Overheads

This is not a concession.

I want to remain on record in opposition to the use of projected congregational song lyrics without giving access to a printed melody. In the culture I live in, the ability to read a  melody is not that unusual, and if you want the greatest number of people to engage with a song as quickly as possible, you will take the extra step, the extra time, the extra expense if necessary, to provide that aid.

Don't limit your worshiping community by your own limitations. And don't worry about seeming cool. The really cool kids are doing this. (See Redeemer Presbyterian New York, and City Church San Francisco, for example.)

But if you are going to limit your singing community to reading projected lyrics, then please for the love of God('s people), try to:

* Get the punctuation right.
John Mark McMillan's "How He Loves" was new to me earlier today. I didn't realize I was singing a cool song.
            He doesn't dig poetry.
            He's so unhip that
            When you say Dylan, he thinks you're talking about Dylan Thomas.
            Whoever he was.
            The man ain't got no culture.   (Paul Simon, A Simple Desultory Philippic, 1965)
 So I didn't know if the words were supposed to be
He is jealous for me
Love's like a hurricane - I am a tree
[as they appeared on the screen]
OR
He is jealous for me
Loves like a hurricane - I am a tree
[as I now see, online, is what Mr. McMillan wrote, 2009]


Hey you, putting the power-point together for the chapel, the service, the small group . . . Yeah, you! That apostrophe you added matters; it changes the meaning. And, after all, you do want people to sing with the mind as well as with the spirit, don't you? Because, you know, it is a biblical precept of worship. The same thing goes for commas and periods, by the way. Even the properly placed exclamation point. Are you theologically aware enough to employ the semi-colon?

(And for the nonce I'll resist the impulse to digress on whether the song was actually written to be sung by a random group of worshipers and not - you know - the David Crowder Band.)

* Divide the lines of text so that they scan with the musical phrases.
Seriously. If you aren't going to print the melody for us, and unless really I am the only person in the room who has never heard what we're singing, could you give just a little hint at where that musical phrase is going? You might begin by assuming a line/phrase is marked by some kind of punctuation. [see previous asterisk] Please tell me you're not just typing into the ppt slide and letting the auto returns do your work for you. Here I forget which forgettable song (and slide) from earlier today failed on this count, in a big way. For illustration purposes, I am going to pick a song I really like, just to demonstrate. Try to picture these words on a screen:
My soul finds rest in God alone, my 
rock and my salvation; a fortress strong 
against my foes, and I shall not be 
shaken.
This excellent setting of Psalm 62 is helped along by some fine punctuation (which, I now see, if you're checking lyrics online, you probably won't see. Umm . . . don't take your accuracy cues from random lyric sites, OK?) If you don't know this song - well, learn it! But if you don't, you won't know at a first quick read, the kind of read offered to singing worshipers, where it's headed. But when you see it lined out properly on a screen:

My soul finds rest in God alone, 
my rock and my salvation; 
a fortress strong against my foes, 
and I shall not be shaken. (Aaron Keys, Stuart Townend, 2006)
Then, my projecting-lyrics friend, you will help the people whom you are supposed to be leading in worship. You will help them understand the meaning of this solid psalm setting; and you will help them figure out where the music is heading. And when the next verse comes around - and is also properly parsed on the screen - they will sing it better, more strongly, and with more understanding.

And I won't have to write about this again. OK? Thanks for this little chat.

Generations

My grandparents probably never stopped to think about their denomination's business, nor questioned the nature and leadership of their church's gathered worship. (Just guessing here. I never knew my grandparents.)

My parents questioned their denomination, but so far as I know did not take issue with the nature and leadership of worship. (They're both gone now, so I can't back that up with a personal story.) They were committed to the church they were born into, so that even after it let them down, it took a life crisis for them to even think about changing churches.

My generation wanted change in the church, fought for change in the church, got power and made change in the church. This was, by and large, probably not a good thing. For the most part, as it came to worship, we mostly wanted it to be about "us."

My children's generation grew up in churches that, in fear of losing a generation, made sure church life was "all about them." These are the emerging leaders in the church.

