"They rest from their labours"

It’s here, or nearly here (depending which state or territory you’re in). Rest!

#the40project completes its first academic term. Before the start of this term, rest at the end of 10 weeks might have seemed a distant oasis. Now the break is upon us, how quickly the term feels like it passed, at least for some of us. For others, it might feel like we walked deep valleys, or climbed craggy mountain peaks, or trudged through quicksand, or sat in the doldrums waiting for any puff of wind to flutter our sails. For some there has been triumph, for others, desolation.

As we take time this week to look back on this first term, what stands out? Highlights? Challenges? What’s unresolved? What insights have I gained? What new questions have emerged? When was I at my best? When did I seek help? When did I need to, but didn’t? What sustained me? What challenged me? Who do I need to thank?

So…now to resting. We’re all different, so how we choose to rest, as well as what is effective in being restful, varies considerably. The encouragement this week is not what to do, but to find something to do that will restore your body, mind, and spirit…and then do it!

The title for this week’s reflection comes from a source which I find particularly restful, although it might not immediately recommend itself to some of you. It’s the Lux aeterna section from John Rutter’s Requiem , a choral work first performed in 1985. Requiem is Rutter’s variation on the ecclesial Requiem Mass offered for those who have died, so that they may find eternal rest:

• Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine.
• Eternal rest give to them, Lord.

To put my headphones on and push the volume high is an experience that takes me far away from whatever mundane troubles crowd my heart and mind. The Lux aeterna section is both earthy and ethereal, sublime and troubling, yet resolves with hope and peace. And it’s not only Rutter’s version that does this for me; if you’ve never heard the version of Gabriel Fauré (as part of the Agnus Dei), I commend it to your listening.

By this point, some of you may be tempted to move on. Choral and ecclesial sensibilities are not your thing. That’s okay; it’s the principle and the process, rather than the substance, that matters. Even more, Rutter might agree with you, as his reflection on writing the Requiem reveals.

As a composer, Rutter received many commissions for new work, and this comprised most of his output. After 15 years of this type of work, though, he was “finding it stressful” to be continually fulfilling the desires of his patrons, generous as many of them were. Additionally, because he was well known for a particular choral style, his commissions were for similar types of works, leaving him a little frustrated he could not “break out and do something different”. Choosing to write the Requiem was, for him, grounded in his own needs and desires.

Rutter’s wisdom also resonates with aspects of life in the teaching profession. While writing, he became unwell and feared the work may never come to completion. He only finished the Lux aeterna the night before its first performance. How many times has our work taken its toll on our health, or we find ourselves getting our student results, or teaching programs, or reports submitted just before the deadline? Rutter’s story shows that majestic output can come from mundane effort.

Perhaps you’re still unmoved to want to grab your headphones and immerse yourself in one of the estimated more than 2,000 settings of the Requiem Mass. You might not be keen to jump into Spotify and while away your time with Duruflé’s , Verdi’s (it's also quite long), or Mozart’s . Another option which might be more familiar is the setting of the Agnus Dei , also from the Requiem Mass, by Samuel Barber to his Adagio for strings. It’s one of the most moving pieces of 20th century music and evokes a special memory for me every time I hear it. In 2015, I undertook a cycling pilgrimage from Canterbury to Rome (a story for another day, or another blog). After a particularly difficult morning’s ride into the French city of Laon, including through two hours of heavy rain, I found my way to Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Laon (this week’s photo is the nave). Once inside, I needed to rest. Then, barely noticeable, Barber’s Agnus Dei whispered through the vastness of the cathedral’s sound system. It recharged me for the next part of the journey, despite the rain.

Both the cycling and the music work for me; they might not be what works for you. But find something that does, and take the time to rest.

Some final wisdom from Rutter who, despite a career in church music, remains an “agnostic supporter of the Christian faith ”.

Some people might say that it’s wishful thinking, that everything ends in light and blessing. We don’t know that that’s going to happen. But I think the faith and the hope that it might is one of the things that sustains us on our life’s journey, and I don’t think it hurts to make a statement about that.

What will your statement be that sustains you through the rest of #the40project and beyond?

P.S. In keeping faith with the premise of #the40project , the next edition will be published on Sunday 17th April, starting into Term 2 of 2023. See you then.