Finding Our Voices

This is an article I wrote for the Episcopal Church Foundation published last week in their Vestry Papers series. The title and section headings were chosen by them. The writing is all mine. Please comment and share.


What does your voice sound like to you? To others? How well do you listen? How well do you hear? How do you nurture your voice to be of greatest benefit to the community? Are you able to ask for what you need, and offer what you have to deepen your spiritual life?

What if a part our liturgical work is to pay attention to what God is birthing among and between us, and to deepen our experience of the holy through interaction and possibly even play? What if all creation is co-creation?
Is there a connection between finding – and raising – our voices and the Holy Spirit?

Singing and chanting together in worship is about more than praising God and making a joyful noise. If we allow singing and chanting to work their magic, they can be lifelong spiritual practices that enable us to join with others in deepening our ability to trust one another. They can allow to let go and reassess our perceptions and expectations of what it means to walk together in faith. And, they may help us to see the face of Jesus in the faces of those we encounter.

Begin with a New Song

I recently worshipped in a very traditional church in upstate New York. They’d decided to take a tour of Prayer Book liturgies from around the Anglican Communion, and the liturgy of the day was from the Kenyan Book of Common Prayer. I had been invited to help them with the music. Throughout the service I was reminded me how uncommon and beautiful common prayer can feel.

When people entered the church that Sunday, they found the back half of the church roped off so that we all could sit closer together. This led some to be taken out of their comfort zones before they even sat down. The choir was spread out throughout the assembly, sitting in small groups or with their families. The music director sat toward the back, where he could support the singing, and I was at the front.

The priest was nervous, but supportive and curious.

When I introduced the music, I mentioned that no one knew the tunes we were about to sing, or what was going to happen, so they would need to listen closely. I added if they needed help, the words were printed in the bulletin and they could turn to their neighbors and listen, as everyone in the room had a piece of what was needed to make this service as amazing as it could be. I encouraged them to take turns improvising other parts. Finally, I reminded us all to try thinking of this morning as group spiritual practice. I noticed they began to turn and look around at their neighbors. Then we made church.

We sang new songs in four different languages after only a one or two sentence explanation to convey pronunciation and translation and a few sung vocal cues that were already built into the hymns. We sang the Psalm over a drone (C-G), and a short while later we improvised underneath the Prayers of the People on the same drone. There was deep listening and graceful harmony. The singing of each tune became more confident as it progressed, and the end of the service felt like the last hallelujah in the Hallelujah chorus! There were many joyful, thankful, and teary people amazed at the beautiful experience they had made together. For some it was the first time they’d been encouraged to interact and sing together in church.

Helping Others to Sing

Sometimes God sends us to people: Are you willing to be changed by the people you meet? Sometimes God sends people to us: How do you stay open to the people God sends along? How do you invite and encourage them?
What if the joy we find singing our favorite tunes can be magnified by helping others to sing their favorite tunes?

Being open to and trusting the people whom God has sent us to work with can be the antidote to any discomfort that arises. When we find ourselves standing in a roomful of people we don't know very well or are asked to sing words we’ve never said before from a pew we don’t usually sit in, we can get very anxious and self-conscious. By letting go of our discomfort we free ourselves for a deeper connection with God and those God has sent to us.

Singing and chanting can help us to find our voices. Singing together with intention can help us to stay present and give us a place from which to practice staying open and curious. When we lend the strength of our heart’s voice to a community in song, the self-consciousness that we often bring to singing falls away, our walls fall away, our egos fall away. The anticipation that something transformational might happen shifts to the realization that something wonderful is already happening and we are a part of making it happen.

We have an incredible opportunity in worship services to travel with a group of people committed to a weekly gathering where discernment of gifts and lifelong spiritual growth can be invited, encouraged, and practiced together. Let’s sing it from the mountaintops.


