Carol and Charlie and the Heavenly Choir
I have learned over my life that people connect at many different levels. We have family connections and business connections. There are connections based in attending the same school or working in the same office or living in the same neighborhood. But every now and then, a special connection comes along based on something that defies the normal course of things. Over the course of my choral music experience, I have made two such connections.
Carol Cook died today. She was a friend, although I didn’t know too much about her personal life. I knew she has some children and grandchildren. I knew she knitted (Canfield Fair blue ribbon winner) and bowled. I knew she was feisty, and said her mind as she believed necessary. But I only knew about those things in generalities. I was never to her house. I never went out with her socially. I didn’t know her other friends.
But for many years, Carol and I sang in the Zion Lutheran Church choir, and later the Seraphim Chorus. She was an alto and I am a tenor. We both shared a love of hymns, and as time went on, we got in the habit of standing next to each other so we could harmonize while the rest of the choir was singing unison. Sometimes we would laugh, and occasionally Carol would cry, as we belted out the old war horse music that often times would lead Carol to memories of her father and the hymn sings of her youth. Sometimes we got dirty looks because we weren’t following the protocol, or what everybody else was doing, but we had fun. More importantly, the harmonies allowed us to connect to our individual Gods on Sunday mornings. I didn’t have to know much more about Carol other than we were able to sing, with some degree of competence, the inner two parts of a 4 part piece of music. We had a connection.
I have only experienced this once before, with an old codger named Charlie. He and I sang together for 20 years in my former church choir. For all of those years, we would belt out the tenor part. I didn’t know much about his personal life either. I knew he had a son. It was only at his funeral that I found out he had a daughter who was a legal secretary for another lawyer here in town that I had contact with on a somewhat regular basis. Charlie also said what he thought. “It’s a dirge,” he would shout as we sang the funerial music of Lent. When he died, it just wasn’t the same.
I think of Charlie every Christmas Eve when I am singing the tenor part of Angels We Have Heard on High, or on Easter when we sing Jesus Christ Is Risen Today. Now I will think of Carol every time we sing The Church’s One Foundation or Stand Up! Stand Up for Jesus. It just won't be the same without her, either.
I wonder if Carol and Charlie will meet in God's heavenly choir. If they do, watch out. Heaven will never be the same again. I know Carol will say her peace when needed, and the Director better not give any dirges to Charlie. Between the two of them, it will be lightening and thunder. God bless them both.
Carol Cook died today. She was a friend, although I didn’t know too much about her personal life. I knew she has some children and grandchildren. I knew she knitted (Canfield Fair blue ribbon winner) and bowled. I knew she was feisty, and said her mind as she believed necessary. But I only knew about those things in generalities. I was never to her house. I never went out with her socially. I didn’t know her other friends.
But for many years, Carol and I sang in the Zion Lutheran Church choir, and later the Seraphim Chorus. She was an alto and I am a tenor. We both shared a love of hymns, and as time went on, we got in the habit of standing next to each other so we could harmonize while the rest of the choir was singing unison. Sometimes we would laugh, and occasionally Carol would cry, as we belted out the old war horse music that often times would lead Carol to memories of her father and the hymn sings of her youth. Sometimes we got dirty looks because we weren’t following the protocol, or what everybody else was doing, but we had fun. More importantly, the harmonies allowed us to connect to our individual Gods on Sunday mornings. I didn’t have to know much more about Carol other than we were able to sing, with some degree of competence, the inner two parts of a 4 part piece of music. We had a connection.
I have only experienced this once before, with an old codger named Charlie. He and I sang together for 20 years in my former church choir. For all of those years, we would belt out the tenor part. I didn’t know much about his personal life either. I knew he had a son. It was only at his funeral that I found out he had a daughter who was a legal secretary for another lawyer here in town that I had contact with on a somewhat regular basis. Charlie also said what he thought. “It’s a dirge,” he would shout as we sang the funerial music of Lent. When he died, it just wasn’t the same.
I think of Charlie every Christmas Eve when I am singing the tenor part of Angels We Have Heard on High, or on Easter when we sing Jesus Christ Is Risen Today. Now I will think of Carol every time we sing The Church’s One Foundation or Stand Up! Stand Up for Jesus. It just won't be the same without her, either.
I wonder if Carol and Charlie will meet in God's heavenly choir. If they do, watch out. Heaven will never be the same again. I know Carol will say her peace when needed, and the Director better not give any dirges to Charlie. Between the two of them, it will be lightening and thunder. God bless them both.
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