Bless The Lord...

As I sat in the church pew with the boys this past Sunday, September 13, I actually tried to join the refrain “The Lord is kind and merciful, slow to anger and rich in compassion...” but I got choked up. I would like to say I was overcome with piety but that wasn't quite it. My wife and I have spent no shortage of time over the years talking about what's wrong with the church (in our estimation) and our search for a liturgy that we could handle was a big factor in disrupting our quiet lives in Alaska and we have never been on firm footing since. Well, actually, a baby disrupted our quiet lives initially but the collapse of stability was entire our doing. Especially my doing as head of the household. At any rate, as you have probably gathered by now, our search has in some sense brought us full circle from where we started. The lessons we have learned along the way have been crucial. Yes, the same practices that we could not tolerate earlier are still happening to one degree or another because “they are permitted” (and apparently always will be), but ultimately we realized we had to come to terms with how things are and do more than complain. We have come to understand that many of our priests feel just like we do but are getting beat up by both the left and right factions in the church. Their bishop tells them to stay within certain parameters, and if they don't there will inevitably be personal and clerical costs. Bobbie and I don't want to be just another complaining voice in the church. Our attitude now is to ask how we can support and encourage our pastor and what talents and skills we can bring to God's banquet to make it more bountiful. Granted, this is not such a difficult question now as we feel we are on the same wavelength as our pastor, but this did not necessarily stop us from fleeing other parishes in the past.

This stated, a few months ago my lovely wife took the initiative to start organizing a choir. Despite being in a very Catholic town with four big parishes none of them appear to have any choirs: only individual cantors with accompaniment. So Bobbie decided to not just continue pining away for the glory days of being in her college choir decades ago, but enlisted the help of a friend at another parish, an alto, known for her voice and training. Together they put together a small hand-picked choir of women and men from three different parishes – with the latest addition consisting of religious sisters – to sing during a randomly selected Sunday. A few weeks later that random 8am Mass was chosen by the bishop to come to our parish in order to dedicate a relic of the English saint Oliver Plunkett.

This brings me back to sitting in the church pew with the boys. I didn't know what to expect from the choir. Of course I had heard about the inner workings of who was in the choir, the confusion and clarification over what was to be sung, when they were getting together to practice (not often enough) and who was showing up and who wasn't, but I never heard any singing. I just knew my wife took her responsibilities seriously in organizing the music and the choir. I also knew she had a quiet voice and wondered if she would be overpowered by the other cantors and if I would be able to hear her.

The choir started off well with the entrance antiphon, and I could tell that the congregation was taken by surprise, but it was during Bless The Lord O My Soul that I became slightly emotional. That was surprising. We prefer older, more traditional music at Mass. I'm not sure anything surpasses the human voice alone singing or chanting in unison – which traditionally held pride of place in glorifying God and remains exclusively so in the Eastern liturgy – but like priests, liturgists need to stay within the bounds they are given. Indeed, it wouldn't go well with many parishioners if a choir broke out in Gregorian Chant for an entire Mass when they were used to only hearing hymns from the middle of the last century. So, that being said, Bobbie had to stick with what was in the hymnal and her options for that Mass. During Bless the Lord O My Soul the soprano that rose above the other voices got right to me and I knew it had to be one of two woman: the teenager or my wife. The voice was strong, confident, and hit all the right notes. It absolutely carried the tune and it absolutely was my wife.

So much for what I 'knew' about Bobbie's voice.