An ancient pain

An ancient pain resurfaced when I attended Sunday service at Washington National Cathedral. It is not my parish church, I am an infrequent visitor, and I had forgotten that they celebrate the liturgy with a men and boys choir in the old tradition. As a small child, no more than 7 or 8 years old, I was musically gifted but with only an average voice. Good enough to be in a choir, not good enough to be a soloist. The best children’s choir in town, however, was a boys’ choir. They gave the best concerts, had the coolest gowns, sang with orchestras, and had all the pomp that flows from long tradition. There was a mixed children’s choir to which I belonged, but it did not have all the trappings of the other. It was my first encounter as a young child that I had been born in to a boys’ world and there were to be many injustices to come. I cried at the time; and at Washington National Cathedral, those tears returned. The preacher Peter Gomes repeated a message I had heard from him times before. The wealthy should feed the poor and clothe the naked. The knowledgeable, he said, do not know all and cannot imagine the plight of others. And so, although the dinner speaker may be a little dull, and the food may be indifferent, I will go to my board dinner next week because I am nearly the only woman fellow. Ironic, indeed, to be called a fellow. A young student or colleague just getting started, may need to see that I am there, at the head table, with the directors, chatting with the chairman.