I walked into the lobby of the Aud Thursday to encounter a woodwind quartet playing Vivaldi's "Laudamus Te". Then I went into the Aud itself, and discovered that they'd mounted fabric coming from the ceiling and stretching to the stage. It was the conference's "ascension" day. I agree that fabric arching down towards something definitely signifies ascension... because after all, I used that same image in Tongues.
I love this conference. I really do. And because of strange circumstances of this week and my shifts, I've been able to take communion at every service this week... and will tomorrow, as well. Gorgeous. (And Sunday, I'll be SERVING communion, at the Montreat Sunday morning worship service. Oh my goodness.)
Here's what my days are like. I wake up, generally rather early, usually before my alarm clock. I got down to the banks of Lake Susan to do yoga, meditate, read the Bible. If I have the morning shift, I'll work worship... if I have the evening shift, I'll work the evening event or concert. When it's not either of those, I'm checking systems in the out buildings, and sitting in the booth babysitting mics. Which means... I get to sit in the booth, listening to choirs rehearse. When I'm not working, I'm outside in my hammock, listening to choirs rehearse. Or at various places around Montreat, playing the musical saw, which people at Worship and Music really appreciate.
A choral rehearsal room is probably where I feel the most comfortable in the world. I've been singing in choirs ever since I can remember, and have done many, many music weeks like these. Kalidescope's 4 times (?), Montreat's twice, Lake Junaluska's 8 times, sometimes in multiple choirs in one week... tons of music weekends like Richmond's Youth Choir Jam, District Chorus, the AGO Children's Choir Festival, etc. It is not unusual to find me popping into various choirs at Bon Air whenever I'm home (once I'd never even sung the song before...). Since my parents are both choir directors, being in choir was never really "optional". I get choral singing. There are rules to it that I understand and have lived my entire life, and it's shaped my voice. (I have a voice that BLENDS. I'm a more successful choral singer than soloist, by far.)
I miss it. I sang in a choir my first semester of college, but since then I have not been consistantly singing in a choir. While lovely people at my church in New York have been trying to recruit me for their parish choir (the one that's not paid) for a year and a half, it's rather difficult with rehearsal schedules to be able to commit to that. During these weeks, I miss it more than anything. The feeling of being one voice in many that make one again. Knowing that you are a vital part of that voice. Soaring beyond what you are physically capable of because you are not just yourself. Stepping back and letting your body and voice respond to the director before your mind does. The "are we going to pull it off?" thrill. Most of all, lifting up your voice to praise in such a heightened, precise way because nothing else does what you're singing to any justice whatsoever. The Senior High Choir sang Rutter's "I Will Sing With The Spirit" in worship, and I was tempted to go up and join them. Just stand in the back row and sing. I doubt the director would've noticed, and Lord knows I KNOW that anthem.
Even as early as the first full day of Worship and Music, the air was buzzing with familiarity. That morning while I was meditating, I started meditating on a choral "Alleluia" (a tune more commonly known as "When Jesus Wept"), much like meditating on a mantra. Shortly after I walked into the AV Booth today, the choir was singing a setting of "When Jesus Wept" with that tune. Later I worked the open mic in the barn, and the first group was a choir who got up and sang a setting of the Irish Blessing to their seniors, and then stayed up and sang the anthem "River in Judea". When we were checking all the inputs for that open mic, I pulled out my iPod and selected Rutter's Gloria. No one would ever put that on for an iPod check but me, but I did it for the choir directors. Sure enough, I heard someone, after I'd stopped the song, sing out, "Gloria in excelsis deo!" explaining to her friend how the piece booms. When it was time to kick the dancing children out of the Barn, we first started playing "MMMBop" (to which some smaller kids said, "What's this?" We were APPAULED), and then I sealed it with the Rutter "The Lord Bless You and Keep You".
(It's a very John Rutter conference.)
I've found the conference almost hilariously familiar in another way, too--the presence of the theatrical. Yesterday, I worked a class that was basically a tech rehearsal for this morning's scripture reading, with the biblical storyteller I mentioned a couple entries ago. I sat there, watching her, occasionally setting up other mics, occasionally being used as a sound designer/vocal coach even though she had no idea that that's my theatrical LIFE (do I have Voice and Speech written on my face or something?), and I thought, "I'm in a theatrical rehearsal room right now. I'm watching a director work." Which is strange, because it's been so long since I was inunduated with such rehearsal rooms. Part of my brain woke up briefly from its well-deserved nap.
The culmination of all of it has been worship. I managed to go to every worship this week, and take communion at each one. What pure joy! These services have been so full of life, liturgy, and celebration, I've been astounded. I have to admit that I've cried at nearly every service. You have to understand--almost everyone in that huge auditorium this week are singers--hymnsinging is like singing in a giant choir. Monday morning, when we stood to sing the first hymn, an Easter hymn... I lost it. Because, once again, I was part of this whole. This vocal whole, all these voices being raised in beautiful accord to that which is greater than all of our voices combined. And, this is the dorkiest thing, but at the end of one verse, we all aspirated the [t], together, and I was just floored, not because of the feat of such a unison [t], but the fact that I was here, singing with people who understand the joy and expression of something as dorky as a precise, aspirated [t] sound.
