Magnificat

It was a pleasure to attend the Southern Division Convention of the American Choral Directors Association last week in Memphis. Several of the finest choirs from the southern United States performed, thrilling the audience of choral directors. For many of us, an ACDA convention charges our figurative batteries and reminds us of the many rewards of a career spent working in a beautiful and rich art form.

Among the choirs chosen to perform for us was the Chorale Women of Douglas Anderson High School in Jacksonville, Florida, conducted by Jeffrey Clayton. Their repertoire was varied and exciting, and their program began with a setting of the "Magnificat". It is the traditional Song of Mary, recorded in the Gospel of Luke. It has been set by many composers, in every kind of composition, from hymns to challenging works for chorus and orchestra. It begins with Mary's exclamation, "My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."

I had never heard the particular setting of the text that was listed in the program, and was eager to listen. Those of us who make up an ACDA audience listen critically, and I was ready to evaluate the performance and the composition. My normal listening mode changed, however, as I looked up from my program.

This chorus appeared to be made up of typical high school girls. They were tall, short, black, white, asian, hispanic, skinny, less-skinny. They were typical. And among the singers making their contribution to the beautiful sound of the group were two girls singing from electric wheelchairs, obviously suffering from debilitating diseases.

Since the Americans with Disabilities Act became law, we have become accustomed to seeing student bodies enriched by the presence of young men and women who are differently-abled than their classmates. It seems silly now to remember when these students wouldn't have been welcomed in any school or class. So it wasn't the presence of these young women in the chorus that made me listen differently. It was the text.

I heard the words differently as I watched them emerge from broken bodies: "My soul magnifies the Lord. My spirit rejoices in God my Savior." As I saw rejoicing emerging from within these singers, I realized the truth of Mary's song, sung as she realized she was pregnant. The truth seems to be that God is working within us. Whether, like these singers, our bodies are not as capable as others, or , like Mary, our journey is leading to the birth of an illegitimate child, we can only rejoice when we realize that God is beautifully working inside us. In a culture obsessed with outward appearances, it is fruitful to remember that the canvas on which God's pallet of colors best comes to life is within the pure and contrite heart of God's follower.

Soul and spirit are all that are needed for rejoicing. And surely God is still creating and beautifying inside us. With such beautiful work taking place within us, maybe singing exists as an opportunity to let a little of the beauty out, so that it can be seen by all.