My first months in college were disastrous. I had troubles with my roommates. I couldn’t manage my time. My wallet was stolen from my dorm room. My organ teacher was constantly disappointed in me, and one of the church positions that I so desperately coveted went to another organ student, who played circles around me. Before I arrived, I thought The University of Alabama was going to put me on top of the world. But I soon realized that it would bring me to the bottom of despair – save for one tiny exception.

When I arrived on campus that autumn of 1993, I saw a notice about choir auditions, and I decided, “why not?” I had heard choirs and accompanied them before, but never sang in one. My high school didn’t even offer the opportunity. To my surprise, I was placed in University Singers, the elite, highly-select group, primarily made up of graduate students and upper classmen. I was dwarfed by the egos that surrounded me on that first rehearsal. However, getting into this group was the victory I needed to cope with the first tumultuous months of my freshman year.

Dr. Sandra Willetts, the notorious conductor of the University Singers at the time, was a stern woman who took no prisoners. Her graduate students timorously referred to her as “Doom,” but to me that seemed like the highest badge of “honor” to which a choral director could aspire! No one questioned her authority, and if you did, you’d soon learn exactly where your place was. On the first day of rehearsal, she gave us a simple, vocal warmup that began on an “Oh” vowel. As the choir started singing, I was immediately overcome. Tears formed in my young eyes, emotions welling up in my throat. I had never heard such angelic singing, so blended, yet fearlessly robust. There I was, a naïve Cajun boy from the back-woods swamp of Louisiana, discovering the salvation of his college career in this most unusual way – a choral rehearsal.  Even though Doom could reduce even the haughtiest doctoral student to a pathetic, trembling puddle of impotence, she made a huge impact on me. She demanded excellence, and I was drawn to that in the most profound ways. I learned very quickly what excellence was, and what it took to achieve it. With the fire of Doom’s fangs keeping my path aglow, and with the firm hand of my organ teacher propping me up, I finally found my way. Things turned around. After four years of grueling work, I was bestowed with the Wilbur Rowand Prize, an annual, faculty-nominated award given to the outstanding, graduating senior in the School of Music at The University of Alabama.   

It was during that first semester in University Singers that I was introduced to the Fleming arrangement of “Give me Jesus,” our communion piece for this morning. Oh, how I love this arrangement! Fleming starts us off by layering up a sighing figure from the basses on up to the sopranos, each note leaning in on each other. From low to high, that’s how it begins – from the very bottom. This music actually has lowly origins, coming from the slaves, who were mercilessly kept on the bottom of society for years. Their pain is encapsulated in the first measure of this piece, which only contains that one, desperate sound, “Oh.”

It would take more than 100 years, from the Emancipation Proclamation to the 1960’s and 70’s, for black people to even beginhaving a voice in this country, particularly in the south. Like a lot of other pieces, this one has its breakthrough moment, however. It’s in the last verse which begins with the keyword, “and.” “And when I want to sing, give me Jesus.”

For me, my “and” moment, my breakthrough, was discovering my unbeknownst love of choral music, when everything else seemed to be falling apart. It got me turned faceup, helped me find my purpose, and it put me on the right track. Now, I help young people find their way. Look in the choir stalls today. Amanda, Cierra, Katherine, Ethan, Brianna, Matthew, and Coleman are all part of this vast network of young people who are finding their way, having stumbled into my path as one of their educators. And it all stems from that lowly moment in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, when yours truly tried to sing “Oh,” and could hardly make a peep for having been so overcome with emotion. That was my destiny moment, those initial sounds from our vocal warmup that day in 1993 ricocheted in my heart, radiated into the universe, and expanded in love. That tiny, seemingly insignificant moment fueled the genesis of my career as a choral-music educator.

If you’re at the bottom, keep singing “Oh,” it’s never insignificant. There will be a breakthrough, a moment where you’ll begin to turn faceup, when you can make discernable words “and” finally be heard. Sometimes breakthroughs find you in unusual places, and often when you’ve hit rock bottom. Situations and people simply appear, unexpectedly, and rescue you. Excellent choral music found me, and I had no idea that it would catapult me away from my own demise. I don’t think my musical career was ever actually doomed. I just needed to be introduced to Doom herself, and to learn what I truly loved. Soli deo Gloria!