We knew each other’s voices intimately because there were only eight of us. Brother Don, our one bass, said the words more than sang them. But that worked, his low rumble adding fullness. The two tenors were great. The only great part of our choir. The three sopranos included a twelve-year-old with a small voice, one average singer, and another whose voice shrilled on the high notes.
I was one of two altos. If I knew I was on the right note I had a strong clear voice but if I wasn’t sure I held back hardly able to be heard even by myself. Annette, my fellow alto was as uncertain of the notes as I was.
She said, “I wish we had a strong alto to keep us on track.”
I agreed. We stood as close to the piano as we could hoping to pick out our notes, envying the sopranos who got to sing the tune, trilling away happily with no concern they would ruin the song by hitting the wrong notes. They projected with the courage that comes from singing the tune. Although projecting had become more difficult as the church had been growing.
We regularly had to open the screens in the back to seat people in the overflow area, forcing us to project even more. Yes, the church had been growing, but the choir had not. There were still only eight of us unless one of us came down with a cold or laryngitis making an even smaller group. We prayed that wouldn’t happen with the big Christmas service coming up.
Fortunately we were all there in front of a packed church the Sunday of the Christmas service which also happened to be Christmas Eve
“You might want to send some of those singing angels to help us,” I thought to God, more mouthing off than praying.
We’d have to hope the congregation felt the spirit in spite of our small numbers.
Our part in the program came. We stood clustered together in mutual support, we altos inching closer to the piano bringing the rest of the group with us like an amoeba sliding to the left. The director pointed. We hit our first notes together and on key. So far, so good.
But whose were those other voices? I heard strong altos, multiple basses, the sweetest tenors and sopranos. Where were those voices coming from? Did anyone else hear them?
There was no time then for wondering, no time for anything other than focusing on the words, the director, and the spirit of Christmas. I latched onto the notes of those strong altos and sang out. Even if only I heard them, at least my sure voice would now be there supporting the sopranos, adding depth and resonance; to the choir.
It wasn’t until afterwards, after more than one person commented on how it sounded like a lot more than eight of us singing, that I had time to wonder.
And continued to wonder more than twenty years later. Did I really hear those voices? Was I the only one? Why would God do that? I called Annette. We had both long since left that area, staying in touch by phone once a year or so.
When she answered, I hesitated, not sure how to phrase my question in case she hadn’t heard those voices and would question my sanity. Finally, I blurted. “Do you remember that Christmas? Did you hear those voices?”
“Oh I remember that,” she said. “That’s not a thing you forget.”
Annette is as pragmatic and uncreative as I am. I write memoir because I’m not imaginative enough to write fiction. Neither of us even decorated our homes. One new acquaintance once asked Annette if she’d just moved into the house she’d lived in for years, it was so devoid of throw pillows, and wall hangings.. And yet we two more-logical-than-emotional women both heard those voices.
Those unforgettable voices.
The tears came whenever the memory returned, not from remembering the voices but from not understanding why God—that all powerful, all knowing God, the creator of the universe—did it.
Why send angels to help one tiny struggling choir in an obscure mountain town in Nowhere USA?
Early one morning as I was in that half-awake, half-asleep state when my heart is most touched., He spoke up.
God said, “I did it because it was important to you, Margaret, and that made it important to me. That’s what love is.”
That’s why He did it? I’ve prayed for more critical needs–for healing for others, for relief from financial stress, for improved relationships–that seemed to go unanswered. And yet He chose to answer this simple prayer and not those others. Why this and with such an amazing display of celestial voices? I suppose when I think about it, it made His power clear. And those other prayers? There are reasons I might not yet understand for why He didn’t answer as I wanted, but I can trust He is aware and loves me. Because that is why He said He sent that choir of angels… out of love.
That’s what love is. All He asks in return is that I love the same way. Love others as He loves me.