The past couple of days I've had a hard time finding a seat, so I've asserted the fact that I'm staff and sat at the creekside spotlight, which is a raised platform at the back of the house left side of the Aud. And actually, it has the best view. Ever. You're close to everything but just slightly above so you can see it all. (The picture above was taken at the spot.) Several times, I've looked out and had to stop singing and take a moment to gape in awe and gratitude. They've been using banners, and dancers with fabric... and... well, first, that's just so theatrically effective in a huge space where people are standing. You can't see people running down the aisles, but you can't help but notice 12 foot banners waving like tongues of fire above you. And being able to watch the people waving the banners--I will never forget this one woman's face that was just filled with joy. Looking over the auditorium, I lose my voice, because all of this heightened expression, this liturgy, this extreme-voice-use-that-we-call-singing, all of us it reaching for means of praise. Speaking is not enough, so I will sing. Walking is not enough, so I will dance. My body can't hold it, so I'll wave a 12-foot art piece over you so we might get slightly closer to praising as much as is deserved. (And I will point out: I have been more emotional during these worship services than most I've ever been in, and these worship services are built on liturgy and ritual, not "let-me-be-a-super-emotional-guitar-player" praise songs. There's nothing wrong with them (I'm not a huge fan, but some people are), I'm just saying that there is TREMENDOUSLY HUGE VALUE IN THE RITUAL and if we don't see that we're idiots--that the problem is not that "ritual is outdated, we need to be more hip", it's that "something has disconnected in the spiritual life of this congregation". Painting a house does not fix the rotten wood.)
At the end of worship on Thursday, I experienced something I never thought I would see: Presbyterians dancing in the aisles. After a slightly rambunctious final hymn, the congregation say down polietely for the postlude, as they do. But the postlude, with organ and a small group of instruments, was such that people started clapping rhythms, and soon the entire congregation was on their feet, people were throwing their hands into the air and dancing, the preacher was on stage going in circles... none of this in a "charismatic Christianity possessed and speaking in tongues" way that occasionally resembles a cult (Presbyterians stay far away from that, as a general rule), but because everyone was just so excited that we all had to let it out, and the postlude became a congregational jam session/dance party.
I recently read the book Eat, Pray, Love, and one of the conversations in that book centered around the idea of each person and each place having a word that runs underneath them and motivates everything, that is the breath and heartbeat. In the book, they spectulate that Rome's word is "sex", Naples' word is "fight", and New York's word is "achieve". Which of course got me wondering, "Hmm, what would my word be?" I (uncharacteristically) didn't obsess over that. But during this conference, I think it's become clear. It's the thing that stirs in me whenever I think of Bernstein's MASS, or really any other theater piece I feel inexplicably drawn to. It's my secret motivation. It's the word I was hinting at in every single class presentation I did about Tongues. It's sometimes an unpopular word. It's not "joy", it's not "understanding", it's not even "love".
It's "praise".
Not in the sense of, "I'm always trying to earn praises!", but "I'm always trying to sing praises." To God, specifically, which also means to the entirety of creation. And if I gain praise, I love to reflect it back. I remember after the (highly successful and praised) workshop of Tongues, being so happy because it was like I was a mirror pointed upward, where people would say things to me that I had the joy of bouncing up to God. Praise the beauty. Praise the majesty. Praise the wonder. Praise the humor. Praise the sacrifice. Praise the love. Praise, praise, praise, praise, praise. If I had nothing in my life but the ability to praise without ceasing, I'd be the richest person alive.
This conference is so full of people with praise on the tips of their tongues and fingertips, just longing to release it, and when they do, it swirls into a pillar, reaching up to kiss the heavens in love.
I am lucky because I get to be a part of it. People don't know, but I do. Actively. I sneak in. I miss being in a choir... but tonight and last night, I worked the concerts. The Adult choirs sit in the back of the Auditorium, and the director stands on a platform that faces the booth to conduct them. Really, in the booth, we're looming above the adult choir. And for both concerts, they've had soloists at mics, but also loud choirs and the organ that could very easily be picked up by the mic when the soloist isn't there. So instead of turning on the mic for the entire song, I stand at the board with one hand on the fader and one hand on the gain nob, with more attention in my body than I've had in years, watching intently for the soloists to step up to the mic or for the director to gesture to the soloist, and once that signal happens, I madly adjust the mic settings. And then I'll watch the director as fiercely as the most intense choir member in case she wants a different mix. I don't know if she'd think to look up if something were too loud or too soft, but I stand there just in case she, for some reason, signals a volume change to me like she does to the singers below. Once I see her arms expand to bring in the rest of the choir, the quick board adjustments happen again. No one knows that I'm doing it, not even my boss. The choir director won't know, but I have joined the choir, because there are many ways of singing praises. I can even do it with an Allen and Heath sound board, making sure the voices are heard in crisp, clean balance.
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