A friend of mine in seminary recently asked for my thoughts on "modern worship music." He was wondering about the theological richness (or poverty) of the lyrics, and also whether any of the songs that are "hot" right now would endure. I thought it would be fun to post my response... here it is...
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Hey man…. Sorry it’s been so long, but you know how it is (or at least how the excuses go). I’ll try to be as thorough and concise as possible. Whether you remember it or not, with me there are seldom “simple” questions: there are usually telling implications for our paradigms, and these questions are no different. Here are some thoughts:
• Unfortunately, I think there are very few songs with “theological weight”. Even more unfortunately, I don’t think that this is the fault of modern songwriters; it’s the fault of the church. I believe that the church (with a few notable exceptions) has lost its ability to talk about its theology in any sort of understandable—much less compelling—way. Particularly on Sundays, we have downplayed (or eliminated) discussions of the Resurrection, or the Prophetic tradition that we are a part of, in favor of three-point sermons on how to be a better husband (along with an appeal to personal salvation thrown in).
By and large our songwriters, then, are just “going with the flow,” and tossing out appropriately inspirational songs for the culture they serve. There are glimpses of hope: “In Christ Alone” (Stewart Townend) and the re-working of hymns (such as “Jesus Paid It All) have endured for a few years now; they are both “creedal” statements about the life of Christ.
• Relatedly, insofar as the modern church has incarnated itself into USAmerican culture, I believe we’ll have to accept the fact that our music will be increasingly ephemeral and transient. Why? Because our culture is. To approach it from a musical perspective first, how much music is being created now that is enduring and lasting? People still listen to Led Zeppelin; ACDC just released a huge record (and it can’t be just aging rockers—like me—that are buying these records!); in contrast, who is making records today that will be listened to in five years, much less 30 or 40? John Mayer? Mute Math? Wilco? Coldplay? U2? The list is perilously short.
For better or worse, the USAmerican church has partnered up with pop-culture. “Hey,” we say, “Listen to Hillsong—those tunes ROCK!” True, but if you understand Coldplay and a few other modern musical reference points, you’ll understand that Hillsong is no different than Vineyard or delirious was, 8 – 10 years ago.
Mostly, the white evangelical church rides rock and roll all the way to redemption, but because of this, the cycle of relevancy is going to continue to get shorter. Most (if not all?) of our culture is one of “planned obsolescence.” The church must continue naviate the tension between incarnation and eternity, particularly in its musical expression. I’m not sure there is a tangible answer, except to acknowledge where the difficulties lie, or continue to find opportunities to reject pop culture where it can. (This is a much deeper topic than I can describe here, obviously, but I hope you can see where I’m going).
• As I see it, it’s easy to find songs about God in creation, about the “supremacy of God” (Piper/passion theology). It’s easy to find stories about anything that’s popular in Christendom today. What’s missing are compelling, creative songs about, say, seasons of the church’s calendar:
o In Advent, I still rely on hymns that are re-worked
o There are few, if any, songs for lent, and even less for Good Friday
• To do something succinct for you, here’s a list of white rock songs that have endured in my catalog for more than, say, a year or two:
o “Jesus Paid It All” (Passion)
o “Revolutionary Love” (Crowder; one of the few songs out there about the revolutionary nature of the communal, out-reaching love we are called to)
o “Wholly Yours” (Crowder; a great song about discipleship, and the concept of redemptive time: whatever we bring to God can be changed and redeemed, whatever we hold back oftentimes can not; also “Everything Glorious”)
o “Forever” (Tomlin; for all my beef with Tomlin, this song based on Psalm 136 is one of the best representations of God’s faithfulness)
o “You Never Let Go” (Redman; one of the few white worship songs that talks about being on your last nerve)
o “Invitacion Fountain” (Vineyard; this song has consistently hit that “I’m broken and I need healing” vibe)
• Here’s a list of songs that I feel have theological weight, but I have no idea how long they’ll be around (not sure they’re even popular now)
o “God Will Lift Up Your Head” (re-worked by Jars of Clay, from Redemption Songs)
o “Nothing But the Blood” (re-worked by Jars, from Redemption Songs)
• Obviously, there is still a severe lack of songs in the white church about justice, “hanging on” and waiting for God to save you, God’s love for the poor (see Isaiah 58)
• I wish this list could be more exhaustive (or encouraging?), but I think the white evangelical (“emergent”?) church is in an awkward time. Many congregations are happy to sing the 5 songs that they need to be encouraged and feel good about themselves and their faith—and there may not be anything wrong with that—but there are other people, and other occasions, that are highlighting and exposing the shallow nature of the pop/rock medium.