Musing on this now because of a sermon I heard on Sunday. My Karen and I were visiting a famous "downtown" church in a big city. (I am currently not in a ministry position, and we are taking the fall weeks to get around to churches we've never been able to get to.) The service was rich, of a classic Reformed nature, good music, nicely led. Then the sermon. Ah, the sermon. Here the young pastor had a few choices to make. He could do a straight-up exposition of Ruth, chapter 1 (the Old Testament reading and the announced sermon text). He could do a riff on All Saints Sunday (a stated theme for the entire day at this church). He could tell personal stories about his own growing up in the church (which, you know, probably isn't what the average person in the pew might have looked for). What he did, was try to do all three.

Now, I'm no preacher, but I've been around good preaching all my adult life. And I don't think I'm being critical when I suggest that trying to do all 3 wasn't a great idea. It failed on at least 3 levels. (If you get my drift.) But that's not what I am writing about.

No, what struck Karen and me was that here was a young man (I mean, a really young man, and not just by comparison to us) who presumed to instruct a primarily older congregation (and I mean, a really older congregation, even by comparison to us) with a tale about theologically out-growing his home church.  And it struck us as we drove home: here is a case (I'll not say a representative sample) of someone who grew up in a church where from the beginning everything was designed to say, "this is all about you."

It begins in the nursery, where naturally really everything is all about the babies. It continues through grade school, with age segregated worship "experiences" that keep children and parents apart on Sunday mornings. It hits its stride in student ministries, which often also means continued age segregation for the worship hour. (I'm happy to be able to say that the church where I am a member but no longer on staff, does not have age-separate worship services.) Students go off to college and often continue in worship settings that are explicitly age-specific. Young. Everything about the church experience, for so many Christian youth in the U.S., is designed specifically for them and requires no effort to interact with their grandparents' or their parents' generation . . . or even their younger siblings.

Read more about this phenomenon, here. I'm just winging it. It isn't like this generation-centric approach to church life sprang up out of nowhere. 

Increasingly, young ministry personnel are taking up leadership posts of all kinds in churches of all kinds. Is it any surprise that their churches will conform to their needs, experience and taste? My generation accomplished this by force, and mostly made a mess of it. Will the next generation continue this through the exercise of entitlement?

Commonly prayed

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, all semester, the professor begins my first class of the day in the same way. Oh, there are some preliminaries, the occasional wry observation. But when he is really ready, he begins:

Oh Lord, open our lips, and our mouths shall proclaim your praise. 
Create in us clean hearts, O God, and renew a right spirit within us;
Cast us not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from us.
Restore to us the joy of your salvation, and sustain us with your bountiful  spirit. 
Glory to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever.
[here may be included a brief timely topical prayer - this week, for example, for those suffering on the East Coast]
O Lord, you have brought us in safety to this new day. Preserve us with your mighty power, that we may not fall into sin, nor be overcome by adversity. And in all we do, direct us to the fulfilling of your purpose; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The first day, I recognized this - and some of you do, too - as the opening of morning prayer from the Book of Common Prayer used in the Anglican communion. I appreciated the gesture that first morning, and wondered where Dr. Kalantzis's prayers would take us in the weeks to come.

But, every class session, this is how we begin. I couldn't be more satisfied, and I look forward to it each time. We're now about 10 weeks into the semester, and I simply don't tire of it. But my heart leapt when, last week, the good Dr. K. prayed before a campus lecture. I should not have been surprised to hear:
O gracious Light, pure brightness of the everliving Father in heaven;
O Jesus Christ, holy and blessed!
Now as we come to the setting of the sun, and our eyes behold the vesper light,
we sing your praises, O God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. 
You are worthy at all times to be praised by happy voices, 
O Son of God, O giver of life, and to be glorified through all the worlds. 
This is the ancient Greek hymn Phos hilaron, and it is the opening of evening prayer, also from Common Prayer.

