The Lost Art of the Choir Processional—And What We Learned Marching Together
By Alicea Peyton, PhD
There was a time—maybe not long ago—when the sanctuary didn't begin at the pulpit. It started at the threshold.
Whether you walked or marched in, that entrance mattered.
The choir processional was our collective heartbeat: robes crisp, steps syncopated, elbows tucked just right, with a drum cadence or a tambourine pop echoing down that worn carpeted aisle. If you were lucky, there was even a floor snare rolling beneath your feet like a holy drumline. Nobody needed choreography—we knew the rhythm from birth.
We didn't call it Collaborative Information Behavior, but that's what it was.
👣 You matched pace by watching the corner of someone's shoulder.
🎤 You caught your first note from the hum rising behind you.
👀 You read the mood of the room by the nod of the usher nearest the exit.
It was rhythm, movement, memory.
And those robes? Whew. They were legacy stitched in satin. Whether we rocked crushed velvet for Pentecost or striped cuffs on Founder’s Day, it didn’t matter if every note landed—those entrances were loud in pride, in purpose, in presence.
But things shifted.
Praise teams entered from the wings. Choir pits became stage risers. Livestreams needed countdown clocks, not warmup marches. And the tradition of the walk—the march—began to slip.
For those of us ear-trained, not classically taught, we learned to hear in motion.
We caught key changes in real time.
We tracked dynamic swells by the sway of hips or the tempo of footfalls.
We were taught by atmosphere and raised by ritual.
Now, in fixed-set performance culture, we adapt—but something’s missing. That feeling of learning through movement, of joining a CoMP by simply joining the line, is harder to find.
So maybe we teach it back.
Maybe we recreate a third-Sunday march, robe and all. Maybe we tell the new generation that the aisle wasn’t just for weddings or altar calls—it was our first classroom. Our stage. Our testimony in motion.
Because gospel isn’t just sung—it’s stepped out, together.