Vocation

“How do people who grew up religious move from the taken-for-granted world in which they had been raised to a more deliberate, intentional approach to faith? Many people, of course, do not make this move at all. People from the most intensely religious homes sometimes lose their interest in spirituality, either from sheer boredom or because they found such upbringing oppressive. Others continue on, perhaps claiming to believe what they always did and even attesting to the centrality of faith to their lives, yet doing little as adults to deepen their spirituality. The people I am interested in are the exception to both those patterns. They are the ones who decided at some point that spirituality was a quest worth pursuing actively, a pursuit requiring time and energy.”

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I grew up in an Episcopal church in Connecticut, where I attended service every Sunday from the age of 5 until I was 14. My mom put me in the choir, which rehearsed twice a week and sang every Sunday morning. My brother was in the choir as well, which rehearsed on alternating nights twice a week and sang at the later service on Sunday mornings. This meant that I was at the church Mondays and Wednesdays for my rehearsal, Tuesdays and Thursdays to drop off and pick up my brother, and Sunday mornings at 7:45 am to warm up for the 9 am service, breakfast in the Parish Hall immediately following and then sitting in the pews with my mom for the 11 am service to watch my brother sing. Needless to say, I spent a great deal of time at my church and it became a second home.

Growing up as a choir kid meant I knew all the secret passageways into the heart of the organ, how to sneak up to the top of the bell tower, the best hiding spots in the cemetery during hide-and-seek, where all the leftover food was kept, how to get onto the roof, and which doors the janitor didn’t lock that led to spooky, old storage rooms. The church was basically the coolest playground ever. There was a certain amount of discipline instilled in all the choristers trained under the British high-church model. This means that during rehearsal there was absolutely no whispering, no giggling (permission granted if the director made a joke), and no distractions. When it was time for break, we were literally set free to do whatever we wanted without chaperone. There were unspoken expectations like: don’t get hurt because we don’t want to deal with that, don’t get caught because we don’t want to deal with that, and come back on time or we will yell at you. Almost a decade of this and I knew the entire church property and all its intricacies like the back of my hand.

On Sunday mornings I arrived at 7:45 without eating breakfast, rehearsed for an hour, put on my red robe and white vestment on top, and lined up for the procession. At my church we snaked around the entire nave until we came down the center aisle and into the choir stalls, which made the whole entrance feel ever more grand. When I was 10, it felt like making my big debut every single time. Sitting in front of the congregation always felt like being on stage to me. We smiled, stood, sat, prayed, sang when we were told. Our only autonomy lay in the little games we would play without the congregation, the ministry team, or our choir director seeing. This included tic-tac-toe, hangman, MASH, doodling, and playing fingers with choristers across the sanctuary. When it was time for communion, my stomach had been rumbling for about an hour at this point, I ate my bread and drank my wine like I had never eaten before. It was the same play every Sunday, same stage directions, same lines, (different songs), same order, same games and I LOVED it.

The choir is responsible for leading the congregation in song and prayer. We were required to say the Apostle’s creed, Nicene creed, Lord’s Prayer, Benediction, and prayer responses. It was part of my job, (yes, I was paid to be in the choir).

to be continued…