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How can I keep from singing?
I protested when I was first asked to write this column about music, because I am probably the LEAST musically-talented member of the choir. Then Anna asked me, "What makes you attend choir practice every Thursday evening and sing every Sunday, including arriving at 9 am for practice prior to the service?" A good question and, on reflection, I've discovered that it has a number of answers.
I've always loved singing and in my childhood every car trip was an excuse for singing songs with my sisters. We only had a few recordings at home, mostly Broadway songs to which we learned all the words. In elementary school I was lucky enough to be part of a junior choir at St. Andrew's Anglican Church here in Calgary. All that ended with junior high, as did my participation in music as anything other than a listener. I realized that I really can't carry a tune on my own, and although I can read music, the notes on the page don't create the equivalent sound in my head. My singing became limited to Christmas Eve sing-alongs. For a long time after I joined St Laurence, I was hesitant to join the choir, knowing my musical limitations. I'm so glad that I finally worked up the courage to take a chance.
Miguel de Cervantes wrote, "He who sings scares away his woes," and I find that very true. Sometimes at the end of a long work day, the last thing I want to do is to attend practice, but singing always revitalizes me. Maybe it's partly the deep-breathing, certainly it's the distraction from daily cares, but mostly it's the inexplicable magic of music itself. Has a society has ever existed that doesn't use music for its most important moments: sacred rituals, celebrations, and all the deepest expressions of love and joy?
Since I'm essentially a 'word' person (I'm a librarian after all), there's something particularly powerful for me about combining words with music. I can get distracted when listening to solely instrumental music; that doesn't happen when the words and music are equally evocative, as happens in the best hymns. It's the form of prayer that's most natural to me, perhaps because it's not how we express ourselves in daily life (outside of musicals, few people sing their conversations). The best lyricists are also poets, who succinctly express what most of us can't find the words to say. In the restrained Anglican tradition, music is our emotional expression. We sing "Joyful, joyful we adore thee" because in our hearts we know that "a song must rise, for the spirit to descend."
How many of you look at the dates of the hymns we sing, and the names of the writers and composers? I always do, and while the lyrics of contemporary hymns are often more meaningful to me, I feel a deep sense of connection to the long tradition of the Christian church when we sing songs whose tunes date back to the 14th century or the Middle Ages, or whose lyrics were composed by John Milton, Charles Wesley or Isaac Watts. I know that my grand-parents and great-grandparents sang those same hymns, and there's something very comforting in that.
By and large, St Laurence choir members are musically talented group, but are they also very tolerant, and willing to accept those of us who just try. And by trying, I know I've improved (as long as I have Margaret and Linda's strong voices beside me). I'm very saddened by people who don't participate in singing because they think they have poor voices. I firmly believe that everyone can sing. There's nowhere better to try than in supportive environment of a church where no one judges your voice, but everyone lifts their voices to the glory of God.
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