On Sorrow & Grief

It’s important to grieve.

It’s natural to grieve.

It is good to grieve.

Many (particularly Christians, for some reason) try to coax a premature joy in the midst of sorrow–from each other as well as ourselves. I am terribly guilty of this lately. I hear myself saying to my closest friends and family that “I just want to get back to normal.” It comes, I’m sure, with the best of intentions. But sorrow does not mean the absence of peace. Grief does not mean we have refused joy. And joy is not always something we can conjure. It is something that comes in its time–in its appropriate time.

I think we mistake joy for a flame we can produce, like striking a match. And maybe in some moments, in some regards, we can.

In the midst of grief, however, I think joy comes more like the sunrise, an undeniable light and warmth and life after hours (or days…or weeks…or months…maybe even years) of the cold, dark, loneliness of night.

And how does the sun rise?

Does the sun appear instantly in the day sky, like someone flipped a switch?

No, the answer is in the question: The sun rises.

In our experience, it may occur quickly or it may occur slowly, but it always occurs from an earthbound vantage as rising. It comes upon our world bit by bit, inch by inch, until it covers all we know in the revelation of daylight.

I think–though I’ll be the first to confess to you that I don’t have extensive experience with joy as most people would express it–this is how joy comes upon us. Sorrow and grief are the dark hours of the night, and there is no sense in arguing about where the daylight is. We may have other lights to help us, to guide us, to give us hope and courage–the moon, the stars, the aurora, the galaxy (and perhaps in this we could talk about the moon being a reflection of the light for which we long; I’m sure there’s something there to discuss)–but none of that satisfies our longing for the risen sun. And even as it comes, it is a process. It is a subtle change from black to deep violet; from deep violet to an intense blue and a few less stars; a blue to a soft green, waking birds and critters from their reverie; a soft green to an amazing orange and pink; and then–yes, then–suddenly, a brilliant day sky.

And in that moment, I think we have a tendency to say one of two things (or maybe, sometimes, both). The first is, “Thank God! I survived the night!” The second is, “Beautiful!”

Isn’t it funny? The thing that we so long for, that so eludes us in our grief, that seems such a distant dream we may never attain–that, itself, is something we call beauty. Beauty comes out of mess and struggle and sorrow. Don’t ever forget.

It reminds me of one of my favorite passages in scripture (and the reason, primarily, that I dared to begin my Psalms Project).

The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders;
    where morning dawns, where evening fades,
    you call forth songs of joy. (Psalm 65:8, NIV)

Morning and evening do not flip like a switch. Morning dawns. Evening fades. And where (not when, but where) those subtle changes occur, God calls forth songs of joy. This idea is repeated in the passage God showed me more than twenty years ago.

weeping may stay for the night,
    but rejoicing comes in the morning. (Psalm 30:5, NIV)

Can we trust Him to bring us through our sorrow to that place where He fills us with irrepressible songs of joy? We can.

We must, friends. We must. For it is only in our sorrow, in our struggle, that we can recognize our deep need for His presence and joy. It is only in brokenness that we can yearn to be made whole. If we never experienced sorrow, joy would be our default; and while I grant you that this may be very nice, it would, I think, become so commonplace as to lose something in our estimation.

Maybe you view joy and sorrow differently than I–and that’s okay. I’m not here to judge you or say you’ve got it wrong. I’m here to encourage those who are grieving and who can’t yet find joy in the midst of it. If that’s you, if you’re caught in a struggle or despair that you can’t wrestle yourself out of, take heart.

Take heart.

Night does not last forever.

Joy is not a bird that flutters away each time you get close. It is a gift that is granted freely from a God who cherishes every hair on your head.

Sorrow may last for the night; joy comes in the morning. That is His promise–to you, to me, to all who love Him and are called by His name.

Do not fear your sorrows, for it is the blessing of grief that gives birth to the blessing of joy.

Pax Christe.


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On the Loss of a Dear Uncle

One week ago, I grieved after my uncle’s funeral.

Two weeks ago, my uncle died.

