If You Build It, They Will Come

We've liked our church pretty much from the start. (Wow - just finding that link made me realize that it's been almost two years since we've been there.) Small, welcoming, and all kinds of soul-foody, it quickly became a place where we felt at home.

In a land where "Christian" is all too often synonymous with "Crazy," our church has been a refuge of quiet, peaceful grace. There's only about 70 people, but its size fosters cross-generational relationships and I often see the seniors chatting up my kids. They love Jesus, they love one another, and they love their neighbours - all traits that somehow seem lacking in a lot of "Christians" these days.

But the one less-than-perfect aspect to our church has been the music.

[Cue angry votes of non-confidence and storming out to the beckoning arms of the local version of Hillsong - nothing gets Mennonites more riled up than the "M" word.]

Our church has a very traditional worship style. If it ain't got four parts, it ain't on the roster.

Now me? I was learning how to sing alto when I still believed in the Tooth Fairy, and some of my best church memories are standing by my mom listening to her sing those incredibly moving old hymns. But The Husband and my munchkins don't heart all of those old chestnuts. Their hearts don't thrill to Luther or Wesley, and "606" merits simply an eye-roll (from The Husband) and whining about length (from The Littles).

So it was with much interest this past summer that we noted the attendance of a lone guitar player. Someone who *gasp* knew choruses and *double gasp* was willing to play in church.

The Husband took swift action. A guitar is half of a praise group, he declared, and you sing alto PM, so all we need is a bass guitar.

And off he went, purchasing and learning how to play said instrument with astonishing swiftness (guess the threat of one more hymn, of which we always sing the oft-skipped verse 3 - we're an equal opportunity group, was good incentive). We found a couple of sopranos and an unbelievably talented violin player to add to the mix and, hey presto, we're Days of Elijah-ing it with the best of 'em.

These halcyon days of song are numbered, though; our guitarist is scheduled to depart spring 2011 when her husband's study program ends. And so, I decided to follow in my fellow band member's footsteps, and declared I would start learning the guitar so I could take over by the time she goes.

(Because, while a guitar is half a praise band, it can function as the entire praise band in a pinch. Solo bass guitar? Does not a praise band make.)

But somewhere betwixt my faltering attempts at a G chord and a C chord, we bought a piano. And, because The Husband wanted to go over one of our songs, I sat down and tried to figure it out using only the chord chart. Just so I could help him out.

That was three weeks and about a bazillion hours hunched over the keys ago.

Why didn't anyone tell me that playing with chords was DEAD easy? That you don't have to know any of the actual notes and you just put your hands sorta kinda where they need to go, remember a few sharps, pound away with a semblance of rhythm, and suddenly you're rockin'?!

I play by ear the way I cook: everything is kind of suggested and I don't really measure, and if I'm unsure, I just add a little more spice. I'm not awesome, but I get the job done.

And suddenly I do have a job. Holy smokes - I'm playing along on Sunday! Only one song, to be sure, and it might get axed at the last minute if we can't get it together, but in theory, I will be playing. In public. At church.

I'm totally nervous.

But also excited. It's super fun, and where better to try out a new recipe of musicianship than at church where everyone loves you and says nice things even though in their head they're thinking, "wow, better keep practicing PM."

The funny thing is that neither The Husband nor I would ever have attempted this at our old church. Our fantabulous, much-missed FG church was chock full of musicians - far better than he or I could dream of being.

And yet, with no one else coming forward, with no possibility of singing a Steve Bell song again save doing it ourselves, we did.

So we shall see what we shall see. It is possible I will be laughed off the piano bench right back to my microphone and told to stick to alto. But you never know. Maybe I'll end up the other half of that praise band, which means we will have three halves which means we are awesome.

Or maybe The Husband will abandon the bass guitar for his latest instrumental pursuit: the ukulele. That's right folks - it's all Tiny Tim at our house when we're not praising it up.

(He's getting good, but "good" is relative with that instrument. It is a happy instrument for the most part. Except in the mornings. When used as an alarm clock, for two children who refuse to get up, and who have now been traumatized by The Husband standing in the hallway hammering away on A flat. Then it's not so happy.)