I Love This Story

For those who don’t know, I am an ordained minister, and as such, it was my honor to serve Methodist churches in North Carolina and Georgia (during my seminary days) for over 15 years. And out of all the stories I’ve collected, this is my absolute favorite. In all fairness to the church involved, I won’t mention the name.

But you know who you are. And we had a blast.

file0001542951705Once upon a time, the way all good stories begin, I served a small church with a very good choir. Some members could read music, and others couldn’t. But they had that natural harmony that comes from singing together for years. Even when learning new songs, it only took 2-3 times for them to fall into those natural harmonies that are so common among country choirs and southern gospel quartets.

And as good Methodists, we did something once a week that is vital to any group spiritual endeavor. We went to McDonald’s. In the summer we had ice cream and in the winter we had coffee. And this particular summer night, the choir director noticed an advertisement for McDonald’s Gospelfest. The fact that it was attached to a five foot tall cardboard cutout made it pretty easy to spot. After looking it over for a minute, she turned to me and said, “Preacher, we’ve got a pretty good choir, don’t you think?”

“We have a very good choir,” I agreed.

“You know, we probably wouldn’t come in first or anything, but I bet we could do pretty good in this. I’d love to enter us in this,” she said, her head filled with visions of standing on the stage.

“OK, sign us up,” I said since I sang with them most Sundays.

She looked at the form again. “I would, but I need to see who is interested. Plus, the entry fee is $25.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” I said. “If they want to do it, I’ll bring you a check first thing in the morning.” With that she ordered her ice cream and headed to the table to start the campaign. And to make a long story a little shorter, I brought her the check the next morning, a big smile on my face.

The next month or so we spent a lot of time rehearsing a couple of our best songs. One up tempo piece and a second more contemplative number with some really nice harmony. When word got out hat we had our official entry packet and were going to the regional competition, one member bought the choir new music folders and another member paid to have all the choir robes dry cleaned.

We were gonna be stylin’ for sure.

And I kept smiling.

When the big day came, we headed to the church Greenville, NC. We made for an interesting caravan. We had a Mercedes, an old farm truck, a 10 year old Chevy Cavalier, a Pontiac GTO, and a big old gunboat Buick rolling toward the venue. When we pulled up in the parking lot, one of the passengers in our car (the Cavalier) said, “You could put our whole church in their sanctuary.”

We all piled out, got our new folders and freshly cleaned robes, and made our way to the building. There were a lot of nice people milling around in groups outside, and many of them smiled and waved at us.

I smiled and waved back.

I noticed the choir director looking around, and when a greeter opened the door and let us in, she really started looking around. Within a couple of minutes a nice lady showed us to the Sunday school room we would be using to change into our robes and otherwise make our preparations. Just about the time the door clicked shut, the choir director grabbed my sleeve, moved in close, and said seven words I will never forget.

Preacher, we’re the only white folks here!

I looked at her and said, “I know.” Did I mention I was still smiling?

“Preacher, what are we going to do?” About this time, she was the whitest of the white folks there.

“We’re going to sing,” I said. “I paid $25 to see this.”

“You mean you knew the whole time?”

“Uh-huh. Didn’t you notice the lack of folks with white pigment on the cut out? Didn’t you notice all the happy black people singing to Jesus like singing was going to be outlawed tomorrow?”

She just stared at me. And by this time, so was everybody else.

“Look,” I said, “We are something of a novelty here. But that’s OK because we all have two things in common. We all love Jesus, and we all love to sing. So we’d better get robed up and get out there because we’re number four.”

So, we put on our freshly laundered robes, checked the music in our creaky new black folders, and made our way to the sanctuary. There were a lot of smiles and a few thumbs up from folks as we headed to our assigned seats. “You know,” the director said, “this might not be so bad.” I agreed, and the MC took the stage.

And then the fellow behind the Hammond B3 tore the keyboard off that thing and the first choir just demolished the crowd with their two numbers. They flat turned it loose. As did the second choir. And the third. Pouring out songs like The Blood Will Never Lose Its PowerBless His Holy Name, file000205431503I Just Want to Thank You, Tell It, and The Lord is Blessing me Right Now.

Then, we were up.

And the room went quiet.

Folders opened, the director nodded, and the pianist hit the first chords of Lord Build Me A Cabin in the Corner of Glory Land. Yeah, THAT one. The one written by bluegrass legend Bill Monroe.

Did I mention we were really white?

There was no swaying in our group. Plenty of knees knocking. But no swaying. No dancing. Just a bunch of folks out of their element singing what they knew best for God and His people. And that was enough.

When we finished our second song, the congregation applauded. And it wasn’t the kind of applause that said, you folks are in the running. It was the kind of applause that said you got guts, and we’re glad you’re here.

Then, when the last choir finished, the MC called us all up on stage for one last song. The director looked at me and said, “We don’t know that song.” I just smiled a little more and said, “That’s OK. By the time we finish, you will.” And the call and response began.

We didn’t win. We didn’t even place. I think we were the equivalent of Miss Congeniality. But the interesting thing is, it never was about winning. Not for me. It was about the experience (OK, and the fact that I have a mischievous streak). Because what started out as a music competition ended as a full blown worship service where all of God’s people participated, and nobody was out of their element. Oh sure, there were prizes and a chance to move on to the nationals. But there was also a group of folks who got to be the minority for a change. And a larger group of folks who just did what they normally did. Be gracious and love God. And by the time it was over, we were all family. There was lots of back slapping, hugging, and well wishing all around.

You know…

The way things are supposed to be.

Best $25 I ever spent.

file0001464319280God speaks to us from some interesting places. Take this scene from Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol for example:

‘Oh! captive, bound, and double-ironed,’ cried the phantom, ‘not to know, that ages of incessant labour by immortal creatures, for this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible is all developed! Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness! Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunity misused! Yet such was I! Oh! such was I!’

‘But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,’ faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.

‘Business!’ cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again. ‘Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!’

It held up its chain at arm’s length, as if that were the cause of all its unavailing grief, and flung it heavily upon the ground again.

‘At this time of the rolling year,’ the spectre said, ‘I suffer most. Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode? Were there no poor homes to which its light would have conducted me?’

And as Tiny Tim observes every year, “God bless us, everyone.”