Holy Lip-Synching

Reading up on the Beijing lip-synching scandal, I was reminded that, once, long ago in middle school, I myself was once the voice behind the face.

I attended a conservative Lutheran school in the SF Bay Area (yes, there are Christian conservatives in the Bay Area, if you know where to find them), and every year the school would exhibit an "operetta", a musical production based on some biblical story or theme. I myself starred once, first as Moses, and later as the narrator for a version of the Book of Esther. But not before I was the back-up singer for one of my classmates. He was bright and a decent actor, but didn't have much of a voice. My best friend and I were called upon to sing his solo pieces. I honestly don't remember if he lip-synched it. There was no attempt to hide us per se, but we were positioned over in a corner, where only the back few rows of audience could see us. Back then, and even in retrospect now, it was kind of fun. And how could I say no to such a call....the story was Jonah. Besides, I later went to star, despite being an ugly duckling Episcopalian. I hope Lin Miaoke and Yang Peiyi are both able to look beyond the kerfuffle and enjoy it as much as I did.

Speaking of singing, I had an interesting experience in church last Sunday. Among the other casualties of this bronchitis has been my voice, both speaking and singing. (Things are finally beginning to improve on Day 14). I've been able to rasp along in conversation, but my singing voice was, and still is, almost completely gone. There's nothing I love quite so much as hymn singing, to join with God's people, in unity and harmony, lifting our praises to the Most High. So I thought it would be an agony to stand there in silence, so I opened the hymnal and whispered along. What happened was remarkable (So much so, it has taken me four days to process it). I'm so used to the resonance of my own voice as I sing. Without it, I was better able to enjoy the singing, and through it the heart of worship of the rest of the congregation. Yet by whispering, I was engaged in heart and mind with the content of the praises being sung. It was as if my 'still small voice' resonated with the 'still small voice' of the Lord (Since the Transfiguration, I've been reflecting on the life and ministry of Elijah - who saw that sometimes God comes not in the tempest, but in the whisper). The effect was a profound sense of the presence of the Holy Spirit in our worship, and of the joy and delight God takes even in our whispered praises.

I am still working this out in my mind, because there was even more there. I felt the sensation that through our worship we were being poured out as an oblation to God. As my friend Peregrinator has previously observed, in the Eucharist our offerings and oblations, imperfect as the offering of Cain, are taken by God and through the sacrifice of Jesus, become the true offering of Abel, for Christ is the New Abel, just as He is the New Adam. Our meager bread and wine become the Body of Christ, just as our meager selves become the Body of Christ. God took our offerings of praise, even my raspy, whispered praise, and joined it with the sacrifice of Christ to create a perfect act of praise and offering. I don't know if any of this makes sense. There is simply so much going on in the Eucharist, it overwhelms me sometimes.

I am often complimented for my singing voice (if I do say so myself), but I may whisper my hymns more often. I guess something good came from this pesky cold, after all.