The Problem With “Worship”

I'm hoping to start blogging more about worship and church music in the near future. Meanwhile, enjoy this from a while back.

A while back on Internet Monk's website, there was a fascinating conversation on worship–you could do worse than to check it out–prefaced by this zinger:

(The theological term for this, if I recall from my ecclesio-doxological studies, is EPIC PWN3d!!)

Let's overthink this a bit, though. As a church musician, I think about worship more or less all the time, so we may as well have our own discussion. The point of the cartoon, in a nutshell, is that there's a problem with the way we (church people in general) do "worship." That much I certainly agree with. For every awe-inspiring moment of genuine worship, it seems that there are many more moments of church politics, superficial songs, complaining and criticism, rote and routine, tradition vs. innovation, "worship wars," and…. uh…. this. 

But what is the problem, exactly? The cartoon could be read a couple of ways here. The most obvious reading, and probably the answer you'd get if you polled most church folks or even most worship ministers, is that the problem is in the song the congregation is singing. They've been given the wrong sort of song to sing–one that has the apparently silly phrase "We just want to worship You"–and, as a result, they've been kept from really worshiping God. (Actually, I think whether or not that phrase is genuinely silly depends on its context, but that would probably take us too far afield.)

Which leads, logically enough, to the question, "So what is the right sort of song for worship?" 

You'd better get our your flame-retardant suit, riot gear, combat boots, and gas masks if you're going to ask that, though–because of course the only possible correct answer is…

Songs that are theologically rich. No, songs that are simple and accessible. Played by a high-energy rock band. No, the band's too loud, play them on an organ. No, the organ's too old fashioned, get a Southern Gospel quartet. No, that's too lame, get a classical string quartet. Get a choir and do motets. In Latin. Nobody understands Latin. Salsa? Too hot. We can't hear who's singing over the band. We can't follow the old-fashioned liturgy. The song was too high. (High church or high pitch?) The soloist was showing off. That style is too secular. That style is out of touch. The chorus is too simplistic. The hymns are too archaic. That's too 1987! That's too new, nobody knows it! That's too ____ and it would be better if ___! That's too———!

(Are they done? Can I come out again?)

Of course, we've all seen these discussions if we've ever had anything at all to do with worship. It can become a regular Holy Flame War, with people on any and all sides going at each other with all the ferocity that religious zeal can muster (which is a lot). And yet, all sides are really making the same basic statement, with the same simple, fundamental, foolish error: The quality of our worship depends solely on the songs we sing. The quality of our worship depends on whether we have enough songs that have properties A, B, and C, preferably with musical features D and E, and lack quality F (which is a bad one). The right songs plus the right music equals the right kind of worship.

No, it doesn't.

And I'm not just talking about musical styles (or "worship style" :gag:) either. That one's been discussed to death, and these days most everyone gives at least lip service to the idea that the style of music doesn't matter in worship (though of course God has a secret preference for mine, not that He'd ever admit it). I'm challenging the total equation. 

The act of singing is not the same as the act of worshiping. Furthermore, the act of singing a very good song with unimpeachable theological content and exemplary musical setting is not the same as the act of worshiping. 

Instead of worship songs, if you like, think of it with another very broad musical category: how about love songs. You can find love songs in just about every kind of music there is–folk music, rock music, jazz music, classical music, ethnic music, country music, you name it. Some love songs are schmaltzy and lame, and other love songs are simply fantastic; insert your own examples here. (Mine, if you must have them, might include Schubert, Cole Porter, and Pink Martini, though nobody comes close to what Chopin did with his delicate little instrumental melodies.) 

But is singing a love song the same as being in love? Obviously not. Being in love means having a special relationship with a certain someone. A singer may have that kind of relationship, or they may not, but either way, it has absolutely no inherent dependence on whether they're at that moment singing Sinatra. Of course if you start by having a relationship, you may sing love songs to your somebody, or you may draw on them for inspiration in songwriting. Or you may not. But if you really want to talk about love, you need to look at the relationship, not the songs about it.

Can you guess how this applies to worship? Sure you can. The prophet Isaiah put it this way:

The Lord says: 
      "These people come near to me with their mouth 
       and honor me with their lips, 
       but their hearts are far from me. 
       Their worship of me 
       is made up only of rules taught by men." (Isaiah 29:13, NIV)

It's not just that "worship is a matter of the heart"–another good idea that we like to give lip service to. It's that worship depends not on whether you're singing that you love God, but on whether you really love God, if you really have that deep intimate relationship with Him. If you do love God, then it's great to be able to say so, or sing so. But if you don't, the only thing singing about it will do is make a hypocrite of you.

I don't for a moment mean to discount the importance of music in our worship of God– as anyone with an ear can tell, it's a wonderful, beautiful, powerful, and deeply spiritual way to express our worship to God. But that's just it: it's an expression, so it's only worthwhile if you're expressing something that you truly have. 

St. Augustine put it splendidly in his Confessions: