Bridge Work

Ron Raab

I grew up fearing my voice. My high pitched, squeaky voice seemed a stranger to me. My older brother tells me I did not speak until I was four. He reminds me of how I tugged on his shirt sleeve to communicate what I needed. It must have been effective at the time, even though I have no memory of my voiceless communiqué today. My family thought there could be something physically and emotionally wrong with me. I think I just feared the world and wondered where I belonged in it. Holding on to my voice offered me some control over the chaos and uncertainty of being a child.

I never realized the value of my voice even through college and graduate school. Even through all the changes of my voice’s tenor through puberty and young adulthood, I never really gave it much thought. It was not until I phoned a friend just after being ordained a deacon that I started to be aware of my own voice.

My friend, a sister of the Congregation of the Holy Cross, taught music for more than 50 years. Her name was Sister Amadeus. A few months before my final profession in my religious community, she was assigned to a retirement home to become the bookkeeper. She was devastated. I called her on the phone to ask her if she wanted to join us at the parish where I served to cantor the 11:30 a.m. liturgy. She replied, “Ron, why don’t you be the cantor?” I quickly responded, “Amadeus, I can’t sing!” She came back with, “Sure you can, because I will start teaching you at 11:00 a.m. on Friday!”

I showed up to her retirement community scared to death. Sister Amadeus greeted me warmly with her bright blue, Irish eyes and her high-energy personality. She escorted me into her parlor where hymnals and sheet music were already laid out for me to sort through. She had obviously trapped others like me within her musical den. Before I knew it, I held a hymnal in my hand and sound was coming out of my mouth. After a few lines, she suddenly stopped playing the piano. Sister Amadeus sat on her throne-like bench, looked at me and said lovingly, “If you would start praying those words, you wouldn’t be so self-conscious!” Those simple words, that intervention in my life, changed everything. I understood for the first time that my voice was far greater than the sound that came from my vocal chords. My voice in the world is a result of (reveals) not only my belief in myself but also my faith in the world.

Singing with Sister Amadeus started years of exploring my true voice. My singing lessons led me into an intense discovery of what I believe and how to live those beliefs in the church and society. I finally understood the connection between my personal voice and the call to interpret the gospel through my own gifts and to learn how to speak for myself and to speak out for the needs of others.

I now let go of my self-consciousness when my singing voice is connected to speaking out for those who are silenced by oppression, insecurity, or doubt. My body understands that the reason we sing at the Eucharist is to express our communion with one another. Communion can only be conveyed if I speak out for others. I must listen to the screams of those who feel alienated because they are poor, suffering, or different than I am.

Our collective voices make up the Body of Christ. We answer in unison to the Lord’s invitation to follow him. We advocate collectively when the voices of those who are estranged from church and society are heard and appreciated in our midst. Singing the Eucharist becomes a sign of hope for all the weary, the isolated, and the voiceless.

I move beyond the mechanics of singing lessons when I take my own voice in the world seriously. Sister Amadeus taught me to breathe appropriately, to pay attention to better body posture, and to stand firmly on the face of the earth because I belong here. Now I sing the Eucharist because I believe in Christ’s presence in the echoes of those who cry out to him. Every time I open a hymnal and sing with others who believe, I voice my lessons from a faithful nun. ML
 

Rev. Ronald Patrick Raab, CSC, serves as an associate pastor at the Downtown Chapel of St. Vincent de Paul Parish in Portland, Ore. He hosts the radio program On the Margins, a weekly Gospel reflection that can be heard online at KBVM.com. His email address is raab@downtownchapel.org

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