It Appears to Be a Trend
A Baptist church in a nearby city has hired a new worship leader. Here he is.
He’s not 12 years old. He just looks that way.
So, a trend? Worship leaders all have to be very young guys? Older, more experienced worship leaders need not apply?
I don’t know. I can’t help but wonder, though. And if that’s the way we’re all headed, I wonder if it’s really a good idea.
I don’t know about that, either.
I expect he’s very well qualified. Surely he can read music….
Bringing in a Ringer?
I got a text from my slightly crazy friend. She went to band rehearsal last night, last one before the concert this Sunday. They’ve been managing with only 3 people in the percussion section. And apparently the director is bringing someone in this Sunday to help out. The blue block is another percussionist’s name. The green block is the director’s name.
I’m not going to be attending the concert. The concert starts at 4. The small group Bible study I’m in meets at 4:30. And I’d rather do that, than go to the concert. If I were playing it would be different.
I’m not sure if I’m jumping back in next Thursday for the first rehearsal after the concert, when the band will begin preparing for the last concert of the season. The concert date isn’t conflicting with anything I’ve already agreed to do, so I could jump back in if I wanted. I’m just not sure I’m supposed to. Still waiting for guidance.
Wednesday Night Choir Rehearsal and a Startling Admission
This past Wednesday night we had choir rehearsal in the fellowship hall rather than the choir room. The heat wasn’t working in the choir room. If the weather had cooperated and remained sort of warm, it would have been livable. But it didn’t, and it was cold. The heat was on and cranking away — or at least, the fan was blowing. But even after the IT/Finance Guy went and did something to the heating system (he knows a lot of stuff about how things work around the church) and some of the heat strips began to work, it never got above 57 degrees in the choir room. The senior choir is in there a few hours before we are and my habit is to turn the heat on for them early. It was an exercise in futility; they found another room to rehearse in.
We took to the fellowship hall. Kind of like having a Singing Christmas Tree rehearsal, only smaller.
We were working on Brooklyn Tabernacle’s version of Redeemed. We’ve been working on it for a few weeks. There’s plenty of syncopation in the thing (our worship leader likes syncopation, apparently, even if he can’t exactly direct it), and obviously a gospel feel. I made a comment to the boss a couple weeks ago that we’re singing it like a bunch of white people. Which is what we are, actually, with one exception. This is not to say that’s an excuse. It’s that we’re not giving it the feel it demands.
Part of the problem is that several members of the choir are still trying to rely on the boss to give them guidance regarding style, counting, emphasis, cuing, all that stuff. As many weeks as we’ve been working with the “new guy”, who isn’t new anymore, and as many indicators as we’ve had that make it painfully obvious that guidance, leadership, directing, conducting, etc. aren’t in his skill set, some people are still trying to pull it out of him somehow.
He’s a nice young fellow. Doing a great job with the worship ministry. Except when it comes to running the music program. That just isn’t his forte. We still have a music program, and it’s motoring along, but it’s been a group effort. Between the choir, the organist, the pianist, and me.
Yeah, that’s harsh. But if we decided to or for some reason had to go hands-off and leave him to run it himself, the way he’s supposed to, the death-spiral would be immediate.
I wonder if he’s started piano lessons yet. That will really help.
Don’t misunderstand me. He’s trainable. He can learn. It may be that God’s purpose for sending him here is that we’re supposed to train him up, teach him what he needs to know, set his musical education foundation so he can proceed on to whatever God has planned for him.
He fits the demographic the PTB were looking for. Young and enthusiastic.
Anyway, during choir rehearsal we were working on Redeemed. There’s a rhythm pattern that repeats several times, looks like this (the notes aren’t correct, that’s not my point, look at the rhythm):
The first beat of the first measure is straight eighth notes, so they’re even. It’s easy. The second beat is syncopated. The first beat of the second measure is syncopated, as is the second beat of that measure. The choir consistently sings the first beats of those consecutive measures as straight eighths.
