Blending: a Culinary Skill?

How do choirs achieve a beautiful blend?

The Culinary Goal: Consider the blender sitting on my counter. I'd like to make my favorite chip dip, and I want it smooth. I don't like chunks sticking out from my dip. I want it so blended there's nothing left of individual ingredients except their color.

1. So I select "grind". What a noise that makes! Kind of like when Tom was trying to teach me to drive with a stick shift. Rahrrrrrr-thlunk-rahhHRRRRR.

2. I might select "chop". More noise, but making progress.

3. Now we're getting somewhere. Some chunks are hiding out on top, so I push them down with a spatula. More noise and thlunking. I turn the blender on and off in 5-10 second bursts.

4. Ah, the color is changing. But I can see strings of spinach and a few chunks of artichoke hearts. They tend to be a bit stubborn, resistant. I persist. I will not settle for less than my ideal. I visualize (or tastalize) a tortilla chip adorned with my dip, made of cream cheese, parmesan, mozzarella, spinach, and artichoke hearts.

Voila: The only one of those ingredients I might consider snacking on by itself would be spinach, and then only if I'm on a major crusade for health. But together--mmm, no one ingredient stands out from the others, it's a simply divine mix, a whole new flavor not experienced with any other set of ingredients.

The Vocal Goal: I want the sound to be smooth, no voices sticking out like chunks on a chip. I want it so blended there's nothing left of individual voices except their color.

1. I start grinding away with any tools at my disposal: verbal instructions to listen to each other, vocal exercises designed for the purpose, unified vowel production, a piece they know especially well...

2. It may still be making unpleasant noises, but I begin to see progress.

3. Some voices are sticking out at the top, others in the middle or on the bottom edges. I move them around, mix them up. They protest; not thlunking exactly, but not happy with giving up their spot. I don't force it, because they are people with flesh and blood hearts, not artichoke hearts, and they are not spinach to be shredded. If they want to stay in the seat they are used to, I bless them. They may stay. The Lord will involve Himself in this blend, and it will be more than I could've made it. I don't belabor the blend thing, but work at it in shorter bursts. A minute here, a reminder there.

4. Ah, the color is changing. Though a few voices might be untrained, raw, and prone to stick out, I don't give up. I persist. I don't settle for less than I hear they can produce. I visualize (or audio-alize) the piece I've pulled out for them, adorned with voices young and old, high and low, thick and thin, throaty and reedy.

Voila: There might be one or two voices that would be lovely solo, but together--mmm, no one voice stands out from the others, it's a simply divine mix, a whole new sound not heard with any other set of voices.