I sang baritone and sometimes tenor in the St. John’s Lutheran Church choir, according to the key of the hymn we were rehearsing and also depending upon who showed up for rehearsal. There were no tryouts for our choir; willingness to sing on Sunday was the primary requirement for membership. One of our brethren, I recall, had a voice that sounded like a frog, but he always showed up for service.

I was 13 years old at the time, surrounded by persons, for the most part, 25 to 50 years my senior. This was my first gig, my first rehearsal with the choir. I’d been encouraged to join to bolster the tenor section for Easter services. Loretta M., the glue that held our motley voices together, was a supremely patient and optimistic organist and choir director, a woman in her fifties who no doubt had coached many choirs before ours. Loretta was a talented musician, but more that, she was an excellent teacher.

“Good evening everyone,” Loretta exclaimed enthusiastically at our Thursday rehearsal. “This Sunday’s liturgy for Easter services is one I think most of us are familiar with, but can we have a quick review? I’ll go through it once and you listen. Then we’ll break down the parts.”

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