Christopher Chelpka

While working on my upcoming sermons for 1 Samuel this morning, I heard a new version of the Butterfly Lovers Violin Concerto released last month by Chloe Chua and the Singapore Symphony Orchestra.¹ As I’ve been preparing for those sermons, I’ve been thinking a lot about how to read narratives well. So it caught my attention when I read in the Apple Music notes that Chloe Chua describes her role on the violin in the pieces on this album as that of a narrator telling a story.

As a narrator, Miss Chua introduces Butterfly Lovers in a quiet, intimate way that is beautiful and inviting. The beginning feels less theatrical than other versions, which surprised me, but I loved it. Instead of feeling like I was watching a movie (and I like movies), I felt like a child hearing a story from a masterful storyteller.

Here’s a clip from the opening.

Perfectly in control of her pitch and pacing, over the course of the first movement, Chua slowly reveals a world unlike our own. It’s magical and unfamiliar, yet full of emotions that you know well—love, longing, wonder, desperation. By the second movement, she has drawn you in so completely that you’ve forgotten where you are. And now you are in for a ride of surprises, adventure, and loss, all leading to a climatic resolution.

There is a story you can read that goes along with all of this. At the end, the main characters are transformed into butterflies. In Ms. Chua’s retelling, this is a quiet, beautiful moment. There’s intensity in the softness. You lean in closer to catch every detail. Then it ends. And in the final ten seconds of silence, left on the track, all you can do is breathe, listening as the last shimmers of that magical world fade away.

But if you are like most children who enjoy the spell of a great storyteller, you’ll soon be hitting play, asking for her to tell it again. Good stories well-told have this effect. They draw us in, take us on a journey, change us, and leave us eager to do it all over again.