Sing a Song Sun, 28th April, 2013
"Best of any song is birdsong in the quiet, but first you must have the quiet."
- Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir
Today is the church choir's special music Sunday, so today's meditation is on the gift of song. How I have been experiencing this gift lately is through the wondrous chorus of birdsong that greets me every morning, usually starting just before dawn.
I wish I knew better how to identify the calls of different birds, but that will be for a future chapter in my life. For now, I enjoy the favorites that I recognize, but have not yet put a face with the song—rather like listening to the radio, the old fashioned kind, when you hear the song but you have no idea who is singing. I once caught a male cardinal shouting at the top of his lungs early one morning where I could get a look at who was singing. It was a lusty and urgent call that reminded me of a siren or call of warning. It started with two high pitched "flares" to get your attention, then followed by a sharp recitative of DAN-ger, DAN-ger, DAN-ger. I think it was his way of telling me to refill the bird feeder.
We humans, too, each have our unique voice to share with the world. Whether we're shouting danger or murmuring softly to our newborn babies, we have a miraculous capacity for a wide range of vocal expression—so much so that the oft-expressed idea of finding one's own, authentic voice has become a cliche.
I'm going to take the road less traveled and speak of the joy of losing your authentic voice—through the act of choral singing. Choral singing has been an important part of my life since singing in the 5th grade choir. As a refreshing counterpoint to the wider American culture, the act of singing brings the joy of losing yourself in a tapestry of sound, to form a communion with other souls, to be one tiny cell in the body of the cosmos.
It's a relief from daily stress, if nothing else, because being fully engaged in singing is already the ultimate in multi-tasking, leaving no brain power for worrying about our jobs, the bills or our relationships. Stand up straight. Breathe. But don't just breathe, inhale in the shape of the vowel you're about to sing. No, you're singing from your throat—push the air up from your diaphragm. That's better. Watch the conductor so you know when to start. But also watch the music on the page in front of you to know what pitch to sing, and what words. But don't just sing the words, use the right vowel sound so that the everyday word sounds like poetry. Now, tempo, tempo—am I behind the altos? Ah, and the rhythm - music is not just notes, it's a drumbeat. Oh, and don't forget dynamics—loud, now soft, now flowing (go somewhere!), now ebbing. And all the while you are making glorious sound you are listening to the other voices around you, blending, caressing, circling together ever higher to the climax of the phrase and then slowing falling back to earth, now ending together followed by silence—that second or two when we come back to ourselves and reclaim our individuality.
My wish for you this week is to know the joy of losing yourself in such a beautiful and joyful act of community.
"Best of any song is birdsong in the quiet, but first you must have the quiet."
- Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir
Today is the church choir's special music Sunday, so today's meditation is on the gift of song. How I have been experiencing this gift lately is through the wondrous chorus of birdsong that greets me every morning, usually starting just before dawn.
I wish I knew better how to identify the calls of different birds, but that will be for a future chapter in my life. For now, I enjoy the favorites that I recognize, but have not yet put a face with the song—rather like listening to the radio, the old fashioned kind, when you hear the song but you have no idea who is singing. I once caught a male cardinal shouting at the top of his lungs early one morning where I could get a look at who was singing. It was a lusty and urgent call that reminded me of a siren or call of warning. It started with two high pitched "flares" to get your attention, then followed by a sharp recitative of DAN-ger, DAN-ger, DAN-ger. I think it was his way of telling me to refill the bird feeder.
We humans, too, each have our unique voice to share with the world. Whether we're shouting danger or murmuring softly to our newborn babies, we have a miraculous capacity for a wide range of vocal expression—so much so that the oft-expressed idea of finding one's own, authentic voice has become a cliche.
I'm going to take the road less traveled and speak of the joy of losing your authentic voice—through the act of choral singing. Choral singing has been an important part of my life since singing in the 5th grade choir. As a refreshing counterpoint to the wider American culture, the act of singing brings the joy of losing yourself in a tapestry of sound, to form a communion with other souls, to be one tiny cell in the body of the cosmos.
It's a relief from daily stress, if nothing else, because being fully engaged in singing is already the ultimate in multi-tasking, leaving no brain power for worrying about our jobs, the bills or our relationships. Stand up straight. Breathe. But don't just breathe, inhale in the shape of the vowel you're about to sing. No, you're singing from your throat—push the air up from your diaphragm. That's better. Watch the conductor so you know when to start. But also watch the music on the page in front of you to know what pitch to sing, and what words. But don't just sing the words, use the right vowel sound so that the everyday word sounds like poetry. Now, tempo, tempo—am I behind the altos? Ah, and the rhythm - music is not just notes, it's a drumbeat. Oh, and don't forget dynamics—loud, now soft, now flowing (go somewhere!), now ebbing. And all the while you are making glorious sound you are listening to the other voices around you, blending, caressing, circling together ever higher to the climax of the phrase and then slowing falling back to earth, now ending together followed by silence—that second or two when we come back to ourselves and reclaim our individuality.
My wish for you this week is to know the joy of losing yourself in such a beautiful and joyful act of community.
Photo by Petr Kratochvil