Gaudium Immensum Est

Several years ago, I lost my voice on Easter and, for me, it was one of the worst Easters I experienced because I couldn't sing. I couldn't sing with the choir so I sat in the congregation. I remember crying during the hymns because I could sing, not even the hymns. I had nothing. So much of my faith is tied to singing and music, my voice, my ability to sing for God's glory, to sing for Him and to Him. And, I've often found that I sing my best when I am not singing for myself.

On Good Friday this year, I sang at the conclusion of the Tenebrae service. The emotion of the evening overcame me and I barely finished. There many stops and shuddering breaths as I struggled to finish. In addition to the emotion, there was an unexplained catch in my throat; I thought it was just tears that I was trying to hold back. The next morning, I woke with no voice. I could sing one note, middle C. My heart sank; I did not want to "miss" Easter again.

Easter dawned and I had three notes. Well, that was some sort of progress, right? I went to church, praying the notes would come. They did for the few short hours of the Easter services. I held back during the first service but sang with full joy on the final hallelujah of the ending chorus of the second service. I left the church with my voice shattered.

And descended into a lingering cough that today, three weeks later, still keeps me up at night. I've sucked lozenges, more than is healthy (can you overdose on menthol?), gone to the doctor, taken cough medicine, stayed home a few days from work. It's moved from my chest to my head and back again, multiple times. But, through it all, I've still been able to sing.

This morning, I woke up with nothing above the C above middle C. Again, my heart fell but I dressed and went to church anyway. I couldn't sing the warm-up scales, the yawn-sighs, nothing. We were singing a Tschesnokoff piece this morning, one where the sopranos enter floating above the other parts. The other piece had high As, usually so easy and fun for me. I wasn't sure I'd be able to sing any of it. People didn't recognize my voice, it was so low. That's not a good sign, particularly as a section leader.

We started to rehearse. I popped yet one more cough drop (seriously, can you have too many cough drops?). And the notes came, hesitantly and quietly but they were there. And then I saw him, wearing bright blue board shorts and the newest No Pity scarf from the Timbers Army. I believe his name is Aaron. He visited the church on Easter as well (one of our pastors wrote beautifully about that here). He appeared to be chatting with an older member who always arrives early and sits near the front, perhaps to listen to the rehearsal.

We began singing the Tschesnokoff and as the sound grew, layer upon layer, he turned to face us. As we crescendoed, his arms raised up to capture all the sound in his embrace. When we sang the final alleluia, his head bowed and he clasped his hands as if in prayer.

"Let Thy holy presence come upon us."

One of our pastors sat down with him for a while and then walked with him up the center aisle. We began singing Ubi Caritas. They paused in the narthex. We came to the phrase, "Gaudium immensum est." The high As, the full chords, the immense joy. His arms raised again, ending this time in a hug with the pastor.

Gaudium immensum est.

He left before the service began but the joy I felt in singing, singing to God, singing to Aaron and seeing that joy reflected back, that stayed with me. I will not be able to sing either of those two pieces again without seeing, in my mind's eye, Aaron's beaming smile and outstretched arms and hands, trying to absorb it all in.

I sang beyond my power this morning. I sang for God and I sang for Aaron.

Gaudium immensum est.