Chanting
Singing a simple phrase to connect with the divine
Confession: I cannot carry a tune in a bucket.
As a child, I dreamed of being an actress in musical theater. Middle school choir tryouts helped me realize that was not a dream worth pursuing (perhaps I still have some grief over this!). I like music, but I cannot sing it. My kids are now at the age where they will plug their ears if I am singing and tell me to stop. I cannot blame them.
So, it is fair to say, I am not a singer!
However, I still love the spiritual practice of chanting.
A chant can be defined as:
a word or group of words that is repeated over and over again.
a religious song or prayer that is sung on only a few notes.
Both definitions speak to what chanting can be, but I would argue that both definitions blur into each other. Any words repeated over and over again can become spiritual in nature.
What comes to mind when you think of chanting?
Many might remember the Gregorian chants that grew in popularity in the mid 90s and then again twenty years later. These were surprise billboard hits that became pop sensations. I think it speaks to a common yearning for a simple, accessible connection with the divine. People bought the CDs (remember those?) and were able to tap into a sense of the holy through these ancient canticles.
For most of its history, chanting was a sacred art that didn’t seem accessible to anyone outside the cloistered walls of a convent or monastery. However, you might consider giving it a try.
What I love about chanting is the repetitive nature of giving us something to sing and hold onto when words might fail us. There is something mystical and meditative about focusing on a simple melody and just a few words that allows us to connect to something deeper within and around us.
There are even some health benefits to chanting. The research is limited, but there have been correlations made and I bet more to come, especially as we learn more about the polyvagal nervous system and trauma responses. Some studies have found that chanting can bring about relaxation, aid in psychological healing and help cope with suffering. It is an embodied practice that requires our physical self to connect with our mind and spirit. The very vibrations of our voice reverberating through us (even if off key, like me) can impact us in ways beyond what we currently know.
An easy entry point to try chanting as a practice might be listening to some Taize worship songs. They are out of the French worship community that I’ve referenced before. Sometimes I will put this playlist on when I want to enter into a deeper, contemplative state but feel too fidgety to sit still in silence. I let the words and music wash over me while folding laundry or watering my plants. (If no one is around, I will sing along!)
While I am from the Christian tradition and enter into chanting from that perspective, it is a part of many religious traditions. Judaism, Buddhism, Hinduism and many aboriginal and native cultures all have their own chants and practices.
But chanting does not have to be religious in nature. It can be any line that you repeat that brings you comfort or settles your soul.
Over a decade ago, as a new mom, I remember singing “You’re okay, You’re okay, You’re okay” over and over to my infant son, rocking him as he cried. I did it a few times before it was even a conscious action. It came naturally and without thinking. And only later did I realize that I started out trying to soothe him, it was probably the mantra I needed to hear too.
Here is a story about chanting when saying goodbye in the hospital. It is a lullaby of sorts that shows the power of a simple song to comfort us and connect us to a holy threshold.
Marie had short, thinning white hair and a few age-spots and laugh lines on her otherwise porcelain face. Her fingernails were painted blue by her granddaughter. The hospital gown was like a tent on her slight frame.
Today would be her last day in this world. Marie’s body was shutting down and the medical team confirmed it wouldn’t be long now. Her husband of 65 years, Phil, was quiet. He was reliant on his cane and his hunched back made him unsteady when he stood for more than a few minutes.
Marie and Phil’s two daughters watched their father nervously. “We’re so worried about him,” they had confided in me, “he won’t know what to do. He’s been in denial about mom dying.”
Phil sits in a high-backed recliner next to his wife’s bed. He looks down at the floor. The daughters hold each other and accept the tissues I offer to them. Wordless moments pass and all of us women in the room look at Phil with concern while he continues to cast his glance downward.
As if sensing everyone’s gaze, Phil takes his cue and slowly attempts to stand up. He rejects his cane that had been quickly retrieved from a corner, favoring Marie’s bed rails instead. He leans forward gingerly and gives her a kiss on her forehead as she breathes her final few breaths. He moves his lips to her ear and begins to softly and sweetly serenade her.
“I love you, yes I do. I love you, yes I do.”
He sings this simple verse over and over, for at least twenty minutes. Marie seems peaceful as her husband’s baritone voice washes over her. Her and Phil’s eyes are the only dry ones in the room.
Phil lowers himself back into his seat and switches to the chorus of “Old McDonald Had a Farm.” I must have had a puzzled look on my face, as one of the daughters whispers to me that Marie often sang that to her grandchildren when she babysat.
There has never been so much tenderness in “Ee-i-ee-i-o” before and I doubt there ever will be again.
Something as simple as a children’s nursery rhyme can be a chant that invites us to connect with the divine in the face of suffering.
Chanting a phrase when saying goodbye to a loved one might bring comfort to ourselves and the one who is departing from this world.
When you are overwhelmed by the moment and don’t know how to respond, a chant can be a touchstone to ourselves and the holy. Repeating a simple mantra again and again can bring us peace for the moment.
Oh gosh so much goodness and truth here. Although I also love music but can’t sing. I’d still love to be a Broadway star but not in this life.
This was an excellent read Christine. I’m a big fan of Taize and of Gregorian chant. When I’m moved to do it, I love listening to Taize as an audio divina exercise; I can really get drawn into a contemplative state after a few moments listening to the music. Thank you again for sharing.