When I was in college, I often heard that few people ever pursue a career in the field they pursued in college. Even scarier than that, most people make an average of I think eight career changes in their lives. At several points through my life I would have told you I wouldn’t be able to live like that. I knew what I wanted to do. I had my life planned out, and what silliness it would be to think I could ever want to do anything else. I had found something fulfilling. The only thing I could truly see myself doing. Why would I ever want to think about doing something else?
All that being said, I realized in my senior year of college that it wasn’t what I wanted to do anymore. Or rather, to be more correct, I wasn’t particularly suited to it. It was a while before I realized it wasn’t something I wanted to do. Back to the drawing board, to figure out what was next. But this post isn’t about that process. I was inspired today to write about some of the more horrifying experiences in my short-lived career in music ministry.
My first time to sub for a friend (in the business we call it “Supply Work”), I was going to his church in a VERY small town in Oklahoma, McLoud. It should have been roughly a fifteen minute drive from Shawnee, but it didn’t take long to realize that I had gotten terrible directions. I can be a little prone to panic in these sorts of situations, and my emotional state was not helped by the fact that all of my other friends who would know how to get there were already in church, and would not be able to answer phone calls. No one at Emmanuel Baptist was picking up, either. I stopped at a gas station in what I seem to remember being Bethel, but they had no idea where I was going, either. I don’t recall how, but I somehow picked up the trail, and found my way to the church. I had originally planned on being there roughly an hour early, but jumped out of my car at approximately five minutes before the service started. I dropped off my accompaniment track with the sound technician, prayed with the pastor and someone else, then walked up on stage and welcomed everyone to the church. The only other moment I remember from that service is when we started one of the hymns. I don’t recall the exact song, but I do know that is one of those old Baptist standards. One of those hymns I’d singing for more than a decade. I could not find the key to save my life, and after about half a verse of me warbling my through half a dozen tonal centers, the pianist finally just stopped playing. She looked at me, shook her head, then started playing again.
Another time, I answered an ad for a new church in Meeker, Oklahoma. they had split off from another church, and were looking for someone to be their new music minister. I’m always in need of some spare cash, and was deciding that it was about time I got myself some On-The-Job experience before I got out into the real world (this was senior year), so I called the pastor, and threw my lot in for the position. I realized after the phone call was over that I had neglected to confirm which hymnal they were using, but as he hadn’t clarified, I assumed they were using the ‘91 edition of The Baptist Hymnal. It was the hymnal everyone else in Oklahoma was using, after all. That part, at least, was my fault. Other than that, the pastor told me to sing some more contemporary praise songs (citing some decidedly not contemporary songs), so I thought I had some good clues to go on. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, I had to find an accompanist a the last minute (not an easy thing to do), and Jessica, Shelley, and I were on our way to Meeker that fated morning. I had also asked for directions to the church, and this is what I got: Come down into Meeker, turn left on the main street, and we’re the only door swinging on Sunday morning.
“Can I get your address?”
“You won’t need it. You’ll see us.”
We got to the main street that morning, turned left, and began our search for His Church. It was not the only door swinging. We passed at least three other churches, and finally asked for some directions in the Dollar General. They had, of course, not heard of His Church, but did recommend a few others to us. After I was thinking about just giving up (I think I was about justified in that), we saw an elderly couple walking toward a diner carrying Bibles. Working off a hunch, we followed them down the street, and discovered they weren’t entering a diner at all, but in fact, what was now a church. A church that still had the diner’s neon sign in the window. We were greeted by the pastor, who told me he had come up with a few ideas for songs for the morning. In retrospect, I should have taken them, but I had already spent so much time figuring out what I wanted to be doing in the first place. That’s when I discovered they didn’t have The Baptist Hymnal, but instead had a very old edition of the Methodist Hymnal. We found corresponding numbers for most of what I had picked out, picked out a few other songs, then got the order of the service. This is where things really started to get interesting. I was originally told we would sing two songs, then have a break for some sort of welcome, after which we would sing a couple more songs. Then the sermon, an invitation song, and we’d be free and clear. So, we sang two songs, and I say “I think Pastor so-and-so said we would break here for some announcements and welcome time.” Pastor so-and-so shook his head. We continued on to sing the next song. Then Pastor so-and-so got up to do the welcome/announcements. We sing another song. I start to go to my seat, and Pastor so-and-so asks for another song. I look at the accompanist and say, “What can you play?” There were all of twelve people in the congregation, and no one seemed to know any of the songs we were singing. At the very least, I was told it wasn’t a good fit, and that was fine by me.
Those are the two worst (not that anyone has taken the time to read this far). There was another time I left the podium after leading a hymn, only to realize once I had taken my seat the organist was playing the intro to the next hymn we were supposed to be singing.
There are also many, many stories I could tell about how much I enjoyed doing it. But that’s fodder for another blog.