Why are there so few “inspiring” songs about the things that seem to be central to the prophets, to Jesus, to Paul: mission, justice, living in unity and humility with each other. It’s tempting to blame the song-writers, but maybe the problem is more subtle and more difficult than that. So much of scripture, as I read it, contains a call to “smallness” and death to ourselves. Can our “inspiring”, “Viva la Vida” takeoffs communicate that smallness?
As I read scripture currently, Paul and Christ seem to reject “the triumphant statement” in favor of service and foot-washing. Should the white evangelical church seek to find new worship methods that push people towards that, rather than more and more triumphant, “exciting” songs.
Maybe the worship medium is, in itself, creating a challenge for the church. Questions like this one could, if the church allows it, drive the church towards new and vital forms of worship, but only if they allow it.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
What's Happened to Wonder?
I can tell you...
Wonder has been mistaken for glam, for ever-increasing budgets and light shows.
The wonder of the smallness of life has been subsumed with the 50 inch plasmas, hyper-reality, and multi-tasking screen culture.
The wonder of peace and silence; the pregnant God-reality of a moment has been washed away by overly triumphant, ticketed celebrations and a parade of charades.
... I think that's what happened to wonder.
We killed it.
Wonder has been mistaken for glam, for ever-increasing budgets and light shows.
The wonder of the smallness of life has been subsumed with the 50 inch plasmas, hyper-reality, and multi-tasking screen culture.
The wonder of peace and silence; the pregnant God-reality of a moment has been washed away by overly triumphant, ticketed celebrations and a parade of charades.
... I think that's what happened to wonder.
We killed it.
The Declining State of the Sermon
Having been doing this “church thing” for years now, this “Christian thing”, I’ve heard hundreds, maybe thousands of “messages”, “sermons”, and maybe even a couple homilies. Some of them have made me cry (in a good way); some of them have really opened my eyes and even made me a better person.
However, lately I’ve been thinking that I’ve been duped. You see, I enjoy reading a lot, and I enjoy engaging in the substance and mystery of my faith. The bottom line is that I’m disappointed at our (the church’s) preachers’ abilities to preach the central, basic tenets of our faith.
• What is the role of the cross in our lives?
• What is “life everlasting”?
• What does the common life—our life in community—look like?
To my reading, my understanding, these are central, non-negotiables of Christianity. In addition, we have the mystery of our basic sacraments: baptism and communion. These are treated as little drive-by celebrations and ceremonies, where as I read scripture, these are deeply rooted traditions that are meant to be savored and understood in a slow, leisurely manner. Baptism is more than immersion (or a sprinkle); it’s a passing through the water (an image common and evocative in the ancient world) from death to life. Communion is more than a wafer, it’s a socio-economic status bashing, leveling, meal-in-common with the diverse faces of the church.
Our teachers have become extremely adept at illuminating the moral and (apparently) ethical dilemmas in the modern world. The problem is, they’ve divorced these moral and ethical challenges from the theological framework of scripture. We get the rules from mom and dad; but none of the explanations that children get as they mature.
Admittedly, I’m a big-picture person: I like to know what forest I’m in, not merely focusing on the trees. So I love understanding the theological world I’m living in. But you know, I don’t think that this is simply a matter of my preferences. The fact of the matter is, this stuff is scriptural, and it makes up the fabric of our lives. In the evangelical church, it appears as if we’ve treated this as the realm of university theologians only, preferring a sort of “salt-of-the-earth”, homey vibe to our preaching. At worst, this can actually be a sort of anti-intellectual bias; at best, a blissful ignorance of what really are the central foundations of Christianity.
