We Are the Majority by Mark Robinson

Author:Mark Robinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Republic Book Publishers
Published: 2022-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

My favorite part of attending St. Stephen Church was the music. They had a pipe organ and piano. Joyce McClain played the piano for many years, and she was wonderful. The organist and choir director was Geraldine Dillard. The choir was great. What I liked about our choir was that we sang traditional hymns. Every first Sunday, we’d sing “Amazing Grace” after communion. We sang “Holy, Holy, Holy” as the processional.

“God of Our Fathers,” “How Great Thou Art.”—I grew up listening to these standard hymns. But here’s the thing: I would stand, hold the hymnal, but never make a sound. As I grew older, I’d listen to that music and loved it. I would stand beside my wife, my kids, and still not make a sound. I’d just read and listen to the music and enjoy it.

My mom became an accomplished singer in the choir once she started going. She had a fantastic voice. She was a soprano who sang solos, and she was known not just at our church but throughout the city. She’d been invited to sing at many events. But I didn’t sing anything and never had. The closest I ever came was when my brothers, sisters, and I would sit in front of the stereo and sing along with rock and roll records.

But one day my wife and I were standing around after a church service, getting ready to go. The organist would play music as people were milling around until the sanctuary cleared out. She had just finished playing. I had been talking to several people and was still there. She called me up front. And as I walked up to the pulpit area, I assumed she was going to ask me where my mother was.

The organist’s name was Mrs. Geraldine Dillard. Everybody referred to her as Sarge. She was quite the character. She called me up to the organ. She just looked at me. She didn’t ask me how I was doing.

Sarge just looked at me and said, “You’re Robinson, aren’t you?”

I said, “Yes, ma’am.”

She said, “Eva Robinson’s son?”

I answered “yes” again.

She said, “You will come to choir practice Wednesday.”

I’m thinking for what?

But I said, “Okay.”

After that, I left. Usually when we left, we’d go over to my mom’s house for a while, hang out, and let the kids stay there for a while. So I told my mom that Mrs. Dillard told me to come to choir practice.

She had the same reaction that I had. “For what? She wants you to sing in the choir?”

“I have no idea.”

So that Wednesday I went to choir practice. I sat down.

Sarge looked at me and said, “Two Sundays from now, not this Sunday but the following Sunday, I need you to sing a solo.”

My only thought was, “I don’t sing. Who told you I sing? Are you crazy?”

But I shrugged, shook my head, and replied, “Okay. I don’t know how it’s going to come out, though.”

She replied, “It’ll come out fine; don’t worry about it.”

She gave me the song.

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