SINGING has been part of my life for almost as long as I can remember. It was instrumental (pun intended) in my journey to faith, although it all started rather casually. My family were churchgoers, but I joined the choir, at the age of seven, only because a boy up the road said that it was fun — and, besides, you got paid for singing at weddings.
The choir was well resourced, and the standard was high. It took the nurturing of young singers seriously, and I loved it. I worked for my medals, and eventually became head chorister. I formed an ambition to become a countertenor, because I so enjoyed the sound of the talented singer who stood behind me and relished his part. After school, a university choral scholarship followed, and I experienced three often terrifying but mostly exhilarating years of extraordinary music and liturgy.
WHILE I was a student, my sense of vocation to ministry developed. When I was ordained, four years later, the obvious direction of travel might have been towards cathedral ministry; indeed, on a couple of occasions, I was invited to apply for precentorships. Yet I’ve always been sure that my vocation lies in parish ministry. And, in the villages and market towns where I have served, the musical traditions, resources, and ability have varied considerably.
It is all too easy to wring one’s hands about the musical deficit in a parish, particularly for those of us who have distant memories of a thriving robed choir leading a hearty congregation. My own experience is that, however slim your resources, music can remain a vital part of worship — and, indeed, of outreach with both children and adults. Too formal or polished an approach can sometimes even get in the way of participation. During the pandemic, for example, a weekly simple recording of a hymn or chorus sung in two parts, circulated with our parish e-news, was greatly appreciated. One parishioner still listens to “Be still and know that I am God” while out walking.
The RSCM and others offer support and resources. But here are some of the simplest ideas that I have used over the years.
ONE of the easiest ways of involving your congregation is through a call and response. The Peruvian Gloria is a well-known example. Someone sings simple words set to a very simple tune, and the congregation repeats back each phrase. Since there are three verses (Father, Son, and Spirit) with the simplest chorus in between (“Alleluia Amen, Alleluia Amen, Alleluia Amen”), everyone will soon pick it up. The whole thing can be enlivened and kept going with a drumbeat (a good way to involve a younger member of the congregation), but this is entirely optional.
Again, the music of Taizé is distinctive for its accessible chants, often based on lines from the Psalms, which are repeated over and over as an aid to prayer and contemplation. The chants are designed to be as straightforward as possible, and open themselves up to simple harmonisation. If you want to keep people more or less in tune, you might add in a recorder or flute, but it is important not to be too rigid so that people can extemporise. A choir doggedly ploughing through a pre-agreed number of verses can be a distraction.
AN EXTENSION of this is to take one of the simplest Taizé songs (The three-part “Gloria, gloria, gloria, in excelsis deo” springs to mind) and teach it in parts. Try to line up a couple of strong singers so that each line has some help. Both words and tune are so short that most people can keep their part in their head.
The joy of this is that it encourages focused and careful listening, and a sense of mutual dependence as the voices move together — something that is spiritually enriching, and a lesson all of its own. It helps to set the scene and concentrate minds. Rounds can work well for the same reason: an example would be “Shalom chaverim” (“Shalom, my friends”).
Action songs are probably best kept for family services, but they offer a good way of engaging your congregation, and (let’s be honest) warming them up on a cold day. “Allelu Allelu Allelu Alleluia, Praise ye the Lord” is very simple, and lends itself to getting one half of the church to stand up on “Allelu” and sit for “Praise ye the Lord”, and vice versa. There will be welcome laughter when people get it wrong.
A COMBINATION of all the above came together in a venture that we have tried in various contexts, most recently during our ten-day village arts festival. A member of our congregation who is on the committee spotted that there was an early-morning fitness stream in the planning (“Festival Fit”) and proposed a more contemplative “Festival Calm” strand. Alongside fixing a mindfulness class, she invited the local churches to offer a variety of forms of prayer and worship daily throughout the festival.
We called our contribution “Singing for the Soul”. We began with breathing exercises and stretching, exploring how we can use our bodies as musical instruments. We talked about the healing power of music, about listening to one another, and how we might make the most of the glorious acoustic in our 12th-century building.
I introduced some of the most accessible a cappella repertoire that we use in church: a combination of Taizé chants, spirituals — they are generally well known — and rounds. Those who came along (few of whom would describe themselves as singers, and none as churchgoers) arrived unsure but curious. The feedback over coffee was that this was as good as yoga — better, even. They left uplifted, with requests for more sessions.
In the end, it is less about the perfection of the performance, and more about a willingness to give it a go — and it’s that which gives others the courage to join in, too.
The Revd Ben Phillips is the Vicar of Goring and Streatley with South Stoke in the diocese of Oxford.
