Saturday, the Sabbath: Pastor Carl Hinds charismatically leads a sermon on sovereign stewardship and the role of man in service to God. A congregation bedecked in their finest packs the pews, hanging onto his every word. Children with saucer-pan eyes squirm hyperactively, while a few boisterous tots need a little extra attention; parents pull them close and gently reproach them to sit straight and pay attention to the pastor. His words hit home in a form of call and response: churchgoers laugh, nod their heads in agreement and a tall man with shut eyes cries in the back of the room, "Mhmms. Yes, yes. Praise the Lord."
Pastor Hinds' voice softens as ambient piano music sounds to accompany his concluding points. The people know that it is time to sing. He passes the attention on to Brother Barry Davidson; the Music Director walks to the podium and says, "Let us now rise and turn to the psalm 'How Cheering is the Christian Hope.'"
The choir rises to sing and the congregation enthusiastically joins in. The psalm's lyrics appear on a projector screen to the left of the choir, somewhat needlessly because almost everyone already knows the words. The church organist plays a resounding opening chord. Voices enter part by part: sopranos and altos produce sultry melodies, while the tenors and basses bellow tones of earthly timbre. Together, warm voices resonate through a large sanctuary, raising hairs and tingling spines. Beneath stained-glass windows depicting Jesus Christ and the Ten Commandments, individual voices become indistinct, fuzzing and meshing to form rich tonal textures. They all have the same purpose: to sing their devotion and convey the message of the Lord. They sway fluidly from left to right, enticing the community to join them. The people answer the call, close their eyes, and sing along. Rambunctious children stop crying, forget that they are missing Saturday morning cartoons and join in.
West Philadelphia is filled with churches. In speeding taxis and with cluttered thoughts, it's easy to pass them by. They take on a foreign meaning, conjuring up images of televangelists and Republican bumper stickers. Regardless, the churches in West Philly are real places with real people, coming together every week to worship only blocks away from University City.
The West Philadelphia Seventh-Day Adventist Church, on the corner of 45th and Haverford streets, is a place where tradition and religion are passed on through music. In singing to loved ones or just any passerby, choir members let down their guard and show their spiritual side. Particular to this church is the presence of five separate choirs filled with members of different ages and backgrounds, taken directly out of the church's community. On any given Saturday, one of the church's five choirs is singing music in a style and character unique to itself, covering anything from percussion-oriented African religious music to Jamaican gospel. Yet, despite their stylistic varieties, all the music is meant to reach the people spiritually.
Rachel Popow, a junior in the College who has been attending the church's Worship Service for over a year says, "Music, here, is like a religious feedback loop. They want to know if the message they are singing is reaching us, the people they are singing to." The presence of five choirs means five times the chance that a message is going to reach the people.
But this wasn't always the church with five choirs: from its founding well into the 1970s, there was only one choir, and it sang exclusively traditional music. How did the current system develop? It's all wrapped up in the story of a diverse community bound together by faith and a love for music.
Founded in 1965, the church was originally located at 55th and Haverford streets, but moved east in 1983 to accommodate a growth in its ministry. An influx of immigrants from the West Indies to West Philadelphia over the last 30 years has further bolstered its ranks. In a new and daunting city, the West Philadelphian Seventh-Day Adventist Church provided immigrants with an instant religious community - and their arrival had a major impact on the Church's music program.
"When many of the people emigrated to the States, they brought along their cultural flare and love for music," says Barry Davidson, the music director of the church. An immigrant from Jamaica himself, Davidson arrived in Philadelphia in 1977. Coming from a very musical family, his interactions with his parents and his church community taught him the skills needed to musically convey his faith. "In Jamaica, when you went to church, there may or may not have been a pastor to lead sermons," he says. "In his absence, we walked around the church and found different groups of people to sing our songs of worship with. We learned by listening. After getting the idea of the tune, we would harmonize with each other and create our own music to express our faith. In that sense, music became our window to God."
When they joined the church in 1979, Davidson and his family arrived with the desire to spread their music. But at the time, the church lacked a comprehensive musical program - that's where Davidson stepped in. Over the last twenty years, in conjunction with the church's ministry and musical committee, he oversaw the creation of four choirs in addition to the traditional Sanctuary choir: the Children's Choir, the Youth Choir, the multi-influenced Chorale, and most recently, the Committed to Christ Choir, a group for young adults. The system succeeds in incorporating the various interests of the diverse congregation, while also prompting the next generation of members to carry on the cultural heritage of their parents.
The basis of the whole system is the Children's Choir. Parents generally enroll their children into the choir at four or five years old. Led by the ever-so-patient Noreen Davidson, sister of Barry Davidson, the children develop an ear and appreciation for music. On Saturday afternoons, the children's room resembles a nursery, filled with giggling girls and mischievous boys. Yet, they all come to attention when Noreen Davidson, or rather "Auntie," calls them.
"I try to teach the children that singing in a group is not about you. It is about working with others to achieve a better understanding of God," Noreen Davidson says. "All of our singing is for Him."
Logistically, the Children's Choir is a feeder program for the other choirs, as year in and year out, new talents are born and come of choir age.
"Thank God, Noreen is able to manage and teach those children," says Barry Davidson. "She is the essential cog in our program because without her ability to instill the children with a love for music, the music program would be at a loss. She insures the longevity of the program because I know that I can count on five or six new members a year for the Youth Choir."
Barry Davidson directs the Youth Choir. In rehearsals, he emphasizes that music is a medium for communicating with God, and during practice, the youths learn how to sight-read sheet music and count rhythms. The knowledge gained from practices opens up new musical avenues for them: it is at this age that many of the more eager and talented pupils begin to take piano lessons and train their individual voices. Davidson says, "The youth are hungry for music and in turn look at any access to music as an opportunity to express their talents."
