What We Can Learn from Church Choirs

I have been thinking a lot about choir recently. Church choirs. I have always loved singing—from car, shower, and kitchen to community theater, high school show choir, and eventually church choirs. When I was growing up, the church choir was all “old people,” and I didn’t want to hang out with them. (What a mistake.) I sang in a few community theater musicals in 6^th grade through high school (mostly chorus—don’t be too impressed), and in 9^th and 10^th grade I was in the school’s choral ensemble for course credit. Then there was a lull. I kept my singing casual and private during college and for years afterward.

Then I started seminary. You could get a quarter credit for singing in the choir! Sounded like a good deal to me. I also joined the A Capella group, which we named Tonal Depravity (Total Depravity being one of the oh-so-invitingly-worded tenets of our Calvinist foundations). As if overnight, my life was full of singing. I loved it. I didn’t know how I had gone so long without organized singing. I loved the friends I met in choir and cut up with. I loved how the director could do so much in just one hour of practice a week. I loved that we were working hard and having so much fun, irreverent and worshipful in the same breath.

When it was time to do a summer internship at a conference center, I asked if I could join the summer singers. I had some other responsibilities during worship, so at first they said no, but it turned out I could practice with them and not always sing in worship. Again, I was amazed at what happened in just an hour—musically and relationally. Also we got paid in meal tickets.

The next year, on the first Sunday of my church internship, I was practically yanked into the choir room with a hasty and hearty “We heard you like to sing!” For nine months, I spent my Wednesday evenings not only singing but sharing prayers, catching up, and hoping someone had a birthday that week because if so, we got cake. The director was gifted at asking for our best and being gracious about our worst. Come to think of it, that’s a gift of all the choir directors I know. I hope I will learn someday to inspire excellence but not demand it.

Now, I’m an ordained pastor, and because of my experiences with choirs in recent years, I asked if I could sing with the choir here. Again, I can almost never sing in worship, but Wednesday nights are a joyful time of shared thanks, grief, pain, and praise. We sing, we strive to sound great, but also we share ourselves. The hard parts, even. The cancer and the recovery and the ways our loved ones break our hearts. We remember the people who are usually with us and aren’t because of such things. Also, on occasion, birthday cake. The people in the choir are more committed than most people are to their churches or Sunday School or small groups. They show up consistently, they make it a priority, and in many cases they make it known when they will be gone, which means the default is to be present. This is what I mean when I say I’ve thought a lot about choir lately. I would love it if everyone was so consistent, so committed, if we could all count on each other that way.

So what makes it happen? Why are these choirs inspiring such commitment? I’m sure it’s different for everyone, but I have a few ideas.

-Committed, qualified leadership. The choir directors I know are paid professionals. They are trained and educated in music and music leadership. They continue to educate themselves by attending conferences, retreats, and workshops when possible. In short, they know what they are doing. What this means is that at least one person in the room is on top of things, somewhat organized, and thinking beyond the walls of this one congregation. She knows what some other churches are doing, and she remembers what this church has done in the past. This work is his job, and it shows because he is prepared and knowledgeable.

-Committed, qualified volunteers. Every choir I know has someone besides the director who helps file sheet music, assign robes, accompany the group on the piano, or some other form of “side work.” This may not be indispensable for every church, especially smaller or newer ones, but above a certain tipping point (which I don’t know what it is), we do need folks who can stay on top of details and keep systems running smoothly. This might be an assigned formal role, or people might spontaneously take turns.

-Joyful atmosphere. It’s pretty hard to be sad while singing, for me at least, so this one doesn’t need a lot of intention, it just happens. But it can be helped along by…

-Celebration of each person’s ability and participation. Some people get all the solos. Some people never sang a solo in their life, even though they have been in the choir for decades. Some are in between. Either way, the choir and its leadership have to honor and thank each person for their part. Every singer is important, and every singer glorifies God. In a good choir, you feel that consistently.

-Accountability. When you’re going to be gone, you say so. If you don’t say so, you’re expected to be there. They’re not mean about it, and it’s fine to take a week off now and then, but you will get asked where you were. This shows that it matters whether you show up or not. That’s because of the above: your part is important, and you make a valuable contribution to the whole.  

-A place for everyone. Some choirs do this one better than others, but folders and robes are an amazing measure of true welcome. If you come the first time and you have to share music with your neighbor, or every song brings a mad rush to find another copy for you, that’s uncomfortable. It singles out new people, it wastes time, and it’s just not welcoming. If that is still happening the second or third time you practice, forget it. On the other hand, if the choir keeps a couple extra folders up to date and a few shortish robes handy, it makes the transition simple for a new person. The choir I’m in now is phenomenal with folders. I have been absent for weeks at a stretch and come back to find my folder, #35, ready to go. Someone has gone through each week to take out the music we won’t need for a while and add what we are currently working on. It is so worth the time and effort to make newcomers feel like they are not a burden.

-Time set aside for prayer. Only two out of the four choirs I know have done this, but it is very powerful. Think of how rarely people pray together outside the context of planned worship. Taking a few moments to ask about the joy and pain in people’s lives is a special way to bring the group together, make people feel safe, and remind us all of why we need each other.

-A mix of familiar and new. Many choirs thrive on singing the same thing every year, or even every week. This has some sweetness to it. Repetition is comforting to a lot of people. But if you have nothing new ever, that’s a recipe for staleness and irrelevance. Most choirs have learned over the years to strike a sound balance between the annual crowd-pleasers and new things to expand their repertoire, challenge their musical abilities, and keep worship fresh.

-In the end, God is glorified. A good choir knows that someday (or every day) there will be a wrong note, a false start, a broken voice. Our music will not always be perfect. And thank God for that! When we mess up, we still worship. When we offer God our best, we get to pat ourselves on the back. When we offer God our mistakes, we learn who God is. A great choir knows that it is all an offering, no matter what.

All of these have some bearing on other activities we do. What if every leader took their role as seriously as a choir director does? What if I took a few moments of Sunday School to ask for prayer requests and pray? What if we kept the folder principle in mind while preparing for any group event? Maybe we would celebrate the voices of the people around us as parts of an amazing whole, and let ourselves love tradition and comfort but look for opportunities to grow through newness, and not worry constantly about doing it just right but let our lives be an offering, the soaring high notes and the somber low notes and everything in between.