This weekend, my choir took part in a service at the local Methodist chapel. I’m used to singing in the lovely village church, one with stained glass windows, candlelit altars, and all the rich, resounding acoustics of a place that feels grand and steeped in history. We love it there. But stepping into the chapel, with its cosy carpeted floors and low ceilings, was something altogether different—a space that felt like it belonged to the past (ironic, as it is, of course, far more modern), bringing with it a flood of memories and a comforting sense of simpler, perhaps happier, childhood days.

As we sang, I couldn’t help but drift back to my childhood, to Sunday school in a small room at the back of another chapel, playing games like Silver Sword, singing hymns, and reciting the Lord’s Prayer. This reminded me of assemblies at school. I remember singing “Would You Walk by on the Other Side” and wondering, at the time, if I would be brave enough to cross that metaphorical road. I hope, just occasionally, I have been. There was a warmth in these routines—singing the same type of songs, as we were singing in chapel, standing together, feeling connected to everyone around me through shared words and familiar melodies.

The first hymn we sang was “Give Me Joy in My Heart.” I hadn’t thought of it in years and definitely hadn’t realised it was a song that embodies much of what we seek in modern acts of wellness, such as mindfulness and positive thinking. It made me reflect on how lyrics and music can influence our well-being. In a world that often feels overwhelming, singing the hymn reminded me to pause, reflect, and find joy far more effectively than the many ‘self-help’ books that have been known to adorn my bedside table.

It was strange, I won’t deny, to sing “God Save the King” as part of the service. Something I wasn’t used to and perhaps felt a little out of place, and yet … the act was oddly familiar, and I made another link to my past. I thought back to my years in Thailand when we’d stand every morning to honour King Bhumibol, raising the flag, listening to the King’s anthem, admiring him and what he stood for. These gestures of respect create a sense of belonging, even when you’re an outsider, even when you’re “the other.” You may be foreign to an ideology or belief system, yet I realised it is still possible to find comfort in small rituals that unite us across different places and times.

What I felt in that chapel was a reminder of simpler times—filled with the warmth of community, the reassurance of routines, and the echoes of a past that still shape who I am. Yet, intertwined with this warmth was a pang of longing for those days gone by. It was comforting to realise that, while I may sometimes feel like “the other,” I can still find moments of belonging in unexpected places. The joy of singing together can spark a flicker of hope that connects us all, reminding me that belonging is not solely about shared experiences but also about the connections we forge through music and memory.

I guess, ultimately, and above all, singing allows churches and chapels to cultivate a sense of community and belonging, where the possible absence of shared beliefs or experiences doesn’t diminish the feeling of connection; rather, it highlights the importance of finding common ground in unexpected places, allowing those who may not fully belong to still feel a part of something meaningful.