Normally, when I hear the title "The Church Pianist" a few things come to mind..
1) A woman.
2) Grey hair.
3) Knit sweaters.
4) Hymnals.
First off. Nothing is wrong with the above characteristics. Nothing. However, there are a few exceptions to the stereotype. I think I once saw a guy pianist. Another exception? Oh yeah. Me.
Wait... I'm not much of an exception. I am a woman. I have quite a few silver hairs. I own a knit sweater or two. And I love hymns. Yep, so far so good.
This blog's purpose is to unveil a little more than a bird's eye view of what it's like to play piano at church. Well, my take on the position, at least.
I've actually been singing at church longer than I've been playing. I enjoy it equally as much, so I hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna talk about it just as much.
I was three years old when I sang my first solo in church. "O Holy Night" I don't remember it, but we got it on the trusty ol' camcorder. Thus began the tradition of a solo each Christmas.
I do remember the first time I played piano at church. Well, actually it was an outdoor, night service. I was doing a duet with my friend Molly on the violin. I was old enough, this time, to be a nervous wreck. We had gone through our one song (Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus) about 38,234,922 times, and finally we were getting close to doing it for real. Dad (who happens to be my pastor) had explained to us when we would come up to play. I stood in the back waiting for my cue. I thought I had been given "the eye" so I started making my way to the front, only to have my dad calmly and discreetly put his hand up to say "not yet." So I waited some more.
The time came. We played our song. I probably messed up a heap. I don't remember.
Not long after that, I got to play in "real" church. I was so nervous I couldn't talk to anyone before the service started. I just had to meander all around and not look anyone in the eye. We had our service in the rounds that particular Sunday with only a piano to back up the vocalists. I was completely glued to the music. At one point I lost my spot on the page and had to just completely stop. That was pretty humiliating. Thankfully, everyone else kept going and I eventually rejoined. There was a handy little "transposition" button on this particular keyboard that I was supposed to press to take one of the songs down three half steps. Yeah, I forgot to do that too.
Backing up a couple years, I was around 11 years old, about to sing my annual Christmas song at church. This year I was recycling Chris Rice's "Welcome to our World" which I had sung a few years back. I got through the first verse, then began the second... only it was the fourth. I spit the first line out, realized what I had done, stopped singing, stared at the mic for a second, then heard a big, fat "UUUUUUGGGGGHHH" escape my lips as the palm of my hand met my forehead. Yep, there was no covering this one. I think I decided to give the tradition a rest after that.
Well, after a personal little musical respite, we decided to move on from doing worship at church with CDs and we hired a worship leader who both sang and played piano. I suppose it was shortly after my first time playing in church that we were preparing for a Good Friday service. The team needed a soprano, and somehow I found myself filling the position. I had no idea what I was doing. I didn't really think I was a soprano, so when the notes got to high I just started lip-singing.
"Grace, you need to sing louder!"
I probably heard that a million times. I just wasn't getting it. I don't know how, but I stayed on the team. I eventually began to get used to singing so high. I remember one week John Rabe Jr. came up to me and said, "I actually heard you today!"
Each week, Ira (our worship leader at the time) would hammer each person's part on the piano, then we'd sing through the songs with everyone else. The couple times that Ira was out of town, guess who got to fill in? Me. I didn't like sight reading SATB, even if I didn't have to do it all at once. It was scary.
Eventually I started playing more regularly. The church bought a fancy shmancy Yamaha S90 (the keyboard we kept seeing at all these major venues... had to be good if they were using it) so I was able to experiment a little with the miscellaneous sounds of the Roland. However, I mainly kept to singing... in my soft, signature way.
When Ira and his wife moved to NC, someone asked me if I was going to be the next pianist. I don't remember how I answered her, but I do remember thinking, "I sure hope not."
After a couple weeks of inconsistent rehearsals and ensemble members switching in and out, we had an interview with a guy named Craig Shuff. I had been filling in on keys since there was no one else and somewhere in all the confusion, playing and singing had been combined, so when Craig came for his trial Sunday, I continued on as I had been... little did Craig know how little experience I had. He quickly found out.
I didn't know all that I was in for. That Sunday was an amazing worship service. Craig was hired. And since he lead on guitar, I kept playing piano. I was still very green, but everyone was patient with me. I eventually got in the groove of pounding out everybody's parts, and finally got over the awkward coordination of moving my mouth and moving my fingers in different directions. It's like patting your head and rubbing your belly. Just doesn't work at first.
I think back to myself on what was so hard at first... and now it seems so natural. There's a lot of things that don't make sense about it. So many things that can only be explained by God's sovereignty and grace.
Every now and then I run into struggles, however. And it's always a heart issue.
For instance, a few weeks ago, I was getting ready for church. For one Sunday, I was not in a rush. I was listening to pandora, enjoying the sun streaming into my room while putting on my make-up, when my dad came in. "You know, today I'm gonna mention that song 'The Love of God' it just fits so perfectly with my sermon..."
"Uh huh..." I didn't really know where he was going with this. Surely he wasn't going to ask me to play it. Nah... I mean, we've done last minute, Saturday night changes before but... no, he wouldn't do that. Not minutes before I'm supposed to leave for practice.... no.....
"Is there any way you could play it and sing it for the invitation?"
I could hardly believe my ears. I don't like admitting that I didn't want to do it. And my reasons were lacking in validity.
"You don't have to make it fancy.... it would just fit so perfectly."
I think I gave him somewhat of a "possibly" for an answer (how selfish I am). I kept getting ready, warmed up my voice a little more than I usually do, went over to the piano, INSTANTLY found my music for "The Love of God" (that almost never happens), and was out the door.
We ran through the set, and I started perusing the sheet music, my heart still not in the right place. After my dad got to church, I ran through it with the mic. It was rough. I ran through it again. A little better, but still rough. But I was gonna do it.
Then dad preached. There's something about the message of God's love that is captivating and can change hearts--like mine. By this point I had pretty much given up the selfishness in me that was clinging to my comfortable Sunday morning. Then Dad did what he said he was going to do... he started quoting the song and the story behind it. These lyrics were found engraved on the walls of an insane-asylum....
Could we with ink the ocean fill?
Or were the skies of parchment made?
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade.
To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky
By this point, I was practically excited about getting ready to sing. Before I knew it, dad was closing in prayer. This was it. I moved up to the front and started playing while he wrapped up his prayer. I was shaking a little... nervous, yes. In awe of the love of God, even more. Something came over me as I started singing. The reluctance I felt earlier, replaced now with great enthusiasm to sing such powerful words. The nervousness, overcome with unexplainable confidence. I got to the middle of the song, which is just a reflection time of "Hallelujahs." I was lost. And this time, not on the page.
"Oh Love of God, how rich and pure, how measureless and strong; it shall forever more endure the saints and angels song"
I'm still blown away by what a privilege it was to be up there... to be up there, every week. Yes, it's a ministry, but its a sweet experience of God's grace. Every time. Why me? How did I get so blessed to take part in this?
Blown away.
There was a time in my life when I really didn't want to keep playing piano. Pretty sure a begged my parents to let me quit. Thankfully, they didn't relent. Learning the art of pressing down on 88 hammers has opened up so many doors. Correction, God has opened so many doors... but they were all on the same musical hall. Learning how to play the piano has taken me to places like Germany, gotten me into a great school, struck up several friendships, but most importantly, it's given me an avenue of worship to my God and King. A sweet communion that I can't explain. What an amazing gift music is--and it is enjoyed most when given back to the Giver.
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