Author: Adam Nisenholz

By Scott Rieker

Director, Emerson Choir

scott@scottrieker.com

Public humiliation has been considered an effective means of punishing people since time immemorial, and most forms of punishment include an element of shame. Society has created constructs that make it easier to shame some groups of people—usually based on gender, sexual orientation, or socio-economic status—and we will often work harder to avoid humiliation than almost any other motivation. We avoid situations where we might look foolish and evade risk-taking. Why are we so worried about what other people think about us?

Public Humiliation

The answer lies in the importance of being a member of a community; our “herd,” our “tribe,” our “social group,” etc., whose universality points toward our nature as human beings to be persons-in-relationship. Being persons-in-relationship is a fundamental tenet of human existence. A Christian theologian will speak about the Trinity being a community of love in whose image humans were created: to be in relationship. Removing unnecessary theologizing, others say, “Look around you! Everything is connected.” By default, we are in relationship with every other creature on the planet and with the planet itself.

It is beneficial to consider our motivations to engage in “right behavior” and remain part of community. Obviously, we don’t want to “do something wrong” because it could injure the larger community. But is there more to it? After all, being separated from our circle through a humiliating event is a sort of excommunication. Perhaps the fear of humiliation—the eyes of everyone around us weighing our worth because they have observed some mistake or breach of protocol—is a larger factor in this equation. Perhaps we are often living as persons-in-relationships-of-fear.

There is an alternative: being persons-in-relationships-of-love. This is a difficult path, because it requires admitting that we make mistakes and allowing others to make mistakes. It demands that we consider whether one errs through negligence or by deliberate choice. It compels that we react in loving ways to mistakes: usually excusing or overlooking, sometimes assisting or correcting, sometimes opposing or combating. Everyone has foibles, and they rarely rise to the level requiring correction.

Once we are able to see why we ought to overlook most mistakes of others, we arrive at the hardest part: forgiving our own mistakes and developing habits that help us avoid repeating them. Often, the humiliation we feel when we err is internalized. Our friends, family, and acquaintances are not judging us, but we are condemning ourselves. Who hasn’t tripped over their own feet walking down a perfectly level sidewalk? It’s mortifying; but why? People with decency who see someone trip usually chuckle to themselves, thinking, “Thank heavens that wasn’t me this time,” and then move to assist if necessary. Decent people aren’t condemning us for our foibles, and if indecent people condemn us, who cares? Do their opinions matter?

And what about being condemned for taking risks? For actions we take deliberately that flout social convention? What if we march in a pride parade, publicly refuse to do business with institutions that discriminate, hug a person of another race in public, or have a conversation with a homeless person? Rev. Matthew told me a great quote (of which I promptly forgot the specifics, but —hopefully—retained the sense): “If it’s the right thing to do, we have every right to do it.” Sometimes we must brave a little humiliation to advance the cause of righteousness and justice in the face of those who espouse conformity above all else. The distinction between persons-in-relationships-of-fear and persons-in-relationships-of-love couldn’t be clearer than in these situations.

So, why on earth is the music guy talking about this? This month, I am writing to my own little flock. Singing in front of anyone, especially our friends and family, is terrifying. There is nothing more personal than our own voices, and we do not have the luxury of an instrument between ourselves and our musical expression. People might judge us! Except…the decent folk don’t judge us. When we sing for Emerson, people in the congregation are—by and large—thinking, “I’m so glad you’re singing for us. I’m so glad you’re adding to our worship and our community. I’m so glad you’re doing that instead of me!” (The folks in that last group might want to consider the “fear/love” dynamic underlying their reluctance to join the choir…) Instead, the terror surrounding performance is interior. The humiliation felt over a wrong note is interior. It’s still real, but the solution lies within us, not with someone else.

Public Affirmation

If it’s the right thing to do, we have every right to do it. Singing for Emerson is beneficial to the community and to ourselves. Adding beauty to worship through song is a great and authentic gift of self. We rehearse to build habits that reinforce accurate, healthy, musical singing. And sometimes we sing a wrong note, breathe in the wrong place, and have inadvertent solos during a rest. Sometimes we trip, walking down a perfectly level sidewalk. Welcome to being human. Err boldly. Acknowledge your humanity with pride. We are doing the right thing, which we have every right to do. Welcome to being persons-in-relationships-of-love.

By Scott Rieker

Director, Emerson Choir

scott@scottrieker.com

I’ve debated for weeks over whether I should pen this column, because to some folks the subject matter is offensive, or at least controversial. After speaking with several gay kids over the past month, especially about their desire for positive role models, I’ve decided to go to print in a way that tells his story, yet permits his anonymity, to help protect the sensibilities of those who might take umbrage.

Several weeks ago, an icon and luminary in my field passed away after a long and storied career. He was a mentor to—literally—thousands, an inspiration to tens of thousands more, a renowned educator, and a role model for burgeoning (and established) choral musicians. It is impossible to overstate the importance of the impact that this individual has had on choral music.

As the multitude of well-deserved eulogies pours in, it’s heartening to see all of the people who were inspired by his work. He will be remembered using all of the above accolades, and—if a remembrance is particularly bold—he will be referred to as a “lifelong bachelor.” This euphemism is the central tragedy of the story. For all intents and purposes, he was a closeted gay man who never found a way to publicly acknowledge his sexuality.

For him, there was always a socially acceptable front. When traveling, he always brought a female companion and was always publicly in the company of one vivacious woman or another. When appearing in public, he was always reserved and professional. His persona was almost sexless—as if nothing could be more remote from his being. But his actual sexuality was an open secret in some circles, and among the generation two prior to mine, it was almost a badge of honor to have had a dalliance with him.

No one can ever accuse him of acting without integrity, but one component of integrity is being authentically oneself. Matters of faith, places and expectations of employment, social constraints, and rural conservatism all conspired to prevent him from feeling comfortable “coming out.” I lament the “could have been” situations lost, had he found a way to integrate his sexuality into his life. And so he moves into eternity as the iconic mentor, inspiration, educator, and role model, who was also a “lifelong bachelor.”

From this, I would draw a number of conclusions, but the primary ones are these:

1. Music is an avenue for self-expression and self-actualization, which expresses realities that often lie beyond the purview of mere speech. Consequently, it is vitally important that this powerful bastion be provided in as many contexts as possible for those who are struggling with any inner turmoil. (And that is all of us…)
2. Icons should not be appropriated to “prop up an agenda,” but we must also be honest about the reality of people’s lives. Just as we cannot give a pass to pathological public liars, so must we actively remember the full palette of an individual’s existence. People are good and bad, but—especially for someone who has become iconic—sometimes revealing the “bad” or the troublesome can provide inspiration for those struggling with the same.
3. Sometimes our elders need more support reconciling issues that we consider passé. When my elderly cousin married an African-American woman, it was a scandal to no one except himself, and he felt the need to keep their actual relationship secret for too long. When a person of a certain age struggles to come to terms with his or her sexuality, we must be actively supportive, warm, and accepting.
4. “Coming Out” is still a thing. It shouldn’t be, but it is. (After all, no one has to say, “Mom. Dad. I think I’m left-handed” or “World, I am ambidextrous.”) The trauma surrounding sexual orientation is real.
5. Which brings me to my final point: These conclusions can be integrated by a caring, compassionate community. Especially with the vehicle of music, we can learn to bridge divides and enlarge our circle. So, let’s stick rainbow stickers and equal signs on our choir folds and go make a difference!