A very small choir

In my parish, I sing in the choir for the Saturday evening Mass.

“Choir” might sound like a large group.

In reality, we are very small.

There is an organist,
and three singers, including myself.

That is all.

Sometimes, it feels less like a choir,
and more like simply being in charge of singing.

A cathedral, and no microphone

Our church is a cathedral.

The space is large,
and the sound travels in its own way.

We sing without microphones.

Even with three people,
it can be quite a challenge.

Thankfully, I have a rather strong voice.

I am not entirely sure
whether that is a blessing or not.

And sometimes… only one

Most of the time, we manage with three.

But every now and then,
someone cannot come.

And on rare occasions,
I find myself alone.

At that point,
it is no longer a choir.

It is simply—

me.

The longest morning

On those days,
I know from the morning.

Today, I will be alone.

Outwardly, I try to stay calm.

But quietly, inside, I keep praying:

Please… just for today…
let there be no difficult hymns.

And yet,

somehow,
those are exactly the days
when the most difficult ones appear.

The moment it begins

When the next hymn is announced,
I already know.

This is the one.

My hands open the music,
just slightly unsteady.

There is no one beside me.

And even before singing,
I can feel the tension.

A voice that feels fragile

The moment I begin to sing alone,
everything feels different.

The voice is less steady.
The tempo feels uncertain.

And when I miss a note—

I quietly adjust,
and continue
as if nothing has happened.

This is how the piece is meant to sound,
perhaps.

A quiet kindness

On such days,
the kindness of the organist becomes very clear.

The tempo softens.
The accompaniment gently supports the melody.

Afterwards,
when I hear:

It was alright. You sang well.

it stays with me.

After the last note

When the singing ends,
I am left with a quiet mixture
of relief and exhaustion.

It may not have been perfect.

There may have been missed notes,
and moments of uncertainty.

And yet—

the singing did not stop.

Because in the end,

singing is also prayer.

A small gratitude

Our choir may be small.

Sometimes, very small.

But because of that,
I am reminded of something simple.

To be able to sing together
is something to be grateful for.

And even on the days
when I stand alone,

I am not entirely alone.