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Columns by A.C. Snow | Home / Lifestyles / Columns by A.C. Snow
Topics: Arts & Entertainment | Family & Community | Food & Fitness | Home & Garden | Religion | Skiing Columnists: Bangs | Book Reviews | Good for You | Gearino | Jackson | Carolina Cook | Snow | Specialty of the House | Stein | Weekend Gourmet | Zane
Published: Oct 02, 2005 12:30 AM Modified: Oct 25, 2005 04:39 PM Passing out 'praise choruses' to others Passing out 'praise choruses' to others A.C. Snow, Staff Writer Each Sunday, I sit in awe as the choristers at Edenton Street Methodist, regally robed and making a joyful noise unto the Lord, walk down the center aisle like marching penguins. I am torn between praise and jealousy. Why is it that we most long to do those things we are least equipped to do? Born with an almost tuneless voice, I marvel at majestic sounds soaring from the choir loft, especially during the anthems. But I never hear an anthem without thinking of the anecdote involving an elderly farmer who, returning home from a visit with city relatives, told his wife about going to church with them and hearing the choir sing "praise choruses" instead of hymns. "Pray tell, what is the difference between a hymn and a 'praise chorus'?" she asked.
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"Well it's like this," he replied. "If I were to sing to you, 'Martha, the cows are in the corn,' well, that would be a hymn. "If, on the other hand, I were to sing to you, 'Martha, Martha, Martha, oh, Martha, MARTHA, MARTHA, the cows, the big cows, the brown cows, the black cows, the white cows, the black-and-white cows, the COWS, COWS, COWS are in the corn, in the corn, in the corn, are in the corn, the CORN, CORN, CORN ... Alleluia! Alleluia! Amen!' and then repeat the whole thing two or three times, well that would be a praise chorus." This brings me to my text for today. From birth we are urged, and quite properly so, to sing "praise choruses" to the Lord. Why are we not taught to praise one another with equal frequency and fervor? My daughter is deep into praise chorusing my grandchildren. Almost everything they do is met with a resounding kudos. A child's primitive art is treated as if it were a Rembrandt fresh off the canvas. I was once privately reprimanded for my half-hearted praise chorus when the then-5-year-old demonstrated her ballet form by holding on to a chair and extending one little leg in the air. "Sweetheart, if you don't applaud the children's work with some degree of restraint, they're going to have it tough when they go out in the real world and more often than not nobody stands up and cheers," I reasoned defensively. She has ignored the admonition. In retrospect, it may be that I have been too stingy with praise choruses because I heard so few in my own childhood. The youngest in a large family of mostly male siblings, I received far more criticism than praise. The imbalance undoubtedly contributed to a lack of self-confidence in tackling almost anything new, especially anything mechanical. As a result, I sometimes overreact to well-meant instruction. For example, my wife and I have recently been plagued by a platoon of raccoons trying to roust us from our home. Thanks to the city of Raleigh's cooperative animal control department, we have caught several of the critters, which seem to have an insatiable craving for marshmallows. The downside of our success has been the revolting chore of removing the calling cards they leave behind as tokens of their anger and contempt. "You'll need to find a big piece of cardboard and sweep up the mess on that, then toss it down in the woods," my wife began one recent morning after our fifth raccoon had been hauled away. "But please don't use the house broom. Use the old broom in the tool shed." "Look," I interrupted. "I NEVER use the house broom. Honey, neither of us has a college degree in the removal of raccoon droppings, but I do believe I've had more experience in this area of expertise than you." On Tuesday, at the intersection of Oberlin Road and Glenwood Avenue, a block-long Budweiser truck held up traffic while the driver tediously maneuvered the 18-wheeler from a nearby supermarket into the lane beside me at the stoplight. I motioned him to roll down his window. He complied, glowering, anticipating criticism. When I called out, "Hey! You did a great job back there!" his face beamed with surprise and pleasure as he yelled back,"Thanks a lot, buddy!" I drove off with a warm fuzzy feeling, realizing that you don't have to be in the church choir to enjoy praise chorusing. Columnist A.C. Snow can be reached at 881-8254 or asnow@newsobserver.com.

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