The Jubilee of Choirs 2025 is one of the thematic celebrations of the Holy Year dedicated to recognizing the importance of vocal music in the cultural, liturgical, and artistic history of the Church. And it makes perfect sense: the Christian musical tradition is, above all, a choral tradition.
This tradition has evolved from the austerity of Gregorian chant, which for centuries defined the way of praying by singing, to the revolution of Renaissance polyphony, where Palestrina, Victoria or Morales (my favorite of this era) took counterpoint to an expression of balance, clarity and spiritual depth without precedent.
It has also passed through the masses, passions or cantatas of Bach or the oratorios of Handel from the Baroque period, in which the word became a sonic emotion capable of moving entire communities.
And it has reached the contemporary languages of Arvo Pärt, Ola Gjeilo or Morten Lauridsen who have shown that the human voice remains a privileged instrument for expressing depth, faith and beauty.
The history of singing in the Church is, in essence, the story of how humanity has entrusted to its voices what it sometimes cannot formulate in any other way.
In my case, choral music is not just a professional field: it’s a way of understanding coexistence, listening, and building meaningful connections. I was the director of the Saint Augustine Choir (the adult choir of the Saint Augustine High School in Valladolid) for fifteen years, a period in which I discovered that no two voices are alike, but there are infinite ways to make them blend.
I am a member of the choir Alterum since 2010, where I continue to sing and feel religious music; and for many years I belonged to the University Choir of Valladolid, an experience that was decisive for me not only musically, but also personally: there I met Manuela, who is now my wife.
Years after that encounter, our first daughter, Coral, was born—a name that, for us, is a tribute to what brought us together. Later came Lira, whose name evokes one of the oldest instruments associated with accompanying the human voice since Ancient Greece. These two choices speak volumes about what music, and especially choral music, means to our family.
I continue to feed on that passion whenever I have the opportunity, also from the audience. Sometimes in more professional settings, like the Tolosa Choral Competition, and other times by enthusiastically supporting the countless vocal groups in our city and region.
I currently direct iPHARADiSi, a project that brings together more than seventy voices ranging in age from 19 to 75. It’s a space where the goal isn’t just to sing, but to feel together, to build something that no one could do alone. Every rehearsal, every concert, reminds me that a choir is a society in miniature: diverse ages, different experiences, but a shared purpose built by breathing together.
In my experience as a music teacher, I have always felt that choral singing is one of the most profoundly human acts there is. And also one of the most democratic: we all have a voice within us. You don’t have to buy it in a store, like a piano or a trumpet.
The voice is a musical instrument that resides within us, that we are born with. And perhaps that’s why singing isn’t just about making a sound; it’s about exposing oneself, opening up, letting something intimate become shared. Hence the initial embarrassment my students feel, but also the comforting feeling once they overcome that barrier, and how much they enjoy it, especially when they do it in a group.
This way of understanding collective life is deeply in dialogue with the spirituality of Saint Augustine, who knew how to see in interiority, shared searching and community as fundamental paths to growth.
The Augustinian Recollects, heirs to that tradition, have always placed at the center the importance of walking together. And a choir, in its simplest form, is exactly that: different voices that do not compete, but rather build something that transcends them.
That’s why a Jubilee of Choirs and Choral Ensembles is not just a musical celebration, but an invitation to appreciate what happens when several voices dare to walk together. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned in all these years among music stands, rehearsals, and concerts, it’s that when we sing in a choir, our hearts also learn to tune in. And that human, aesthetic, and profoundly communal experience deserves to be celebrated.