I’m afraid that we are continuing to drift—not just from the vibrant, kingdom-focused teachings of our spiritual ancestors—but into a biblically illiterate, intellectually lax faith. It doesn’t have to be boring; understanding that the point of everlasting life is not heaven but the earth remade and our bodies resurrected—have a congregation wrap their minds around that and observe the implications.
However, lately I’ve been thinking that I’ve been duped. You see, I enjoy reading a lot, and I enjoy engaging in the substance and mystery of my faith. The bottom line is that I’m disappointed at our (the church’s) preachers’ abilities to preach the central, basic tenets of our faith.
• What is the role of the cross in our lives?
• What is “life everlasting”?
• What does the common life—our life in community—look like?
To my reading, my understanding, these are central, non-negotiables of Christianity. In addition, we have the mystery of our basic sacraments: baptism and communion. These are treated as little drive-by celebrations and ceremonies, where as I read scripture, these are deeply rooted traditions that are meant to be savored and understood in a slow, leisurely manner. Baptism is more than immersion (or a sprinkle); it’s a passing through the water (an image common and evocative in the ancient world) from death to life. Communion is more than a wafer, it’s a socio-economic status bashing, leveling, meal-in-common with the diverse faces of the church.
Our teachers have become extremely adept at illuminating the moral and (apparently) ethical dilemmas in the modern world. The problem is, they’ve divorced these moral and ethical challenges from the theological framework of scripture. We get the rules from mom and dad; but none of the explanations that children get as they mature.
Admittedly, I’m a big-picture person: I like to know what forest I’m in, not merely focusing on the trees. So I love understanding the theological world I’m living in. But you know, I don’t think that this is simply a matter of my preferences. The fact of the matter is, this stuff is scriptural, and it makes up the fabric of our lives. In the evangelical church, it appears as if we’ve treated this as the realm of university theologians only, preferring a sort of “salt-of-the-earth”, homey vibe to our preaching. At worst, this can actually be a sort of anti-intellectual bias; at best, a blissful ignorance of what really are the central foundations of Christianity.
I’m afraid that we are continuing to drift—not just from the vibrant, kingdom-focused teachings of our spiritual ancestors—but into a biblically illiterate, intellectually lax faith. It doesn’t have to be boring; understanding that the point of everlasting life is not heaven but the earth remade and our bodies resurrected—have a congregation wrap their minds around that and observe the implications.
The Sacredness of Work
I watched a pastor preach today on a DVD. He was talking to a bunch of church leaders, and he started his talk by declaring, “I love my church!” Everybody applauded. He described this passion he felt for his congregation, and then he lightly challenged everyone by saying, “Do you love your church? Are you doing this out of passion and love, or is this just a job to you.” He went on, making his point that leading a church was too important, too critical to be “just a job.”
At which point he lost me.
You see, I’m a rare pastor who happens to think that there’s nothing wrong with your church job being “just a job.”
As long as we look at a “job” in the way that God would want us too.
So many of us hunger for the all-consuming passion that we see in our heroes: people who’s lives are subsumed by the all-encompassing goal, by the “one thing” (remember Curly from City Slickers?). We want to charge out of bed (if we even went to bed at all) and down our six shots of espresso while on our way to the office at 4:45am, to stay until 7pm. We want to burn red-hot with vision and focus, motivating and cajoling our congregations to greater and greater spiritual heights and intensity.
But what if there’s a dark side to our passion and motivation?
Put another way, what if it’s okay—even sacred—to simply “work”?
I think that sometimes our spiritual fire and passion—our determination to have “not just a job”—sends an unintended message to the people we pastor.
It can say, “my work matters more than yours.”
It can say, “Don’t worry, I’ll muster up the spiritual fire for you.”
It can say, “The spiritual life is built on spirts of passion and intensity, not steadiness and obedience.”
It can say, “It’s a sprint, not a marathon.”
Am I arguing against passion, vision and focus in general? No. I read Paul’s passion and intensity. But what would’ve happened to the integrity of Paul’s message had he said, “Oh crap I have to sew these damned tents again.”
Our “it can’t be just a job” rhetoric can send an unintended message of pity to all those scrambling minions who don’t have a choice about their work.
Meanwhile, scripture says that it’s a good thing to be able to care for your family; Paul writes that you whatever you do should do as if working for the Lord. Scripture tells stories of offerings given to the poor (it’s hard to give offerings if you don’t have a job).
