HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN
FROM FEBRUARY 2018 ISSUE OF WEST END PHOENIX
As the choir starts singing and the congregation of the Church of Jesus Christ, dressed entirely in white formal wear, rises in prayer, it strikes me that I’ve heard this glorious sound before, long ago, in the voice of my grandmother Balmy
Ushers led me into a small, packed chapel at The Church of Jesus Christ on Vaughan Road. At first glance, it could have passed for a house: a quaint front door, low ceilings and small windows. The congregation had singers at the front, as well as a band – drums, a tambourine, organ and guitar – that started to play as soon as the service began. The instruments weaved around exultant singing. I didn’t know any of the songs, but the lyrics, to songs like “Hide Me Under Your Blood” and “Give the Lord Our Praise,” were projected on the walls. While singing along, I noticed other people breaking into prayer during the songs and it was sometimes hard to know where one thing started and the other finished. Through this glorious cacophony, it struck me that I’d heard it all before, a long time ago, from my grandmother.
When I was a child, I called her Balmy – her real name is Vilna – because “grandma” was too hard to say. Balmy sang everywhere: in the house and especially at church, which she’s done for over 60 years, both in Toronto and Trinidad. I lived with my grandmother, mother and aunt until my parents got married, and singing was a morning and evening routine, particularly for Balmy. Her voice was smooth, melodic, precise; a soprano with perfect pitch.
Balmy began singing in the church in Trinidad, and by the time she turned 18, she was a soloist on one of the church’s evangelist teams. In Trinidad, she remembers singing hymns like “How Great Thou Art,” “God Alone” and “Trust in God.” She didn’t receive formal voice lessons until she joined my family’s home church, Agincourt Pentecostal Church, in Scarborough. I remember attending their large theatrical productions during Easter and Christmas and have vivid impressions of them being like musicals, where actors, vocal soloists and the choir came together to tell the story of the birth of Christ or the resurrection. Because I’d grown up around Balmy, singing in the middle school choir or accompanying singers on the piano came easily to me.
Balmy never performed outside the church, even though she was gifted. “I never considered it,” she told me. “Growing up in Trinidad we didn’t have the opportunities like you have here – music school – so, instead, I pursued my formal studies in accounting.” Balmy went on to become a tax auditor.
Balmy never performed outside the church, even though she was gifted. “I never considered it,” she told me. “Growing up in Trinidad we didn’t have the opportunities like you have here – music school – so, instead, I pursued my formal studies in accounting.” Balmy went on to become a tax auditor.
Until recently, I never realized how quiet Balmy is, partly because as a child I always saw her moving: taking care of all of the kids (including two of her own) while my grandfather, Bopie, pursued his graduate studies and worked as a teacher, both of them new to the country. Balmy’s quiet strength was something I observed as a child, but now revere. Her singing reflected this character: strong and balanced, and such an enormous part of her.
Balmy’s church doesn’t have a choir anymore. It’s been replaced by worship leaders who guide the congregation through gospel hymns, similar to the people I saw at The Church of Jesus Christ. As Balmy told me, “A choir is bigger and has different parts coming together, but now it’s more about the audience.” Balmy said that today’s church has a mix of traditional and more modern songs geared toward younger people. “I like the older hymns that I grew up singing. They are so meaningful; they come out of real situations, people’s experiences that they put to paper and music.”
During my visit to Vaughan Road, I sat in the back. I was wearing a white button-up shirt and black pants in a congregation dressed entirely in white formal wear. Almost immediately, people turned to embrace me and shake my hand, bringing back memories of when I used to go and listen to Balmy. I was asked to approach the front with two other guests. They stood me before the congregation. The music roared around me, and I was welcomed.