I’m seated beside a young Lutheran pastor here on retreat. His voice rings out above the others as we sing a hymn and I try to follow the notes of an unfamiliar melody. No matter since I can barely read them anymore. I ponder the hymns bound in this blue volume, the single line of notes. No four-part harmony dotting lines of the staff. Is its absence for simplicity? Uniformity? I always find the harmony anyway; the melody always dances a step or two out of my range. And it’s fitting for me, in this place. But I try to keep it quiet, soft, uncertain of the reception of such diversity.