Warum?

I recently attended a church service that was particularly moving. The sermon was about fear over the economy, not having enough money, and the anguish of people who are watching their homes go into foreclosure. The kindly, soft-spoken pastor brought real comfort and inspiration to all of us who were filled with stress after hearing that AIG had declared bankruptcy. Following the sermon, "There is a Balm in Gilead" was sung as a song of response. Sadly, the singing detoured me from my spiritual meditation unexpectedly.

Being a singer myself, I tend to be hypercritical of other vocalists. Particularly people who sing classical music. Such was this man. He was an imposing figure, standing at about six feet and four inches, weighing around 250 lbs. Opera singers tend to weigh a bit more. (What gives better sound--a little upright or a 9-foot Steinway? That is what my voice teacher asked me when I remonstrated at her suggestion that I gain 50 lbs.)

Anyhow, this guy seemed to be singing to himself. He seemed to be focusing on what his voice sounded like inside of his head (it does sound different from the inside, by the way), and he stared off toward the exit signs over the back doors. Not once did he ever make eye contact with anyone in the church--no smile, no warmth, no nothing. He did not connect to anyone except himself. It almost felt obscene to me. Yes, his voice has a lovely quality to it and women line up to swoon over him (sadly, I think he may be gay). However, even if I closed my eyes, there was nothing warm in it. It was technically perfect but it completely lacked soul. Completely. I could almost hear him singing the German art song, "Warum?" (Why?) his lips forming the words perfectly, his eyes staring vacantly straight ahead. His voice was like a museum piece: back behind a thick glass, bolted and tied down so it could never leave. It is restrained by its surroundings. You can't take a museum piece home with you. You can only admire it from afar.

I wondered, to whom is he singing? Why is he even singing in the first place? Who benefits from this?

Some people sing to God. You can tell that they go into a deep, experiential place when they close their eyes and focus on what they are saying, as it is a personal message to God. There is real meaning and spirit to their singing even though they don't connect to their audience with their eyes. But typically, these people will at least once or twice allow their eyes to sweep over the audience.

Others sing to another person--just one. You can see couples eyeing each other when one is holding forth up front and the other is sitting center front, with an approving look, eyebrows raised in either encouragement or anxiety. Sam and I often do this with me speaking and him back half-way in the audience with a dear, proud look on his face. (I never know if I'm bombing or not because he's so delighted to see me up front that he beams at me regardless.) Perhaps one of the most tender and sweetest examples of one person singing to another was on the "I Love Lucy" show, when after learning that she was pregnant, Ricky Ricardo sang to Lucy, "We're having a baby, my baby and me!" And the eyes of all Americans filled with tears of tenderness.

It's the singer who makes a connection with the audience who seems to do best, and who we love to hear most. Even Andrea Boccelli, the man who can't see his audience, connects well with them because you can see him listening intently to the crowd, then "giving them his face"--smiling broadly, opening his arms to the audience in what has been called "the Madonna gesture." Audiences have an almost visceral response to this embracing gesture.

Unfortunately, some people who sing well are very shy. Others are ill at ease in crowds. Still others are worried that if they do too well they won't know what to say to people afterward. But it is almost criminal not to sing TO people who are there to listen, or to sing to God and allow the congregation to listen in. Those who sing with less developed voices, or even those who are a little bit off-key, are enthusiastically forgiven if they sing with their whole soul and look their audience in their faces. Their eyes twinkle, they are emotionally, deep into the lyrics, and want to share their interpretation with the audience.

This singer could not open his heart, only his mouth. I left church jarred by the contrast between the pastor's soulful entreaty and the hollow perfection of his performance.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels,

but have not love,

I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal.

(1 Corinthians 13:1)