Three weeks ago, I held his hand and whispered my love and goodbyes to him.

It happens so quickly and in such a blur that sometimes it doesn’t even feel like reality. It’s more like an alternate reality. It’s as if you are suspended but time is still passing, and you don’t notice the disconnect until the alternate stops and you’re thrust back into your normal life and routine. It is no easy thing, to lose someone you love.

And that is as it should be, I suppose. The enormity of grief is a testament to relationship. Or perhaps more accurately, grief is a testament to love, for it is very well true that one may grieve for a person with whom she did not have a close relationship. I think, in particularly, of children who have estranged parents: There may be an unquenchable grief at losing a parent in such a case, simply because–though they loved one another–the relationship was broken and left unmended. Such a grief is likely greater than I can imagine. I do not envy it, and so I take this moment to remind myself and my friends: Do not leave wounds unmended; we only have so many opportunities to forgive.

My relationship with my uncle was one that grew out of my own brokenness. As a child, I didn’t know my mother’s family well. We didn’t see or hear much from them–and vice versa–because we were geographically removed. Her family thrived on a closeness of proximity, and that was something we lacked. I wrote to him, honestly, not desiring a relationship with him so much as I desired to know more about my grandfather who had died several years before my birth. I’m not sure I recognized it at the time, but I was greatly struggling with my identity–who I was, where I belonged–and somehow, he reached through all of those questions and touched my heart. “You belong with me,” he assured me over and over by his actions. And the amazing thing is, I believed him. I absolutely believed him.

There has not been a moment of my relationship with him when I’ve questioned his love for me. There has not been a moment when I’ve questioned whether I could call or write or show up on his doorstep and cry all over his shoulder. There has not been a moment when I’ve questioned whether he believed in me and my dreams. He brought hope and joy and laughter to a gal who was hurting and lost. These are the gifts of love. These are the gifts I will cherish and hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.

It doesn’t erase the sorrow of losing him. I suspect it never will. It does, however, allow a clear, obvious, logical, and satisfying resolution to a beautiful piece of music that has permeated my life. When we leave a relationship unmended and we lose the person, it’s like being cut off in the middle the symphony. We are left without a sense of finality, without the final chord that resolves all of the tension that has been slowly building over time.

In a couple of weeks, my family will be gathering for our Reunion. It is a time I always look forward to sharing with my dear uncle. It will be difficult for many of us, to be sure. I hope, however, that it will also be a balm to us, to embrace and remind one another that we are family and we love one another and we grieve together.

In the meantime, dear friends, remember that it’s okay to grieve.

Pax Christe.


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Compassion Writing Stationary

For those of you who sponsor kids through Compassion, here are some great letter writing templates! I am always on the lookout for new ones, but I don’t like really busy ones. I like ones that allow me to actually write a letter. I’m loving the purple with the heart!


Source: Compassion Writing Stationary


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Corporate Worship: Brown

Let’s talk about worship some more.

Yesterday, we began with Bill Blankschaen’s article, Why I’m Still Struggling to Sing in Your Church. I shared my own thoughts regarding his concerns. Today, I’d like to write briefly about Jamie Brown’s article from 2014, Are We Headed for a Crash? Reflections on the Current State of Evangelical Worship. If you haven’t read my post from yesterday, I’d encourage you to go back and begin there.

The title asks a pointed question, and the article gives a pointed answer. Brown seems to think that unless we can navigate the tumultuous waters of modern worship, we are headed for a crash. But I keep asking myself what that means. What does a crash look like? Are we talking about the mode of worship, specifically, or the church (or the Church) crashing? What is really at stake here?

Brown’s article is in common with the third point of Blankschaen’s article: Performance.

Pause for a moment. To my knowledge, these two men did not write their articles in tandem. Blankschaen wrote about this in 2012, then rewrote about it in 2016; Brown wrote about it in 2014, and from the look of his blog, has written a trove on this and relating issues. Each holds a position of ministry, both in church and online. Each comes to this dialogue with a unique perspective. The fact that they independently key in on a word as strong as “performance” says something to me. It says that this is a matter worthy of our time and consideration, even if we disagree with one another.

the theme of performancism. The worship leader as the performer. The congregation as the audience. The sanctuary as the concert hall.