Pastors, it’s no crime to just “go to work”. Accounts do it every day; so do plumbers. Are there labors any less sacred than ours? Their mission fields are probably more fruitful than ours, given that most of us (at this point) spend more time with fellow church-workers and Christians.
Do everyone a favor and just go to work once in a while.
At which point he lost me.
You see, I’m a rare pastor who happens to think that there’s nothing wrong with your church job being “just a job.”
As long as we look at a “job” in the way that God would want us too.
So many of us hunger for the all-consuming passion that we see in our heroes: people who’s lives are subsumed by the all-encompassing goal, by the “one thing” (remember Curly from City Slickers?). We want to charge out of bed (if we even went to bed at all) and down our six shots of espresso while on our way to the office at 4:45am, to stay until 7pm. We want to burn red-hot with vision and focus, motivating and cajoling our congregations to greater and greater spiritual heights and intensity.
But what if there’s a dark side to our passion and motivation?
Put another way, what if it’s okay—even sacred—to simply “work”?
I think that sometimes our spiritual fire and passion—our determination to have “not just a job”—sends an unintended message to the people we pastor.
It can say, “my work matters more than yours.”
It can say, “Don’t worry, I’ll muster up the spiritual fire for you.”
It can say, “The spiritual life is built on spirts of passion and intensity, not steadiness and obedience.”
It can say, “It’s a sprint, not a marathon.”
Am I arguing against passion, vision and focus in general? No. I read Paul’s passion and intensity. But what would’ve happened to the integrity of Paul’s message had he said, “Oh crap I have to sew these damned tents again.”
Our “it can’t be just a job” rhetoric can send an unintended message of pity to all those scrambling minions who don’t have a choice about their work.
Meanwhile, scripture says that it’s a good thing to be able to care for your family; Paul writes that you whatever you do should do as if working for the Lord. Scripture tells stories of offerings given to the poor (it’s hard to give offerings if you don’t have a job).
Pastors, it’s no crime to just “go to work”. Accounts do it every day; so do plumbers. Are there labors any less sacred than ours? Their mission fields are probably more fruitful than ours, given that most of us (at this point) spend more time with fellow church-workers and Christians.
Do everyone a favor and just go to work once in a while.
Friday, December 5, 2008
No Eggs, Let’s Make Chickens
“Only 4 percent of Southern Baptist churches in America will plant a daughter church. Extrapolated across the denominations, that means that 96 percent of conventional churches in America will never give birth.” (Alan Hirsch, The Forgotten Ways)
Not only have I been a part of 2 separate church plants, most of my other vocational “churchy” experience has been in young churches (less than 5 years old). From my point of view, it’s easy to see why our efforts at church planting (and thus our efforts to embody the missio Dei) apparently have failed: just look at the efforts, preoccupations, and resource allocations of the typical “new” church.
Of the young churches I’ve been a part of, the governing efforts have always been oriented around things like:
• getting the Sunday experience (attractional ministry, but that’s another story) up and running, making it compelling (in the best situations) or exciting (in the most worrisome situations)
• getting the children’s ministry stablilized
• finding some leaders to do bible studies
These always seemed to be our most burning concerns, and they dominated staff meetings, our one-on-one efforts, and ultimately our resources (“Hey, we have to have a decent P.A. system, right?”) We would hit the ground running as hard as we could in order to quickly get these ministries into an acceptable, stable place, so that when people visited our church, they would be impressed, comfortable, and therefore likely to return. We put all of these early “eggs” into this basket, because numbers needed to be sustainable and bills needed to be paid.
Though most of the time we were successful (in a short time period), what rubbish.
What if, instead, we had simply developed and maintained a focus on reproducing and sending out leaders to start a new church? I don’t know about these 96 percent of churches that Hirsch references, but I can honestly say that, even though planting churches was definitely in our minds, we quickly sacrificed that focus in lieu of developing our attractional ministry base. What if church planters poured an overwhelming amount of energy, time, and resources to finding, challenging, and sending out apostolic leaders?
Of course, the next question that begs to be asked is, “How well-equipped are church leaders to find, challenge, develop and send out other leaders?”
