The music we
hear and sing in church.
This music
often reflects the highest ideals of our faith.
From the church's repertoire of music emerge some of the greatest achievements of art and beauty in history.
In these lofty realms of glorious music Handel joyfully sings the songs of
Issac Watts, while Graham Kendrick quietly plays the ancient plainsong
chant on his guitar.
In the church's
songs of worship the people of God embrace the highest ideals of what the
Christ-centered life is to be on earth, as it is in heaven.
But, in a
moment of wild abandoned, I found myself thinking, what if we changed the rules
one Sunday.
What if, instead of proclaiming what we are supposed to think and desire, what if we sang things closer to our muddled reality. Think about it. Intead of singing Matt Redman's:
What if, instead of proclaiming what we are supposed to think and desire, what if we sang things closer to our muddled reality. Think about it. Intead of singing Matt Redman's:
Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your name
What we'd actually sing in glorious self honesty would be
more like:
I prayed unto Your name
That you'd keep me from
suffering
I'll put more in the offering
If it's all the same.
So, let's go
step back from the lofty greatness of the great songs of faith we actually sing
and explore a different possibility.
What if people sang what they were really thinking and feeling? Well, that may depend on what your church is
like. For a long established church in a
small town, maybe the congregation would look at the pastor and sing something like:
To the choirmaster:
To the tune: This
Land is Your Land
This is not your church!
Cause this is our church.
Cause we were born here
Our parents died here
And we'll still be here
When you are not here
Cause this church that you work in
Belongs to me.
Or, if your church has recently gone through the trauma of a
major building program, may the first song you'd hear on Sunday morning would
be:
From the son of
Asaph:
To the tune: The Church's One Foundation
The church's new foundations
Are made of brick and stone
And though we against it
We had to vote alone
So, now they'll all be sorry!
When we leave their little flock.
And when go and join
The Baptists down the block.
Or, maybe if the
pastor had his own thoughts suddenly translated into a song, the church might
find itself hearing something something like:
To the tune: Father, We Adore You
People I implore you
Hoping not to bore you
As I teach you
Elders, I ignore you
Dozing off in your pew
I can't wake you
Ladies, I fear you
Same as all your husbands do
We all know its true
But, I think
most of all, we'd find ourselves coming to the end of every message from God's
Word, standing, and listening as the church sang that great song of invitation:
According to the tune: Just As I Am
Just as I am
That's how I'll stay
Unrepentant, every day
And though you preach
to me each week
I just come here
to sleep.
To sleep.
But, alas, it
is not to be. But, maybe it's for the
best. Reality TV certainly hasn't done
much to improve civility and kindness in our society. That's the idea when someone writes a song and then insists,
when people point out the lyrics are hateful or destructive, "Don't blame
me. I'm just reflecting reality." Think about it. That's like
rowing out to a drowning man and just holding up a mirror. No, it isn't helping the guy. But, you could point out, it is reflecting reality.
The music we
sing, the poetry we read, the ideals we aspire to our in highest moments of
noble thought - these certainly are not what we are. At least not all the time. But, we do continue to reach. Many years ago, Joe Darion wrote lyrics to go
along with a melody by Mitch Leigh. It
was for a musical adaptation of Cervantes' Don Quixote. It describes the value of striving, of
reaching, even of singing what we aspire to be, instead of just what we are:
This is my quest, to
follow that star ...
No matter how
hopeless, no matter how far ...
To fight for the
right, without question or pause ...
To be willing to
march into Hell, for a Heavenly cause ...
And the world will be better for this:
That one man, scorned and covered with scars,
Still strove, with his last ounce of courage,
To reach ... the unreachable star ...
In worship, we
come together to sing about faith that may be deeper then our own, lived out in
love that may be more selfless than our own, driven by a devotion that may be
more passionate than our own, in the the pursuit of life that may be fuller than
our own. Yet, these will not be the
boisterous claims of hypocrites or the empty charades of false lovers that you
will hear in our worship this coming Lord's Day. No, these are the songs of children who have
not yet become the grown-ups they will one day become.
Come, Lord Jesus.
Come, Lord Jesus.
It is interesting that no one has commented on this yet, either here or on Facebook. Could it be that your humor hits too close to home?
ReplyDeleteMy first reaction was a smile, then introspection.
May we sing what we mean; may we mean what we sing. Otherwise our testimony is a lie!