On the choir - but not a singer
Part I. The path to singing
I went to services, listened to the singing of the church choir, from which my soul was filled with awe, and everything inside was touched, sometimes even to the point of tears. But at first I didn’t even think that I could become a part of this. Those people above seemed special to me, God's chosen ones, possessing some abilities that I had never even dreamed of.
On the choir - but not a singer
I don’t know when they decided in the heavenly office to involve me in the choir, but at some point I suddenly began to understand that I wanted to sing to God, I wanted to be up there with them. But like any sane person, I drove away these thoughts. Well, what kind of singer are you? You don’t know the notes, you have no education and nothing. What nonsense!
And then something happened that became my first step into the choir.
My churching began in an Orthodox parish in the city of Frankfurt am Main (Germany).
One evening, after the end of the all-night vigil, the elder of our parish, who was also a reader, a singer and a deputy regent, asked if I would like to read in the church. We need someone who will read the clock and also help her with reading at the all-night vigil.
My reaction was what a person might have when he is offered something he has never done in his life. But I didn’t refuse, I took the texts of the hours home to practice, and in the morning before the service I read a little to the priest, and he approved of reading the hours before the liturgy.
So I became physically part of the choir in the sense that I was in the same place as the choristers, on the upper tier of the hall every all-night vigil and before the liturgy, when it was necessary to read the hours.
Father himself took the initiative to teach me to read Church Slavonic, so that I could read from the Octoechos and Triodion at the All-Night Vigils. Every evening he found time to contact me via Skype. I read the Psalter, and he corrected where it was wrong. In parallel with this study, in addition to the Hours at the Liturgy, I read the texts of the Menaion and other liturgical books in Russian at the All-Night Vigil and watched our elder as she read in Church Slavonic.
Gradually, I learned to read Church Slavonic myself and could already read stichera [1] and texts not only from the Menaion, but also from the Octoechos. I also began to play the role of a kind of charter supervisor, monitoring the progress and correctness of the service. The rector in the temple was a man exclusively in the musical department and did not understand the order of service. Therefore, there was always someone who monitored the correctness of the service, singing and reading of the necessary texts; had to make sure that the choir had all the necessary books and notes. I was very glad that I could serve the Lord in this way, that I could be useful.
It’s easy to be a reader, someone might think. Not at all. This is no less important role in the choir than that of the singers. Especially when you're just starting out.
One day, I was suddenly given the opportunity to read the Six Psalms for the first time. At that time, I didn’t really know the correct pronunciation of Church Slavonic words, but they gave me a printout of the psalms, where there were no accents. Well, I read it at my own discretion. Poor father, I can imagine how the errors tormented his hearing. After all, for a person who knows the correct pronunciation of words, every incorrectly pronounced one is like a thorn in the heart. Afterwards he swore that it was a bad read. And I began to make excuses, father, I said, the emphasis was not placed. He was surprised how it was not marked, because he specifically gave you a good printout with accents.
During Lent, I had the opportunity to read almost the entire sequence of the penitential canon of Andrei of Crete alone. On the first day of the canon, one guest, a priest, a relative of the parishioners, came to our parish. I was so worried that there would be another priest, I should read everything especially well. And in the end she forgot the Trisagion and got it wrong in the text. After this incident, I no longer read these prayers from memory, but made bookmarks. It’s not just that according to the Charter, even priests do not have the right to read prayers from memory. There should be no presumption in church service.
Inadvertently, I became interested in singing and looked at the notes, which I understood nothing about. But the church melodies were remembered by themselves. The choir's repertoire was not rich; they sang almost the same thing. I secretly dreamed of singing in the choir. I copied the notes of the Vespers for myself and practiced singing at home, not understanding anything about the notes, but only remembering the chant itself in my mind. The notes served to help in that part, to understand where it was necessary to sing down, where up, and where to pull the sound.
I finally realized that, contrary to all reason about my musical ignorance, I wanted to sing in the choir after the next incident.
This was my first Easter spent in church! I and two other parishioners agreed to stay in the church after the night liturgy on duty in case one of the parishioners suddenly decided to visit God’s temple on the day of the Feast of Feasts.
Everyone had already left after the festive meal, the church was quiet and calm, and my soul was very joyful and I felt the presence of something inexplicable by any words. The Lord, His Most Pure Mother and the saints joyfully looked at us from the icons; rare candles burned out on the candlesticks.
One of the parishioners came up to me and offered to sing the Easter hours. I was sincerely surprised, saying that I couldn’t. But she insisted, assuring me that there was nothing complicated about it, and that I should simply repeat the melody after her.
We stood in front of the central icon and began to sing in unison at the tone of the 8th hour of Easter. I really enjoyed singing!
It was a new, indescribable feeling. We moved on to the Easter canon, but it turned out to be a little more difficult for me to perform, since the melodies changed periodically, and I did not know them. We sang again and again from memory various church hymns that we knew.
