Sing, Muse, of the school of many children,
Of the bleating metropolitan goats and sheep,
Where voices spring from middle school dryads,
And biddy yardbirds scuttle from songs of sprites.
Where in harmony scholars weave words
But once or twice a year, yet students sing
In corridors the songs of yore and of the day alike.
Italian Opera, Dylan, and compositions yet unwritten.

If you have been around Saint Constantine for more than a minute, you know that choir is our primary means of music education. The reasons are myriad: some practical, some pedagogical, and some, we hope, reflect our mission as an Orthodox institution as well as our ecumenical efforts.

The simplest explanation is that vocal music is accessible to everyone; no expensive equipment or instruments needed. Pedagogically, choir trains one to read music, the fundamental and transferable skill of participation. And we want our fine arts to lead toward the sacred.

This is where pedagogy begins to bleed into the life of The Church. The Church should sing with one voice, and we want our students to sing in church. Voice is the instrument all faith traditions have in common. Whatever church our students hail from, they will be able to contribute to the work of praise.

But why do I sing? Why join the choir? I could reach into antiquity and launch into a thesis, harkening back to Plato, on participation in good music restoring harmony to our disordered soul. Therefore, we should join in. It does, and we should. But I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about being shamed into service…

I’m an extrovert’s extrovert, a natural “joiner.” When I signed on with Saint Constantine, I was eager to embrace the community. Our Fine Arts Director, Lauren Turner, with a sweet smile hiding her Machiavellian machinations, abused my enthusiasm to gently goad me (guilt me?) into joining the choir. We needed more male voices, you see, especially basses. So, join I did.

All was fine until the Christmas Concert. Some of you may know the St. Joseph choir director, Andy Ghiz. He walked up to me post-concert and with a deadpan face said, “I, uh, noticed the participation,” then turned and walked away. So, after he, too, publicly stated that the church choir was in need of more male voices, I eventually joined there, too.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the risers: our sacred and ecumenical hopes for TSCS music education began to bear fruit in me. I sing bass. What I mean is I am most comfortable singing at the bottom of the bass clef…preferably below it. But Mrs. Turner, for all her talk of “needing basses,” likes to make her basses sing in "tenortory," which meant I needed help. A lot of help. And she gave it to me. But all the help she gave me also made it easier to learn new music at church, where the music changes more frequently. Then all the exercises and instruction I got from Andy helped me with new music at Saint Constantine. A virtuous cycle if ever there was one. I was shamed into both choirs, but I’m glad that I was.

If you spend a little time on South Campus, you’ll hear little voices singing to our little barnyard. You’ll hear a flock of middle school girls unjaded enough to impersonate the Von Trapps, singing from the trees. And if you are fortunate enough to make the trip to West Texas with our astronomy students, you’ll hear a pack of ridiculous, fledgling adults sing along to songs of every genre and generation during a 9-hour road trip. But more importantly you’ll hear them open their stargazing session with a recitation from the Psalms and have your soul stirred as they close with the Doxology under the canopy of Heaven.

If you’re a student, you should join the choir and stay through Senior year. If you are a faculty member, join too. By hook or by crook, Lauren will make you a better singer. If you are a parent, make your kids stick with choir, even if it’s hard…especially if it’s hard. If you knew what I know, you’d be begging Mrs. Turner to start a parent’s choir.*

*Editorial note: The author has no authority to make new choirs, parent programming, or any other curricular decisions. Nor does he have any knowledge of any such thing ever being considered.