This is a terrifying quote. If you’ve read Brown’s article (which I strongly urge–please do not take my word on his convictions), you know that this isn’t just a word he pulled out for his blog one day after feeling overshadowed or undermined by the newest, most impressive musician at his church. This came to him at a conference. Brown had gathered with other worship leaders and church musicians for a worship conference and–while not speaking critically of the group that held the conference, which I appreciate–he came away with a sense that the thematic change in modern worship towards performance was going to be detrimental to the Church if left unchecked.

I do want to acknowledge something totally aside from the issue, and yet it really brings more weight to Brown’s perspective. In discussing Blankschaen’s article yesterday, I tried to impress upon you my feeling that musical style, genre, instrumentation–these things were not the focal point, they were not the matter of objection. I mention it today because Brown brings it to light, and it illustrates two key ideas. In discussing the conference, Brown talks about the variety of music and style and presentation.

It’s good for worship leaders to experience this kind of wide-exposure from time to time

This is such an important point. First, because every musician is strengthened and challenged by experiencing how others do music. Second, because every church body is made up of individuals who will respond to different musical approaches, and as Brown points out later, it is important to draw as many people into corporate worship as possible.

The reason I want you to think about this, though, is because of how Brown perceived each of the differing styles and traditions as having the performance theme in common. That is astounding…and astoundingly frightful. What this means is that a worship leader cannot simply change the song list, change the ensemble, change the volume, the key, or the tempo. He cannot exchange hymns for choruses, or choruses for hymns. The matter is not particularly one of substance, it seems, but of where we focus.

How can I say that, when yesterday I seemed to agree with Blankschaen that much of our worship has been dumbed down? Simple. A dumbed down lyric deals more with the immediate, in my experience–how I’m feeling, how I’m longing, how I’m seeking; an intellectual lyric tends to be more doctrinally about the Godhead. Don’t mistake me–there is an importance and a place for worshipful expression of emotion. It is right that we should allow God to effect us emotionally! But consider this: No emotion is common to every person in a gathered body. No matter how common our experience, we feel uniquely. Truths about who God is, on the other hand, are things that we share. When we speak them and sing them corporately, the body gathered is strengthened and empowered to continue the work of Christ. Again, that is not to say that emotion does not belong in worship–it certainly does. But our professions (which is what we are doing when we sing together–we are professing in song) should rather be formed by the truths we agree upon than by the emotions of the person who penned a lyric.

My words may be a strong stance, and many worship leaders may disagree with me–I accept that and welcome the dialogue. But I suspect that if we pushed the matter, Brown would agree, at least in part. As he closes the article, he gives us a paragraph of ways to keep our focus where it should be–on Christ–and to hopefully curtail some of this performance that’s swallowing our Body. One of his suggestions is:

Don’t sing songs with bad lyrics or weak theology.

If performancism can be thwarted–even in part–by strong theology in our lyrics, then we can deduce a connection between songs devoid of theology (ie: dumbed down) and the focus turning away from God. I know, I know. Again, this is not a popular idea, and many will disagree with me here; but if performancism is as big a problem as Brown expresses, ought we not to look seriously at what is turning the eyes of the Body away from our Savior and onto a musician?

In writing fiction, you often hear that you cannot be afraid to “kill your darlings.” The idea is that you may really like a character, or a chapter, or a scene, or a sentence–but if it needs to go to advance the story, then you cut it. Or you edit it. Or you rewrite the whole thing, eliminating it. You deal with it. If you leave it where it doesn’t belong, it undermines the strength of the story.

It’s the same in worship. We cannot be afraid to kill our darlings. I remember a song I used to sing at my AoG church almost twenty years ago now. It was a hymn, actually–but we had fun with it. I absolutely loved it. And I was heartbroken about fifteen years ago when I realized the doctrine was something to which I could absolutely not attest! There was this awkward phase where I didn’t want to give it up, even though I knew I couldn’t sing it with a clear conscience.

