Text
Georg Christian Lehms, 1711

Text No. 6
Paul Gerhardt, 1647

First performance
First Sunday after Epiphany,
13 January 1726

The reading for the First Sunday after Epiphany, taken from the Gospel of Luke, tells the story of the twelve-year-old Jesus’ visit to the temple after becoming separated from his parents in Jerusalem. This parable of loss and reunion was often employed as an analogy for the painful separation of the Saviour from his community of followers – felt all the more keenly after the closeness of the Christmas season. Although the cantata was composed in 1726 in Leipzig, its libretto by Georg Christoph Lehms and chamber-music scoring lend it elements of a cantata from Bach’s Weimar era.

The scoring for an ensemble of soloists immediately distances the introductory movement from any realist narrative concerning a group of people. Instead, the theme of searching is interpreted as the soul’s longing for the Saviour, and the entire cantata is thus set as a “concerto in dialogo” for soprano and bass. The oboe cantilena, written in the style of a concerto movement over piano e spiccato strings, establishes the tone for a setting in which the rests are at least as important as the notes, and in which it is no coincidence that the broken chords of the string accompaniment alternately ascend and descend. The key of E minor, with its noble sorrow and acute worry, is fitting for both the gospel story and the human hopes and fears so poignantly expressed in the gentle melismas of the soprano part.

With its vivid, questioning gesture of “Was ists?” (Why is it?), the bass recitative presents a short, pithy statement that melds the precociousness of the wise child with the gravitas of the bass register and emphatically pinpoints the church as the place to find healing.
In the aria, the fact that Jesus feels no anger but is instead touched by the efforts to discover him becomes audible, and the tender, transparent music celebrates the Saviour’s approachable nature. Over a gentle bass line, the solo violinist presents flowing embellished lines that seem to smile indulgently at technical difficulty, performing lightly as though with a silver mute. This leaves scope for the bass soloist to present his part in a measured style and address an individual rather than a large audience. In the middle section, the motives and modulations of the violin part grow in complexity – almost as though Jesus’ promise had invoked the transformative power of the holy spirit.

After outlining their positions, the soul and Jesus are united in an accompagnato recitative. A mysterious string accompaniment sets the scene for the soprano, whose opening line of “Ach heiliger und grosser Gott!” (Ah, holy and most mighty God) is akin to an act of devout deference. Jesus responds, however, with a summons to reject worldly concerns, tipping the conversation towards a test of faith. This is averted by the psalm paraphrase “Wie lieblich ist doch deine Wohnung, Herr, starker Zebaoth” (How lovely is, though, this thy dwelling, Lord, mighty Sabaoth). Here, the words ring in the longed-for meeting as equals, and the progression from fear to submission to soulful unity is paired with ever-freer singing and delicately rendered alternating lines in the string accompaniment.

The following duet, with its full ensemble sound and brazen dance-like phrases, employs a style that, in Bach’s oeuvre, stands for regained certainty. Here, the at times madcap movement resembles an orchestral suite setting in which the first violin deftly weaves its way around the vocal and oboe motifs. The descending leap of a sixth makes for a cheeky gesture suited to mischief of all sorts, thus allowing the lovers to jump merrily through puddles holding hands: “Ach und Schmerz” (Ah and woe) are nothing but a bygone memory, no longer a burden but a uniting experience.

Although Lehms’s libretto included no closing chorale, the closing hymn verse added in Leipzig rounds out the dialogue by taking the group – and by extension the congregation – into account. With the scoring for chamber ensemble, however, Paul Gerhardt’s verse set to the famous melody of “Freu dich sehr, o meine Seele” is more of an aria for four voices than a rousing church hymn. The ascending melody of the middle lines captures the singers’ energising joy (“Liebe mich und treib mich an” – Love me, too, and lead me on); it is akin to how we might feel when we see a happy couple – we take some of their joyful energy with us on our further journey.