Which is to say, wrong.
I’ve mentioned before the boss and I end up going over things every week before choir rehearsal that involve me explaining counting and rhythm and notes and such. Nothing that I should have to be explaining to the worship pastor. Because he’s supposed to know it already. This week we were in my office (I have the music scanned in as a .pdf) and he and I went over and over and over these two measures. He’d be okay one time going through and slip back into straight eighths the next time. I’ve also mentioned before that he’s not a patient person. So after several minutes he decided he’d had enough and had to run and take care of something else.
During rehearsal we were singing with the CD, and those rhythms, repeated several times, were sung incorrectly. Not by everybody, you understand, but by some people. I’d mentioned to the boss a couple days earlier that if we couldn’t nail the rhythm, we could sing it wrong and nobody in the congregation would know, or care, and certainly God wouldn’t care as long as we were singing to Him. But whatever we did, we all had to do the same thing. You can’t have some singing one rhythm and some singing another, unless the music is actually written that way.
After a few times with the CD he turned the CD player off and we sang it with the pianist. We got to those measures — and nailed ’em. Completely correct. First time ever.
We got through it and he made an announcement to the choir that he didn’t know what he was doing. Not that he put it that way. What he said was that he’d been watching me for the past few weeks as we were singing that piece and he said “[Insert my name here] was shaking her head. And then just now she did this…” and he gave the thumbs up gesture.
Yup. He’s watching his assistant for a clue as to whether the rehearsal is going well or not. And he made sure the choir knew it.
Oy, vey.
It’s not that the choir doesn’t realize that he’s missing certain essential skills. We know. We all know. But we’re working with him because a) we don’t have any choice, he’s what we’ve got, and b) as mentioned earlier, God put him here for a reason and maybe it’s so we can teach him what he needs to know.
But I never expected him to flat-out announce to the choir that he’s not able to tell how things are going.
Maybe that’s not what he meant to do. But it was what he did.
*sigh*
A Gig for the Flute Trio — Well, Two of Us, Anyway
The member of the flute trio who’s been having health issues (I may not have mentioned that) sent the other two of us an email last week. Her church is doing a community service day on April 5th and she was wondering if we’d be willing to play somewhere in the community on a volunteer basis to participate in that.
I emailed back immediately that I’d be glad to do that. The other flutist, the perfectionist, didn’t respond right away. When she did respond, this is what she said. In addition to saying she and her husband might be out of town that weekend, this:
We probably should not commit to something for the time being, since you are still feeling bad off and on. Hope you have a nice weekend. See you on Sunday.
I didn’t post about this, but our last gig was at the beginning of February at my church, for a Joy Luncheon which is a thing they do the first Monday of every month for anyone over 55 who wants to come eat for a couple bucks and fellowship with other members. We were asked to play. And we did. It was by far the worst performance we’ve ever done. I don’t know what was going on, but it was just one of those things when things keep going wrong and there’s plenty of blame to go around, we were all messing up. We got away from each other, hit wrong notes, missed cues, got lost…. We pulled it back together every time but there was only one piece that we didn’t hose up somehow and that was the DeBussy “Sarabande.” Everything else, and we played 11 pieces if I remember correctly, contained at least one train wreck. Our audience was very nice (they always are), applauded, told us how wonderful it was.
The perfectionist had nothing to say to the other two of us after the performance. You’d have thought we’d sprouted leprous lesions or something. And I didn’t hear anything from her for weeks. As it turned out, neither did the other flutist, who as I said is having health issues. She’s seeing specialists, trying to sort out what’s happening and what can be done about it. She wants to keep playing, though. And is perfectly capable of determining what she can and cannot handle.
So, this morning I drove to her house and we practiced duets. We’re going to do the community service thing as a duo. I have no plans to inform the perfectionist that that’s what we’re doing. She’s taken herself out of the action and we can’t afford to let people think we aren’t performing anymore. We had a lot of stuff to go over, we’ve got plenty for the performance. We’re meeting again next Friday.