And I sat in that lecture hall, with these prayers having begun and ended my day, and said to myself, "Yes. This is the spirit of worship that I want to foster and serve." My intimacy with the Book of Common Prayer helps me "fill in the service" in my head - the psalms, the multiple readings of scripture, the wide-ranging prayers for the world and the person sitting next to you. With or without music, but simply if gloriously with music. All this was evoked for me, and as I already said, my heart leapt.

My own tradition gets impatient with "sameness." We don't like to use other peoples' prayers. We throw babies out with bath-water. I guess what I long for is the chance to demonstrate that a beautiful historic liturgy can have an "evangelical warmth." I believe this is happening in a number of settings around North America. I could really get on board with that.

More important concerns

I have just finished (by the skin of my teeth?) a course in Historical Theology, on the Early Church. That would be, for purposes of the Historical sequence, the first four Christian centuries . . . just slipping over into the fifth century. Medieval course begins on Thursday.

The reading list for this course was fantastic, and the theological ground covered in eight weeks was really stimulating. Who was Jesus? What is the Trinity? How did the church grow by engaging with heterodox ideas? What is to be done with confessing Christians who make some concession - for political reasons or for personal safely - to pagan/political religion? What in the world were all those "councils" about, anyway?

Sitting here today, near the end of fall break, and realizing that when the Church had really important things to think about, the stuff our day tends to get hung up seem kind of silly. (Like, for example, the theme of this blog: church music!) In fact, many of those same issues are still current today, still challenges within and without and against the church.

But that won't keep me from being concerned about the issues that are closest to my heart and vocation. In fact, some of these issues are also traceable to theological problems in the early church. Onward!

Where I belong

Comments I made at my farewell service, College Church, 7 October 2012:

Somewhere in a burst of glory, sound becomes a song.

I’m bound to tell the story; that’s where I belong.

So wrote Paul Simon, and while it’s a song about something else, the first time I heard it, I thought of the privilege I have of telling the story through song.

Some of you know that the sound-track of my life is driven by the music of Paul Simon. Whether it’s “feelin’ groovy” or “I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore,” or more recently:

Hey, hey, off to school we go;

You might learn something,

Yeah, you never know

My poor kids have had to hear this their whole lives. Some of you have had to decipher the arcane quotation. And I should probably apologize to the choir for all too often enjoying my own private little pop music jokes.

But when you understand that I consider Paul Simon the best popular songwriter of my generation (and therefore, of course, of any successive generation :~); and if you understand why, you’ll get a glimpse into what I value about words and music.

When I see you smiling                                             
When I hear you singing                                           

Lavender and roses                                                   
Every ending a beginning                                          
The way you turn                                                      
And catch me with your eye -                                  
That's where I belong

It’s that sound of singing, the look in the eyes of worshipers, that has given me such joy on this platform. Whether my face is turned to the choir, that little church of ardent and joyful worshipers, or to the congregation, less prepared perhaps but no less engaged in praise, that’s where I belong.

I’m not entirely sure why I’m quoting pop songs tonight. Maybe to surprise you, maybe to disarm you, maybe to guard my emotions. If nothing else, it ought to tell you that for me music in the church has never been about “what I like.”

But probably, finally, it’s just because a hymn [“Bless be the tie that binds” anyone?] or a Bible verse [“I thank my God upon every remembrance of you”] could be heard as just a cliché. And there’s nothing clichéd about my gratitude: to have served in this place, with you, rehearsing the story of God in song. That’s where I belong, and I am thankful that for so long, belonging there has allowed me to be here.  

I’ve heard that there is some more surprising music in the reception across the street. Enjoy it with me, will you? 

(It was a jazz trio - and, man, were they good!)

Outed Parodist

There might be a more normal approach to take for my first Te decet hymnus post, post-College Church. I'll get around to that later. But this one is prompted by my being "outed" as a parodist, in a comment made by my senior pastor. To be fair, Josh was highlighting things he appreciated about me, and one exhibit was this little parody I wrote to honor a colleague's change of theological conviction.

"Jay" (we'll call him Jay for purposes of this story, because that is his name) was a diligent defender of credo-baptism (baptism should only take place upon a personal confession of faith). This on a staff and in a church where we also practice paedo-baptism (infant baptism). Jay's good-natured but ardent challenges to the paedo-baptists among us are legendary.

