The other Sunday at church, the youth were in charge of the service. It’s called the “Hanging of the Greens,” and the older kids read parts explaining things such as Christmas trees, chrismons, wreaths, and candles. At one point, the youngest children were ushered in to sing a couple of songs. Some were dressed in wise men costumes. The youngest wore white outfits and had silver wings. They reminded me of Christmas programs at church when I was a little person.
Most of the church programs at Beaver Ridge Methodist Church, where I attended back then, included a choir loft filled with children. Mrs. Kirkland was a member who took on the duties of teaching us children the songs to be sung. Each Sunday morning in the late fall, we sat in a group and sang songs before attending our individual classes. During those early years, singing is so much fun. Kids that age aren’t self-conscious; they belt out songs with all the excitement and energy in their beings.
As the Christmas season drew closer, Mrs. Kirkland demanded that rehearsals be held after school on a couple of occasions. Most of the group already knew the songs that were to be preformed. The concern was over how children would react when they had to sing in the choir loft in front of a church filled with adoring parents and others. Practicing the singing only made sure that we got everything right.
Most people don’t aren’t so sure that I can sing a note, but back in the day, I had a good enough voice to be given a solo on occasion. One year, my brother Jim, Mike Guinn, and I sang “We Three Kings.” We stood in front of the church and were scared stiff; somehow we managed to get through that song without passing out or making mistakes.
Another year, those in charge decided to put on a play. “The Littlest Angel” included a plot and songs. Jim was chosen to play the part of the littlest angel. Folks who know Jim find it hard to believe that he could pull off a convincing performance in that role, but he did.
Those Christmas programs were always fun. They signaled the beginning of the season to us, and Santa always made an appearance to pass out gifts at the end of the program. Each member of the choir wore a cape that Mother had sewn. I’ll bet the number was well over thirty, but each child’s cape was identical, and we all looked like those kids on Christmas cards who are singing at the altar.
A new song or two might have been introduced each year, but the ones that meant the most were familiar Christmas carols. “Silent Night,” “Away in a Manger,” and O Little Town of Bethlehem” never sound as sweet or magical or reverent as when they’re sung by a group of little children. All of those traditional songs have stuck with children as they have gone through life. The oldest member of a congregation can let lose and sing them and never worry a minute whether or not his or her efforts will fall in discord on others’ ears.
When the service ended the other Sunday, I found Cindy Pearman, who directed the little ones as they sang. I gave her a hug and thanked her for making that Sunday a special one. Cindy and others worked tirelessly to teach children the wondrous songs of Christmas. I’d like to have the opportunity to say a thank you to Mrs. Kirkland, Mother, and the other women from my childhood for doing the same. I suppose the good lord will have to pass the message along to them for me.
I hope everyone takes a few minutes to sing those Christmas carols that bring back wonderful memories of life and Christmas.
No comments:
Post a Comment