Let's sing Odes to Joy

Despite the lively flames dancing together in my wood stove, and the sunlight casting curious shadows on the snow puffs, resting on the holly leaves, outside my living room window, it is impossible not to feel the sorrow in this old world of ours.

Sometimes, I think joy slips more easily into hearts that have been cracked open. Somehow, I have miraculously retained the joy of childhood.

Even in darkness, a moment of joy often lights up my universe.

When I hear a sweet voice of one of my grandchildren on the phone, or even better, get to read a familiar story to a little one on my knee, I am held in joy.

Joy is not a sweet Christmas tree ornament of a word, but a powerful emotion that sustains life and enriches living. A moment of delight lasting a lifetime.

As a baby, I was held in joy as my mother, with her beautiful voice, recited her favourite childhood poems to me, as she rocked me in an old familiar chair. This is a place from where goodness grew.

My first memory of an outside joy, brought a specialness of a colour into my life. I was just three or four, when I went to my first ballet with my parents. I was perched up atop several gentlemen's winter coats, so that I could see over the seat in front of me. It was late at night, I was in an unfamiliarly grand hall, and the Bolshoi Ballet were dancing Sleeping Beauty. I was taken into a dream and joy was there. Every so often I come upon a unique tone of soft blue and am with those dancers soaring in  the air, whose beauty still holds joy.

Around the globe, art, especially music, brings joy to hearts and lives of suffering and brokenness. For the most part it is not high art.

Joy does not come at our bidding, but we can help create welcoming places.

Community singing is an act of joy, when singing comes from open hearts, joy flows in and joy flows out enriching lives, enriching the community.

When I first joined a small choir, some time ago, I sat near a mother and her two grown daughters. Both daughters were strong singers, whose voices lifted up their mother's voice, when she sat between them. Sadly, they are no longer there. I remember the merry singing, but what I remember most is the joy that they shared, giving each other a hard time throughout the rehearsals, that flowed into their singing.

Joy is not found in rules. Let's sing odes of joy.

North Mountain Chorus Sings 2012

North Mountain Chorus sings, and I find myself singing with them. I have never fancied myself a singer. The only place I can imagine myself musically inclined is rocking wee babies to sleep, with lullabies.

And here I find myself dressed in black, like those around me, with unfamiliar bling around my neck, trilling away with the best of them.

That is the point. The less than expert trillers can trill, when they find themselves surrounded by the voices of fine trillers. 

There we were, standing on risers at the front of the United Church, down the mountain, in the nearby town. We were making a joyful noise that was welcomed not only in ourselves, but by the many listeners as well.

I have always thought that perfection sucks, or as my late mother would prefer me to say, perfection isn't everything. There is no question near perfection is sometimes required; however, the hands of a potter or the hands of a weaver create objects touched by hearts, that no machine manufacturing the physically perfect object can ever produce. 

The joy of singing enters songs. The strong singers clear a path for the less strong singers to move along. The voices are joined together in a hall up the mountain, where we practise each week. Here freedom is given each voice a chance to sing well enough to release joy into the songs, that is released into a world badly in need of joy.