It was a bit weird not having someone criticize us for not being in tune or in the wrong tempo or not using correct articulation (as determined by the perfectionist).
Actually, it was quite nice. And relaxing.
Not sure what’s going to happen to us as a group next. But if the perfectionist quits — or just stops showing up, which is kind of the same thing — we might be able to get other flutists to join who are hesitant because… well, it ain’t no fun being constantly criticized.
We’ll see, I guess.
BTW — The perfectionist has unfriended me on Facebook. The only thing I can say to that is, “Huh.”
Finally Joined the Church, Getting Baptized on Sunday
There’s a requirement in the Baptist Church — maybe it’s a requirement in other denominations also, I don’t know — that in order to be a member of the church you have to come up front and say so. There’s a moment at the end of the service where an invitation is issued to anyone who wants to come up and do that. Usually the choir sings a hymn. Sometimes our worship leader will sing.
I’ve been attending this church for about a year and a half, after being unchurched for a bit over 40 years (that’s another story). I’ve wanted to join the church for a long time, but that “perp walk” thing is a real deterrent. I’m an introvert and being the center of attention is not my favorite thing. And when you’re up front talking to a pastor while the singing is going on, everybody’s looking at you.
Dislike. Dislike. Dislike.
Well, in order to join the church, you just have to go up front. There’s no way around it. And I’ve wanted to go for many months. There have been other obstacles. When I’m up in the balcony running slides, it’s quite a trek to get down to the main level and then scurry up front. There’s a real danger the singing will be long over and there you are, running up the aisle in complete silence. There’s also a danger the pastor won’t notice you and when you arrive up front you’re standing there by yourself, looking like you were looking for the restroom and took a wrong turn. Also, when I’m running slides, I’m supposed to run slides. It’s poor form to bail out on the job before it’s over.
When I’m in the choir loft, there’s the necessity to crawl over 3 other altos to get out. This is disruptive. And rude.
So this past Sunday the pastor was finishing up his sermon and mentioned that one of the junior pastors would be up front in case anyone wanted to join the church. And something funny started happening to me.
Before I explain that, I should explain something else. Many years ago my mother was telling me about a conversation she’d had with my older sister, not long before my parents finally kicked her out of the house (she’d earned it, but it wasn’t anything they did lightly, it broke their hearts). She said she didn’t know what to do, and she asked God to help her. She said she told Him if He was telling her anything, she wasn’t hearing it. She needed Him to be louder. And He showed up. She said when she finally had the conversation she had to have with my older sister it was like something took over. She heard the words she was saying, but they weren’t hers. They were coming from somewhere else.
This was in part the message in a sermon last week. That God puts words in our mouths, gives us wisdom we don’t have, to deal with problems that we can’t solve. Not by ourselves, anyway.
I have asked God to be obvious with me, too. Most of the time I feel like whatever He’s saying, I’m not getting it. Like I’m a tad off freq and just not hearing Him. I ask Him for guidance but I don’t notice a response. And there’s always a response. So the fault lies with me.
Anyway, there I was in the choir loft, listening to the pastor winding up his message with an invitation for anyone who wanted to join to come forward and talk to the junior pastor. And this buzzing started in my head. It was interesting. Not loud, really, but very noticeable. And then the buzzing changed, became more of a buzzing feeling. That’s not exactly right but I don’t have the words to explain it. It was centered around my head and upper body.
I’m not an idiot. Well, yes, I am. But not so great an idiot that I can’t recognize a signal from God. It was, “Get up. Time to go.” He was very clear.
And of course I leaped right up. Well, no, I didn’t. There was still the issue of having to climb over three other altos to get out of the choir loft. So I balked.
