This piece was originally written as journal response to a prompt about “God Be with You Till We Meet Again” arranged by Larry Mayfield.
When I first began my journey at Augustana, one of my main reasons I arrived was simply to sing. I had only been singing for about two years before coming here, but I almost immediately found comfort in the ability to create something powerful with people. There was something grounding about being a piece of a larger puzzle, especially in a place that focused heavily on growth and excellence. Faith, on the other hand, was something unfamiliar to me. To put it simply, I did not arrive as a firm believer or a non-believer, but somewhere in between. It was something that sparked my interest, but I wasn’t sure what it meant to me.
One of the first moments that began a spark in my curiosity happened at a worship service in the Chapel of Reconciliation early into my freshman year. We shared “Steal Away,” arranged by Patrick Dupré Quigley. I remember feeling an energy while singing in that space which made me realize that what we were doing was not just performing music, but contributing to something sacred. All at once I was beginning to understand that the work in rehearsal and the refining of small details was not only for excellence and clarity, but for connection and faith. It had the ability to shine something in the eyes of others and unexpectedly, in myself.
From this moment on, I began to see singing in worship spaces with the choir as a kind of responsibility to sing not only beautifully, but with intention. It felt like a sacred duty. I was not just showing up for myself, but for the generosity of others. To those longing for a connection with Him. Even though it didn’t make sense to me yet, I found the power of helping other feel the “shimmer” of God into someone’s life.
That understanding was challenged in a way I wasn’t expecting just before my junior year. The passing of my father pivoted my life. Grief made familiar and safe spaces distant and unfamiliar, and it raised questions about faith that I had never encountered before. If God is real, why do I feel cold and alone? I began to question whether the words I was singing held any truth.
It was through “God Be With You Till We Meet Again” the Augustana choir’s benediction at the end of every “sermon in song.” The piece has been a tradition at the end of programs as a way to send the congregation out. But when it was graciously sung at my father’s funeral it took on a new meaning. The line of “till we meet at Jesus’ feet” no longer felt distant. It became something I believed and clung onto when I needed comfort.
The music became more than just black ink on a page. It became a way for me to talk to god — it became a form of prayer. A prayer of hope. Singing and hearing the words allowed me a safe space for my grief and faith to exist together. It reminded me that faith is not always about certainty, but about continuing to reach for something greater than ourselves, even when we are not sure.
The Tiårasang project has deepened my understanding of this in a unique way. The idea of recording music year after year over the course of a decade, creating a body of work that connects singers across time, has sparked me to think differently about legacy. In many ways, it reflects the same hope found in “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.” That what we create does not simply end, but continues in ways that are not visible to the eye. Each recording over the decade will become part of something larger than a single choir or a single moment. It becomes a testimony that this is not the end, that this is something that will carry forward.
Through this unique project and the honor of being a part of the Augustana Choir, I have come to see that music is not only something that we perform, but leave behind for others. We can share faith as something that is living, breathing, and surrounding us all around the world. It connects us to the singers in the blue robes before us and to those who will come after us. In that way, it mirrors the Lutheran tradition and the Augustana Choir’s duty of “sermon in song.” The music does not just speak to the congregation, it brings them in to question and proclaim.
My experience through both the choir and especially the Tiårasang project, has shaped my faith journey into something less about having answers and more about being present in the life we live. I now see that music can hold complexity—grief, hope, doubt, and belief, sometimes all at once. In doing so, it has helped me find my place within this sacred tradition, not as someone who has figured it out, but as someone who is still listening, still learning, and still singing.
Alexander is from Sioux Falls, SD and is majoring in elementary education with a minor in music.
