Whomever said “They who sing, pray twice” was a liar.
Because when you’re singing in the choir, you’re so worried about where you are, and how to pronounce the word “the”, and whether or not you’re drowning out the person next to you, and whether the sweat rolling down your back (in January) is leaving salt stains on your choir robe, and dear God, am I sharp or is that the piano?
Oh, and yeah, there’s a worship service going on, praise God, where are the cough drops and WHO STOLE MY HYMNAL?!
Someone once told me “The Devil enters the church through the choir.” And that has NOTHING to do with the fact that, as a young choir member, I once started a water fight during the Children’s Sermon.
I didn’t volunteer for the choir. As a matter of fact, I was invited to join at several times during the last year I’ve been attending A Certain Church, and each time I plead conflicting appointments. About two months ago, however, they sent in the big guns.
No, not the music director, someone with even more power and prestige: one of the Elders.
(Yes, yes, I know Episcopalians don’t really have appointed and anointed Elders [and why don’t we?], but trust me, they are around.)
“You’re joining the choir this year,” she told me.
“Okay,” I said. Because, well, what else could I say?
(If you say, “Well, you could have said ‘No’, you’ve never been faced with an appointed and anointed [unofficial] Elder.)
So, on Sunday, for the first time in over a year, I will once again put on vestments and become a part of the worship leaders. I have my pencil, post-its, hymnal, music binder, and fan all ready.
God bless the singers, who pray twice (at the beginning of the service “Dear God, don’t let me mess up!” and at the end “Thank God it’s over!”)