Last night was opening rehearsal for another season of the Senior Choir at Holy Communion- and once again I was reminded of how incredibly fortunate I am to stand in front of a group like this. They are both good singers and good people – and to paraphrase I Corinthians 13, this group is about as far from a Noisy Gong or Clanging Cymbal as you could possibly be. They love their church – they love each other – they love me – they love music – and they even love my illegible manuscripts. Well, no, they actually don’t love that- although most of them have learned to laugh about it rather than cry or grouse about it. . . and whatever frustration they feel seems to be largely balanced by the fun of singing world premieres every two or three weeks.
I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect with this first rehearsal. I hadn’t sent out any sort of letter to past members, reminding them about a new year starting up – and I also didn’t manage to write an article to the church newsletter, soliciting new members. And knowing about several people who were out of town or otherwise unavailable, I had visions of having three people there.
Well, it’s good I didn’t bet money on it because we had one of our best attended first rehearsals in quite some time . . . with two new sopranos and a new bass joining our ranks and the vast majority of past veterans returning. (There were 19 singers there, and we were missing 6 vets – so it looks like on those incredibly rare occasions when every single singer is there, we will have a powerhouse group of 25, which is pretty darn close to how big the choir was when I started at Holy Communion 20 years ago. When I think of how the congregation has numerically declined over the last two decades (as have most mainline churches) it makes me even more grateful that so many seats in the choir room are occupied, to say nothing of how good those people are in those seats.
And I am especially happy that they remain enthusiastic about singing my music . . . or at least are getting very good at pretending to be. Last night was a perfect demonstration of their patience and graciousness. I wasn’t actually hit with inspiration for a new piece until 11:45 yesterday morning, as the music faculty gathered for a meeting. I sat a little off to the side, with my agenda strategically laid over my manuscript paper, so I could surreptitiously start to write down the melodic line that was flying through my head. (A couple minutes earlier I got the idea of pulling words from the popular hymn “All Creatures of our God and King” – a phrase here, a phrase there – for this coming Sunday when we celebrate Planet Earth – so the lyrics were taken care of.) Unfortunately, once the meeting was done, I taught one voice lesson after another without a break – until almost 6:00, at which time I had to go into rather frantic overdrive to get the piece finished up, written out, and duplicated in time for 730 rehearsal. Every time I glanced up at the clock in my office, I had the feeling that I was Cinderella at the ball and that my coachmen were already starting to turn back into rats. But I got the thing done in a nick of time minus a few quarter rests, a couple of bar lines, an accidental here and there, and any hint of dynamic markings. . . and with a few words looking more like Sanskrit than English, thanks to my hurried scrawl. But maybe that “hot off the presses” look of a rough manuscript makes it more fun for the choir. Certainly, they retain their good humor even as they try to figure out what the heck I’ve written … and what’s more, in no time at all they’re singing it well – and singing it like they’ve been singing it for a long time. I don’t even know how such a thing is possible, but there it is. And it’s just one more reason why I feel so blessed beyond all deserving.
pictured: the Holy Communion Senior Choir at our rehearsal last night. The best feeling in the world was that I had to step all the way back into the corner of the room in order to get everybody into the frame of the picture- and even then, I had to ask the women to smoosh together a bit, and for Andrew Duncan to lean in – or I could not have fit them all in. What a nice problem to have.
Oddly enough, it reminds me of something about a past friend of mine, Chris Roules, from Atlantic. I remember that when she moved into her first house after living in small apartments, she realized that every place she had ever lived (on her own) she was able to vacuum without ever once unplugging the vacuum cleaner and plugging it into another electric socket. So to move into something where the vacuum didn’t automatically reach every corner was a gigantic step up for her. I’m not sure what that has to do with taking a picture of the choir last night, except that for me one indication of the health of the choir is whether or not I have to step back to fit everyone into the picture. I am certainly mindful of the fact that great things are possible even with a small group, and certainly some of my favorite experiences with the choir have involved Sundays when we we had hardly anyone there but managed to pull off something special. What a thrill that is. Nonetheless, I hope that I will always have to step way back when taking the choir’s picture . . . in part because every person counts in this choir. Some are superb musicians, while others do the best they can. Some are serious and focused while others do what they can to keep us smiling and laughing. Several of them are more than twenty years younger than I am – while at least one person has been singing in this choir for as long as I’ve been alive. Everybody matters – everybody contributes – and it’s my pleasure and privilege to be the guy standing in front of them, waving his arms and feeling incredibly fortunate.