After supper while on vacation I found a small bar whose sign in front said, “Sunday Karaoke.” It can a risk to enter a place where notes are missed, yelling doesn’t always equal Barbra and hoping their day job is secured. (Some sung songs are better heard with alcohol.)
Then there are those surprises when a burly man gets up to sing a ballad that quiets the crowd for three minutes and you wonder if CD’s are available. The book of selections is passed around and I’m toying with adding my melodic misery to the evening’s amateur night. I see the Mamas and Papas, “Monday, Monday” from 1966 and think it’s an easy tune to get through. My name is called, luckily after a mediocre performance (you never want to follow a child or a Kate Smith-type singing “God Bless America.”)
There are the words clearly displayed along with more instruments than the original recording had. It takes a full verse before I realize I’m doing this followed by a chorus which alerts me that this song is not as easy as it sounded in my Pontiac LeMans when I proudly sang their hit song. Toward the middle of the song I sense a sympathetic audience meaning all the CD’s I’ve recorded are now coasters. Clapping early is another sign that they’re as happy as I am that the song is coming to an end.
During the song it occurs to me that I just got Sunday’s sermon while on vacation. The words of Jesus were clearly in front of me along with an angelic orchestra. Life asks of me to sing His melody as best as I can. If I miss some notes then I know I need to relearn the song – as old and familiar as it is. If I’m thinking too far ahead in the song then I’ll miss the beautiful melody that is playing now. If the audience hems and haws then I don’t mind because each of them will have their chance to mimic the melody He’s given us.
Faith is a wonderful symphony with many movements – full of highs and lows and even silence in between. We may sing many songs in our lives but I think “Monday, Monday” is a good place to begin, it’s the first day of a new week.