Face the Music
One to two Sundays a month, you can find me at the 10 a.m. Mass at Loyola Marymount University’s Sacred Heart Chapel.
It’s not hard to spot me. Or hear me. There I am, just beyond the altar, behind a music stand, announcing hymnal numbers and lifting my arms, scooping the congregation into song.
Serving as a cantor, leading prayer through music, requires a particular mix of ability and presence, and most churchgoers can tell it's a tough needle to thread. Everyone wants you to do well. And when you do, I’ve found that people are quick to voice their appreciation. As far as ministries go, it’s a pretty cushy gig to be a cantor.
Today’s Gospel illustrates the pits I am prone to falling into. Having been a theater and choir kid before I was ever trained as a music minister, I tend to think of the stage before I think of the altar. Prayer becomes performance. Self supersedes sacrament. “I” and “me” are given more glory than the One I ought to be glorifying.
I was reminded of all this–my tendency to self-exalt, my desire for recognition and praise–sitting in adoration the other day. How drastically a Sunday Mass differs from Eucharistic Adoration. The latter requires next to nothing: no procession, no ministers, not even music. The real presence simply is. It asks only our attention. How humbling it is to be reminded that any gifts I have, I did nothing to earn. They are from God and of God, to be returned to God. To remember that God does not need me, and yet, inexplicably, God desires me. What relief. What grace.
What are the places in our lives where we are prone to exalting ourselves? How might we approach those spaces with more humility this Lenten season?
Gabrielle Poma