The Complex Chord of Joy and Grief

The Rev. Brandon C. Ashcraft
Trinity Church in the City of Boston
John 11:21-27
All Souls: The Commemoration of All Faithful Departed (transferred)
October 25, 2026

The Complex Chord of Joy and Grief

Jesus says that we must lose our life to save it.¹Matthew 16:25 (NRSV) That the last will be first, and the first will be last. The Apostle Paul writes that strength is made perfect in weakness.²2 Corinthians 12:9 (NRSV) In our prayers, we profess the cross to be both “an instrument of shameful death” and “the means of life.”³From the Collect of the Day appointed for Tuesday in Holy Week in the American Book of Common Prayer (1979). Over and over, our faith confronts us with truths that sound like contradictions. The Christian faith demands a certain comfort with paradox.

Today we remember our loved ones who have gone on to greater glory. And this All Souls Day presents us with yet another paradox. Our Prayer Book declares that the liturgy for the dead is an Easter liturgy. A liturgy “characterized by joy.”⁴The Book of Common Prayer (New York: Church Hymnal Corporation, 1979), 507. Because Jesus has been raised, the dead will also be raised. And this hopeful promise means that joy is somehow possible, even in the midst of death. So that even at the grave our song is Alleluia.⁵A paraphrase of a prayer from the Commendation in the Prayer Book burial liturgy, 499. And at the very same time, our Prayer Book affirms that liturgies for the dead are occasions for sorrow. So that joy and grief coexist.

The Gospel we just heard highlights a similar tension. Martha cries out to Jesus from the depth of her sorrow: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”⁶ohn 11:21 (NRSV) And yet, while her brother lies dead in the tomb, she makes a profound profession of faith: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah.”⁷John 11:27 (NRSV) Martha’s grief does not prevent her from putting her trust in Jesus. But her faith in Jesus does not erase her grief. For grief is not unfaithful. Even Jesus – Resurrection and Life himself – shed tears at the death of his friend Lazarus.⁸John 11:35 (NRSV) Joy and grief. Side by side.

I trust that none of us is a stranger to grief. Each of us experiences grief in different ways,

but we know it when we see it. But what do I mean, exactly, by joy? We often use “joy” and “happiness” interchangeably. As if joy is only an emotion. Like delight, cheerfulness, or merriment. But Christian joy is more than an emotion. Our emotions are often fleeting. But Christian joy is enduring. Rooted and grounded in the truth of God’s unconditional love. A truth that does not wax and wane with the changing tide of our emotions. And at the same time, there’s no denying the tension we feel when joy and grief exist side by side. When we try to make sense of it, words only get us so far. But today, we don’t have to rely on words. Today, we turn to the language of music. More precisely, the language of music theory.

I was once convinced I’d found the perfect musical expression of Christian hope: a concept in music theory known as a Picardy Third. Simply put, a Picardy Third is when music in a minor key

ends unexpectedly on a major chord. One note transforms the ominous minor into the hopeful, bright tone of the major. Like a ray of sunshine breaking through a thick layer of dark clouds. [Click here to hear an example of a Picardy Third]. Here is a musical expression of resurrection joy! A chord that heralds Christ’s promise that on the last day, when the dead are raised, grief will be no more. Sorrow will be transformed into perfect joy.

And yet…while the Picardy Third is an apt expression of our future hope, it tells only part of the story. It falls short of capturing the complexity of the place we find ourselves today. For on this day, when we mourn our departed loved ones, our grief has not yet been transformed into joy. Our grief exists alongside our joy. And I feel this, personally, quite deeply. Two years ago on this very day, I preached to you from this pulpit. My father, who had been battling cancer, died only hours later. On this anniversary, I’m holding him very close. And on this All Souls Day, I can rejoice that he abides in the nearer presence of God. But even today, a memory or a photo can still bring tears to my eyes. So today, I need different music…

Today, the Trinity Choir offers us Maurice Durufle’s incomparable Requiem mass. “Requiem” is the Latin word for “rest.” It recalls the opening words of the ancient liturgy for the dead: Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine. “Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord.”  First sung on All Souls Day in 1947, Duruflé’s setting is regarded as not only his greatest work, but one of the greatest sacred choral works of the 20th century. In this masterpiece, Duruflé combines ancient Gregorian chants with rich harmonies of modern French music to create a musical language capable of transporting us.

As our worship draws to a close today, we’ll hear the final movement of Duruflé’s setting entitled In Paradisum. In the ancient language of the Church, the choir will sing text that translated means, “May the angels lead you into paradise.” Words that once accompanied the body as it was processed from the church to its final resting place. I urge you to listen carefully to the very last notes of this movement. For it offers one of the work’s richest moments of musical theology. Duruflé does not end with a Picardy Third that neatly transforms minor into major. Like sorrow transformed into joy. Instead, he concludes his final movement with a remarkable, complex chord:

[Click here to hear the final chord].

When we hear these final notes, there is a profound sense of arrival. The music has found its resting place. And, Duruflé adds notes to this final chord that introduce a lingering sense of tension and ambiguity.⁹The Requiem ends on an F-sharp dominant ninth chord (F♯–A♯–C♯–E–G♯), described by Ryan Brandau as “a dominant seventh chord with an added ninth.” Ryan Brandau, “On Duruflé’s Requiem, Howells’s Requiem, Lobo’s Requiem, and Esenvalds’s In Paradisum,” June 15, 2020, https://www.ryanbrandau.com/essays-1/2020/6/15/on-durufls-requiem-howellss-requiem-lobos-requiem-and-esenvaldss-in-paradisum. Daniel Harrison, however, analyzes its harmonic function as an F-sharp tonic, colored by a minor seventh and major ninth, concluding a plagal cadence in F-sharp Mixolydian. See Daniel Harrison, Pieces of Tradition: An Analysis of Contemporary Tonal Music (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016), 99–101. His harmonies provide us with an experience of rest and peace, but there’s a hint of something unsettled. One expert describes Duruflé’s enigmatic ending as providing “a sense of untethered mystery with a sense of grounded resolve.”¹⁰Ryan Brandau, “On Duruflé’s Requiem, Howells’s Requiem, Lobo’s Requiem, and Esenvalds’s In Paradisum,” June 15, 2020, https://www.ryanbrandau.com/essays-1/2020/6/15/on-durufls-requiem-howellss-requiem-lobos-requiem-and-esenvaldss-in-paradisum. Mystery and resolution. A seeming contradiction. With sounds that convey both mystery and resolution, Duruflé gives us a musical language for paradox. Music that brings together two ideas that seem incompatible. Like strength and weakness. Death and life. Joy and grief.

From this side of the veil between heaven and earth, we can only glimpse what lies beyond. We do not trust a destiny we can see.  Instead, we trust the One who says, “I am the resurrection and the life.”¹¹John 11:25 (NRSV) In an act of profound faith, we read the names of our departed loved ones, one by one. And entrust them to his eternal care and love. The One who sorrows with us. The One who is the ground of our joy.