Despite recent cutbacks in music programs within Philadelphia public schools, music lives on at church: on any day of the week, it's common to see a group of young girls doing their schoolwork in the church's hallways and singing songs with one another, while waiting for choir rehearsal. The Youth Choir gives them the space to develop their musical skills.
From the youth program, the most willing and promising pupils progress onto the Chorale, the most inclusive of the choirs in regards to age, with members ranging from 16 to 60 years old. Chorale leader Paul Mundle puts it, "No matter who you are, if you got the will and can sing well enough, you can be in this choir." The wide range of ages and backgrounds make the chorale the most essential in regards to cultural exchange from one generation to next. They cover a diverse breadth of musical styles; in one performance, the choir can sing anything from contemporary gospel performed with a full band to old spiritual hymns in a capella.
By 2005, Barry Davidson and the musical committee realized that there was a conspicuous gap between the Youth Choir and the Chorale. Davidson approached Kyle Allen, a youth leader, to see if he would be interested in starting another choir for the young adults of the church, which would give them their own say in what music was performed. Soon afterward, a new choir, Committed to Christ, was born.
Committed to Christ, or CTC as it is known around the church, is a choir for young adults initiated by young adults. The choir, composed of thirty or so members, is a natural extension of the church's music program; most of the members are products of the church's choir system, having sung together in both the Children's Choir and the Youth Choir.
Barry Davidson says, "It gives the members the spiritual doors that they need right now. When they practice, they get new introspections and realizations about each of the sermons."
Their participation isn't always so serious, though. Having grown up together in and outside of the church, it is a cohesive group that is comfortable together. Recently on a Saturday afternoon, the choir packed tightly into a small room ready to sing. In the middle of a song, a member faltered on a pitch, her friends looked at her quizzically, and after an awkward pause, they burst out laughing.
CTC member Kimberlee Gilbert admits, "I feel no anxiety when I sing with the group. I can sing as loud as I want, and after a while, I even forget that I'm even singing. I feel part of a whole." The choir serves as a very special social space; the members joke, bicker, flirt, grow and learn from one another.
This is not to say that the choir doesn't have its little problems, too. Like any other group of friends, they disagree, argue and make up. "There are always some wisecracks that everyone just can't keep in their mouths and yeah, there have been times when I felt like quitting, but I get over it and come back, led by God and bound to my brothers and sisters," says Kyle Allen.
In Northwest Philadelphia, where crime is prolific, ethical dilemmas run rampant and police sirens blare far too often, it's easy to get distracted. But here, choir is the glue that keeps its members straight.
"I've seen a lot of people I know turn down wrong paths," says Allen. "It's the product of having nothing to do. When I was kid, it was boring as hell during the summer. So kids I knew turned to violence and drugs because there was nothing else to keep them occupied."
Soft-spoken O'Neil Mundle, the 18-year-old son of the Chorale's director, adds, "I know that there are many other things that I could be doing. Like trying to make a quick buck and whatever that entails, but I don't because I have this church and this choir to come back to. With all the time I spend at practices and other programs, I really don't have time for mischief."
In preparation for big concerts, like their upcoming Christmas performance on Dec. 22nd, the choir practices for up to 15 hours a week. Coupled with their commitments to schools and other programs, the prospect can become a little daunting. Janel Robertson, a Penn junior and member of CTC, says, "The practices can be a little strenuous, especially during midterms. But I have my priorities straight. The Lord comes first, and then work."
Through the hard times and heavy schoolwork, they choose to return every week to sing. Each has their own reasons for coming back: Kimberlee Gilbert says, "Sabbath is my favorite day of the week. It means a return to friends and I get a chance to see all my brothers and sisters that I have been missing all week."
Ramses Maldonado, a bass singer in CTC, says, "Singing in the choir is something I do for myself. I feel closer to God, and in return, all my stresses and problems go away for a while. Complete serenity, you know - just a beautiful feeling."
With each of these realizations, the torch is passed from each generation to the next, as children learn traditions and values of their parents during their time in the choir. "They are growing," Paul Mundle says. "They are starting to realize what the choir does for them and in doing so, they guarantee that there will always be good music."
They have become part of a musical system that emphasizes family and religion over all other things: something they feel is worth passing on.
Kyle Allen, now 24 years old and engaged to be married, is looking forward to starting his own family. In the driver's seat of his Ford F-150 en route to pick up various choir members for practice, he smiles at the prospect of introducing his children to the world of faith and music. "I can't wait to pass on the things I have learned to my own kids. I feel like I'm going to be around for a long time, always involved with this church, and eventually, God willing, I will take the places of those who came before me."
"Through the choirs, they learn a love for singing and a love for God," Barry Davidson says, smiling. "It binds them together into a community, this love. It is there for them now, as it was for generations before them."
On a recent Saturday, the Davis family proudly stands in front of a choir holding out the newest addition to their family, doe-eyed baby Rihanna La-Sandra Davis. Pastor Hinds warmly kisses the child and proclaims his joy for her birth into the congregation. She falls asleep and people laugh endearingly; she is already a part of the family. An elderly woman with bad cataracts complains, "I wish I could see her, honey." Barry Davidson rises to lead the congregation once again in song. Families rise, prompting slouching children to sing. Once again, the Church is pulled together into the songs that bind them to each other and to God. The psalm finishes, and the attention goes back to Pastor Hinds.
"That is some wonderful singing," he says. "Want seconds"
