the sunday scaries
The ups and downs of church musicianship as a non-religious soprano.
Dear reader,
This is a really exciting week, for a couple of reasons! This is the tenth edition of this newsletter, and I’m really happy to have been able to maintain a weekly publishing schedule since its creation. We also hit 100 subscribers this week! I said quite early on that I didn’t want numbers and metrics to get in the way of the purpose of this project, but I think this is still an exciting accomplishment. This content is longer in form than most of what is found on our social media feeds, and I appreciate everyone who takes time out of their weeks to slow down and spend some time reading. I hope you have enjoyed the newsletter so far, and am looking forward to more topics and guests coming up!
I have also had an exciting week of performances: last weekend was the Dorothy Cotton Jubilee Singers Winter Concert, and I had the opportunity to perform a few small group pieces. You can watch the livestream here!
Last night, I performed with the Cayuga Chamber Orchestra and Cayuga Vocal Ensemble in Handel’s Messiah, and this afternoon, I am joining the Syracuse Schola Cantorum for Behold the Handmaid of the Lord, featuring Guillaume DuFay’s Missa Ecce Ancilla Domini mass. Both of these concerts have challenged me in new and exciting ways, and I am grateful to be rounding up my performances of 2023 with them!
This week, I shared a poll asking what topic I should write about, and the topic of church music jobs came out on top! Keep reading to learn more about my experiences as a non-religious church musician :)
A few important distinctions: “church” or “congregation” refers to communities within western christianity. This newsletter is referring specifically to performance through employment by churches, not the wider performance of sacred music.
Growing up, Sunday mornings were my designated time to sleep in. Saturdays were reserved for choir rehearsal, and I was always up early for school, so I took full advantage of the day off to catch up on some time to rest.
This was possible, naturally, because my family never attended church. In fact, we were never religious at all. I remember asking my parents about this at some point during my childhood, about why I was never made to wake up early for church the way of my friends were. They told me that they had chosen to not prescribe a religion to my sister and I, and wanted to allow us to make our own decisions about faith when we were educated enough to be able to do so.
I don’t need to go too far into my relationship with faith here, quite simply because there isn’t much there. I generally think of myself as non-religious and an atheist, and don’t see any possibility of that changing in my lifetime.
And yet, I no longer sleep in on Sundays. At this point, I’m usually up around 6:30am, choosing between my two church-appropriate outfits and trying to gently warm up my voice several hours before I’m usually singing otherwise.
I began my career as a church musician during the height of the Covid-19 lockdowns in the summer and fall of 2020 at a church in Brockport, New York. I was taking a year off from school to avoid fully remote classes, working at a local smoothie shop and driving for Instacart to try and save money. Outside of work, I only spent time with my family, my partner, and his family, which just so happened to include the music director of the aforementioned church.
It wasn’t long before I found myself regularly stopping by the church to practice, have Zoom lessons with my teacher from Ithaca, and record pieces with the two other musicians in my close “bubble” to be included in virtual services. This lasted for several months, until in-person services began to open up again, at which point I became a regular cantor and chorus member for Sunday morning services and evening Compline services.
When I returned to school in the fall of 2021, I was recommended to a church job that was, once again, completely virtual. I spent the year recording and submitting hymns and service music, and never actually attended a service. The next year, I began my current position as the soprano section leader and choral assistant with a small congregation nestled on the hill surrounded by Cornell University.
Despite my now steady church employment, I’m not sure I would have been drawn to service music without the external push of the pandemic. At the time, it was one of the only ways to continue singing regularly, and to even earn a little income doing so. And yet, I still feels at odds with my personal identity within the walls of a church.
I often say that I am there “just as a musician,” and that I am happy just to use my music to enhance other peoples’ experiences with faith. I don’t take communion, even when offered in mildly aggressive ways (I don’t even think I’m allowed to in most denominations, having never been baptised). Unless I am specifically requested to, I don’t read prayers or participate in the service beyond singing. At times, I find it difficult to maintain alertness during a long sermon, and have occasionally found myself drifting off into daydream, or worse, cringing at the messages being shared.
I have felt a near-constant pressure to assimilate more fully into the church, through both implicit and explicit actions from church leadership, congregation members, and those in the choir pews. Even the most welcoming interactions feel laced with a desire to ask for a more deep emotional and spiritual investment in the faith at hand. I don’t fault them for this entirely; I can understand the need to attract and retain younger congregation members, and can empathize with the desire to have everyone in the room more actively participating in ensuring the future of the church.
I have been fortunate to work with the directors that I have so far; they have all been incredible inclusive, and have understood my perspective of exclusively musical participation. I have also been fortunate to work with church leadership and congregations that are, on the whole, reconciling or progressive, and which have intentional missions of support to the Queer community. I know that this is not the case in many religious communities, and while I cannot speak to the experiences of others, I cannot imagine myself working in a church that was not explicitly working to undo the homophobia, transphobia, and racism that is woven into the fabric of white christianity.
At the same time, I have grown used to weird and awkward conversations about gender and pronouns in religious spaces. I have countless stories of interactions tinted with latent Transphobia, and have had to serve as an educator in situations that have challenged my patience and professionalism. I have sat through targeted sermons discussing the need to invite more people to worship, and been referred to as a “heathen” for not reading the prayers of the people.
