Everyone always says the surest way to get over something you fear is to simply do it often. So you’d think that after 15 years of consistently leading musical worship at my church, I’d have moved past my extreme anxiety over singing in front of a crowd. But that hasn’t quite been the case.
Every other Sunday, as I stand at the microphone awaiting my solo on the communion hymn or my stint at the altar for the psalm, I get the telltale physical and emotional signs of stage fright. My heart races. I sweat. My fingers go numb. I envision myself freezing up at the lectern, running away, or — worst case scenario — peeing my pants in front of the whole church, freezing up, then running away.
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I’ve been singing in public since I was a child, and believe me, I’ve tried everything to get past these sensations and fears. I’ve practiced meditation and self-hypnosis, breathing techniques, journaling, affirmations. I’ve even talked through the problem in therapy. Besides singing at church, I also perform with a local choir, which I’d hoped might loosen me up for singing at church. And, of course, I’ve prayed.
Yet, as with St. Paul and the thorn in his side, God has yet to see fit to relieve me of this particular affliction. After years of singing in public, I’ve come to accept that, as long as I’m singing, stage fright will probably always be part of the experience. It’s possible that spiritual warfare is at work in this situation, or that God allows me to have this anxiety as a means of keeping me humble — I really don’t know. What do I know? That courage doesn’t necessarily mean not feeling fear. Rather, it means feeling fear and doing something anyway.
Courage is a virtue I want to cultivate. As someone who struggles with anxiety in general, I find many things in life daunting. Work deadlines, parenting challenges, and health concerns often weigh heavier than I’d like. (Simply living out my Catholic beliefs in a secular world can feel scary sometimes!) But I take comfort in Scriptures that urge me to answer God’s call — whether for singing or other pursuits — even while I feel fear. Joshua 1:9 says, “Be strong and courageous […] for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Stage fright may always be with me, but so will God’s power.
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I’ve experienced this power in some tangible ways over the years. While God hasn’t taken away my stage fright, he has helped me to laugh at my own mistakes on stage. Recently during a Mass, I forgot that another singer was supposed to solo on a certain song. After awkwardly starting the song with her, then suddenly stopping, I reflexively — and quite loudly — whispered into the mic “I’m sorry!” Years ago, this gaffe would have left me cowering in embarrassment. This time, I thought it was hilarious.
Consistently putting courage into action as a worship leader has had trickle-down effects in other areas of my life, too. Regularly doing something that scares me has prompted me to say yes to other exciting-but-nerve-wracking opportunities, such as sharing a personal story on national television and giving public speaking presentations in my work.
I believe, too, that when it comes to music, God sees my heart’s desire: to perform for his glory. There are times during Mass when I feel him smiling upon me for this. I’m reminded of the quote from Olympic runner Eric Liddell’s character in “Chariots of Fire:” “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel his pleasure.” In my case, when I sing, I feel God’s pleasure.
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I also feel his Holy Spirit flowing through me, allowing others to worship him through music. Friends, fellow church members, and even strangers often tell me after Mass that they’ve been blessed by my musical gifts — and that they’d never guess I’m knock-kneed nervous when I sing. Since music is my favorite way to worship God, knowing that I can help others do the same brings me joy. And since I’ve been gifted with musical ability, I’m determined not to hide that gift under the “bushel” of my stage fright. So, though fear and trembling may accompany me every time I step up to the microphone, you’ll still find me every other Sunday soloing at my church’s 10 a.m. Mass. In the words of the old hymn, “How can I keep from singing?”
