the conciseness and clarity of St. Mark’s Gospel text and message. That wasn’t my aim. On the contrary, I wanted to emphasize the text through the music, letting it shine on us with its message of pain, suffering and death, as well as of strength, hope and the deepest love. Therefore my next step also came naturally. I had to find an over-arching structure; an architecture in which the music would find equilibrium and proportions; a tool, which in a straightforward way peeled away the exaggerated and the self-evident, forcing me – in a positive way – to discover the essence of that which the music was to mirror.

You can be sure I was astonished when I soon enough found a simple but fascinating structure in the text. By simply dividing the text approximately down the middle I found a distinct center. When Jesus receives the question about who he really is (Mark 14:61-62): “Are you the Messiah, the Son of the Blessed One?” and he replies: “I am, and you will see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Mighty One and coming on the clouds of heaven”, I realized the existence of something to become central in the work; a section to bring out. The concept of a central chorale appeared quickly, and based on this I decided to limit myself to only ten more chorales, but with the important distinction that the melodies were to be just five, repeated once, in contrast to the central chorale, which is sounding only in its specific situation.

The work is built around this axis. As I studied the text further, I found mirror images on either side of its center.
The death of Jesus is predicted. Jesus foresees the betrayal and denial of him, and his burial. All of this recurs on the other side [of the center] and is musically expressed in a similar way.

In February 2001 the structure of the work was in principle completed.
I had reflected on suitable chorale librettists, juggling a few names. It seemed of importance that the texts felt related to the prose in St. Mark’s Gospel and the musical guise I was intending.
Since I had abstained from the possibility of arias and other developments of the Passion text, the content of the chorale texts would become all the more important, even crucial to the composition as such. Who can express in a strophe something that simultaneously reflects the text and its significance to contemporary man, in a linguistically solemn and intimate manner, theologically transparent? It seemed a task tough on the brink of the impossible. When J. S. Bach wrote his passions, he engaged the postmaster of the town, but comparing myself to Bach seemed blasphemous. He’d have created beautiful music from the telephone directory!

At a dinner I presented the basic idea to Music Director Kjell Bengtsson in Alingsås; one of the greatest inspirers of Swedish church music. As the deputy headmaster of SKS (presently Sensus) he achieved several ventures, which have meant so much replenishing and development within Swedish sacred music that it defies description.
It didn’t take Kjell many seconds before suggesting a name, after hearing my account: Bengt Pohjanen; writer and philosopher from Överkalix [Northern Sweden]. I certainly was aware of him, and had listened to him on the radio. The determining factor was, however, Kjell’s conviction that Bengt Pohjanen was the man. I didn’t hesitate, but contacted Bengt when the structure of the work was ready in the beginning of February 2001.

Bengt Pohjanen is a man of few words. This I soon understood, and it pleased me immensely. Already his first reply to my inquiry was elucidative: “Thanks for your exciting material; - I’m on!” I realized that Bengt, with his concise language, was the right person for the assignment. It only seemed natural that Bengt agonized in face of the commission. He has an enormous respect for the intrinsic power of the words. Two and a half years passed before he showed me the texts. During that time we met to study the material, get to know each other and discover a common sphere of belief, philosophy, literature and music. Just the fact that Bengt was so touched by my music when he listened to it for the first time made me determined to complete my greatest musical challenge as a composer.

Comparably early in the process I sensed that the Passion of St Mark had to be placed into a wider scriptural context. The composition had to stand its own ground, not to depend on a lot of extraneous knowledge. I was acquainted with Isaiah in the Hebrew Scriptures and his words in chapter 53: “He was despised and rejected by men…” As I read the whole chapter I saw material for both an opening and a closing choir.

My own experience of Bach’s passion music was dual, consisting of annual performances of the St. Matthew Passion during my childhood and youth in the town of Skövde [South-Western Sweden] where I was raised, and my own stagings as an organist and choir leader of the St. John Passion. In the opening choir of the St. Matthew Passion a treble choir falls in, singing a chorale melody against the remaining chorus. This, in early years, made a big impression on me. I shudder just recollecting it. It felt right to me to utilize the same method. Bengt Pohjanen was to write new chorale texts here as well.
Since I had to wait for Bengt’s chorale texts, it was natural that my composition per se began with the opening choir.
“The suffering of Jesus”, “Via Dolorosa” etcetera, were themes that spun through my head; life as a passage for us humans; a passage of trials; a walk shared by God through Jesus Christ. The passacaglia is a musical form consisting of a basic theme that is repeated. Variation occurs through contrasts against this main theme. This felt fitting. Doesn’t life function similarly; a pulse against which the different events in life are reflected? When I studied various tapestries depicting scriptural events I also found more profane subjects, such as the age pyramid.
My passacaglia theme, which comprises one octave, originates here. It starts and ends on the same tone. Symbolism becomes loud and clear, and even more transparent when I use the passacaglia theme right before the central chorale in the Passion narrative. Jesus commences singing the same theme, but then he deviates upwards through the tonalities to state that he will triumph over death, a death that is symbolized by the theme’s descent back down towards the fundamental tone.

I also let the passacaglia theme recur in the closing choir, thus embracing the whole composition, symbolizing the embrace of God, who is with us in life and death – and as the message of the closing choir suggests, death isn’t the end, but a beginning: “…and the will of the Lord will prosper in his hand”