I realized this year I’ve been leading worship for 35 years.
I was fortunate to have opportunities in my small school and small church, occasions such as choir, musicals, playing piano, singing solos and ensembles. Often by trial and error, I learned to harmonize, to adjust piano-playing for a singer or worship band, learned to swallow hard and just get up there and do it. I’m very grateful for these chances, because it grew my musicianship and mostly, my strength and ability to do hard things. And when I went off to college at the tender age of 17, my experience opened doors to music and drama teams, representing the college on PR tours and at schools and camps. Then it helped me audition for chamber choir, which led me to sing everywhere from the Governor General’s home, to famous churches, to the Vancouver Orpheum.
As I wrote the paragraph above, stories flooded into my mind. Bus trips across the United States. Getting pneumonia and having to cough in a back room for twenty minutes, find my voice again and pull off a performance in front of professionals, prominent figures and wealthy donors. Passing out on stage in a tiny, stifling hot church from heat exhaustion on a summer afternoon. And fun things too, like helping lead comedy improv in a gym full of hyperactive high schoolers, bellowing praise songs complete with absurd actions for teen camp, performing jazz classics with a few musical friends in a local coffee venue. All of these colourful memories have a place in the photo album of my youth. And like I said, I’m grateful that when I begged to take piano lessons in grade 2, my parents made the trip to the city to buy a piano and signed me up with Mrs. McDonald, who lived in the brown apartments and to me was a figure of mystery and awe.
I did want to learn piano, but I also thought that if I went to piano lessons like the cool girls, maybe they would like me. The liking part didn’t work, but the music part did. And thus I began my life lesson on how pearls are created from painful irritants that, in seeking to soothe, we sometimes manifest destiny.
There is one story I’ve often thought about, at first with puzzlement and then a dawning understanding as years passed. It was Sunday morning and I was about 15, heading off to church with my family in our big van. I had the worst cold ever but was going anyway. As we walked up the aisle looking for an empty pew, my piano teacher (who also happened to be the church music director) approached in a highly stressed state. His wife was expecting and quite ill, and he needed to leave immediately. I nodded sympathetically. Then, he gestured hastily to the pulpit and piano and said, “You have to lead the music. Just do whatever, I have to go.”
Oh no. The floor disappeared underneath me.
My heart is racing even now as I type. He was not just my teacher, but a mentor and leader, for whom I had the utmost respect. How could I say no? The whole church was sitting there, waiting. I grabbed a hymn book and walked onto the stage, realizing we would have to sing without an instrument. Hands shaking, voice cracking, quickly I flipped through the hymnbook, found the first recognizable song and asked the congregation to stand and sing. I started surreptitiously searching for the next hymn while the first one was still being sung, and then another. And finally, drained and red-faced, needing a tissue, it was over. Until the closing song, of course, but at least I had the length of a sermon to figure that out.
Why would anyone put a 15 year old in such an impossible, stressful situation? I don’t totally blame my teacher; he was in a panic of his own, and clutched at the only straw he saw. I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I wasn’t at church that day. What would people have done? I’m sure there were others who could have done a better job. Obviously, my teacher thought I could handle it, and that’s where this gets tricky. Because I couldn’t handle it. I did it, but still feel the stress of that morning today.
Sometimes people are forced to find courage where they shouldn’t have to. Where were the adults in the room? How could they sit there and let me shoulder that burden alone? If I saw one of my similar aged students or a niece or nephew in that position, I would be compelled to stand up for them. Help, at least in some way. I felt so exposed and alone in that huge pulpit. Why couldn’t I say no?
“No, I have a cold and it’s too much for me.”
“No, you will have to find someone else to do it.”
What’s the big deal, a reader may be thinking. Well, it may not have been a big deal for you, but it was for me. In the past I struggled with the memory, thinking I should have been thankful I was asked, or wow, they really trusted me. I should be proud of being able to lead the music with no warning, no preparation, no accompaniment and a hoarse throat. These days I hold the memory with compassion for that girl. I wish I could have taken better care of her.
We shouldn’t be proud or happy when others over-extend, even hurt themselves so that we get what we want, we are made to look good, or life goes more smoothly. I have understanding and empathy for the congregation that morning as they probably hadn’t a clue what was going on. Most would’ve had no idea that a shaky acapella hymn-sing wasn’t the original plan for that morning. Some were probably irritated that the service started a bit late, and why weren’t we using the piano? I don’t blame them. Not only was I required to lead the singing, but also to cover for the church leaders and act like everything was fine. I think that’s the part that really stings. How many times have I been in THAT mess, covering for leaders, left holding the bag… but those are stories for another day.
One way I’ve hoped to redeem that Sunday morning is looking out for other young people, especially girls, who volunteer their hearts out serving in the nursery, Sunday School, Junior church, and so on. Sometimes the church takes advantage of the energy and vulnerability of young people, and then years later wonder why they have disappeared. “Where is so-and-so? Well, I guess they just weren’t committed. They obviously don’t love the Lord, or they would be here.”
Looking back isn’t always a good time. It was tempting to make this memory into a comedy sketch and have a laugh, except it just isn’t funny. What I’m thankful for is the grace to see past events through kinder, wiser eyes. Because I truly believe most of the time people are doing the best they can with what they have. Most of the time, there isn’t anyone to blame. But when we know better, we can do better.
End of sermon. Shall we stand and sing.
Stories for Humans 