My seven-year old daughter and I journeyed to Decorah, Iowa a couple weeks ago. We had tickets to attend Luther College’s Christmas at Luther. It was her first ‘classical’ concert and I told her, “You have to be more quiet at this concert than you’ve ever been in your life.” She did it. And loved it. So did I.

            She noticed so many things that I am too used to seeing: synchronized violin and viola bows, gigantic angels painted on the backdrop (whose elbows were bent, by the way… see Week 2), and the young boy who sang a solo with the men’s choir and symphony. She also noticed that the choirs held hands while they sang… all night long.

            There are so many reasons to not hold hands: bacteria, severe introversion, physical triggering, Midwest stoicism, viruses, my kids’ snack crumbs, personal space, the phones we’re already holding. And even if we want to hold someone’s hand our gender, skin color, age, or economic status halt us.

            Back when I was part of Christmas at Luther, holding my violin in my (sweaty) hands during rehearsals, I couldn’t help but look at my classmates in the choirs trying to pick out the most unlikely hand-holding partners. It wasn’t the most kind game to play, but it was too fascinating not to.  I’ve always wondered how they felt about it.

            So, I asked this year. What is it like to have to hold hands, in a choir, for an extended amount of time?! I expected my friends to unleash their disgust about sweatiness. I expected them to confirm the reports I’d heard of large objects being passed from singer to singer, hidden behind backs, during even the holiest moments of a concert. Things like oranges or chairs.  I expected them to complain. But they didn’t.

            And I’m glad they didn’t.  Because, while I was listening to Luther’s choirs sing, watching my daughter soak it all up for the first time, I needed the handholding.

            I needed the choirs to hold us up; the music was taking our breath away and we needed their combined strength to catch us. I needed to believe them; as they sang of angels and peace on earth, I needed to see them being peace- holding each other with their hands. I needed to remember that there are corners of our country that are not full of suspicion and contempt. I needed the hope they held, and the love embodied in their skin-to-skin music. 

            There are so many reasons to not hold hands. And yet… stuff sucks a bit out there. People are minimized because of their bodies, their skin color, their loves. People are irrationally angry about politics… all the politics… and there is no resolution for anyone on the horizon. People are terrified about climate change and guns in schools and tariffs and the state of farming. We cannot bring ourselves to hold hands with each other. And yet…

            And yet there’s a choir out there somewhere, right now, holding hands. They’re doing holy work, reminding us all how to embody love and hold hope.

            My choir friends said that holding hands while singing is powerful, community building, natural, loving, spiritual, holy, and unifying. They also admit it can be super sweaty, clammy even, but even then… it seems to be worth it.

            ‘Tis the season of stars shining in the darkness; the season of voices calling out in the wilderness; the season of waiting for peace on earth.  God promises to be near.  Hold someone’s hand and everything will be ok. Maybe even better than ok.