One of the reflections on my vocation has to do with writing, how I love it and find it nourishing, and how I haven't gotten myself to do blogging in FIVE YEARS. What's up with that! When I return home my plan is to get a journal and some lovely colored pencils to do some image journaling - to play with color and see what comes from that. But I cannot forsake my first love, the written word. And so here I am, back.
This week we were shown the technique of "Life Line" to describe one's life: how did I get here? What were the stops along the way? The speaker described his life in terms of vacation locales, places that had been important to him. They all had a similar theme. Another friend broke his life up into segments by the moves that he had made. I began to think about what my "skeleton" would be upon which I could frame my life. and it turned into.... life lessons I learned from being a member of the Westminster Youth Choir.
Many of you know that I was a member of this choir for 5 of its 35-40 years, and it shaped me in every imaginable way - including my call to ministry. The director, William C. "Bill" Everitt, shaped us all by his choices, his mentoring, and his demand for excellence. Some of the friendships I made in the choir continue to shape me to this day.
This was the choir in 1972. See if you can find me!
So, what have I learned in the way of life lessons from being a member of this choir?
* It's all about the community. All are welcome. There's room for everyone, even some who couldn't really sing that well. In choral singing, there is no room for egos. Dangly jewelry had to go. No scratching allowed! Any movements other than singing would distract from the whole. Your ears had to cover about 75 people: the altos could not overpower the basses; one alto could not overpower one another. The goal was to take those 75 disparate personalities and sing as one.
* It's not performance, it's offering. Every year, we toured some part of the United States or Canada. We visited places we had never been, dressed and acted respectfully (once we got off the buses!), and offered our gift of music. In turn we received the hospitality of strangers in meals and lodging. Mr. Everitt's personal slogan was taken from somewhere in Psalms or Proverbs, can't remember. But I remember the saying: "Offer not unto the Lord that which costs you nothing." In order to make that offering to God, we had to set aside our egos, our desires to wear jeans or flipflops, our ugly attitudes, our comfort. And it was always worth it.
* Everyone has a job. Some carried risers. Some loaded luggage. Some made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Some were officers. But everyone had to learn their part and contribute. Everyone had an assignment.
* Make sure everyone gets there. In order to be in the choir, we had to take voice lessons weekly. And if we couldn't afford the $3 per Saturday for that lesson, somehow the teacher would get compensated. When tour time came around, our cost was a whopping $100 or so. Mainly that covered the cost of the Greyhound buses, since some meals and lodging were provided by the host churches. Even so, some of the kids weren't able to find that $100. Funny - somehow, if there were 4 students who couldn't afford to go, 4 anonymous donors surfaced to pay their scholarship. It was grace at work. On free days, Mr. E would dole out dollar bills to all of us for spending money. He sure didn't act like he was made out of money, but something tells me he was... and, that internally, he was rich beyond measure.
* What goes in, comes out. Mr. E wouldn't let us sing anything but the best music. He challenged us with music from the early church and 8-part Russian anthems. He delighted us with spirituals, but we had to make them ring. And there were some anthems that were so treasured, we had to prove to him that we were "up to par" before he would let us sing them. We used to record for broadcast on KRLD Radio in Dallas. I'll never forget the time when Christmas was approaching, and he wanted us to record the "Hallelujah Chorus" from Handel's Messiah. He put on the headphones, the tape began to roll, and we sang it perfectly. We were so proud of ourselves! Then when the tape stopped, he said, "That was perfect. Not a note out of place. Now, let's record it again and sing it like we mean it." That was all we needed. I'm not sure there was a dry eye in the house that second time. Again, it's not performance: it's offering.
These are only five life lessons learned from my time with the Westminster Youth Choir. I could go on, and may well do in future notes. But these are the important ones that surface now for me. And for now, it is enough.