Just a thought.
Not only have I been a part of 2 separate church plants, most of my other vocational “churchy” experience has been in young churches (less than 5 years old). From my point of view, it’s easy to see why our efforts at church planting (and thus our efforts to embody the missio Dei) apparently have failed: just look at the efforts, preoccupations, and resource allocations of the typical “new” church.
Of the young churches I’ve been a part of, the governing efforts have always been oriented around things like:
• getting the Sunday experience (attractional ministry, but that’s another story) up and running, making it compelling (in the best situations) or exciting (in the most worrisome situations)
• getting the children’s ministry stablilized
• finding some leaders to do bible studies
These always seemed to be our most burning concerns, and they dominated staff meetings, our one-on-one efforts, and ultimately our resources (“Hey, we have to have a decent P.A. system, right?”) We would hit the ground running as hard as we could in order to quickly get these ministries into an acceptable, stable place, so that when people visited our church, they would be impressed, comfortable, and therefore likely to return. We put all of these early “eggs” into this basket, because numbers needed to be sustainable and bills needed to be paid.
Though most of the time we were successful (in a short time period), what rubbish.
What if, instead, we had simply developed and maintained a focus on reproducing and sending out leaders to start a new church? I don’t know about these 96 percent of churches that Hirsch references, but I can honestly say that, even though planting churches was definitely in our minds, we quickly sacrificed that focus in lieu of developing our attractional ministry base. What if church planters poured an overwhelming amount of energy, time, and resources to finding, challenging, and sending out apostolic leaders?
Of course, the next question that begs to be asked is, “How well-equipped are church leaders to find, challenge, develop and send out other leaders?”
Just a thought.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Satellite… of Love? Pt. 1
Years ago, the evangelical church began to get enamored with something called satellite churches. As best as I can describe it, a satellite church is one where at least a portion of the Sunday experience—most of the time the sermon or message—is broadcast to a geographically distinct (or remote) group of people. The strategy seemed to provide easy solutions for churches who were experiencing growth “pinches”: they could provide their Sunday experience to a new group of people without having to worry about constructing a larger worship space. These remote locations generally have their own musicians and staff; sometimes the music and “programming” is determined by the central church campus, other times the satellites are left free to determine their own elements (while retaining the video message).
Many mega-churches (and some not so “mega”) continue to heartily engage this strategy; they are excited about the ability to expand with a minimum (relatively speaking) of infrastructure. And for the most part, congregations have testified to the success of the strategy: an ever-increasing number of faces are tuning in faithfully, eyes fixed on the screen in the same way that they are fixed on their 48-inch plasma at home.
However, I am concerned with this movement, and have been ever since it was pitched to me as a staff member at a mega church back in the late 90s. Something about instantly struck me as wrong and worrisome, expeditious and incautious.
While I think that there are numerous ecclesiastical concerns regarding the satellite movement, for now I’d like to consider just one. By its actions, the satellite movement subscribes to the “franchise” mentality of growth, meaning that the “central product” or brand is protected by the “owner”. In this way, quality and uniformity are ensured, and the “consumer” is protected from any kind of unpleasant experience.
What this extends is evangelicalism’s unhealthy deification of excellence. Even before the blossoming of the satellite campus movement, excellence was on its way to becoming a god of large churches everywhere. Scripture wasn’t quite shoe-horned, but it was definitely used shakily to justify the elimination of “mistakes” on a Sunday. The sheen and shine of the gathered people was polished and perfected until any kind of misstep (some might call it a sign of humanity) was minimized and (ideally) eliminated, in the name of (a) being excellent for Jesus and (b) providing a compelling experience for the seeker.
I have no problem with being good at what you do. I have no problem with guitar players being great, or with teachers being great. However, the line begins to blur quickly, and churches can find themselves embracing a potentially unhealthy level of “triumphalism”, where their excellence becomes confused with their spiritual health and effectiveness.
When the satellite movement began, the larger, more resource-rich congregations seemingly found an effective way to “export” their excellence to new, unreached (really?) populations. Their top teacher could now be a thousand different places at once, accompanied by a music and programming staff that could be coached and cajoled along, minimizing the “mistakes” that most young churches are bound to make.
