I’m not normally in the choir at church for two reasons. I’ve lost half my range, and I’m a zombie when they have rehearsals in the evening. On Good Friday, John thought there were not going to be enough sopranos, so he asked if I’d be willing to sing with the choir. He knew I’d directed all the music at our last church and was familiar with it. I found it exciting to witness the action. Downstairs, all was serene and worshipful, but in the loft there was constant movement.
The organist put on shoes before going to the front of the church to accompany a cellist playing the prelude. John says she plays the pedals of the organ wearing socks and not shoes. My toes cringed at the thought. The organist’s daughter directed the choir. She normally directs music at the praise and worship service, but the music director is quarantined with his COVID-infected wife. What a time to be forced to stay home from your job! Heather was a marvelous substitute. While directing, she switched to singing alto, because there was only one other there. Grandson David does not show at the other end of the tenor section, and John was out of the picture. Perhaps you can see two people sitting before monitors as they were live-streaming the service. Another was downstairs with her phone, getting shots of the cellist and organist.
I turned to the front of the church where the young tech was videoing the people playing the prelude. The young man who does the audio had stepped away, but you can see his sound board all lit up. He plays the marimba next to the sound board. I don’t often hear that soft sound, but he usually plays when the congregation sings hymns. I was very impressed with the talents of all these people.
Despite the quiet hubbub upstairs, the service was very meaningful. As usual, we left the church in silence after the Bible was slammed shut. Requiescat in pace, dear Lord.