The church in which I saw clients was undergoing construction. There was no place to meet so I made the decision to use my synagogue study. I made sure my door was open. Yes, one reason is because of the need not to be in a closed, private area with clients, but in this case so that they couldn’t see my title on the door of my study. What I forgot is that directly next door was the choir room and our octet would soon be practicing for the High Holydays that were quickly approaching.
That could be a problem in normal circumstances but in this particular case it turned out to be something that could have played on an episode of Saturday Night Live!
I had been working with an African-American woman for a few weeks. She had some family relationship problems across the years but found affirmation in her church. She was very involved in the choir.
There was a new choirmaster with whom she didn’t get along. Why? Because she disagreed with his choice of music; the hymns he taught the choir members weren’t, according to my client, majestic enough, but were far too contemporary. We had been discussing this at our sessions in which I tried to tell her that his was the last word. Perhaps there were others who agreed with her and would join her in speaking with him?
I got the feeling that there was far more to it, but from this point on the details were irrelevant.
So this one time she’s telling me how she feels that the “angels don’t feel the music” being played, that “God is not happy with this rock and roll garbage.”
When time was almost up I paid no attention to the sounds I heard next door. The choir was getting ready to begin their rehearsal; they had not as yet started. I said to myself, “Holy Moly, I better end this session and get her out of the Temple!” Tooooo late!! And of all melodies they had to sing at that moment, it was the MOST dramatic, MOST magnificent, MOST angelic Mah Tovu of Lewis Lewandowski. Those of you who know my taste in Classical Reform music, or who grew up in a Classical Reform congregation know it. If you heard it, you’d surely remember it.
Suddenly there’s a smile across my client’s face. She places her hand over her heart, closes her eyes and says, “Jesus, dear Jesus, your Father’s angels are singing in the Heavenly Choir!” and went on, “That’s what I want to hear in church. Please have them give me the sheet music. Oh, Jesus, how I love that song!” It took everything in me not to fall on the floor laughing, not from what she said (except for the “Jesus” I agreed with her 100%), but from the timing. Anyway, I said, “Ma’am, you’re listening to the melody but the words are in Hebrew. Maybe that wouldn’t be acceptable in your church.” And with that she said – and I almost anticipated her words – “Then I’ll join this church! That’s the music I was talking about!!!”
We did continue our sessions but in the Lutheran church. I believe her problem had to do more with her abrasive way of communication and a sense of entitlement since she had been in the choir for decades. What happened with her, I don’t know, but I’ll never forget the angels in the shul.
(Speaking of singing, obese and middle-aged Miriam was talking to her next-door neighbor about her earlier musical achievements. “When I was a young woman,” she said, “I not only sang at the Met but I was the most beautiful diva they ever had.” Her neighbor asked, “You sang at the Met? Tell me, what was the aria?” Miriam replied, somewhat perturbed, “How should I know? What am I, an architect!?”)