Ward Choirs

A Unity Metaphor

When our ward choir resumed rehearsing and performing together after a long COVID hiatus. I sang hallelujah, but not because it was written in the music. The ordinances of our sacrament service are not dependent on a ward choir. We don’t need a ward choir because there are no other qualified ward members to offer special musical numbers. And we certainly don’t turn to a ward choir because the music provided by that amateur group of musicians provides the congregants with music of consistent high quality without a single missed note or cue. I sang hallelujah for the return at least partly because all those things are not true. Our ward choir, like countless others around the world, is comprised of music-loving amateurs who all live within the same geographic boundaries. We are normal people of all ages, showing up without having been called or even asked personally to do so, simply because of our affection for music and each other. Some of our choir members sing well; some used to sing pretty well but have gotten a little warbly; some have not yet found their voices. All are welcome.

Sometimes we have a true soloist among us. She may technically sing too loudly for a choir performance, but her contribution is just right. Other times we have someone who simply can’t seem to hear or duplicate the note as it is written on the printed page. His contribution is just right, too. They all belong. The importance of the excellence of the performance in a traditional sense is trumped by a commitment to each other and to a sound that advances the cause of communal worship. The essential goal is pleasing God and worshiping Him.

Choosing to stay an extra hour on Sundays to rehearse with an amateur ward choir is a choice to opt into a very voluntary association. That choice has long been characteristic of and formative in healthy American society. Perhaps such voluntary association at local levels offers an accessible way forward to fixing local problems of disunity and discord in a down-home way. The choice to associate with neighborhood others doesn’t need to be via printed music, but it does need to be harmonious and congenial. We don’t need to expect government officials or legislation to solve the problem of disunity. Local action – like singing together – can advance the cause of harmony. Choosing to sit side by side and seeking to make acceptable music together can serve as a provocative metaphor of the goal of achieving greater communal unity.

In our homes, families, and communities, we all crave unity, but unity needn’t be equated with unison. Determined, ambitious choirs typically choose to sing harmonies more than depending on constant unison. It is easier for groups to sing a single same note than to achieve rich and beautiful harmonies, but the effort required to learn and produce complex musical chords is a worthy one. The resulting music is more interesting, more challenging, and more satisfying.

Similarly, communication that allows for and embraces assorted voices that work thoughtfully together is more interesting, more challenging, and more satisfying.

Choral music offers alternative parts to be hospitable for varying vocal ranges. Singers sing the notes that are most comfortable for their personal vocal range. Similarly, a generous welcome of diverse points of view is more respectful of preferences and inclinations. A score that welcomes alternative voices embraces a more generous exercise of agency and acknowledgement of personal preferences. Singers don’t need to all sing the same note to make beautiful music together.

My husband comes from a family of four boys who all love to sing. A favorite family pastime of theirs is playing their guitars and singing harmonies together. Because there was no sister for their boy band, for decades, the second brother assumed the melody lines and all the high notes. He was good at that and embraced his prominent place in the music-making with aplomb. My husband is the oldest of the four, so it was logical that I would be the first girlfriend to be brought home to join the family fun. I also love to sing, and I quickly assumed what seemed to me to be my obvious claim to the melody lines and the high notes.

It became immediately clear to me that the brother who had long sung those notes had never anticipated a competitor invading his space. Their four-part harmony meant one note per person. I was an intruding number five. We jockeyed for position for a while before I concluded that he wasn’t going to relinquish those notes. I considered simply sitting silently, but I knew I would miss being a more robust member of the music-making, so I was determined to find another way forward. I stretched upward to notes above the melody – a descant. A new voice. That second brother smiled at me approvingly. I had successfully found a way to participate without competing. I didn’t need to sing more loudly or demand my “rightful” place. With some imagination and respect for and from us all, there was room for every voice, and the music was better because of it. That brother and I still bump into each other occasionally when we sing, but we are both committed to making space for each other. The result is satisfying and sometimes even beautiful.

In previous days and generations, people were commonly bound together and unified by blood, geography, religion, and often enemies. Later, democracies were more commonly bound together by social networks with high levels of trust, strong institutions like clubs and churches, and shared stories, like historical heroes and tales of triumph. Today, seeking and creating occasions to sing together in harmony, figuratively speaking, can bind us to each other. Sometimes our “singing” today is cacophonous and performance-oriented instead of cooperative and communal. Everyone seeks to sing louder than everyone else, or to be a soloist. The music that binds is less performance-based and more cooperative – not necessarily one single, same note, but by decision, harmonious and respectful. To achieve unity, we would spend less time seeking the whole spotlight and more time connecting.

Exemplary choral singers are good listeners. They have a good ear. They are committed to assuring that their voices don’t trump the voices seated around them. A choral vocalist who can only hear his own voice and not the ones on either side of him is simply singing too loudly. Careful listening is an essential characteristic of a good choir member. Some quip that we have two ears and one mouth as an indication that we should listen twice as much as we speak. That is good advice.

A friend of mine tells the story of her visit to a grocery store in Texas with her mother. As the two of them stood in the check-out line waiting to pay for their groceries, they uncomfortably overheard the comments of the grumpy woman ahead of them interacting noisily with the cashier. My friend admits that she flippantly whispered to her mother, “Too bad that woman didn’t find some personality on Aisle 3 and buy it!” Without missing a beat, her mother stepped forward and gently put her hand on the grumpy woman’s shoulder then said in a genuinely solicitous voice, “Are you having a bad day, Precious?” The previously grumpy woman burst into tears and launched into a grateful download of her terrible woes. Those two women became fast and enduring friends right there in the check-out line. The cause of unity is advanced when we engage with each other with a spirit of curiosity and care more than one of judgment and criticism. More caring questions followed by more listening foster more unity.

I think it must have been terribly frustrating and divisive to have lived in Babel after the Lord had confounded the language of the people. The inability of those people to communicate with each other must have caused enormous discord and confusion. Perhaps today we are suffering from a similar malady – an inability to listen to, value, and understand each other. But God has not done the confounding. We have done it to ourselves. We cut ourselves off from each other when we decline to sing side by side in metaphorical ward choirs. We invite disharmony when we refuse to allow others to make music with us as they sing the notes that work for them. We experience frustration and discord when we cease to be willing to seek new harmonies and to listen to other voices to achieve a pleasing balance. We miss an opportunity to sing hallelujah if we opt out of the unity that comes from making beautiful, comprehensive music together. Long live ward choirs!

Kathy Kipp Clayton spread the gospel worldwide with her husband Whitney for nineteen years. She is the mother of seven and the grandmother of thirty-one and the author of “Teaching to Build Faith and Faithfulness” and “Confidence: Your Birthright as a Child of God.”

This essay appears in No Division Among You: Creating Unity in a Diverse Church, edited by Richard Eyre.