Day 351 - Whispering Hope on the Jericho Road

It's a debate as old as 1869, when an English polymath* by the name of Francis Galton, first coined the phrase "nature versus nurture." One side believes you are born with certain genetic predispositions while the other is convinced that you learn your behavior from your environment. And then, of course, there are those who insist that both must be true. Proponents of nature might suggest that:

• Chinese are genetically bad drivers, but great at math.

• Africans are built to run faster, jump higher, and keep a solid beat. 

• And Mennonites come out of the womb with a pitch pipe and The Mennonite Hymnal dog-eared at #606.

But I am here to tell you that I'm more of a believer in the nurture side of the debate. And here's why.

When I left home for college, I was the first in my family to do so. No one helped me figure out financial aid or college applications or what to major in. I think my high school counselor may have given me some guidance on the paperwork aspect, but I remember zero discussions about what subject I would decide to pursue in my studies. I don't even recall my own process of wondering. Did I wonder? Did I consider other degree programs? I have no idea. What I do know is that I went straight into college-level music/vocal training as if I had always known that I was going to do it...without the least bit of professional training.

Up until that time, I had only sung with my family, in church, and in the high school choir. Sure, I had been complimented on my vocal talents, but I had the barest of skills in reading musical notes and I knew academically nothing about theory, key signatures, or tempo. (Only the good Lord knew what lay ahead for me with syncopation!) Despite that, I went headlong with all the assurance in the world that I had made a reasonable, valid choice.

Why was I so sure about music?

There were a handful of things that our family rarely squabbled about and those were 

reading, moving, and singing. 

Simply put, the Mennonites get full credit for our family unity in song. 

The more traditional or conservative Mennonite churches purposefully do not use instruments in their church worship because they are very cautious about taking any attention or glory away from God. But the creative spirit cannot be quelled and so every man, woman, and child grows up in the Mennonite church learning how to sing four-part harmony. There is little choice in the matter - you just do. 

I should probably clarify that this is the minimum musical standard for every single Mennonite. There are several in my family who would probably pummel me for not waxing eloquent on the baritone harmony, shape notes, and proper conducting techniques. I did not grow up in the Mennonite church myself, so hopefully my cousins will cut me a little slack, but my parents did and they knew how to sing their parts. If most of our family time was spent on the road, then we usually passed the time together with reading a book or singing. Mom helped us learn the harmonies to "Whispering Hope" and Delbert taught us when to bring in our parts as we sang "On the Jericho Road."

Singing was the one way we used our voices together, to listen to one another, and to create enjoyment with each other. Maybe it was always my nature to be able to sing, but I daresay that the nurturing comforts of the music that drew our family together did more to resonate in my heart than the proportionately balanced holes in my skull ever did. And as much as I might still be amused or confounded by certain Mennonite ways, I have a deep appreciation for our tradition of singing together. At every. single. event. It doesn't matter if we've just had a funeral or a family feud, we will still stand together and give ourselves to each other in song.

Whispering Hope

On the Jericho Road

Praise God From Whom...**

* * * * *

* Yes, I had to look it up too. A polymath is a noun, a person of wide-ranging knowledge or learning. Make that your "word for the day" and we shall both be polymaths. 

** It is the Mennonite way to refer to a song by either the first few words of the song or it's very well-known hymn number, rather than it's title. The title of #606 is more commonly known by non-Mennonites as "The Doxology." (And just as a forewarning, you might have a church split on your hands if you publish a new edition of the hymnal, but try to change the numbers of some of the most beloved hymns.)