We Will Be Glad

Last Sunday at mass, the choir sang a special farewell to Father. He is going to spend the next 6 months in Kenya, so our choir director found a song in Swahili for us to sing to him. Translated, the title meant “We will be Glad.”

My initial reaction? We are too white to sing this.

We all stumbled over the pronunciation and the rhythm. We usually sing Bach. Or Mozart. I’m pretty sure we all have “Ubi Caritas” memorized by this point. Our Latin pronunciations aren’t terrible. Short story long: we sing things that are very traditional. So our director threw us a curve ball–one in the form of a rhythm that kept us dancing along to the constant time of the djimbe.

Once we got used to the words and the rhythm, it did what church music always seems to do. As our choir director says, the angels sang with us. It came together.

We will be glad.

The message came through loud and clear, even though the congregation didn’t have the translation. Kids were bouncing up and down. People turned around to watch us sing, with smiles on their faces. As we finished, the church erupted into applause.

We will be glad.

Over the years, and even recently, I’ve hit spiritual droughts. Times where prayer feels like yelling into an empty void. Where finding the energy to pray is overwhelming and going to Sunday mass is the absolute last thing you want to spend your morning on. Where you forget that there is a community of people among you who will support you in your quest to find that peace again.

We will be glad.

Coming out of that drought is hard work, but I’m getting there. I’m remembering there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel. Water after a drought. People who love me.

We will be glad.

There is always a choir of angels in my corner and a song in my heart. (This one just so happens to be stuck in my head for the foreseeable future).

We will be glad.


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