Yesterday one of my students walked into my office and shut the door. She’s a junior, a gifted alto who can sing everything from Mary Wells to Palestrina, and she has a younger sister, a freshman soprano, who’s equally talented. I’ll call them Tansy and Dalia just for the sake of discussion.
This is Tansy’s second year in choir; my introduction to Dalia came last May when she auditioned for Advanced Chorus. Dalia was nervous about singing by herself, so Tansy stayed with her. After the audition (which went very well), the girls asked if they could sing me an a capella duet that they often sing in church (they’re pastor’s daughters). I stood there with my mouth open and chillbumps running up my arms. I’d never heard anything so beautiful.
Fast-forward to this spring, when I was casting the Motown revue, which we’d been talking about doing for nearly a year. Tansy and Dalia’s parents put the hammer down on their daughters singing soul and R&B—and Dalia certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to dress up like Michael Jackson. I explained that we weren’t going to do anything risque, but no dice. Those beautiful voices were consecrated to the Lord.
I realize that sounds crazy to a lot of people, but I have to respect parents who maintain a commitment to spiritual boundaries even at the risk of disappointing their kids. So I agreed to allow Tansy and Dalia to write a paper in lieu of the Motown performances. But as the weeks passed, the girls must have worked on their mom and dad and gained the right to make their own decision about singing in the show. I wound up giving them both solos and parts in back-up groups, as well as the four or five pieces the whole choir sang.
They’re both natural performers, and Tansy brought down the house as Mary Wells. They even participated in the final performance on the day their older sister gave birth to a new baby, rushing off to the hospital after the final curtain.
Then…we decided to encore the show for a middle school which couldn’t make it on the original dates. Everybody was fired up about getting to perform for students and teachers from their alma mater—except Tansy. On Monday, I could tell something was bothering her. Then before class started on Tuesday, she asked if she could speak to me privately. She told me she hated to disappoint me and let her fellow students down, but she didn’t want to sing the Motown music anymore—that she would “lose her anointing” if she did.
I put those words in quotes judiciously. I don’t want anyone to think I’m making fun of her. Far from it, I take the idea of God’s anointing very seriously. I could have reassured her that singing a couple of catchy, innocent love songs will hardly ruin her life. But how could I presume to override what she feels God is speaking into her heart? This is a very strange and beautiful thing to me, when public education gets tangled up with faith. A teenager brave enough to risk the ridicule of her peers deserves my admiration, and certainly requires my sensitivity.
Some might argue that talking about it here on an Internet blog is somewhat of an invasion of privacy. But I’ve learned something from this young lady, and I think it’s worth sharing. I’ve learned that I should listen to the Holy Spirit the first time He speaks, and not wait for Him to bang me over the head with guilt six weeks later. I’ve learned that the admiration of strangers is not worth the risk of damaging far more important relationships. And I’ve learned that one person’s influence spills over in all directions—to peers and younger siblings and even to those in charge of us. Remember Daniel, who influenced his generation—including the King of Persia—in the name of Jehovah? You just never know who’s watching.
Well, this little tale of “The Sublime” got kind of long. I’ll get into “The Ridiculous” tomorrow.
