A Simple “Yes”
Sometimes, when we look back along the road we've traveled, we don't want to revisit the whole journey. We want one moment.
Not because everything was better then.
Just because, for a brief moment, we were exactly where we were supposed to be – and we didn't know it.
It was in the Spring a few years ago, before I knew where the journey would eventually lead. I was singing with the choir at St. Peter’s and also with the Roof Garden Barbershop Chorus. I cannot remember every rehearsal, but at one of the choir rehearsals, Karen asked me to be the cantor for the upcoming Mass of Confirmation.
I simply said “yes.”
Then I thought about it afterward.
What?
Wait?
The bishop will be there.
The church will be full. This time with many unfamiliar faces. And it will be me at the podium leading the congregation for the singing.
I didn’t really think about all of this before I answered.
I was very nervous.
When the choir rehearsed for that Mass, I was relieved to learn that the processional hymn was one I already knew: Dan Schutte’s Send Us Your Spirit.
I told Karen about my nerves, and she seemed to understand. But, she didn’t ask me if I wanted change my mind about saying “yes.” Instead, she did something with rehearsal that we didn’t do very often. She had me practice from the podium in the sanctuary where I’d be standing on that Sunday afternoon.
Still, I was nervous.
This particular version of Send Us Your Spirit, had a key change going into the last verse.
I knew how to do that. And I could hear the organist play into it.
As the cantor, I would be leading the congregation. I had to get it right.
That final rehearsal I walked down the stairs from the choir loft and up the center aisle to the podium in the sanctuary. My footsteps echoed in the empty church. I could hear the rustling of sheet music as the choir prepared.
I stood at the podium, staring at the microphone with the red light indicating it was hot. I took a deep breath and looked up at Karen as she began directing.
Lori played the introduction. I knew the beautiful melody. I watched as Karen turned away from directing Lori through the intro and towards the choir.
I raised my right arm to bring in the invisible congregants and began singing. “Send us your Spirit, O Lord.” My voice solid and amplified, echoed through the empty church.
I sang through both verses, watching Karen carefully.
I heard the choir in four-part harmony.
Lori played the bridge. I heard the key change.
I knew I could do it.
I sang the final verse.
As the final chord echoed, Karen turned to Lori and they had a little conference.
“Mark,” Karen began, “that was correct musically, but it still needs something. It needs to sound like you are praying.”
I read the lyrics on the sheet music.
“Winter has chilled us, and stilled us to long.”
I thought about that.
The past winter had been awful. Not the weather, the season.
I sang it again.
This time Karen loved it.
"Do it that way Sunday and it will be perfect.”
Sunday was coming… fast!
I kept practicing in my cement block garage.
It helped me hear myself from the outside.
My brother, Matt, had given me that tip.
I called him for another.
Sunday came and I took my place in the sanctuary.
Karen waved.
I stood and invited the congregation to sing the processional hymn.
As I sang, I watched the faces of those in procession.
The server carrying the cross, then the confirmandi and their sponsors.
They bowed reverently at the base of the sanctuary and took their places in the pew. Many of them joining the hymn.
The deacon with the Book of Gospels held high.
He wasn’t from our parish.
I wondered where Deacon Ron was.
More deacons processed, then several priests and finally the bishop wearing his mitre and carrying his crozier.
Next to him on his right was Deacon Ron.
And behind them two more servers.
I kept singing, but was getting worried about becoming too emotional as I entered the last verse.
I focused my attention on the organ.
Listening intently as Lori played the bridge into the key change.
I heard my starting note.
I knew I could duplicate that with my voice.
“Send us good summer, oh Lord.”
So far, so good, I thought.
“Winter has chilled us, and stilled us, too long.”
I felt the emotion but my voice didn’t break.
I watched the faces in the first few rows as I completed the verse.
I looked up at Karen as she directed the stop for the singers.
The organ played a few more bars and it too went silent.
I turned from the podium and faced Bishop Mark Bartchak.
It seemed like we made eye contact for a split second. I wasn’t sure.
He began, “In the name of the Father…”
Sometimes I wish I could go back there.
Not to change anything.
Not even to say something different.
I would simply like to stand there again.
To hear the organ.
To hear the voices.
To feel what I felt before I knew what was coming.
But I can't go back.
None of us can.
At the time, I thought I was simply saying yes to singing.
Yes to being the cantor.
Yes to trying something that made me uncomfortable.
It was a simple yes.
I had no idea how many other yeses would follow.
I can't go back to that moment.
And perhaps I shouldn't want to.
Because that moment was not the destination.
It was part of the road.
I am here now.
Shaped by every mile that came afterward.
I can remember the man I was with gratitude.
I can miss that moment.
I can even wish, for just a little while, that I could stand there again.
But the road keeps going.
And I am still walking it.
What simple yes are you saying today that may shape who you become years from now?
Following Truth Wherever He Leads.