or,
thoughts on singing, a.k.a.
"worship"
{For
the sake of simplicity, I will be referring in this essay to the
extroverted believers as "foot-stompers" and the
introverted believers as "contemplatives". You'd think
with the entire Internet at my disposal I could have come up with
something wittier, but alas! it was not to be. Feel free to make
suggestions. And of course there is a spectrum, and of course I mean
no disrespect to any part of it.}
So that you know where I'm coming from, our church uses a worship band, but no smoke machine.
The church I
grew up in had a more humble music ministry: We had a
piano and two songleaders (one of whom occasionally, to my excited
anticipation, used the platform to air his political opinions as well
as directing us in song. In my youth, I liked the possibility of
conflict. Needless to say, life has since handed me enough of that
to cure my taste for it.)
My
husband grew up at the church we currently attend, and when we first
started going there as a couple, some fifteen years ago, we chose it
for the preaching, not the music, which even then seemed loud to us
after two and a half years teaching
English in the quiet backwaters of Japan.
Recently,
the music's gotten louder. Sunday mornings are probably no louder
than many churches, although my children occasionally complain of
headaches after the service. It's the new Saturday night service
that is known for its volume. When they were gearing up to start the
new service, our church's regular-issue speakers were deemed insufficient;
special speakers had to be procured so that the sound could reach
volumes high enough to attract the under-40 crowd. (Up until a few
days ago, I was under forty myself. I attended once, with earplugs.
It was still uncomfortably loud).
Although
I prefer classical music and cathedrals to praise bands and church
gyms, I am well aware that this is a mere preference. It's hard for
me to understand why someone would want to incur hearing loss in the
name of worshiping God, but it's okay with me that they do. I don't
try to tell them that they're less spiritual for it.
Unfortunately,
they don't always return the favor.
I've
kept my opinions about this to myself for a long time (well, not
entirely to myself - my longsuffering Farmer has had an earful from
time to time), but a few things have happened here of late to make me
decide to share them.
First
was the memorial service for a dear uncle. The church was packed,
and when it came time to sing, the very roof must have lifted to make
room for the music from all those voices. If anything could make
angels jealous, this would be it. Four part harmony, strong and
heartfelt, unmarred by instrumentation of any kind, swelled and
soared and with it all our spirits.
I
had forgotten the power of voices raised in unified glory to God, how
it soothed spirit, soul and body, sweeping clean, energizing all for love, for
action.
I was instantly ravenous for more.
Months
later, on Sunday, an impassioned Christian brother of mine
encouraged folks to come out to support the Saturday night service.
The organizers have pulled in people from two other churches, who now
work together to produce the evening. Since churches haven't always
been known for their ability to work together, I think this is great,
and I want to publicly commend them.
But
we won't be attending. The time of the service is not
family-friendly, at least not for our family, and honestly, it's just
too loud.
My
brother in Christ, anticipating this problem, offered to turn
the music down suggested that we wear earplugs if we don't
like the noise levels. He reminded us that worship isn't about the
style of the music being played.
The
music that morning was unusually loud and my head hurt, so I took
Lil' Snip and me out to the foyer to sit it out till the preaching
started. While we were out there, a friend stopped to chat and it
turned out that she, too, suffered from the sound levels Sunday
mornings. She knew someone who used to help with the sound booth,
and he'd tried to keep the volumes down, but was instructed to turn
them back up. Not very thoughtful, I mused to myself. And
hmmm, so I'm not the only one....
Still,
it might have ended there, if I hadn't happened – the very next day
- upon a friend's link to an article
about men not singing in church, written by a man,
for men, but as a woman, I can testify that the issue is not limited
to gender. This article and several others like it, sparked a
discussion on facebook which in turn begat my desire to put my
thoughts down in a single location, in order to offer fresh
perspective to the foot-stompers, consolation to the contemplatives,
and ultimately, I hope, a solution for us all.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
most frequent arguments I've heard offered by the foot-stompers in
favor of louder, more emotional music are that "It's relevant"
and "It's not about the style, it's about the heart." (For
what it's worth, I don't hear any arguments from the contemplatives
on why their style should be preferred by anyone but themselves.)
