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 he first time I set foot on the Mississippi Mass Choir bus, in a parking lot in Jackson, Mississippi, a young man stood up in the aisle and yelled out "My! My! Look what the Lord has sent us!" The bus started to roll, and the choir began to sing Call Him Up. After working regular jobs all week, the 56 members of this gospel choir gather on Friday afternoons from all over the state of Mississippi and travel around the U.S. every weekend, singing their praises of the Lord. They sing in churches and in concert halls. They sing at truck stops and bus stops. We were in a restaurant in New Orleans when they broke out into an a capella rendition of God Gets the Glory to thank the cooks and waiters for the meal. Everyone – waiters, busboys, owner, the other patrons – stopped what they were doing, stunned by the sheer beauty that transcended what might have been an embarrassing moment. The entire room felt blessed, as though it were everybody's lucky night to be dining there when this moment of grace unexpectedly descended. This happens everywhere they go. On the last night I with was with them, after their performance – the Mississippi Mass Choir refers to them as "services" – we sat down in the basement of a black church in deep southern Alabama to a dinner of chicken, grits, and gravy, prepared by the enthralled congregation. Jerry Mannery, assistant to choir founder Frank Williams, stood and said, "Let's sing goodbye for Brother Nubar." I was toasted with my own prayerful reprise of God Gets The Glory. I emerged that Alabama evening feeling like I'd just been healed. |
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© Nubar Alexaniun 1996, all rights reserved. |
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