It is good to give thanks to the Lord,
to sing praises to thy name, O Most High;
to declare thy steadfast love in the morning,
and thy faithfulness by night,
to the music of the lute and the harp,
to the melody of the lyre.
For thou, O Lord, hast made me glad by thy work;
at the works of thy hands I sing for joy.
– Psalm 92:1-4, RSV-CE
One bright summer Sunday morning while cantoring, I barely brought the congregation in during the Lamb of God litany, because I composed myself from laughing. Suppressed laughs are always the worst. Why was I laughing during a very solemn time in Mass, you ask?
At that particular parish I worked with a great music director. She educated the less-skilled voices and instruments, and brought out the best among the more skilled. She did have some quirks; one, she hated the organ. (!) Second, she had nearly no discipline in her facial expressions, so she had no future in poker. Because she also directed the choir, she used body language to direct them. A head bop or a lean forward would bring them into the music, as well as the congregation, once they learned her directions.
We also had a guitarist who habitually kept every piece of music handed to him by the music director. His filled-to-overflowing three-ring loose-leaf binder strained to contain multiple already accepted music pieces.
That particular Sunday, while everyone in the congregation was still exchanging the sign of peace, the music director sat at the piano, hands poised over the keys, eyeing the guitarist expectantly as he flipped through his book. He stopped, examined the page, adjusts his guitar as if he found the proper selection and is ready to play. Just as she starts to lean forward and lower her finger on the keys, he starts flipping pages again. Her face makes a silent “Auugghh!” as he continues to flip pages. She quickly glanced at the priest, hoping not to see a stern look, and then quickly started without the guitarist.
No one else in the sanctuary saw the unfolding tableau besides me. I saw it all since I was waiting for them. And I could feel mirth coming on, which I tried to suppress, making it worse. I moved my head away from the microphone as a few small chuckles escaped. They continued to escape until I managed to compose myself…right before I was to start and bring in the congregation.
That happened nearly 20 years ago. Even today, I can still see the silent “Auugghh!” on the music director’s face…and it still draws laughs from me.
Paul L Carter 