The choir stood up to sing the invitation. It was a hymn, and the verses aren’t long, so we got to the end of the first verse pretty quick. I was thinking that I needed to get out and get over to the junior pastor, but I dithered and dawdled and hesitated and then we were getting to the end of the first verse. And you can’t just lurch out and cross the stage after the hymn has stopped. So I waited to see if we were going to sing the second verse.
We slowed. I thought that was my cue to stay put, try again another week. Then I noticed the senior pastor was in prayer with a congregation member. And I could see the junior pastor, standing there all by himself.
We started the second verse. And then something else interesting happened. When you were a child and your mom wanted you to go somewhere, move over or something, and you didn’t move, did she sort of take you by the arms, from behind, and gently move you where she wanted you to go?
It was like that. Not exactly like being lifted or carried but the feeling was distinct and unmistakable. I knew I was being prodded or nudged or led or something, to the right past the three altos and across the stage. The altos let me by, of course, the moment I made it known I was on my way out of the choir loft. I trotted across the stage to the junior pastor, who fortunately was looking in my direction and saw me coming.
It was a very interesting experience.
As it turns out, there was a baptism scheduled for this coming Sunday anyway so they just added me in, after asking if I was okay with it. I’ve been baptized before, when I was a baby, in the Presbyterian church. I have a certificate somewhere. But I wasn’t immersed, and the Baptists require you to be immersed. We have a baptistery upstairs, there’s a sliding panel above the center of the choir loft that opens when it’s in use so everybody can see. So that’s where I’ll be at the start of the service on Sunday.
My first question: “Is the water cold?” ‘Cause I ain’t all that interested in standing in cold water. Yes, the river Jordan was plenty cold (or at least not heated) and John the Baptist dunked a lot of people in it anyway, including Jesus. What can I say. I’m a wimp.
The water is heated, though, and I’m told it’s like bath water. So that’ll be okay. As long as there isn’t a repeat of a situation some years back that the guy in charge of the TV booth and production told me about, when someone forgot to turn the heater on and the baptisms happened in very cold water. And apparently someone up at the podium was reading a chapter from one of Max Lucado’s books leaving everyone standing in that cold water for quite awhile. Boo.
It’ll be interesting.
BTW — When someone comes forward to join, the pastor has one more responsibility and that’s to ask the congregation if they’re okay with that person joining. I’ve never seen anyone turned away, everybody always says “Amen” when he asks. He mentioned that it was nice when they’re unable to scare away the staff members, that they join.
I just checked the church’s website and I used to be listed on the page with staff members’ photos. I never had a photo, but I was listed. Now I’m not. I’m gone. Not sure when that happened but it was recent. I wonder if that’s an indication that I’m on my way out. If so it’s happening later than I thought it would. And when I’m gone, how our worship pastor/music leader who can’t read music is going to be able to keep things together is something of a mystery. But — it won’t be my problem anymore. I guess I better kick the job search up a notch.
*sigh*
One door closes, another opens. God is in control.
So, What Does Your Senior Pastor Look Like?
The Human Metronome Strikes Again
Or something like that.
As I mentioned in this post, last Wednesday’s choir rehearsal included me clapping the rhythm to Hillsong’s Forever Reign in an attempt to get the choir and pianist working together.
This past Wednesday, 2 days ago, I ended up having to do it again.
Get this. After choir rehearsal was over, my boss buttonholed me and with great enthusiasm blamed the pianist. I am not making that up. It wasn’t that he can’t read music and doesn’t know the gestures for directing the choir (in spite of me trying to teach him) which would keep us all together because the pianist is playing her music and watching him with her peripheral vision and she can’t make any sense of what he’s doing. There is no downbeat, so she has no idea where the first beat of any measure is, neither does the choir, and with that plus the syncopation plus the complexity of what she’s playing, it’s a wonder she’s with us at all.
None of the buffoonery is her fault. She is, frankly, displaying the patience of Job.
