Walk in the Light

Last Sunday, I sat in two different places in church.  For the morning service, there was my favorite pew, perfect for two people—three, if they know one another well–on the left side, near the front, surrounded by familiar people sitting in their favorite pews.  It’s comfortable there, and I can see the organist’s hands and feet when she plays.

     For the concert, Sunday afternoon, there was a pew on the other side of the main aisle!  People in our church are more likely to change services than the side of the aisle on which they sit.  I shared a pew with someone else who usually sits near me on the left side, and we laughed about the change of perspective.  The world actually did look different over there and at that time of day. 

     We left-siders are used to the sun shining through the stained-glass clerestory windows blessing various visages and pates with spotlights of color as the morning service progresses.  The sun was low in the sky at the time of the concert, shining in through the large windows in the walls on the right side of the nave and creating lovely, complicated, multicolored patterns on the walls next to the windows.  Seeing them felt like learning a secret about the church I’ve attended all my life.

     Lots of people came to the concert, “A Celebration of African American Music.”  A lot of people performed in the concert, too:  the adult choir, the junior choir, the cherub choir, the adult and junior handbell choirs, the music director, and her assistant.  They presented sixteen pieces of music, of which three really stood out.

     When Ming Zhou, assistant to our music director, played Florence Price’s variations on “Peter, Go Ring dem Bells,” it nearly brought down the house.  It’s a fine piece, Ming Zhou’s a mighty fine organist, and we have a mighty fine organ.  The performance was spectacular.

     The cherub choir sang, Greg Gilpin’s arrangement of “Little Innocent Lamb.”  All two of them.  Those two little girls performed well and with dignity in front of a large audience of largely unfamiliar people in that large space.  The applause that followed their song was enthusiastic, and the girls received it with the same dignity with which they’d performed.  Outstanding.

     The third stand-out piece was the final work of the afternoon, Andre Thomas’s “Walk in the Light,” in which all the vocal choirs performed.  Music director Deborah Friauff invited the audience to join in on the chorus, and we did.  It’s about a four-minute piece, and I suspect most of the audience was wishing it would go on a few more choruses.  It certainly lifted our spirits as we went back out into the world.

     The dog and I were both present at another remarkable sound, out in the world.  Where we live–near lots of ponds, large and small—we hear the sounds of waterfowl every day.  Canada geese, in particular, chat constantly, and they’re common enough here that we don’t always even look up to see them when they pass by, honking as they go.

     We were walking near a no-name pond earlier this week, when there came a honking from close at hand.  It took a beat before I realized that that wasn’t a goose’s voice; it sounded like a low-flying brass section.  Could it really be?  It was.  A pair of trumpeter swans, back from whatever warm place to which they’d migrated.  It’s too early for them to be back up in Michigan, but here they are.

     The swans entered our soundscape again later in our walk, this time from where they’d settled on open water in a much larger pond.  They were taking to the air again.  Trumpeters make so much noise doing this that even the dog checked to see if that racket were cause for alarm.  They’re the heaviest birds we have in North America.  It takes tremendous force and a bit of time for them to become airborne.  While they’re working on it, they strike the surface of the water with the downbeats of their monumental wings.  They appear to walk on water as they build up speed, their big, flat feet smacking the surface with every step.  It makes an enormous noise, percussive and thrilling.

     There’s an element of uncertainty to the process as well.  Will the swans run out of runway before they’re aloft and flying?  Will the two little girls be able to sing all alone?  Will the assorted sounds and images continue drifting into my mind several times a day for the foreseeable future?  There is so much light in the world.    

16 February 2024