The girl who offered to sing was not a singer in our choir, and she soon began going to another parish, but she providentially became the impetus for me to realize that I want to sing to God.
I suddenly clearly understood this - yes, I really want to sing. Why not? – I asked myself, if this is what my soul asks for. I approached the abbot, with whom we had a very warm relationship, and told about my desire.
-Can you sing? - he asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. - But I really want to. I didn't have any musical education. Pictures of distant childhood only surfaced in my memory, when I, as an eight-year-old child, studied at a music school for only one year, even played something on the piano and sang in the choir.
Father sent me to the regent, saying that he would bless me if the latter gives the go-ahead. Of course, we already knew the regent, because we were together in the choir during services, but in his eyes I was exclusively a reader and a person who helps the choristers during the service. He did not take my desire to sing seriously, he constantly did not find time to listen to me, but allowed me to try to sing at rehearsals, which I myself soon abandoned, because I did not understand anything about hooks on white paper, called notes, and mumbled to myself that something under my breath from memory.
In general, in our choir there was some division between those who sing and those who simply read (there were already two of us there). It was believed that everyone can read, but singing is a special gift. Therefore, the latter were considered people of lesser rank even in the eyes of some parishioners. This was expressed in the fact that the singers were inviolable in terms of carrying out other work in the parish, while the readers could easily be taken from the choir to perform other, often more everyday tasks, such as preparing the table, washing dishes, cleaning, etc. For the singers, they even always set aside food separately (sandwiches, cakes, pies) strictly taking into account the number of singers; the readers were not included in this group. It didn't offend me at all. You probably need to become a singer to understand how tired you are, that you become incapable of anything else, I thought. During the service, there was also some division according to the principle: “you read and help us, but don’t interfere with the musical part,” “we don’t interfere with your reading.” But sometimes we, the readers, unwittingly had to act as coordinators of the discipline, looking sternly towards the singers who were carried away by the conversation during our reading; to call attention to the fact that now is the time to sing, exclamation; sometimes remind you that “Lord, have mercy” should be sung three times, not once, etc. And of course, the free reader can go and call the choir (and along the way you can also turn on the lights), which, while reading the Six Psalms, has retired to the next room for a rehearsal. The singers did not always have time to come running, there were moments when “Lord, have mercy” I had to sing alone. The first time I was terribly shy and didn’t dare. But when I realized the horror of the situation, when the answer to a priest’s exclamation is silence, I cast aside all my complexes and embarrassments and began to sing.
And so the regent finally found a minute of his attention to listen to me. I repeat that he did not take this seriously. He asked me to sing “Lord, have mercy”, I sang as I knew. It never even occurred to me then that this needed to be done on a certain note. At that moment, I didn’t have the slightest idea that in the choir, it turns out, they sing in several voices, and the choir’s making sounds before singing is an elementary setting and setting the tone. With a smile on his face, throwing out the phrase “it’s either given or not” and leaving no other comments, he left. Another singer began to reassure me that don’t worry, you read so well, we can’t do that.
To say that I felt offended is to remain silent. Tears involuntarily welled up in my eyes, which urgently needed to be stopped, because the all-night vigil would now begin.
For me, the world then collapsed. I didn’t understand at all what happened, why I didn’t come over. Do I read well? Yes, and I am very grateful to God for this, but I want to sing. Not given? Yes, if God pleases, then He can give to those to whom it is not given, and He can take away from those to whom it is given.
And then, if it’s not given, then how did I get accepted into the music school at that time? Will my dream really collapse before it even begins to come true?
My mental ordeal began. If until this moment I periodically tried to sing the hymns of the services at home, now I decided to “give up on this” and did not touch them. But after a while I again reached for the notes and continued to practice singing. It was stronger than me.
The situation was resolved after the head singer and deputy regent began to attract me to singing. Despite the fact that she was officially a kind of deputy regent at the choir, in fact, it was she who carried out the unspoken leadership of what to sing and who would sing.
She listened to me again and said that everything was fine, and I just needed to start singing quietly with the choir, repeating the part of the second voice with her. She said that it would be good to learn to sing through real practice, since she herself went through this path.
Due to being busy with his main job, the regent began to appear very rarely; he was almost never present at evening services. Singers generally rarely attended evening services and they were usually sung in a minimal composition, with two voices. I sang too. But if it suddenly happened and the regent came, then during such services I could not squeeze out a sound. It was a kind of psychological discomfort, my throat was dry and it seemed that I was simply speechless.
The struggle inside me continued, whether I was doing the right thing, whether to quit or continue, to be or not to be. And every time the thought came to me that I should give up singing, something happened that proved the opposite. And invisibly at that moment there was a struggle between my Guardian Angel and the evil generation.