We come to join in
the banquet of love,
let it open our hearts
and break down the fears
That keep us from loving each other.
- Dominican nun’s grace

Esperanza Academy Summer Music Camp

I spent last week at Adelynrood Retreat and Conference Center in Byfield, MA with the entering 5th grade class of Esperanza Academy in Lawrence, MA. Esperanza is a free tuition Episcopal School for girls (mostly Latinas, in grades 5-8). Everyone sang and played percussion. We had a blast learning music, building community, and tossing out words like loquacious and parody (I know you're wondering how those particular words came to be chosen).

I wrote about this project at the beginning of the year here, and between the school and the Society of the Companions of the Holy Cross, the keepers of Adelynrood, everything came together and exceeded my expectations. I learned a lot, the girls learned a lot, and hardly any children were harmed, although we did unintentionally scare one. I also tried my best to lose a few of them at the beach, but every time I counted they were all still there, asking questions like: "Miss! Are there fish in that water? I'm not going in if there are fish!" That particular question called to mind the W.C. Fields joke about water, which would have been highly inappropriate to relate to 10 year-old girls. Besides, if I'd told it, none of them would have gone swimming, which is, after all, the point of going to the beach.

Every morning my alarm was set for 6:58 AM, but I awoke at 6:15 to the sound of four or five girls standing outside my room, their stacked heads peeking through the doorway, asking "Is she awake?" followed by a loud "Shh, she's still sleeping!" After the third time hearing the same call and response, it seemed only right to reply "She's awake." They'd come on in and tell me about the bug in someone's hair, whose hair sticks up in the morning like antennae, who was being mean, who was still asleep (not for long), who missed their mom or dad, who was hot or cold, who had almost fallen out of bed in their sleep, whose foot had miraculously appeared outside the covers, and who wanted a padded bra for Christmas (these kids are planners). Then they'd disappear and giggle their way to the next room. Sweet. Sweet. Sweet. One of my friends said the giggling is even better than prayer. I agree wholeheartedly.

A couple of the girls have infectious laughs and are happy morning people. I am not a morning person, but since I got home, I've been waking up very early. On the first day home after camp, I missed them. I also missed checking on them at night to make sure they were in their beds and trying to go to sleep. There's nothing like that last bed check (the fourth or fifth) when they are all sound asleep. Adorable.

I woke up this morning at 8 AM to that peaceful, easy quiet that wasn't an option last week, and kinda missed the racket and the giggling stacked heads. As I ate breakfast, there was no one to say "Sit here!" or to ask "What are we having for lunch? or "Will we have a snack? What will it be?" or my favorite: "Do we have to do music again today?"

We learned the usual notes, rests, scales, time signatures, key signatures, drummed some drums, practiced listening, learned to sing rounds, echo songs, some harmony, learned how to use a hula hoop, played games, had a campfire, made s'mores, went to the beach, where we saw the HMS Bounty replica in Gloucester Harbor; took a tour of the C.B. Fisk Organ Factory, played the organ and piano at St. John's Episcopal Church in Gloucester, laughed a lot, cried some, got over it, ate way too much sugar and other weird stuff (1c. ketchup on 1c. rice?).

I became an expert remover of splinters. Why I was the only adult capable of removing splinters remains unexplained. Next year I'll have to requisition a splinter removal kit.

Two of the girls wrote songs and sang them for us. A bunch of them love to sing and would join a choir if there was one at the school. Another wants to learn piano, and has the patience and focus to do it. My bedroom was directly above the piano, and I heard her patiently exploring the black notes for about 25 minutes, letting them ring, combining them and listening. I sneaked downstairs about fifteen minutes into the improvisation to see who it was, because it was quite beautiful and musical. Anybody wanna buy some piano lessons? Drop me a line. These kids were all musical, and I'd like to help keep it that way.

