A Community in Harmony

All my life I have loved to sing: on my own, when leading worship, and in choirs. When I joined a youth choir as a teen, I was disappointed to hear I had been assigned to the alto section. With time, I learned to love this section. I did my best to blend my voice with those around me, and I loved the way our parts harmonized together. My favorite concert of the year was when we joined with several other local choirs and sang along with an even wider range of voices. The added complexity was thrilling.

This summer I attended the Institute on Theology and Disability, an annual week-long conference bringing together theologians, faith leaders, and anyone wanting to learn about the intersection of disability and theology from various religious traditions. It’s always a fascinating week in which I learn as much from informal conversations as I do from the keynote speakers and workshop presenters.

This year, one of the most impactful moments was not part of the official conference at all.

After the conference day had ended, four of us decided to get tacos at a tiny restaurant within walking distance. Along the way, we picked up acquaintances and friends we met until we numbered more than a dozen. At one point, I looked back and saw a long line of people traveling behind me. Some were using crutches and canes, some (like me) were rolling walkers along, and others walked unassisted. Not everyone in the group had disabilities, but we certainly had more people with disabilities than you would usually see together.

We took our time, making sure no one was left behind. Through mutual care and assistance, everyone got their dinner and returned to a lounge in our dormitory to eat together.

This beautiful moment might have seemed chaotic to onlookers, but it reminded me of one of my favorite art installations in the National Gallery of Canada here in Ottawa. Forty-Part Motet is an audio sculpture made of speakers on stands, each about five feet high, positioned in a circle around the room. When you stand in the middle of the room, you hear what sounds like a typical religious choral piece in Latin. But if you walk around the room with an ear toward the speakers, you’ll notice that each speaker projects one voice. Forty speakers project 40 voices, each singing its own harmony line.

I can imagine what it would be like to sing in 40-part harmony. You would need to be confident in your own line because you couldn’t simply follow your neighbor. You would feel nervous about messing up, but over time you’d learn how your notes fit in around those of others. You’d take cues from each other and find support and encouragement in the contrasting notes dancing together. You would learn how you fill in each other’s gaps.

This is what I saw when we went for dinner together. People were comfortable asking for any help they needed. We responded and met each other’s needs. It’s tricky to carry takeout when your hands are needed on your crutches, but the walkers some of us used were great for transporting food. We held doors for one another, assisted with touchscreens that were not accessible for everyone’s fine motor skills, found missing cutlery, cut up each other’s food, and had a blast hanging out. The tacos were delicious, but it was the rich conversation and sense of community that made the night come alive.

At times I grieve that I can no longer sing the way I used to because my chronic illness impacts my breathing, but for this evening I felt part of a choir again. It was a blessing to blend my gifts and limitations with those around me to reveal the beauty of a diverse and vibrant community.