"It's
relevant" seems to mean that people like it, and we want
people to come hear about Jesus, and so we need to use what they like
in order to get them to come. This is faulty logic on several
levels. First, not all people do like it - in fact, many don't - so
you're limiting yourself to drawing people who do. You might be
surprised at how many people come in spite of the music rather
than because of the music.
Second,
and more importantly, it is God who is relevant,
and the love of his people (for each other, not just for "the
lost") is what attracts, not the music.
"It's
not about the style; it's about the heart" has just enough
truth in it to sound true. Worship is about the heart, yes.
But music - one expression of worship - definitely is
about the style. If it weren't, the foot-stompers would never have
rejected the hymns in favor of rowdier or more emotional fare. If
it were just about the heart, worshipful hearts would still be
happily singing the music of our forefathers instead of forming
separate services with extra-loud music.
Having
said that, I don't see anything inherently wrong with rowdy,
emotional, extra-loud music, or with having a separate service to
showcase it. It just isn't everyone's cup of tea. If it's yours,
enjoy it, but it doesn't make you any more or less spiritual than those
who prefer their music orchestral, or choral, or quiet, any more than
carrying a fat Bible makes you more like Jesus than carrying a
digital one.
Christianity
is about the heart, but music is most assuredly about the style.
Although
there are a surprising number of young exceptions, the hymn-singers
in the church traditionally are older folks, and seem mostly quiet
and tolerant about their preferences, allowing the young folk to have
their way with the musical part of the church service. Maybe I'm
projecting optimistically, but they seem to graciously and generously
assume that young folks can't be expected to appreciate what older
folks like ... or graciously give way to the young in order to allow
them to find their own way toward God. Maybe it hasn't always been
this way, but I haven't heard or read about contemplatives insisting
that the foot-stompers should make the effort to learn the old songs,
or that "true" worship is dignified and doesn't involve all
that emotional gesturing.
[Side
note: I want to raise my children to be respectful of the older
generation. They've lived longer than we have, and they have a lot
to teach us - tolerance being the virtue obvious to this discussion.
I would love for my children to be part of a generation that chooses to defer to the older members and their preferences
rather than pushing them into being something that they're not.]
In
Quiet
Faith,
Judson Edwards writes, “For all of the fine qualities we introverts
bring to the table, the truth remains that we are typically viewed as
people in need of a personality upgrade. Those of us who are active
in the church find that to be especially true in the community of
faith. We are consistently, though subtly and indirectly, reminded
that we need to be bolder, louder, and more certain in our faith. If
we ever really got filled with the Spirit, the church seems to
suggest, we would become extroverts.”
Most
people, whether familiar with the term "extrovert" or not,
are familiar with extroversion: it looks like the stereotypical
popular kid in high school - chatty, cheerful, surrounded by
followers, eternally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
Introversion
is, quite literally, not as familiar. Introverts enjoy a slower pace
to life, fewer and deeper friendships, greater powers of observation
and time alone to process their thoughts; a sort of inside-out
version of the extrovert, who can enjoy solitude, but prefers the
company of others.
American
culture, including church culture, is heavily biased in favor of
extroversion. Judson Edwards states "If a person happens to be
either introverted or intellectual, that person is destined to find
church an especially inhospitable place."
The
local county library system currently has two
dozen
copies of Susan Cain's ground-breaking book on introverts, Quiet,
and they are all
checked out.
In fact, there is a waiting list. (Another great book on the
subject is Introverts
in the Church
by Adam S. McHugh). If you are interested in learning more about
these quieter people with whom you fellowship, and why they act
differently than you do, these two books are a fine place to start.
Why bring up introversion and extroversion in a discussion about musical preferences in church? I think these two ways
of being play a role in how we show our love for God in public. (And
also because I'm an incurable personality analyst.)
We
are brothers and sisters in Christ, many making up a single Body.
Some express themselves extravagantly and emotionally; others express
themselves quietly and with deep thought. Some are more private;
others have never heard of inhibitions. Some are more like Peter; some are more like John - they both hung out with Jesus, and he used them both, dramatically, but differently.