I am so grateful for my colleagues Mark Nelson, Carol Doran, and Caitlin Bixby, the advisor to the 5th grade class, and math teacher. Kathleen at C.B. Fisk, Inc. Designers and builders of organs led a great tour with help from Mark. The girls loved it. I'm also grateful for all the Companions at Adelynrood, especially those who helped us during the week: Louise (without whom I would have died), Ruth, Emily, and Marge. I cannot thank them enough. Kate, Carolyn, and the kitchen staff offered gracious hospitality and patience while surrounded by running, laughing, starving girls.

We prayed every morning and sang all day long. There was a Service of Intercession on Wednesday and we sang. The Principal dropped by for an afternoon (we sang for her, too), and on the last day, the Headmaster came and sang with us. He can sing. The girls were surprised by this, and also terrified of him (heh heh heh).

As the Headmaster and I were walking out after the singing, I suggested that we could do it again next year, possibly make it one day shorter and lose the beach day. He countered with "I was thinking of two weeks, and we can bring the whole school." I told him I didn't think I had two weeks in me, and he said maybe ten days, and that we could add some academics so it wouldn't be so much work.

Ahem. Even though I can see how ten days might be no different than two weeks, I'd love to.

Bread, Roses, and Esperanza por Todos

I'm just beginning work on a project with The Esperanza Academy in Lawrence, MA, a middle school for girls. Holy synchronicity, Batman! It just so happens that today is the 100th anniversary of the Lawrence, MA textile strike, which you may not remember, but which, coming shortly after the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire in NYC, was an important catalyst in the history of labor rights, especially for women. Lawrence, MA was a big woolen center, made so on the backs of the workers who averaged $8.76 a week for a 56-hour work week. Yup, read it and weep. $8.76 a week is about 15.6 cents an hour.

In January of 1912, the great State of Massachusetts, ever progressive, changed a law and decreed that 54 hours was the maximum number of hours women and children could work. Yes, women and children. When the companies reduced the hours to 54 to comply with the law, they also took away the 31 cents (on average) that workers would lose due to the reduction in hours. Yeah, you read it right, 31 cents! 31 cents was worth striking for, and 20,000 people went out, yelling "Short Pay! All Out!"

The strike spread significantly and lasted ten weeks. The strike committee was a democracy, and had 56 members, representing 27 languages. My favorite factoid from the strike is that the committee had a substitute committee lined up in case they were thrown in jail. Ultimately, the work week was reduced to 50 hours,

The following poem was written by James Oppenheim and published in December 1911 in American Magazine. It quickly became an anthem for the labor movement and is still sung today, to one of three song I've been able to trace. The original setting was by Caroline Kohlsaat, there is an Italian tune called "Pan e Rose" by Arturo Giovannitti, which is used by the Italian Dressmakers' Local 89 of the ILGWU (International Ladies garment Workers Union), and there's a tune by Mimi Farina from the 1960's which was recorded by her sister Joan Baez, which has always been one of my favorites.

As we come marching, marching in the beauty of the day,
A million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
Are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
For the people hear us singing: “Bread and roses! Bread and roses!”

As we come marching, marching, we battle too for men,
For they are women’s children, and we mother them again.
Our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
Hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses!

As we come marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
Go crying through our singing their ancient cry for bread.
Small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
Yes, it is bread we fight for — but we fight for roses, too!

As we come marching, marching, we bring the greater days.
The rising of the women means the rising of the race.
No more the drudge and idler — ten that toil where one reposes,
But a sharing of life’s glories: Bread and roses! Bread and roses!
-1911

"It was the spirit of the workers that was dangerous," wrote labor reporter Mary Heaton Vorse. "They are always marching and singing. The tired, gray crowds ebbing and flowing perpetually into the mills had waked and opened their mouths to sing."

Can't have too much marching and singing, no ma'am. You cannot have too much of that.

So, back to Esperanza. I hope to help these girls tell their stories and sing, and together we'll figure out how to work with and honor the gifts we've been given. We'll see how their stories are woven into the fabric of the larger community narrative and we'll all learn a lot. Can't wait.