A photo from First Unitarian Church Dallas, Easter 2016
Growing up in a Baptist church, the liturgical calendar was not a priority. Obviously, we celebrated the dynamic duo: Christmas Eve and Easter. That’s when I saw new faces in the pews and prayed some of them would find Jesus and come back the next Sunday. Our church usually had a parade of children walk down the aisles with palm leaves the week before Easter. Though Palm Sunday usually took an awful twist towards the end, as we had to cram all of Holy Week into one service. And, we occasionally had THAT Advent calendar in our house. You know the one. Open up a window each day and get a chocolate, but one day someone skips ahead 2–3 days and the jury is out on just who has a little bit more energy thanks to the lack of self control. Note: In a household with only two children, the jury doesn’t take long to rule.
Oh ya, and then there was Lent. Wait, what? I think my only childhood knowledge of Lent were restaurants having fish specials on Fridays. And of course, those specials were really only for the Catholics, so I could continue with the status quo at home with meat, potato and a picked at green vegetable every night. Lent was just another strange practice Catholics took part in that made me even more confused about what they believed.
When I moved to Dallas after college, I found a wonderful reality of churches hiring singers as section leaders for their choirs. I knew a few friends who had made a few bucks doing this in college, but growing up Baptist, music on Sundays included a colossal volunteer choir in robes and stoles singing at the traditional service every Sunday, often with a small brass section, organ and piano. I had never fathomed I could earn money by serving as a worship leader within a church choir. Within a year of moving to Dallas, I was singing almost every Sunday in a local house of worship.
I use “house of worship” purposely because I’ve always joked that I never know what denomination I am from Sunday to Sunday. As a freelancer, I’m constantly on the move, assisting in choirs from a variety of Christian backgrounds. And, this has also included some time at a Jewish Temple and a Unitarian Church. I consider myself fortunate, because my job allows me to see how people do church. And each week for the last 10+ years, that’s what I’ve been doing with my Sunday mornings: leading in worshipping and marveling at how others navigate the mysteries of life. And, I learned that Lent was not just a Catholic thing. Lent is a big deal at the Baptist church I am a member of here in Dallas, and it is a spiritual practice for many other churches that don’t have “Catholic” in their name.
Tomorrow is Palm Sunday, and the calendar on my iPhone reminds me I have two services in the morning as well as a concert in the evening. It’s a lie. My phone has been lying to me for weeks now, but I just play along. It’s a strange feeling knowing all those plans have been vanquished by a pandemic. This was not part of my planned Lenten journey but nevertheless, I’ve been helpless as it has wrecked my schedule and my rhythm. For the first time in years, I will not be singing “Hosanna!” in a sanctuary tomorrow morning. That’s a really weird feeling I still can’t seem to wrap my head around.
I guess it’s time for a confession. I’ve already sung Hosanna. And yes, I skipped ahead and sang Alleluia. A church where I serve as a section leader has already prerecorded services for Holy Week. A group of nine singers stood 6 feet apart and recorded anthems and hymns to be streamed at the appropriate times in the coming days. Those recording sessions were a welcome respite from the stress and anxiety of the last few weeks. And, it feels wonderful knowing our music will bring a sense of normalcy and a bit of comfort to those who will worship along during Holy Week. This crisis has helped me realize how fortunate I am to lead and guide parishioners in worship with my beloved friends and colleagues. It has been an important reminder during these tough days.
I’ve been wrestling with the realities of pressing fast forward on Lent. The planned services and special days in preparation for Easter have been sent into disarray, and when it comes to my ministry, the tomb already feels empty. I can watch the recordings this week, but it won’t feel fresh like it will for parishioners who are experiencing the worship experience in its proper time. I feel cheated. I feel left out. I feel like something important has been swept out from under me. And honestly, it’s hard not to be disappointed.
These feelings led me to reassess why I do what I do, and how this year is different from previous ones. Sure, I could be happy I’m not in lengthy, tedious rehearsals that fill up my schedule prior to Holy Week, but those rehearsals don’t seem so annoying at the present moment. For all the complaining I’ve done over the years, I have a new appreciation for the rehearsal process. I miss my friends. I miss making music with my friends. I miss challenging myself and others to be the best musicians we can be. And I miss the power of sharing a completed product with others. It leaves me feeling uneasy and unfulfilled.
As for jumping the gun on Hosannas and Alleluias, those words have specific meaning in Holy Week, but haven’t I been singing them well before their designated time for years? Sure, some choir directors might purposely leave these words out in rehearsal as a conscious effort to keep Lenten sacred, but the concepts, themes and truths surrounding them in texts are being perfected weeks before they are sung in worship. In my years of rehearsing for Holy Week, I’m always weeks ahead of the days on the church calendar. Yes, I’ve already recorded Easter hymns and anthems, but those are the same truths I have been embracing and living into while in choir rehearsals Lenten season after Lenten season.
And that is the heart of ministry. Ministry is preparing for others. Ministry is setting planning well in advance to ensure worship is the Truth it needs to be for others. Ministry is envisioning. Ministry is humility. Ministry is sacrifice.
My Lenten practice this season has been focused on gratitude, and it has challenged me in ways I couldn’t have imagined. When it comes to my job as a church singer, I’ve grown to a deeper understanding of my role. I’m more grateful for the time I have with others making music. I’m more grateful for the hours of mental and emotional energy that it takes to create artistic and soulful art. I’m more grateful for worshipping as a collective. I’m more grateful for my opportunities to explore the mystery of faith with others through music.
This is a Lent like none we’ve ever experienced. And through the weight of this horrific time, I’ve been reminded of my true role as a minister through music. The phrase that continues to cycle through my soul is not a traditional Lenten text, but one from Advent. “Prepare ye the way of the Lord”. That’s what ministry is. Preparing and planning and working so that the church as a whole can be ready to meet the mystical, transformative and life changing power of Christ. May we all experience a Holy Week that surprises, empowers, inspires, humbles, illuminates, and transforms.
