Sing Out

A holiday tradition in many communities is a choral “sing along.” In particular, at Christmastime, the popular work is Handel's Messiah.

When a friend learned, a few years back, that I had some ability to sing, he gave me a copy of an acclaimed performance on CD and invited me along.

(Yikes.) Apart from the famed Hallelujah chorus, I had no familiarity with the work. My choral career ended in elementary school; to my untrained ears, this piece was operatic. As an adult, I had once toyed with the idea of joining a chorus—until I found out that an audition would be necessary. Solo.

There is much joy in singing, though; and a chorus makes such a glorious noise together.

No auditions are needed to participate in a public sing-along. With some practice, and the generosity of a choir master leading free rehearsals, I came to appreciate Handel's masterful work.

This year, when I signed up for a local 50th annual Messiah Sing-along, I missed the memo that we would be performing the entire work—not just the usual popular selections. But that was okay, thanks to those free rehearsals over the years. And besides, if you don't feel confident about a particular piece, you could just sit it out and let others carry the weight. Many of the people who show up for these are members of regional choruses, and they know what they're doing.

I strategically settled into a seat in the section where sopranos would naturally congregate, and resonated with a confident and talented voice nearby. There is an orchestra, but there are no soloists: We tackle the solos, as well as the choruses, written for our voices.

There was at least one vocalist who had participated in all 50 events. “Let's make it 60!” he called out. Some seated near me held no scores; one woman spent the evening penning Christmas cards. That seemed odd, until I concluded they were friends and families of the orchestra members.

The lyrics are bits of Biblical scripture, rendered from two of the more poetic translations. When I read some verses at a funeral service earlier this year, the passage was familiar to me through Handel's music (No. 52); I had a firm grasp on those words.

As 2016 draws to a close, I was struck by two questions (Psalms 2:1):

Why do the nations so furiously rage together,

and why do the people imagine a vain thing?

Why, indeed? More than two millennia later, so little has changed.

Can there be any hope that we will work for the good of all in 2017, and beyond?