Surely We Were Blessed

We were a wreck. The basses and tenors were supposed to be singing a unison line-yet I kept hearing a variety of notes, none of them correct. I’d moved two altos and myself to the tenor line. Though the range was low, the tenor line was impossibly high for the actual tenors in our choir. The two remaining altos felt less secure in this divided section, so what should have been a confident counterpoint was inaudible. The sopranos knew their parts but the sustained high notes sounded shrill. Three weeks remained before we were to sing in sacrament meeting “Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs” from George Frideric Handel’s Messiah, and we were nowhere near ready.

When I was called to direct the ward choir, I had felt prompted to tackle “Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs.” Handel’s music was often difficult, but this song was relatively simple, only four pages long. The text of the song comes from Isaiah 53:4–5: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. . . . But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him.” (Here is a non-LDS ward choir rendition of this song!)

They are familiar words to students of the Old Testament, and beautiful ones too. Isaiah’s text refers to a suffering servant, perhaps those Jews who had been exiled into Babylon and forced to leave their homeland. Later generations of Christians found in these same words a description of Christ, and it is said that Handel himself received much of the inspiration for writing his famed oratorio after receiving a letter from a friend that included this Biblical passage. The beginning of the song is forceful, and the ending becomes tumultuous, then resolves into something sublime. It is a holy piece of music.

The ward choir was excited by the challenge. We started in January, dusting off thick, gray Messiah scores. For three Sunday afternoon practices, we sang along with a Mormon Tabernacle Choir CD. Of course we could not match all the notes, but we were getting a feel for the majesty of the song. I figured it would get better.

I figured wrong. After weeks of drilling, our choir seemed no closer to mastering the song. After another three weeks of working doggedly, we still lacked confidence-not to mention good pitch. I started to worry that we wouldn’t have time to learn the replacement selection. I decided to express my concern at the end of one choir practice. “I’ve been thinking,” I said to the choir as they packed up the gray books, “that we’ve bitten off more than we can chew.” A few people nodded in agreement.

“But I do think we have tried our very hardest,” I reminded the choir. “I think we can pray for some help so we can sing in front of our ward.” Wry smiles scattered across the choir. I asked each choir member to make it a matter of dedicated prayer that we could learn the music and sing it in a way that would bring the Easter spirit to our ward. I felt an assurance that if we would pray for help, our singing talents would be magnified, and I promised the choir that we would still sing on the scheduled Sunday. Bold words, considering the state of our musical mastery, yet at the end of that discouraging rehearsal, our hearts felt lighter.

Sure enough, during that week, seeing my Messiah score reminded me to pray. Many choir members added their prayers. I invited the stake music chair, a trained soprano, to sing with us. I practiced my conducting, sometimes leading imaginary singers while braking at stop lights. Choir members practiced and prayed as well. The following rehearsal, I felt nervous, but we jumped in. The men knew their entrance. I was actually finding the tenor notes. Did we have extra sopranos? I counted the regular faces in the front row, but their sound had doubled. We actually made it all the way through-a first!

And then we stopped. I could tell that our choir had collectively felt that rush of divine uplift. Sure, we had places to improve, but it would be manageable. We would be able to perform “Surely He Hath Borne Our Griefs” after all. Yes, we had a few bumps, but despite our fluster, there was hope.

We had faith.
We had humility.
We also had just one more practice.

That week, our choir members got down on their knees. I even offered prayers asking that choir members arrive on time. Sure enough, at 8 a.m. sharp, everyone was there. Considering the punctuality pattern of many LDS congregations, this may have been the sweetest miracle.

Soon it was time to sing. The choir rose at my hand gesture, the accompanist began to play. The introduction was the right tempo; our entrance was together. Hallelujah! The altos came in powerfully and the baritones followed confidently. Even I was able to sing the tenor line without reading the musical score. We found the right note in a tricky measure. Our stake music chair’s exquisite soprano voice provided substance, especially during those sustained high notes. Even with only about a dozen singers, the music was full.

It was nice to hear the compliments after sacrament meeting, only because the kind words confirmed how far this little volunteer choir had come. The congregation didn’t have a clue about the progress of our singing, so it did not and could not know the miraculous transformation that had been wrought. But we knew. It was our faith in God, in the music and in each other, not only our voices, that allowed us to sing beautifully.