AS THIS ADVENT SEASON invites us to ponder the mystery of Jesus’s coming at Christmas, I’m sharing a series of reflections inspired by Listening to the Music of the Soul, the Archbishop of York’s Advent book for 2025 by Bishop Guli Francis-Dehqani.
In her exploration of faith, identity, beauty and vulnerability, Bishop Guli invites us to listen for the melodies that shape our inner lives and connect us more deeply with God and one another.
In the first post in this series I shared Bishop Guli’s invitation to compile our own Desert Island Discs – eight pieces of music
‘to help you better understand yourself and the things that are important to you… [and] remind you of seminal moments in your life’.
This challenged me to reflect on the ‘music of my soul’ and the stories it evokes that tell me something about who I am now and how I came to be here. In the days up to Christmas Eve I will share one of those reflections – pieces of music and moments of meaning. Here’s my third:
Canon in D Major – Johann Pachelbel
I don’t recall when I discovered classical music – it wasn’t what my parents listened to. As the youngest of six, I was exposed to a range of music by my older siblings. I remember listening to Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons on a cassette borrowed from my brother, probably in my early teens.
I don’t recall when I heard this piece for the first time – I don’t think it was on Classic FM, as that didn’t launch until September 1992, when I was 22. So why did this make it onto my Desert Island Discs?
I considered other classical pieces which move me deeply, such as Adagio for Strings, Ashokan Farewell, or Spiegel im Spiegel, which move me deeply and have helped me express ‘sighs too deep for words’ [Romans 8:26].
But I settled on Canon in D because it’s less about expressing deep emotion, and more about calmness and harmony. Underneath the melody there’s a calm repeating pattern of eight bass notes – like a heartbeat or a set of footsteps – that stays the same from start to finish. You might not notice it at first, but it quietly holds the whole piece together.
On top of that steady base, simple melodies enter one by one. Each new voice adds something slightly different – higher, lighter, or more decorative. They weaving together harmoniously rather than competing. There are no dramatic twists or sudden surprises. Instead, its power comes from gradual growth: it starts simply, becomes richer and fuller, and then gently settles and resolves. I find it soothing and reflective, like watching waves roll in, each one similar but never exactly the same. It feels stable, warm, and reassuring, as if time has slowed down and everything is held safely in place. If it comes on the car radio when I’m driving alone, I sometimes hum the eight recurring bass notes, which I find grounding and meditative.
That’s why I chose it to be entrance music at my civil partnership – the first to be registered in a place of worship in the UK – in May 2012. Our ‘best friends’ walked down the aisle to it played on the organ of Ullet Road Unitarian Church, Liverpool, a beautiful Grade 1 listed building with Pre-Raphaelite stained glass. It seemed like an appropriate setting for this timeless music.
In 2018 Classic FM shared this video which shows how the four repeating instrumental parts, for three violins and a cello, weave together. It is as fascinating to watch as it is exquisite to hear:
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