I briefly considered telling her what he said, but there’s no way that’s called for. It wouldn’t help, it would only upset her and undermine his authority, such as it is, by exposing his willingness to throw her under the bus for a situation that is entirely his fault.
So I’ll tell you guys.
*sigh*
What a mess. We’re singing this piece on March 23rd. Maybe it won’t be a train wreck.
By the way — I was looking for gifs of bad conductors, and found this.
At least we’d know not to watch it.
Also, this.
You’re welcome.
Evil Has a Face
Remember this post? An eighteen-year-old woman was found dead, her body left on a dirt road and found by a child riding an ATV.
They’ve arrested someone. This is Stephen Ross Kelly, 21.
Seems he knew her. They were acquaintances. Which is why she apparently wasn’t concerned about getting into his car. She knew him, and thought she could trust him.
I know he’s entitled to a trial and a lawyer and to defend himself. But IMHO, there isn’t a hole deep enough for him.
Not a very Christian attitude. I’m a work in progress.
Rank Your Friends on Facebook
Apparently there’s an app that lets you notify your Facebook friends (who may or may not be your friends in real life) where they stand in Facebook’s assessment of their loyalty, or something. Here’s one ranking by someone I know IRL:
I’m nowhere on this list, by the way. And while I’ve masked the names, they’re actually visible to everybody this person allows to see her posts.
So, what does the highest ranking “friend” get for being more obsequious? Is there a prize?
Yes, I’m being snippy. I don’t understand why someone would do this, though. What’s the purpose behind letting your “friends” know where they stand in the “liking your posts” derby?
There are a lot of things I don’t understand. *sigh*
Praying for Our Enemies
Article “How Do We Love Our Enemies?” is here.
Matthew 5: 38-44
38 “You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ 39 But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. 40 And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. 41 And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. 42 Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you. 43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 44 But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, 45 so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For he makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.
I don’t think I’m any different from anyone else in saying I have trouble with this. Forgiving my enemies, people who have hurt me, people who betrayed my trust, people who shat all over my head and treated me in a way that was wholly unfair and unjustified… this is hard for me.
I try. I have a prayer list (which has grown exponentially since I started keeping one nearly a year ago) and on it are people who have wronged me. Not because they deserve to have me pray for them. Because I have to forgive them, and they need prayer and God’s intercession every bit as much as I do. As anyone does.
God forgave us our sins, sending Jesus His Son to die for us on the cross, taking on all our sins and paying the price so we could spend eternity with Him in Heaven. Our sins were and are so much worse than anything that has been done to me by other people, that He could forgive us all of that and I balk at forgiving for the picayune things that I’ve suffered in comparison… well, that’s not what I’m supposed to do. Christians are supposed to forgive.
I’m still working on it. Here is a living example that eclipses my puny efforts.
In 1994, Immaculée Ilibagiza was a 22-year-old Catholic college student when violence erupted in her homeland of Rwanda. Over the course of 100 days, more than 1 million Rwanda Tutsis were killed by Hutu mobs in a time of national upheaval. Among them were Immaculée’s mother and father and two of her beloved brothers. Only one of her brothers would survive. He was out of the country studying abroad.
….
She went to the prison and met the leader of the gang who killed her mother and one of her brothers. As she tells the story, she came face to face with Felicien. She recalled that he had been a successful Hutu businessman known for his expensive suits and impeccable manners. She had, in fact, grown up and played with his children. Now, here he was sobbing. His clothes were hanging like rags from his emaciated body. Shamed, he could barely make eye contact with her.
“I wept at the sight of his suffering,” Immaculée said. “He was now the victim of his victims, destined to live in torment and regret.” She reached out and touched his hands and said, “I forgive you.” His Tutsi jailer was furious at this, hoping that she would spit on the man. “Why did you forgive him?” he demanded. “Forgiveness is all I have to offer,” Immaculée responded.
Forgiving those who hurt us is hard. Very hard. But as Luke 1:37 says:
For nothing will be impossible with God.
Amen.
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