Brush in God's hands
In the summer there was absolutely no one to sing in the parish; vacations came. On the eve of the all-night vigil, from a conversation with the priest, I learn that on Saturday there will be no singers at all. And then a thought arises in my head: shouldn’t I try to sing alone. I had already memorized the melodies of the all-night vigil chants, but my father knew nothing about my secret activities at home. Arriving at the temple the next day, I offered him my “services.” He decided to listen to my performance. I sang “Quiet Light.” He liked this. Father was then amused by the fact that while I was singing, for some reason I was moving my hand, as if helping myself. But these, apparently, were the beginnings of a future regency.
Having received the approval of the priest, I perked up and boldly began to sing at the all-night vigil, at some point, apparently, I even raised my newly minted singing nose too much and sang something out of place. Somewhere in the middle of the service, one of the musically literate singers came up and began to sing alone. The two of us couldn’t even get in unison, and she tried in vain to set the tone; I didn’t understand anything about it at the time. I was surprised that she could not sing some hymns, making excuses that she did not sing alone and rarely attends the evening service. But this is all from the series of that same hateful pride about which my Guardian Angel reported to the Lord. How can it be, I’m not a singer, but I know melodies, but she doesn’t, I thought.
The following summer, the story with the absence of singers repeated itself. We remained on the choir alone with another reader A.
Even before the headman’s departure, before one of the all-night vigils, it became clear that she would not be able to stay for the service. We approached the notes, A. said, as if as a joke, well, let’s do a rehearsal. I started singing Psalm 103, she joined in with one voice, and the head girl stood nearby and told us that we were singing normally. We began to train the litany with A. And at the place when we sing “Amen” the priest comes in, smiles and says:
- Once you sing “Amen”, you can do the rest.
And he blessed us to sing what we know. By that time, I knew almost all the hymns of the all-night vigil, as I practiced at home. A. quickly followed me in one voice. I looked at the notes only for help. I don’t know how we sang, but since the priest didn’t tell us to shut up and just read, it probably wasn’t that bad, something like grandmothers’ choirs in Russian churches.
Soon the headwoman went on vacation for the summer. The other singers were also absent. The Regent did not appear for several Saturdays. It happened that I couldn’t even come to the liturgy. Previously, I noticed that when this happened and there was no one to sing, the Lord never left, he always sent a person, a regent or a singer from another temple (it is not clear where he came from).
This summer, for the coming Saturdays, the situation was such that there would be no one on the choir except A. and me. After our experience, I suggested doing rehearsals in order to at least slightly improve joint unison singing. The priest said with a smile that we sing normally, but somehow not in a church way, like old women in the dumps. I took notes from the temple, we began to do rehearsals.
At one of the rehearsals, A. told me about Saint Roman the Sweet Singer, who could not sing and was laughed at, but through his strong prayer to the Mother of God, She gave him this ability. I began to pray intensely to both him and the Mother of God.
The reaction of the singers themselves to A. and I singing in their absence was different. One of them helped us and sang “My soul magnifies the Lord” as needed, since we couldn’t sing it correctly. Another was of the opinion that since we don’t know how to sing, we need to read. We responded to this: “as the priest bless.” And the priest gave his blessing to sing.
The entire week before each all-night vigil was spent in training. A. later told me that she also secretly dreams of singing and prayed to St. Nicholas about it. So the Lord sent us such a situation and the help of the saints!
At the all-night vigil after our rehearsals, A. and I were able to sing almost everything, except for the Irmos and Katavasiyas. Many things began to work out that had not worked out before, for example, “From my youth,” “Glory to God in the highest,” “Blessed are you, the Virgin Mary.” Father was happy that we were able to sing together. Of course, we sang in one voice, but apparently everything worked out perfectly.
The Lord always seemed to support my desire to sing, and every time I was tormented by thoughts that I shouldn’t try to sing, everything was in vain, that nothing would work out for me, He sent situations that spoke of the opposite. It was as if he was telling me “go for it, daughter!” One such case is described in the story “A Brush in God’s Hands.”
One day, the Lord sent a man to our parish who played a significant role in my further development as a singer, just at the moment when I was once again tormented by doubts. She was a young talented girl with a musical education. It so happened that she began to teach me musical notation.
Since she had never sung in a church choir before, I taught her voice chanting and the order of worship. She also joined our choir and later became our director.
After a month of daily solfeggio lessons, I finally began to understand notes, and a new musical world opened up for me. We sang prayers with her in two voices before meals, before classes, sang when we prepared something together for a meal in the parish, sang at the bus stop and on the tram when we were going to services. We sang literally all day long.
My training in musical notation resulted in me being able to put one of my poems praising the Blessed Virgin Mary on sheet music. It turned out to be a simple melody in the tradition of church use. It was a miracle for me that the song was performed by the choir on the patronal feast day, and this was my last liturgy in my first, beloved and so dear parish, after which my further singing career developed in the territory of my homeland.
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