Shall We Gather At the River?

The church choir at my little Presbyterian church absolutely cracks me up. Since summer is a slow time, one of our choir members, J., has taken charge. Weekly he's been singing old gospel tunes for the offertory. But rather than sing solo after solo, he asks all of the choir to sing the chorus. He's even named their gig: J. and the Pipettes (there's only one other man in the choir during the summer). One of the choir members (who is typically by the book on absolutely everything) swore he was calling them the "Pimpettes" and she blushed a very bright color. But he calmed her down with his easy manner and relaxed sense of humor.

J. hasn't always been easy going. He was chief of police in Miami before he early-retired here after a severe heart attack. Now he just lives everyday as if it's a gift. It's a reminder to me of how precious life is and how it's not worth arguing the details (though I do get caught up in them occasionally).

Yesterday he invited the Pippettes to sing the chorus of "Shall We Gather at the River?" and rather than have them drone the chorus as if they had never heard it before, he encouraged them to "punch" the "Yes!" enthusiastically. He demonstrated by punching the air with force causing a chorus of titters to emerge from our multi-purpose choir room.

Well, worship rolls around and what do you know, we're giving thanks to God for all of the gifts, including the gift of life itself that J. understands so well and forgiveness and redemption and the Pippettes all belt out "Yes! We'll gather at the river!" while all of their fists swing into the air.

I looked around the congregation for the shock that often accompanies unorthodox practices in church (you know, like smiling, clapping, saying "Amen" and such) but the majority were smiling as if they finally heard the song for the first time. Of course they wanted to gather at the river! Of course they wanted to hear the ripple flowing by the throne of God!

And so worship (unorthodox as it was) happened yesterday in Arbuckle Creek - where all the women drive golf carts, the men are blatant carnivores (EAT MORE BEEF!) and the children watch for alligators in their backyards.