We have to be willing to let go of anything that detracts or distracts in worship. We have to be willing to let go of anything that encourages performancism.

if this current generation of worship leaders doesn’t change this theme, then corporate worship in evangelicalism really is headed for a major crash.

I stumble back to my opening remarks. This scares me, because I don’t know what it means. I doubt, quite honestly, that Brown could tell us what it means, either. It is not easy to see where this ends, or what the lasting effects of it will be. What we can see, thankfully, is that it doesn’t need to end this way. We have a choice.

Brown offers several practical suggestions on how to just refocus our worship. If you are in a position of leadership in your church body–and particularly if you are a worship leader–I would encourage you to prayer over his list. Maybe all of the ideas aren’t appropriate or applicable to your church. Maybe there is one thing you can do to ensure the focus of your worship is squarely fixed on Jesus. Maybe there is something you can do that isn’t on his list. Maybe the first step is being willing to acknowledge that we are sinners, all, who–left to our own desires–will ten times out of ten choose the glory of man over the glory of God. Maybe it’s time to “kill our darlings” in modern worship.

 You’re reading the heart-cry of a normal guy who’s worried about what worship leaders are doing to themselves and their congregations. People are tuning out and giving up and just watching.

Let’s ask ourselves two questions.

What are worship leaders doing to themselves?

What are worship leaders doing to their congregations?

The second question is, I think, the easier of the two. As expressed by both Brown and Blankschaen, congregants are tuning out. When a worship becomes a performance, not only are individuals uninvolved, they are leaving. I’ve heard so many people say, “if you don’t like the way your church does worship, leave! Find another church!” There is enormous danger in this mindset. I cannot tell you how many people I’ve known who’ve left a church because they didn’t like the worship and have never found their way to another body. And honestly, our first reaction to not liking something should never be to walk away from it–especially within the Body of Christ.

If you are reading this and you attend a church where the performance theme is trending, I would urge you to begin praying. Pray, pray, pray. Ask God for wisdom and for courage and for a tender love for your congregation. Talk with your pastor, humbly expressing your concerns and giving specific examples of what is shifting the focus of worship from God to performance (ie: the light show is distracting to the point that I don’t remember what words we were singing). Ask your pastor how you can be a part of a solution that doesn’t trample or crush anyone’s spirit. Acknowledge the hard work and service of your worship leader/team. But in all of this, seek a solution that is best for your congregation–don’t default to “leaving.” Leaving a church should almost always be a last resort. Because let’s be real with one another–if it isn’t worship, it’s the Bible study groups; if it isn’t the Bible study groups, it’s the lack of welcome to newcomers; if it isn’t the lack of welcome to newcomers, it’s the Sunday School program; if it’s not the Sunday School program, it’s the community service; if it’s not the community service, it’s…ad nauseum. Don’t allow yourself to believe that any other church is without obstacles. Some may be more serious than others, and it’s important to be connected to a strong and healthy congregation, but no church is perfect. Not one.

The question of what worship leaders are doing to themselves is more difficult. I have been out of worship leading for awhile now, and I honestly have no desire to return to it–and I don’t think the performance issue was quite as bad when I left as it has been in the last few years. Even at that point, it was tremendous burnout just to lead. Add the performance factor, and you have the potential to really crumble the spirit of an individual. There’s also an immense danger in becoming “too big”–too big for correction, too big for repentance, too big for weeping, too big to allow anyone else to lead worship, too big to admit that it’s become a performance. This is so important, because if it destroys one person in the Body, it will–in the end–destroy everyone. And if we, as a Body, are willing to allow one person to be destroyed for the sake of a good show…then shame on us. We deserve the resultant crash.

Do we really want to go down this road?

That’s the question, isn’t it?

Are we willing to be changed? Are we willing to admit that maybe we don’t always know the best way to do worship? Are we willing to stop all the fuss for two seconds and just ask God to shift our focus and work to keep it locked there? Are we willing to let go of our worship darlings? Are we willing to put the needs of the Body before the ego of a few?