We've
got to love each other and allow each other to function in the
different
ways in which God designed us.
I want to affirm my hand-clappin' foot-stompin' Hallelujah-yellin'
brother, and I want to be affirmed in my desire for classical beauty
and contemplation.
Believers
who feel particularly comfortable with exuberant expression may be a
blessing and an inspiration to those who are naturally more reserved,
but not if they neglect gentleness. Either style can be a sincere
expression of worship (and either can also be insincere). We can't
read hearts, and we
don't have to change each other into ourselves.
To
quote an Irish saying I found in Edwards' book: "To
live above with saints we love, O that will be the glory! To live
below with saints we know, well, that's another story...." No
one pretends it's easy; we also cannot pretend that its
implausibility excuses us from trying.
I
am certain that in heaven there will be all the boisterous praising
going on that a soul could want. And since Jesus himself valued
quiet time, alone with the Father, I am equally confident that there
will be quiet spaces in heaven as well, where the quiet-lovers can
contemplate the exquisite beauty of the Father and commune with him
as was never fully possible in the clamor of earth's distractions.
Yes,
David sang and danced before the Lord, but "Be still, and know
that I am God" is also in the Bible.
So
how do we live this out, these two different ways of honoring God?
"I
have never liked crowds," says Judson Edwards, and I agree. "I
seem to have trouble hearing the still, small voice of God when the
crowd numbers more than one."
I've
beaten myself up for a long time over "having the fear of man
rather than God" when all it is, mostly, is that I am acutely
observant. I see and hear everything. Solitude is where I hear God
best. Yes, now that Lil' Snip knows how to whisper, I could sit in the front pews, but I am a back-row girl at heart.
Worship
is a private thing for me, and in the front I feel painfully on
display.
With
all the different styles of music – the loud contemporary music,
the endless dreamy songs, ancient hymns, and 70's-style choruses -
it's a legitimate and practical difficulty to meld disparate genres
into a single service, so each church often ends up specializing in one
type of music.
This
might sound like a fair compromise, except that it can feel like a judgment: Our
music is the “right” one. If a church sings mostly hymns,
there can be a sense that contemporary music is carnal. And if a
church sings mostly emotional songs, they can give off vibes of
spiritual superiority because of their freedom of expression.
To
further complicate matters, many contemporary songs are created with
a soloist and a band in mind, not a group of worshipers. The timing
is irregular, the repetition is unpredictable, and the song leader
feels free to ad lib changes according to the mood of the morning.
This is difficult to participate in, and for some of us, the group
expression is a powerful part of the experience. Most hymns, besides
having the virtue of sound theological and literary value, were easy
to sing along with, and fostered a sense of belonging together.
Can
we manage it, somehow – to united bring an offering of praise to
God? Maybe it will be impossible until heaven; I don't know. Could
the contemplative sometimes be blessed by emotional display?
Absolutely, as could the foot-stompin' Christian sometimes be blessed
by classical beauty. But maybe it doesn't have to be either/or.
I'm
only a song leader in the privacy of my own living room, to my own
family, and I won't claim that organizing a service for six qualifies
me to suggest an order of service for hundreds. All the same, I have
an idea (no surprise there, my Farmer might say) that might work for
some church, somewhere:
What
if the service started with the concert-type experience (a band
onstage, drums and bass guitars, lead singer and harmony) while
people entered the sanctuary (hmmm ... maybe we should call it an
auditorium here, and save "sanctuary" for later ...). The
early arrivals could praise as loudly and
energetically as desired, while the quieter folk linger in the lobby,
far from the speakers, or sit at the back and gather their wits, or
perhaps join the front lines if they feel daring.
Then,
after the lights are raised and a welcome offered, a single
song-leader could come to lead the congregation to "lift their
glad voices in triumph on high". Maybe a piano could play, or a
guitar. We could hear each other, and be united by the sound of our
voices raised toward God.
And
maybe, after the sermon, we could have more of one, or the other.
Maybe,
it would work.
And whatever happens up front on Sunday mornings,
let's let all our lives be worship, not just the parts set to music.
