Back in the sixties and seventies, our town had an influx of families coming to work at the local fish plant. With only one church in the area, it created a bit of an issue for folks of other religions who wanted to worship in their own way. A good portion of the newcomers were Pentecostal from White Bay, and before long they built a small church of their own. They welcomed anyone who wanted to attend their services.

One year, Father Frank needed a choir director. He asked Ms. Irving if she’d be interested, and being Pentecostal, she said yes without hesitation. I remember her testifying once that she met Jesus at thirteen years old — so Jesus must’ve been making the rounds in White Bay too.

I’m sure a few staunch Catholics weren’t thrilled about our choir singing those lively Pentecostal hymns. But for us music lovers, it was a breath of fresh air. Instead of droning out Now Thank We All Our God, we were belting out He is the God of Yesterday, Today, and Everyday. He is mine, oh yes, He is mine. It certainly woke up the rafters.

I think the choir teacher moved away again after that. I only remember it happening one year. Maybe the Bishop got wind of it — who knows. Fifty years ago, times were different, and non‑denominational services were still in their infancy.

Not sure why I woke up with this little yarn in my head today. The big head of mine is a busy place at times.

Thanks for stopping by.