He Was Singing
SATB and piano
On January 12, 2010, a 7.0-magnitude earthquake struck the Caribbean nation of Haiti. It was a Tuesday, and a year later, the death toll would be estimated somewhere around 316,000 people. One of those casualties was an American man named Benjamin Larson, a Lutheran missionary working at the St. Joseph’s Home for Boys located up the mountain from the capital city of Port-au-Prince.
The notion of writing a piece of music about Ben’s last moments occurred to me after I heard an interview with his wife, Renee, and cousin, Jonathan. The three of them were together during the earthquake, and the way in which the two survivors talk about their experience was immensely moving for two reasons: first, Renee and Jonathan tell their stories with such grace that it’s impossible not to be affected in a profound way and, secondly, Ben’s last words were sung.
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He Was Singing will appear on the surface to be the story of how Ben spent his final moments, but it’s my hope that it represents much, much more than that. It is intended to serve as a testament to the power of singing, the importance of service, the connection between a husband and wife, and a gentle reminder that there are still people suffering all over the world who are in need of our help.
Attempting to honor Ben’s life while, at the same time, respecting the emotions of those who lost him, is something that I took very seriously. Because of this, there are elements of Ben’s life and work knit into almost every measure of the music. The first three pitches sung by the sopranos and altos are B, E, and A-sharp (a substitution for the letter “N”), and this motive occurs multiple times in every movement; Ben’s name is literally written all over the work.
The first two movements are a pair of recollections which use text from the interview Ben’s wife, Renee, did with Minnesota Public Radio in the month following the earthquake. A fragment of one of the Beatitudes is also present (sung in Creole) at the outset of “Searching.”
The third movement is where all the concepts surrounding Ben’s life and death collapse into a single piece of music. The “Ben Motive” returns and gently points the way to his final words as sung by a soloist. Renee couldn’t make out the third line of his hymn, so an adapted verse from the Haitian poet, Tontongi, stands in for him “(Come here and bring your love along”). The choir then responds by singing the original Lutheran hymn Ben was referencing followed by a text by American poet Marie Howe which attempts to turn grief into a luminous memory while gliding over another Beatitude sung in Creole.
Things slow down considerably after this point, and the final text for “Singing” is an adaptation from the Bhagavad Gita. In a way, it is the final time that Ben “speaks” in the work. It reads:
Wherever and whenever there is suffering, I will be there.
The final movement uses a text by Tontongi, and it reminds us that there is work to be done; the notion of what Ben’s life meant to everyone he loved is out there waiting in a place “for all of us in need of transformation.” And that change could literally mean anything. When I hear the words “you have to go there,” I don’t always think of a physical place. We can help people who are in emotional pain as well (“if only with the smiles of your mouths”) and attempt, in our own ways, to make the world a better place.
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This piece was not an easy one to write, and I am deeply indebted to two very important families for their support. First, Dean and Laura Gesme decided to commission a piece for The Singers and, when I told them about this concept, they immediately found the universality in the message of Ben’s life and work. Most importantly, I owe immense thanks to the Larson family for allowing me to gently take up Ben’s memory and attempt to make it shine even brighter. It is one of the most profound honors of my life as a composer and they have my most heartfelt gratitude and admiration.
It occurs to me that people like Ben—regardless of how they are actively engaged in helping others in any part of the world—are fulfilling the same, beautiful sense of service that he believed in; the idea that we are all in this together and we are all each others’ proverbial keeper. His life was the manifestation of the will to do good in the world, and that notion is still very much alive. If you’d like to learn more about the inspiring work that Ben did at the St. Joseph’s Home for Boys in Port-au-Prince, you can visit www.heartswithhaiti.org.
He Was Singing is the 2021 winner of the American Prize in Choral Composition.
Performed by The Singers: Minnesota Choral Artists
(Dr. Matthew Culloton, conductor).
The Texts
Taken from an interview with Renee Splichal Larson, the Creole Bible, the Lutheran Book of Worship, the Bhagavad Gita, and poetry by Marie Howe and Tontongi.
1. Shaking
We were talking, and the earth started to shake
and we knew right away we waited but it only got stronger.
I remember running to what was
the middle of the floor.
And I thought, “Where’s Ben?”
I turned and looked for him
and he was steadying himself
on one of the pillars in the floor.
Concrete was starting to fall
and it was falling right on him…
on his head.
He wasn’t moving, and his eyes were closed
and I called for him.
As I started running to him
the two floors above us collapsed.
Everything fell right onto Ben.
I remember looking up and thinking,
“We are going to die.”
And everything went black.
2. Searching
Benediksyon pou moun k’ap travay pou lèzòm viv byen yonn ak lòt.
(Blessings for the people who are working so that men can live well with one another.)
We realized we were alive.
There was a tiny hole that had light coming from it
so we started tearing out the concrete.
It was damaged enough
that we could pull enough out
to squeeze out of a hole.
I just remember
all I could think about was Ben.
I called for him
and desperately searched for him.
I remember not caring about my own life.
All I could think about was Ben.
I didn’t care if I lived or died
because I wanted to be with him.
A man said, “I hear him!”
I heard Ben…
…and he was singing.
3. Singing
And I remember yelling to him that we were okay
and to keep singing.
And I told him I loved him.
And he wasn’t anxious.
His voice didn’t sound like he was suffering.
He sounded peaceful.
He was singing a hymn.
He was making up the words.
They were beautiful.
Lord Jesus, you bear the sins
Of all the world away.
Come here and bring your love along.
God’s peace to us we pray.
Where charity and love prevail,
There God is ever found;
For love excludes no race or clan.
By love, we thus are bound.
Benediksyon pou moun ki nan lapenn, paske Bondye va ba yo kouraj.
(Blessings for the people who are in pain, because God shall give them courage.)
he was so vast—
the way one field leads onto another,
vast to have been contained,
all that time, in that body.
Wherever and whenever there is suffering,
I will be there.
4. Epilogue (A Land of Possibility)
Go there where you see your heart
Leading you keeping you from changing
Into a dry desert of sorrow
worse than the skin of a drum.
You have to go there, my brothers and sisters,
Where people are suffering
Never hear “Good Morning”
Where there’s no light
To enliven the day with hope.
Go there and bring the warmth of your love along
To make the people’s heart happy
To defy injustice and evil
Endured by the wretched of the earth
As if they had no right to be there,
There in the morning splendor of being alive.
You have to go there, live there, join us
If only with the smiles of your mouths
O my sisters and brothers, we have to be there
Where together, without any dirty tricks,
We can grow corn and oranges and friendship
For all of us on earth so in need of transformation.