I was privileged to attend a church I don't normally attend on Christmas. Arriving a little early, I heard their choir finishing up their practice. They sounded all right; about as good as any other church choir.
During the last chorus of the second to last song, I think it might have been "Glory to God," (I really wish I could remember), the director asked the sopranos to hit a note higher than they had before. Probably ever. It sounded, putting it nicely, horrendous. Honestly, every one of them was sharp. Actually, I take that back. Only half of them were sharp. The other half dropped the note like I would a football, avoiding it altogether. There was some wonderful talent in their choir, but Simon wouldn't have even let them finish the note it was that bad. And it was a holding note, too.
It sounded terrible, but it felt wonderful! Magnificent, even. Once my mortal ears got over the PTSD, I was able to listen with my heart, which happened to be what the ladies were singing with. My instant grimace was soon replaced with a grin. Looking at their faces as they sang and tried their hardest, I was uplifted. Although hitting that note was something they wanted desperately to do, they were yet more focused on the meaning of the song and why they wanted to hit that high note. Each mouth that was missing that note was covered with a smile. (Maybe that's why they couldn't get it.) It was easy for me to notice that every woman in that choir who couldn't hold that note held the true meaning of Christmas in their hearts.
They may have missed the note, but they nailed the message.
1 comment:
I should have had your attitude as I made our sopranos hit high notes! :)
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