SINGING has been a part of my life for nearly so long as I can remember. It was instrumental (pun intended) in my journey to faith, even though it all began slightly casually. My family were churchgoers, but I joined the choir, on the age of seven, only because a boy up the road said that it was fun — and, besides, you bought paid for singing at weddings.
The choir was well resourced, and the usual was high. It took the nurturing of young singers seriously, and I loved it. I worked for my medals, and eventually became head chorister. I formed an ambition to turn into a countertenor, because I so enjoyed the sound of the talented singer who stood behind me and relished his part. After school, a university choral scholarship followed, and I experienced three often terrifying but mostly exhilarating years of extraordinary music and liturgy.
WHILE I used to be a student, my sense of vocation to ministry developed. When I used to be ordained, 4 years later, the apparent direction of travel may need been towards cathedral ministry; indeed, on a few occasions, I used to be invited to use for precentorships. Yet I’ve at all times been sure that my vocation lies in parish ministry. And, within the villages and market towns where I even have served, the musical traditions, resources, and skill have varied considerably.
It is all too easy to wring one’s hands in regards to the musical deficit in a parish, particularly for those of us who’ve distant memories of a thriving robed choir leading a hearty congregation. My own experience is that, nonetheless slim your resources, music can remain an important a part of worship — and, indeed, of outreach with each children and adults. Too formal or polished an approach can sometimes even get in the best way of participation. During the pandemic, for instance, a weekly easy recording of a hymn or chorus sung in two parts, circulated with our parish e-news, was greatly appreciated. One parishioner still listens to “Be still and know that I’m God” while out walking.
The RSCM and others offer support and resources. But listed below are a few of the simplest ideas that I even have used through the years.
ONE of the best ways of involving your congregation is thru a call and response. The Peruvian Gloria is a widely known example. Someone sings easy words set to a quite simple tune, and the congregation repeats back each phrase. Since there are three verses (Father, Son, and Spirit) with the best chorus in between (“Alleluia Amen, Alleluia Amen, Alleluia Amen”), everyone will soon pick it up. The whole thing might be enlivened and kept going with a drumbeat (a superb strategy to involve a younger member of the congregation), but that is entirely optional.
Again, the music of Taizé is distinctive for its accessible chants, often based on lines from the Psalms, that are repeated time and again as an aid to prayer and contemplation. The chants are designed to be as straightforward as possible, and open themselves as much as easy harmonisation. If you should keep people roughly in tune, you may add in a recorder or flute, but it can be crucial to not be too rigid so that folks can extemporise. A choir doggedly ploughing through a pre-agreed variety of verses is usually a distraction.
AN EXTENSION of that is to take certainly one of the best Taizé songs (The three-part “Gloria, gloria, gloria, in excelsis deo” springs to mind) and teach it in parts. Try to line up a few strong singers in order that each line has some help. Both words and tune are so short that the majority people can keep their part of their head.
The joy of that is that it encourages focused and careful listening, and a way of mutual dependence because the voices move together — something that’s spiritually enriching, and a lesson all of its own. It helps to set the scene and concentrate minds. Rounds can work well for a similar reason: an example could be “Shalom chaverim” (“Shalom, my friends”).
Action songs are probably best kept for family services, but they provide a superb way of engaging your congregation, and (let’s be honest) warming them up on a chilly day. “Allelu Allelu Allelu Alleluia, Praise ye the Lord” could be very easy, and lends itself to getting one half of the church to rise up on “Allelu” and sit for “Praise ye the Lord”, and vice versa. There might be welcome laughter when people get it flawed.
A COMBINATION of all of the above got here together in a enterprise that now we have tried in various contexts, most recently during our ten-day village arts festival. A member of our congregation who’s on the committee spotted that there was an early-morning fitness stream within the planning (“Festival Fit”) and proposed a more contemplative “Festival Calm” strand. Alongside fixing a mindfulness class, she invited the local churches to supply a wide range of types of prayer and worship every day throughout the festival.
We called our contribution “Singing for the Soul”. We began with respiratory exercises and stretching, exploring how we are able to use our bodies as musical instruments. We talked in regards to the healing power of music, about listening to 1 one other, and the way we would benefit from the fantastic acoustic in our Twelfth-century constructing.
I introduced a few of the most accessible a cappella repertoire that we use in church: a mix of Taizé chants, spirituals — they’re generally well-known — and rounds. Those who got here along (few of whom would describe themselves as singers, and none as churchgoers) arrived unsure but curious. The feedback over coffee was that this was pretty much as good as yoga — higher, even. They left uplifted, with requests for more sessions.
In the tip, it’s less in regards to the perfection of the performance, and more a couple of willingness to provide it a go — and it’s that which supplies others the courage to affix in, too.
The Revd Ben Phillips is the Vicar of Goring and Streatley with South Stoke within the diocese of Oxford.
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