Or is the performance so good that it’s worth whatever may come?

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Corporate Worship: Blankschaen

Let’s talk about worship.

Worship is an issue so close to my heart–as a Believer, as a musician, as a struggling theologian, as a cultural observer. There’s so much overlap, yet so much disparity between these parts of my existence. But worship isn’t respective of our vying identities. It doesn’t require that we put on our “theology” hat only when we study Scripture, our “praxis” mittens only when we go to church, our “music” socks only when we learn a new song. In fact, worship almost demands that we don’t. Somehow, all of these pieces must come together and settle into congruence. If we’re honest about it, probably most of the struggles facing the modern Church on the matter of worship are birthed out of a lack of congruence on these matters–or a deference to one over another. And if you know anything about me, you know that I am a firm believer in that place where two opposing ideas overlap–the “middle ground,” if you will. A.W. Tozer deals with this far better than I, so I’ll encourage you to read The Knowledge of the Holy and move on.

This past week, two friends shared articles with me about the struggle of worship in the modern Church (and just so we’re all on the same track, I typically follow that little c means a specific church, like my church–Redeemer Lutheran; big C refers to the collective body of Believers, irrespective of the building where they gather on Sundays; also, that “modern” probably more accurately means “western,” as I’m pretty sure these matters aren’t quite so intense in some third world countries). The first article comes from FaithWalkers’ Bill Blankschaen, entitled Why I’m Still Struggling to Sing in Your Church–which is actually a followup to an article he’d written in 2012; the second article comes from fellow wordpress blogger Jamie Brown, who asks the question, Are We Headed for a Crash? Reflections on the Current State of Evangelical Worship. I want to address both of these articles, and will do so one at a time.  My hope is that we can move from knee-jerk reactions into something more like problem-solving, because–let’s face it–God didn’t have a Plan B for the world we live in. The Church is Christ’s Body on earth. If we’re getting it wrong, the results could be detrimental, both to the Body and to the world around us (and in some ways, I might argue, it already has been).

Let’s begin today with Bill Blankschaen’s article. Tomorrow, we’ll tackle Jamie Brown’s words. Then, dear friends, I do sincerely hope we can problem-solve together.

In full disclosure, I had read Blankschaen’s initial worship article in 2012. I struggled with the dialogue that followed in the comments, because there seemed to be a lot of remarks akin to “you don’t know how difficult it is to lead worship,” and “don’t blame the worship leader if you don’t like the musical style–they have to appeal to a wide variety of tastes.” Let’s just nip this right here: Worship has never been a matter of personal taste, nor has it even primarily been a matter of music. Let’s be clear: The words worship and music are not interchangeable, and we do the Body a great disservice by treating them as such. Therein, I believe, are the first two errors of modern worship. By not rightly understanding the true place and nature of worship (specifically, for this conversation, corporate worship), we risk the humbling and resultant edification that occurs in worship. We mistake our place, and we mistake God’s place. That, friends, is dangerous; that is why we need to dialogue about worship and music, and not about musical preferences.

Now, Blankschaen’s article (2016) strikes a chord with me for two reasons. First, it is apparent to me (and thus, I struggle to understand the comments from those who tell him he simply doesn’t like the style of music, etc) that–aside from a remark about a guitar solo–Blankschaen doesn’t make any claims about musicality or style or preference. This immediately tells us that we cannot answer his concerns by saying “find a church where you like the music.” There’s something more going on. Second, and perhaps more geeky interesting to me, is that Blankschaen says the same thing he said three-and-a-half years ago in the first article. His objections are the same. He’s still waiting for an answer, for address. How many Christians have left a church–not merely because of worship issues, but because of doctrine, because of character, because of disagreements with others that left them outcast, because of wounds that the church refused to acknowledge–and have never returned for lack of address? It’s time we stopped avoiding difficult conversations, folks. It’s time to be honest with one another about the struggles facing our churches. So let’s be honest. Let’s talk about the three things Blankschaen points to as the reason he’s struggling to sing corporately.