So it was a bit of a surprise when that conviction became a matter for personal study, and a huge surprise when he switched his view entirely. Well, there really was - nor is there yet - a better response than the following:

Baby Baptizer

dedicated to Pastor Jay Thomas

with apologies to Lennon and McCartney

sung to the tune of “Paperback Writer”

Baby baptizer …

Dear Rev’rend Doctor, I have read your book,

It took me years to get, but I’m fin’lly hooked.

Based on a covenant it seems so clear,

Now I’m in your camp, and I want to be a baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer.

I would be like Calvin, Cranmer, Keller, too,

Wesley, Edwards, Packer – just  to name a few.

I can fin’lly get into that Cov’nant style,

I have changed around and I want to be a baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer  . . .

It’s not the doctrine that I learned in school,

But my heroes do it, so I guess it’s cool.

Yeah, I used to diss it, but I’ve changed my mind;

You may be surprised, but I want to be a baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer.

I am really digging sacramental rites,

But it took some time, it wasn’t overnight.

I am still reforming, paedo-baptist here,

This is my big break, and I want to be a baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer.

Baby baptizer . . .

Baby baptizer – baby baptizer

Baby baptizer – baby baptizer

Chuck King © 2010 All rights reserved.

Integral refrains

After last week's screed about refrains lacking integrity, I want to end this brief series by celebrating hymns with refrains that work. Note that this is not a celebration of old hymns. Just this past Sunday at College Church we ended the service with a very nicely crafted hymn, copyright 2008, Jordan Kauflin's "All I Have Is Christ." (This hymn warrants a post of its own, so I'll just leave it at this shout out, for now.) Three verses that hit consistently hit all the marks are followed by a brief contrasting chorus: "Hallelujah! all I have is Christ. Hallelujah! Jesus is my life." And many of the hymns written by Stuart Townend, and by the Gettys, also are in this very serviceable structure.

Back in the day, when I took my hymnology course as an undergraduate, official (officious?) teaching held that true hymns do not have refrains. If it looks like a hymn, but has a chorus (= refrain) then it was classified as a gospel hymn. (If it was all experience and no theology, it was called a gospel song. This was a put-down.) I think we are beyond those category limitations now when talking about hymns.

Just flipping casually through my reliable Hymns for the Living Church, I note the following "classic hymns" with refrains:

• Rejoice, Ye Pure in Heart
• Great Is Thy Faithfulness (it's hard to consign this to the "gospel hymn" dustbin)
• For the Beauty of the Earth (though integrated into the end of each stanza, it's hard not to think that "Lord of all, to thee we raise this our hymn of grateful praise" as anything but a refrain. It is the quintessential integral refrain. Ditto with All Creatures of our God and King.)
• We can niggle over the DIADEM setting of All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name
• Jesus! What a Friend for Sinners

And I have only got to Hymn 100. Which is O Come, O Come, Emmanuel - with its ancient and beloved refrain, "Rejoice! rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!" And what of O Come All Ye Faithful. But maybe there we are shading the distinction between a Christmas hymn and a Christmas carol. In Adeste fidelis, it seems, we have a hymn in the form of a carol.

That brief list does not include what really are perhaps best identified as "gospel hymns." Much less "gospel songs."  In an earlier post I complained about hymns that were forced into that mold, which was no better treatment than the newer clothes some standard hymns are forced to wear. This is just a brief acknowledgement that the use of a refrain in the right setting, an integral refrain, is a time-honored structure for hymns, ancient and modern. And that aptness is best seen as a refrain continues - or punctuates - the sense of each verse, without diverting attention from the sense of each verse and the overall theme of the verses. (My classic bad example is the "At the cross" with the Watts hymn, Alas, and Did My Savior Die? Compare the previously noted "Rejoice, ye pure in heart.")

A hymn with the right refrain never sounds quite right without the refrain; it never seems too long with the refrain; it is only complete with the refrain. That's a lot of marks to hit, and maybe that's why so many of our abiding hymns were authored by women and men who . . . refrained from using one.