The Work of a Chorister
Sunday 14 July 2024
Choral Evensong with Farewell to Choristers,
The Very Revd Nicholas Papadopulos, Dean of Salisbury
The Work of a Chorister
Zephaniah: 3:14-20
Philippians 4: 1–9
Year 8 Leavers: on your last afternoon as Cathedral choristers I would like to speak to you, and I would like to say three things about the work you are completing today – three things about the work of a chorister. The work of a chorister is work done together. The work of a chorister is serious. And the work of a chorister is beautiful. I hope that you know these things. But there may be people here who don’t. So let me explain.
The work of a chorister is work done together. Every one of you has a wonderful voice. Every one of you has the ability and the confidence to sing solo. But every one of you knows that when you sing together, when your wonderful voices combine and coalesce, then something glorious, something heavenly emerges: the sound of Salisbury Cathedral Choir, the sound of the finest church musicians in England. Very, very few working relationships are as close and as mutually dependent as are the working relationships of a choir, and you have belonged to the best.
I hope you will never forget this – that in your earliest years you discovered what it means to be part of something that is greater than you. I don’t mean that by yourselves you’re not great. You are: I’ve got to know you a bit, and I know the talents, appetites, and passions with which each of you brims over . But bring all of those together with the extraordinary levels of discipline, trust, and accountability that you have learned here, and look what happens. We need more singing in our world; we need more choirs; and we certainly need more people who relate to one another as though they are in choirs in our world. Our places of learning, our centres of wealth-generation; our public services; our elected assemblies. How different these would look if they were characterized by the discipline, trust, and accountability that characterize a choir. You know what those qualities look like and feel like. They can be your gift to whatever place you find yourself in.
The work of a chorister is serious. You have risen early and gone late to bed. You have missed Christmas mornings with your families. You have rehearsed for hours. You have sung before audiences of thousands. You have toured. You have made recordings. You have sung world premieres of new pieces and learned music that is centuries old. You have led the worship of God week in, week out in this place. The work of a chorister is serious: it has asked much of you and you have given much to it.
I hope you will never forget this – that in your earliest years you devoted yourselves to this serious endeavour – and I hope you will never stop being serious people. I don’t mean boring people, I don’t mean self-obsessed people, and I certainly don’t mean self-righteous people. I mean serious, in a world which is too often unserious. What do I mean by that? Look around you: if it’s shiny, if it’s noisy, if it’s over in thirty seconds, we love it, whether it’s a Tik Tok video, a character profile, or a plan to reform the NHS. Plans give way to press releases; reports of events to expressions of opinion; patient analysis to crowd-pleasing clickbait; truth to alternative truth. Unserious people have led us and still aspire to lead us. But you have done the work of a chorister. You know that Renaissance polyphony can’t be rehearsed in five minutes or sung in three minutes. It can’t because it’s serious – because it matters.
And the work of a chorister is beautiful. I hope you realize that you all work in the beauty industry – the real beauty industry, that is, not the one that specializes in nail extensions and cosmetic product. The work done together – the serious work – culminates not in something worthy but dull but in something… beautiful. Something that makes the pulse race; something that calms the spirit with heaven-sent peace; something that seconds later sends the same spirit sky-rocketing; something that almost sets the place on fire. It may be in a full Cathedral with orchestral backing, or it may be on a dark Tuesday Evensong in February. You create beauty.
I hope you will never forget this – what it sounds like, how it makes you feel, and what it does to an audience or a congregation. I hope you will become advocates for beauty, because we are all in desperate need of it. To experience beauty is to be remade. It is to be inspired. It is to be drawn close to the presence of God.
‘I will bring you home’, the Lord says to Zephaniah. You leave here today. When you think back on your work as a chorister I hope you will remember that it was done together, that it was serious, and that it was beautiful. And I hope you know that whenever you decide to come back you will be welcome. I’ve heard that something else may be coming home today. Or it may not. But for as long as you want it to be, this will be your home. Amen.