Blankschaen’s first complaint is that we have dumbed down worship. This is not an attack on choruses in favor of hymns. Worship does not require four part harmony, staff music, pipe organ, and Bach. Again, worship doesn’t primarily even require music. Read what Blankschaen says about this. You’ll see that he’s not even talking about the I-IV-V chord monotony; he is specifically addressing the lack of doctrinal and Biblical substance:

What most churches do is dumb down the lyrics to keep them accessible to everyone, thereby stripping the church of its deep doctrinal roots and preventing the people from understanding biblical truths they need to navigate the cultural storms ahead.

Gloria Gaither (one of my real-life heroes) once spoke about the need for memorization. I don’t have the quote offhand, but if anyone needs/wants it, I’ll gladly find it. In summary, she explains that we don’t expect children to understand the deep truths of scripture and hymns and literature–that’s not why we teach children great truths. We teach them great truths so that when they are in a moment of crisis, they have some hope to draw upon, things that are instilled in their hearts. For the past year or so, I’ve been working on a really ridiculous study of the Psalms (oh, I can’t wait to share it with you!), and one of the recurring forms I’ve noted is that psalmists (particularly David) don’t just cry out to God. There is this amazing moment where faith is professed–and then the psalmist cries out, and God hears. It works something like “The LORD is my strength, my shelter”–a somewhat general profession of what God is to the psalmist; and then a practical and specific cry “LORD, shelter me from the onslaught of my enemies.”

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not promoting a “name it, claim it” sort of theology or anything of the sort. What I’m suggesting is that when we find ourselves in trouble, our crying out to God must come from an intellectual and spiritual belief–some truth that we’ve already hidden in our heart, in our mind. That is certainly not to say that God cannot or does not answer those who cry out to Him in a sudden need, or a sudden realization of who He is. But the occurrence in the Psalms is one of professing, reminding the self of truth–and then crying out in hope and need, trusting it to be true. It’s the congruence and dissonance of believing a truth with the inner man and then also believing a truth in practice. Those are the moments–when the world is falling apart and we need to remember what our spirit accepts as true so we aren’t tossed about by emotions and immediate circumstances–when we draw upon the songs, the verses, and the doctrines of our faith. What I read in Blankschaen’s words are a concern that we have stripped our worship (our songs, in this case) to something so devoid of intellect that it won’t be of use to us when struggle finds us. And struggle will find us. It always does. I don’t want to disparage any songwriter by quoting any song here–because, as a songwriter, I know how difficult (and how easy) it can be to write something that works, something that is usable, something that is catchy enough to leave people wanting to sing it again (and I don’t mean that as ridicule).

But let’s be honest: This is happening in our churches. We are dumbed down for a lack of loving our own history. In the course of my lifetime, the words “tradition” and “ritual” and “religion” have become dirty words of judgment; they are our generation’s version of calling someone a Pharisee or a Sadducee. And yes–there is a danger in the mindless repetition, in the trusting of the intellect and the ritual over the spirit of God. But no–that does not negate the importance of ritual.

I am reminded of Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth and his words about corporate worship. He is speaking specifically about tongues and prophecy, and he says,

For if I pray in a tongue, my spirit prays but my mind is unfruitful. 15 What am I to do? I will pray with my spirit, but I will pray with my mind also; I will sing praise with my spirit, but I will sing with my mind also. (1 Corinthians 14:14-15, ESV)

The point I always come to with this passage is (again–congruence) one of accepting both sides of a truth: Our faith is a matter both of the spirit and of the intellect. No man can live (and die) for a “faith” he doesn’t intellectually accept as true. But that is where we are. We have focused so heavily on one that we’ve neglected the other. The point isn’t that we must be theologians or trained in exegesis or masters of Christian apologetics–nothing like that. The point, quite simply, is that our spirit and our mind must be in agreement about truth, or one will eventually undermine the other. The danger in relying solely upon our mind is that we never move from professing the truth to trusting that truth in our circumstances, as the psalmist did. And conversely, the danger in relying upon our spirit without our mind is that when we desperately need a truth to trust in, we won’t be able to draw upon one–because we won’t have one. The modern Church is a battleground of souls who’ve fallen apart time and time again because they’ve been taught to rely solely upon their spirit.

