Homeless Shelter Lets Singers Share Their Gifts and Gain Confidence to Confront Their Troubles
by Tom Weld, The California Chronicle
Earnest enthusiasm easily carries the voices across the span of empty pews that separate the visiting choir from those gathered for a sparsely attended Lenten service at Unity Lutheran Church.
Hush, hush, somebody's calling my name... Hush, hush, somebody's calling my name... Hush, hush, somebody's calling my name... Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what shall I do, what shall I do?
The song grabs hold of the worshippers, even those still settled in their coats, sitting near the back. It rises to the tall, arched rafters and expands toward the glowing stained-glass windows.
It carries with it the sincerity of a choir formed largely by the homeless and formerly homeless who find help through Repairers of the Breach, a daytime shelter in Milwaukee's central city.
Their words continue:
I'm so glad, troubles don't last always
I'm so glad, troubles don't last always
I'm so glad, troubles don't last always
Oh my Lord, oh my Lord, what shall I do, what shall I do?
The joyful release in traditional gospel songs compels the congregants to stand, to clap, to stomp their feet and sing out, to spark rare enthusiasm in a traditional Lutheran Lenten service.
The response leaves the singers beaming, filled with pride and accomplishment, far removed from the difficulties that brought them to this healing choir, formed on a cold day in the city's only daytime shelter for the homeless.
Their performance at the church on E. Oklahoma Ave. in Milwaukee is another step toward a collective recovery, from abusive relationships, addictions, illnesses and struggles that often put them on the streets or in shelters.
In many ways, the tracks of their lives match the scales they sing during weekly rehearsals, ascending and descending, ascending and descending.
The rehearsals, Saturday afternoons in the Repairers of the Breach shelter on W. Vliet St., afford the members an opportunity to find their voices, to move past the feelings that often cause them to silence themselves.
"I was ashamed at first to bring my voice out, but it's starting to come," said Vickie Parker, a 40-year-old mother of seven and one of the dozen or so regular choir singers. "Now I can sing without being embarrassed or afraid."
Parker first sought help at the Repairers of the Breach shelter in winter of 2007. At the time, the native of East St. Louis, Ill., was living in a shelter and had no money to buy Christmas presents for her children.
Since then, she has relied on the Repairers for mattresses, sheets, towels and other furnishings for the cramped flat she rents off W. Center St. She's relied on the choir to fill her spirit.
When little in her life seems within ready control, joining the other voices eases the depths of her depressions.
"I believe when we're all in that group, we support each other," she said. "We help each other through weakness."
Arlene Skwierawski partners with country music singer K.C. Williams to provide the musical direction for the singers who fill the choir's ranks, both during rehearsals and in the performances at area churches. Skwierawski, 71, taught music at North Division High School for 25 years and directed the All Saints Roman Catholic Church Choir for 15.
She traces the start of the Repairers Choir to an appearance by her church choir in the shelter on a cold night around Christmastime, roughly three years ago.
The shelter kept its doors open late that night to give the homeless respite from the cold, and many of them joined the All Saints Choir in song. MacCanon Brown, who runs Repairers of the Breach, suggested Skwierawski start a choir featuring those who visit the shelter.
Skwierawski was unable to say anything but yes to the people curled up in blankets on the floor.
She thought: "How can you say no when you're looking at people who are that down and are still willing to sing?"
The singers, bolstered by members of the Milwaukee Public Schools Alumni Choir, meet in a tightly packed practice room that doubles as a storage area for the daytime shelter. A stack of crutches leans in a corner, paint peels from the ceiling, a portable heater hums against the chill, and boxes of food surround the singers in their chairs.
Skwierawski leads them with an electric piano and a pounding enthusiasm for the rhythm of southern gospel music.
Helped by her former student, Williams, she impresses a level of musical discipline on the singers, arranging them into sopranos, altos, tenors and basses and directing them to sing their parts.
Some mouth the words quietly at first, hiding their voices from themselves and the others. Eventually, their eyes brighten and their voices gain strength, melding with the others.
"We found all kinds of marvelous singers," Skwierawski said.
Support and change
One of them is Odell White, a 58-year-old who traveled to Milwaukee from Louisiana in 2006, after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina.
White learned gospel music listening to his mother sing in the kitchen during his boyhood days. But he strayed from that music and that message for much of his adult life, time -- by his telling -- spent "rippin' and runnin', clownin' and drinkin'."
He continued with that wayward life in Milwaukee, and was living in and out of shelters when he followed directions to Repairers.
"My thinking ability, my mentality, my morals and everything seemed to go by the wayside," White said. "I knew one way, but that wasn't the right way."
White was overwhelmed by the support he received from his fellow strugglers at the shelter, and by the chance to sing.
During rehearsals, his feet are the first to stomp in time. He quickly stands, and taps into his background in gospel quartets to help direct others singers, encouraging them to give power to their voices and their feelings.
He turns his lean body to those singing near him, smiling and nodding in an angular rhythm.
"The choir is inspirational to me," White said. "It's positive. I'm doing it for a good reason, a good cause -- that's the Lord Jesus Christ."
'Make a little noise'
During rehearsals, the choir members nurture each other. During the performances, roughly one time per month, they drink in the positive response from worshippers whose lives are so far from their own.
Walking toward the exit, one of the Unity Church worshippers commented to a friend: "They woke up the congregation. We should do that more often. Make a little noise."
In the fellowship hall, Pastor Amy Becker smiled at the spark the choir brought to her church and its members.
"It was fun to see people engaged through music," Becker said. "There was definitely more movement than there usually is.
"Beyond the energy, it was experiencing how God works outside of our own system, our own lives."
Linda Orr, 52, sought help from the Repairers shelter when she became homeless, and joined the choir to be "uplifted" even when her life circumstances began to improve.
She relishes the quiet in the church settings, as the congregants take their seats, and the choir members wait before them, dressed in their best clothes. She watches for the "little old ladies" to begin clapping, to share the lift that she feels, the positiveness and hopefulness of the music and her voice.
It confirms her belief that "If you got nothing else, at least you can sing."