Conrad Boyce is the editor and publisher of the Cosmos. He has a BA in English from the University of Alberta and a diploma in journalism from Grant Macewan Community College in Edmonton. He lived and worked in the Yukon and Vancouver Island before arriving in Ontario in 1995. Beyond these pages, he is the Artistic Director of OnStage Uxbridge, and the technical manager of the Uxbridge Music Hall.
Choirboy on the brink
Not being gifted with a particularly good long-term memory, I don’t remember exactly when I started going to church on a regular basis. If my mom or dad were still with us, they might remember, because I suspect it was Mom’s idea, not mine. I know that I was pretty young, maybe just six or seven years old, when I joined the junior choir at Knox United Church on 104 St. in old Strathcona, on Edmonton’s south side. What I was gifted with, apparently, was a lilting soprano voice, and before long I was copping all the solos on Sunday mornings.
My parents occasionally came to hear me sing, but neither they nor my siblings were avid churchgoers, so it certainly wasn’t their company that kept me going to church almost every Sunday for the next 15 years. I switched churches from time to time as the family switched neighbourhoods, but it was a Sunday ritual for me, up early when my brother and sister were sleeping in, driving with Dad to church in all kinds of weather, slipping on the silky choir gown that steadily grew bigger, processing into the choir loft with the other singers, watching the congregation throughout the familiar ceremony of the service.
At first I suppose it was just the joy of singing that kept me going, then it became the love of the music. Some glorious music has been written for Christian choirs over the centuries, and I’ve gotten to sing a lot of it. Breathtaking stuff. I enjoyed the sound, and the challenge, and the performing of it, which led naturally to getting involved in theatre a few years later.
For the first few years, it was just the music I was aware of. But I’ve always been a reader, and I gradually grew more and more conscious of the words. Not just the lyrics of the hymns and anthems, but the sermons and, of course, the marvellous words of the King James Bible. And I realized that because of those words, and because of my talent as a singer, I was seen as a leader up there by the people in the pews. So whether or not the message was couched in notes, I’d better understand what I was saying, even if it was still a little early to know whether or not I believed it.
Generally speaking, members of the United Church (at least not the churches I frequented as a youth) aren’t the most fervently evangelical of Christians. So it’s not as if I was challenged by members of the congregation, or other choir members, or even the minister himself, to affirm my faith as a Christian before slipping on my robe every Sunday morning. I would say the Lord’s Prayer with everyone, but I stopped short of reciting the Apostle’s Creed. It seemed a bit strong.
I was so concerned about what I really believed that I even took a course in the Bible at university, but it turned out mostly to be about the Good Book’s literary merits, so it wasn’t really valuable as an examination of faith. Nevertheless, I began to suspect that I wasn’t as devout as I should be up in the choir loft, so I turned to opera and theatre and community choirs for my musical fix - the choirs still sang an abundance of “sacred” music, how could they not? - and gave up my silk robes for good. And continued to ruminate about what kind of a Christian I was.
A half century later, I’ve pretty much come to a conclusion about it all. I’ve decided that I’m a big fan of Jesus. He was a wise man and a heck of a teacher, and I’ve directed Godspell twice because I believe that. As for being the son of God, that’s not important to me, because God’s not a “father” kind of being, I don’t think. There’s a life force out there that provides the spark for stars and trees and birds and Lisas, and it really doesn’t matter to me if you call it God. I’m just very happy that it’s there, and that it gave me the opportunity to enjoy it all.
And if Vince says that having faith in the power of Christ’s resurrection to save us from our sins, so that we can have life everlasting, is what makes a true Christian, then I’m most definitely not one. I’ve tried to lead an honest life, to be of some worth to my fellow humans and my world, but I know I’ve made mistakes, and caused a bit of hurt and harm along the road. Those are sins, I suppose, but I don’t need to be saved from them, I’m quite prepared to accept full responsibility. I did the best I could, but if it lands me in a bad place, so be it.
The other thing, though, is that I’m not all that worried about whether there’s a place beyond, an afterlife, or not. For me, the earth is amazing enough, and sometimes I think that people who worry that much about another world aren’t enjoying this one, or helping the rest of us enjoy it. And although I’m curious about death, the Bard’s “undiscovered country”, I’m not afraid of it. I’ve got asthma, and a heart condition, so I know I might go a little earlier than most, but that’s O.K. It’s been a wonderful and interesting life already, so what’s left is a bonus.
Anyway, sorry to get all profound on you this week, I usually try to keep it a bit lighter than this. But it’s Easter, and Easter was always when the choirboy I used to know searched hardest in his heart for the answer to things. Now that he’s grown, he’s got it all figured out. Not. Just a chance to get a few things off his chest.