And what happens when your spirit is broken?

What happens when you are consumed with grief or despair?

What happens when there is no relief from your physical or emotional pain?

Do we have a truth to remind ourselves of? Do we have words of hope and life to cry out, or do we drown in an ocean of Christian music jargon?

It’s time to employ both our minds and our spirits in worship again–in teaching, in breaking bread, in song, in giving.

Blankschaen’s second struggle with singing in church is repetition. This is important, simply for irony’s sake. Bill says,

There is a place for repetition…once you go beyond that place, it just gets annoying and becomes a barrier to worship.

The irony is what I shared a few moments ago: Religion and ritual and tradition are frowned upon by much of this worship movement. The “vain repetition” that many traditional churches are accused of (and frankly, looked down upon for) is no different than the “vain repetition” of the newest three-chord song–yet one is disdained and the other is lauded as “of the Spirit.” I submit to you, friends, that this is an amazing hypocrisy within the Church.

As Blankschaen aptly points out, there is a place for repetition. There is a purpose for repetition. And I honestly don’t believe that there is anything wrong with private repetition in worship, as long as it, too, is done in the right place and purpose. There are times when I will be alone in worship, and I will play the same chord on my guitar over and over. And I’ll gladly share sometime why I do that. But I also know that there’s a particular danger in musical repetition in the setting of corporate worship. Music, if you didn’t know, is incredibly tied to emotion. Heaven forbid we mistake the emotional pull of the music for a moving of God’s Spirit. Heaven forbid we use the emotional pull of music to simulate a moving of God’s Spirit!

The purpose, I believe, of repetition (whether in music or speech, etc) is memorization. We repeat things we want to remember. We lead our children to repeat things we want to teach them. If our children are learning to repeat songs that (as pointed out previously) lack intellectual truth, then exactly what are we wanting them to learn? And what exactly will they draw on when they are older and face crises of faith?

Finally, Blankschaen’s third objection is that we’ve exchanged singing for performing. I will say that I don’t believe (and I sincerely hope I’m right) that this isn’t as big of an issue as it seems. What I mean is, there are definitely churches where this has happened; but I think of my own church, where the musicians during the contemporary service are set up in front of the congregation, and it has never once felt to me like they were performing for us or that we expected a performance of them. Frankly, our worship has never been about the talents of the men and women who play their instruments; it has never been about the voice of those who lead us in singing. It has always been about joining together in common faith and common love for Christ. So I suspect there are a lot of churches in the middle of discussions like that who need to not be lumped into either camp.

Here is what Bill says:

Performing, not singing…instead of singing together with one voice.

There is such a muddy ground between singing and performing. I daresay, many singers don’t realize they’re doing it. As a musician, it is important to me that music in the church is done well. That in itself is an act of worship (we give God our best, humbly and obediently–whether it is music, theology, science, literature, painting fences, digging ditches).

I want to urge you back to 1 Corinthians 14. At least a half dozen times in that chapter, Paul mentions “building up” the church. If there’s a theme to the chapter, to me, this is it. That’s why we gather. That’s why we worship. That’s the point of having a body. We come together as one and edify the Body. The gathering of Christians for worship is not the time or the place for an exhibition of skill or talent. Church is not a concert. We don’t go there to hear the songs we love. We don’t go there to hear the sermons that tell us how right and good we are. We don’t go there to edify our own self, our own desires, our own interests. We are there for the mutual edification of the Body of Christ.

If the mutual edification of the Body isn’t the purpose of corporate worship, friends, what is? Maybe that, in particular, is more to the point of the problem. Maybe instead of talking about the symptoms (ie: repetition, performance, and dumbing down of lyrics), we need to ask a new and pointed question:

What is the purpose of corporate worship?

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