At its end, I wonder what kind of gospel this embraces. Seems to me that they would take Paul’s words in the 1 Corinthians and change them to say that the God had “chosen to kick-ass, the really, really GOOD to shame the wise.” Seems to me that maybe they would change Jesus’ lament that he had no place to lay his head to his proclamation that he is now in HD.
Try as we may, we Christians can’t escape the fact that the road to salvation is marked with blood and suffering. The triumphant church “franchise” is an effort to minimize suffering, mistakes and even humanity, whereas I believe our loving Father in heaven would call us to embrace suffering, laugh about our missteps and embrace our frailty. I firmly believe it is err, but we are all so enamored with the numbers, the screens, the popularity of the new medium that we seem to be unable to ask the questions about where this is all headed.
I embrace the idea that life (and theology) is full of grey areas, but I am somewhat proud to say, however, that I see little grey in this. The new corporations who franchise Jesus would do so much better to release the control that they are desperately trying to retain, and allow these satellites to become “bodies” (after all, it’s the biblical metaphor), and allow these “campuses” to learn, stumble, and grow just like the “mother ships” once did. Ironic, isn’t it?
Many mega-churches (and some not so “mega”) continue to heartily engage this strategy; they are excited about the ability to expand with a minimum (relatively speaking) of infrastructure. And for the most part, congregations have testified to the success of the strategy: an ever-increasing number of faces are tuning in faithfully, eyes fixed on the screen in the same way that they are fixed on their 48-inch plasma at home.
However, I am concerned with this movement, and have been ever since it was pitched to me as a staff member at a mega church back in the late 90s. Something about instantly struck me as wrong and worrisome, expeditious and incautious.
While I think that there are numerous ecclesiastical concerns regarding the satellite movement, for now I’d like to consider just one. By its actions, the satellite movement subscribes to the “franchise” mentality of growth, meaning that the “central product” or brand is protected by the “owner”. In this way, quality and uniformity are ensured, and the “consumer” is protected from any kind of unpleasant experience.
What this extends is evangelicalism’s unhealthy deification of excellence. Even before the blossoming of the satellite campus movement, excellence was on its way to becoming a god of large churches everywhere. Scripture wasn’t quite shoe-horned, but it was definitely used shakily to justify the elimination of “mistakes” on a Sunday. The sheen and shine of the gathered people was polished and perfected until any kind of misstep (some might call it a sign of humanity) was minimized and (ideally) eliminated, in the name of (a) being excellent for Jesus and (b) providing a compelling experience for the seeker.
I have no problem with being good at what you do. I have no problem with guitar players being great, or with teachers being great. However, the line begins to blur quickly, and churches can find themselves embracing a potentially unhealthy level of “triumphalism”, where their excellence becomes confused with their spiritual health and effectiveness.
When the satellite movement began, the larger, more resource-rich congregations seemingly found an effective way to “export” their excellence to new, unreached (really?) populations. Their top teacher could now be a thousand different places at once, accompanied by a music and programming staff that could be coached and cajoled along, minimizing the “mistakes” that most young churches are bound to make.
At its end, I wonder what kind of gospel this embraces. Seems to me that they would take Paul’s words in the 1 Corinthians and change them to say that the God had “chosen to kick-ass, the really, really GOOD to shame the wise.” Seems to me that maybe they would change Jesus’ lament that he had no place to lay his head to his proclamation that he is now in HD.
Try as we may, we Christians can’t escape the fact that the road to salvation is marked with blood and suffering. The triumphant church “franchise” is an effort to minimize suffering, mistakes and even humanity, whereas I believe our loving Father in heaven would call us to embrace suffering, laugh about our missteps and embrace our frailty. I firmly believe it is err, but we are all so enamored with the numbers, the screens, the popularity of the new medium that we seem to be unable to ask the questions about where this is all headed.
I embrace the idea that life (and theology) is full of grey areas, but I am somewhat proud to say, however, that I see little grey in this. The new corporations who franchise Jesus would do so much better to release the control that they are desperately trying to retain, and allow these satellites to become “bodies” (after all, it’s the biblical metaphor), and allow these “campuses” to learn, stumble, and grow just like the “mother ships” once did. Ironic, isn’t it?
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