Acts of Spontaneous Singing

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Note: This post was written on a plane somewhere between Frankfurt and Bangalore. More on Bangalore and SB later :-D

I have this tendency to read my horoscope in the newspaper. Not because I’m deeply connected to that stuff, but more out of a general interest in what some stranger has to say about me. (For those who are interested, I’m a Taurus, which means I’m stubborn and vain. Go figure.) If it were confession time, I’d tell you that at the state fair this year, I even laid down two dollars (and a dollar-off coupon) to have my signature analyzed against my horoscope. But it isn’t confession time, so you didn’t read that on <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">my blog.

In any case, I picked up the newspaper on September 10, 2012, the morning of my departure, and this is how my horoscope read:

<em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Dare to be unprepared. You’ll be amazed at what you can come up with on the fly. It’s not like you’re going into a remote jungle without your survival kit. The stakes aren’t so high, so have a little fun.

I laughed out loud when I read it, and anybody who has ever traveled, worked, or gone to school with me will likely do the same. I learned from my mother never to go anywhere without certain necessary items: tweezers, bandaids, alcohol prep pads, eyeglass repair kit, safety pins, sewing kit, several types of small screwdriver (Would you prefer a flathead or Phillips? What size?). And my desire for preparedness does not end there: when teaching I find myself dependent on my notes, I plan things a year in advance. And when my preparations fall through or implode? I’m not the best at handling that. In short, the spontaneity the horoscope calls for seems just plain un-me.

But then I started thinking about the spontaneous singing that’s been following me recently. It started the Sunday before I left, during the communion portion of the service. We had finished the two hymns indicated in the bulletin, and typically that means the pianist/organist does something florid to fill the remaining time. But on Sunday, the pianist came in with a very bare-bones introduction to “I Love to Tell the Story.” Now, for those of you not familiar with this song, let it suffice to say that most Lutherans of a certain age (and Mennonites—I can’t speak for anybody else) know at least two versus of that song by heart. Immediately, people started humming. And then, without even thinking to open the hymnal, we all sang. It was one of those moments where everyone is suddenly, inexplicably <em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">together. No matter what your faith, this was what I think of as “a moment.” The words were just the vehicle for something deeper and more basic. For a moment, we had found the grounds upon which all religions are built.

There are many spiritual things in this world, but when it comes to group moments, I have never seen them more consistently appear than when they involve music and theatre. In many ways, music and theatre are similar—they are demonstrations of connection, emphasized by tone, movement, and pace. But the miraculous thing about moments are that they are not dictated by a group’s prowess. Many professional actors can count on their fingers how many times they’ve had a moment of absolute connectivity on stage. I personally have a grand total of two, but even then, one was actually for a three-minute competition piece. You just never know when the stars will align. And that, I guess, is a spontaneity I can live with.

But even when the spontaneous singing isn’t “a moment,” there’s something beautiful about it. As my plane pulled into the Chicago airport (yes, I was redirected to Chicago instead of Newark), my flight attendant ended her scripted announcements with a song. At first, everyone laughed, because it was a pleasant surprise. How many flight attendants are willing to expose themselves like that? It’s special. So, after the initial laughter, we all sat and listened and appreciated. And then, of course, we clapped. She might have done that a hundred times, but it had spontaneity for us, and therefore meant something.

And then, of course, there’s the random people singing in airports. They just seem so happy to be here, to be alive, to have something to sing about, to have people to sing with. For them, it’s a happy spontaneous pastime.

Back to the horoscope, then.

I can’t dare to be an unprepared teacher, and I can’t give up my first-aid kit, but I can dare to be unprepared spiritually. I can try to let myself be open to the people I meet, and I can let the things that make us similar affect me spontaneously as a human being. And, if I can demonstrate that spontaneity to my students, maybe—just maybe—they’ll find a “moment,” too.

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Comments

[Susan Mullin]

possible career shift
I don't know, Lynn. That last paragraph was very theological - maybe the ministry is in your future!

[lynnbix]

I just re-read the last paragraph and I can definitely see what you mean. The funny thing is, I didn't even think of it as theological. But, given the continuous connection between music, religion, and theatre, I'm not at all surprised!