I love music. It is a very important part of my life. Singing and playing instruments was a part of our family for as long as I can remember. We gathered around the piano in our home and sang as a part of our celebration Christmas and other holidays. We sang silly songs at camp and sang table graces at home and at church. When I turned six, I started piano lessons. I don’t remember much discussion about it. I did it because it was what my sisters had done before me. When I was old enough for band in elementary school, I got my first trumpet. My mother played the trumpet and the cello as well as the piano. I had a sister who played the french horn and another who played the flute. Music was simply a part of our lives.

Somewhere along the line, I learned that our father had not had much musical training as a child. I’m not sure that he ever learned to read music. He sang at church and camp, but did so by pitch matching our mother’s singing. As a result, he often sang the alto part one octave below our mother’s voice. She sang alto whenever singing four part harmony was offered. I sang the melody for the most part as a young child. When my voice began to change, I learned to sing tenor. I sang in choir in high school as well as playing in the band. I usually was first or second chair trumpet in my high school years. My band music continued through my college years. I took a few music education classes in college including instrumental methods and introduction to conducting. When we drove back and forth from Montana to Chicago during our graduate school days, we usually traveled with a trumpet and two guitars packed into our tiny car.

I never became very proficient on the guitar, but I could read music and learned the basic chords. With a capo, I could strum along with almost any piece and I learned a lot of folk songs and camp songs. My brother is an accomplished percussionist and he was very good when we were young. He plays professionally on occasion, performing with a jazz group, a symphony orchestra, and pick up pieces with rock and big band groups. For many years he pursued a career as a musician.

While music is important to me and I have always enjoyed playing music, I am not, for the most part a soloist. The one exception to that is that I started playing taps for military funerals when I was in high school and I continue to play taps on occasion. The rest of the time, I’m happier being a member of the band or a voice in the choir. I leave the solos to others who are more accomplished than I.

Somehow, however, I’ve gotten myself down for a couple of musical solos recently. I participated in a prayer vigil for a friend who was gravely ill. Something about the setting and the personality of the person for whom we were praying made me think of the old hymn, “It is Well With My Soul.” At the prayer vigil, I sang the first verse. It turned out that the song was a favorite of the person for whom we were praying. After she had partially recovered, we were at a small gathering at her home and I was asked to sing the hymn again. I did, accompanied by a small group of musicians who play regularly in a band. Months passed and the friend for whom we had prayed died. Her widow asked me to sing at the memorial service. I couldn’t say no. In the way of grieving and funerals in these seasons of Covid, the memorial service is more than a month away, so I’ve got time to fret and be nervous about singing.

I’m not a soloist. I’ve lost count of how many funerals at which I have officiated. I’ve delivered a lot of eulogies. I’ve told a lot of family stories. I’ve prayed at a lot of gravesites. I used to get nervous about every worship leadership job, but I learned to speak at funerals. My career was leading worship, preaching, and teaching. I never fully overcame my tendency to get nervous, but I managed to overcome my nervousness and I learned to be a public speaker. When it came to singing, however, I’ve preferred to be a voice in the choir. I’ve never sung at a funeral. I’m afraid that I’ll run out of breath and need to take a breath in the wrong place, or that my pitch will not be accurate. I know how hard it is to listen to someone singing off key. I don’t want to be that person. Will my emotions overcome me and rob me of the ability to project at the critical moment of the song? I will do my best, because I said I would and I genuinely want to support the grieving widow. I am, however, waking in the night worrying about having agreed to sing a solo in front of a funeral congregation.

That isn’t the only solo about which I have been losing sleep. I’ve always enjoyed handbell choirs. I served on the board of Bells of the Hills in Rapid City for many years. I emceed handbell concerts on many occasions. Each time I was invited to ring in a handbell choir, I declined, saying I just didn’t have time to rehearse. So I promised myself that when I retired, I would join a handbell choir. I’ve been ringing with a very small ensemble at our church for a year now. Often we are only four ringers and we ring very simple music. Because I work at the church and have access to the handbells, I started practicing on my own and began to work on some solo handbell music. Our music director knew I was doing this and she talked me into ringing a solo for worship this morning. The piece is fairly simple, but it involves two octaves of handbells and the melody is rung in three different keys. It will be just me with a piano accompanist in front of the congregation.

I keep telling myself that when I get through these two solo commitments, I won’t agree to sing or play music solo in the future. I suppose that making a lot of mistakes would be a way to get out of having to be the soloist again, but that isn’t my style. I’ll give it my best and I hope I’ll do OK. Still, I’m hoping they don’t invite me again. I’m much happier being a member of a choir.