the Sunday cluster****

Sundays are rough for me. My church job is the classically banal, artist's-soul-sucking DAY JOB.

It is more complex than it appears, mostly because I am so sensitive to the energy I receive from others, and because relationships of all types are VERY important to me.

I'm the choir director, and Sunday morning cantor. Thursday is my all-day choir rehearsal fest (as I often say to C.: the best thing about Thursday night? It's the farthest away from the following Thursday that you can get).

The children's choirs are easier, because kids are easier; easier in the sense that our interactions are straightforward, honest, simple, and free of ulterior motive or personal agenda. They are there to sing, and I am too. They learn as they go along, and so do I. They have open faces and open hearts. No apologies needed.

Then there are the adults. On the surface, they are kind and polite. They accept me. They call me "honey". But adults have deep-seated expectations, which are much more pronounced when it comes to worship. Change, in general, is bad in their eyes. And the consequent negativity takes on different dimensions, depending on the timing and extremity of any given change. Small changes, such as switching their chairs around or forgetting to hole punch their music, gives rise to general grumbling - which I would rate as a 1 or 2 (on a low-high 1-10 Negativity Scale). Introducing new songs or musical styles raises it to about 3 or 4. A change in choir directors, 10.

What I like about 10, is that at least there's some dialogue - even fighting, some display of passion - and often, honesty that comes a bit closer to that which comes naturally to children. Then I know how to engage - that is a plane on which I can operate.

But these particular choristers seem happiest when they are at 2 or 3. Just irritated enough to quietly complain amongst themselves before settling into a state of utter lethargy. Which leaves me to stand on my head and over-exert, in a desperate attempt to feel something on Sunday morning. Because I admit it, though I am in a ministry role there, I sometimes hope to be fed during the liturgy, too.

The whole thing has me rather depressed by the end of Sunday's masses.

I cannot tell you the many versions I have of the following fantasy: that some unbelievably wonderful singing opportunity comes my way, which not only A. poses a scheduling conflict so great that it will be physically impossible for me to continue working as a church choir director, but also B. pays enough that I don't have to worry about quitting the job.

The next part of my fantasy is the big "March In", ala George Costanza...followed by the ceremonial handing over of the church keys (and hole punch).

Hope springs eternal.....