I believe that music is an inherently vulnerable art form, and try to bring my authentic self to my singing, but it can grow increasingly difficult when that authentic self doesn’t feel entirely welcome.
All considered, my experiences with church musicianship have been net positive in regards to personal fulfillment and human connection.
Church jobs offer something very valuable to early career singers: reliable income from performing. Put plainly, a church job is a job, and can usually be a constant source of payment for musicians who otherwise not be receiving many paying gigs. From my experiences, pay can vary widely: I have made around $50-$70/week at my church jobs, which includes a weekly Sunday service commitment for around 2-2.5 hours. I know of other jobs that will pay up to $80-$150 weekly, but these will often include an additional weekly rehearsal. The rate is dependant on the individual church, the level of commitment, and the geographical location of the job. From what I’ve seen, church positions in major cities tend to offer higher pay, but are often more competitively selected.
Due to this short rehearsal timeline, church jobs also offer a training experience in music learning and sight reading. Often, music in services will be performed with little to no rehearsal time, ranging from single run-through to at most 20 minutes of work. This is a stark contrast to the rehearsal process for many school or community choirs, which will often hold a number of longer rehearsals leading up to a performance.
For me, this fast turnaround has challenged me to build my sight reading skills, and has built my natural familiarity with a number of styles and conventions. I am becoming more regularly familiar with the standard hymns, and know what to expect in terms of Bach chorales and common service music. I have been regularly exposed to Anglican and Gregorian chant, which has been a valuable skill in other circumstances. I believe the best way to build your reading skills is by regularly sight reading music, and this is necessitated by the short rehearsal times found at the jobs I have held so far. This has proved useful in rehearsal settings beyond the church, and for that I am very grateful.
The most significant impact of church musicianship, however, is the human connection it can form with the listeners. It is well-known that music is included in the church sequence as an offering of emotional repose or stirring, and is seen as a time for congregation members to deepen their worship through singing or listening.
I have frequently heard from church-goers that the music is the most meaningful part of the service for them, and that it allowed them to feel connected to their faith. Congregations are regularly able to enjoy live music performance, something that is not always seen as accessible in other contexts. It has meant a lot to me to see the direct effects singing can have on people, and to get to know the members of each church through the stories they share in response to the music. Music invites people to pause, feel, and reflect, and I truly value each time I am part of this experience.
For me, this has allowed for a slow decline of my performance perfectionism. I’ll be honest, my best singing doesn’t often happen at 9am, but I’ll still show up to my church job and sing. Even when I may feel disappointed at my sound, I can still see the effects it is able to have on those listening. This has been slowly but surely breaking down my inherent belief that music must be polished and “perfect” to be good, and has taught me instead that “good” music is music that connects people. This belief has grown to be at the core of my personal philosophy, and I am grateful to church musicianship for the role it has had to play in its development.
On the whole, church musicianship can be a deeply rewarding, reliable engagement for musicians, especially those of us still in school or searching for more consistent paid performance opportunities.
As a general piece of advice to those interested in church work, I would recommend establishing your personal boundaries before accepting or beginning role. If you are not personally religious, and especially if you have dealt with any kind of religious trauma, it is important to understand what you are and are not comfortable with. I think it is also important to have an understanding of what is expected of you in your role. Sometimes, roles such as cantor and section leader can carry vastly different expectations, from reading and leading chant to simply singing in the choir. If possible, request a contract that defines not only your compensation structure, but the specific expectations of your presence in the role.
I think it is important to acknowledge the significant religious patronship of the arts throughout human history, and the role it has play on the development of western classical music. A brief look into music history will reveal that many of the best-known composers from the Renaissance, Baroque, and early Classical periods were only able to produce their works because of the financial backing of the church. Even the greatest musicians needed to earn money, and throughout significant swathes of history, the church was the only party willing to offer that money. We see a shift in patronage and musical engagement towards the late Classical and Romantic periods, as at-home music-making was on the rise, and the middle class had increased opportunities to contribute to the development of musical compositions. This opened up worlds of possibility of the composers of the time, from expanded conventions for style and tonality to a widened repertoire of texts and topics to write about.
I believe there is still room to grow in the area of well-funded, secular music making. While I appreciate church musicianship for all it has offered me, I am excited to be working towards a career that values and invests in the creation of musical experiences in the secular world, that don’t require a religious element to form genuinely human connections. I look forward to watching the realm of musical possibility grow as we invest more in its future.
So, thank a church musician, especially before Christmas Eve services, and challenge yourself to find new ways to appreciate and enjoy their musical connection.
Thank you for reading, and for supporting me and my work during this busy season. If you are able, please consider a small financial contribution:
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Upcoming Performances:
December 17, 4pm; Pebble Hill Church, Syracuse: Behold, the Handmaid of the Lord with Syracuse Schola Cantorum
January 6, 2024, 7pm; St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Brockport: Jazzy January with the St. Luke’s Schola Cantorum
January 26, 2024, 7:30pm; Ford Hall, Ithaca College: Concert in Honor of Dr Martin Luther King Jr. with Dorothy Cotton Jubilee Singers
January 28, 2024, 3pm; Broome County Forum Theatre, Binghamton: Mozart’s Requiem with Southern Tier Singers Collective and Binghamton Philharmonic Orchestra
Thank you for reading <3
Love,
Caitlin