Behind the music

As sometimes happens, Arron scooped me. For several weeks I’ve been thinking about worship, and—practically speaking—how this might translate into choosing a church here in Nashville. And earlier this week Arron posted some great thoughts on the importance of meaningful worship, regardless of “style” or song choice.

The fact that we’re both thinking about these issues actually isn’t surprising; much of the evangelical world is wrestling with the “now what” question as it pertains to corporate worship. After the progression from hymns to Maranatha to Integrity to Hillsongs to Vineyard to Passion, we seem to be coming full circle with a new generation eager to embrace hymns again.

In fact, many not only want the hymns, they want the liturgy, the labyrinths, the stations of the cross, and the recited prayers. They want mysticism and candles. Most of all, I think they want a sense that this is bigger than the charismatic pastor up front and the coffee bar and the rock-climbing wall.

In our quest to be relevant, in our insistence on warehouse churches and electric guitars, we’ve lost a sense of awe and reverence in our services. We’ve lost the ancient rhythm of the church year which the Episcopalians beautifully describe as a dance. In some cases, we’ve lost doctrinal meat and rich truths that the hymns and responsive readings provide and that “Trading My Sorrows” does not.

This came into sharper focus as I began looking for a church here. I loved my church in California and in many ways it avoided the stereotypes—one of the reasons I made it my church in California. But I spend a lot of time in churches and I found myself dreading the process of visiting a series of them here, experiencing the same services with four of CCLI’s top 25 songs and the same messages with videos from Worship House. I dreaded the conversational prayers peppered with “Lord, just….” or “Father, we ask for your help and, Father, that you’d be with us, Father, and….”

I know I sound so critical. But my criticism is that “contemporary” and “relevant” have become as predictable as the “traditional” services they replaced. What’s needed in the churches I visit is not a great drummer or cutting-edge graphics (although I happen to be a big fan of both). What’s needed is time to hear large portions of scripture and let it seep down into your heart. What’s needed is time to pray and to reflect on the words being said and to make them our own prayers. What’s needed is time to confess.

Sooner or later I’ll find a church here. Its services may include the entire set list from Chris Tomlin’s new album or its most contemporary feature may be padding on the pews. I don’t care, as long as I can glimpse I AM in the midst of it.