You should go to theological college

Musicians and Songwriters: you should go to theological college

A friend of mine just spent a few weeks in Nashville, hanging out with some incredible musicians and songwriters. It's a hub of creativity and musicality - an electric environment to be in, even for only a few weeks. I spoke to him last night and he was totally inspired - full of new ideas, and ready to write a thousand new songs.

I'm in my final year of theological college, hanging out with some incredibly prayerful and Godly theologians, pastors and teachers. I am totally inspired - full of new ideas, and ready to write a thousand new songs (and sermons for church!)

Now, you don't have to go to theological college to write great Christian songs, or for that matter preach great sermons. Nor do you have to travel to Nashville to be inspired and equipped to make great music.

But if someone offered you a trip to Nashville, you'd be mad to turn it down. Right?

Well, here's my pitch, take it or leave it - if you ever have the opportunity to study theology full time, go for it. Find the most Godly, the most intelligent, the most broad thinking group of teachers and students you can find, and enrol yourself in the most academically and spiritually rigorous  course* you can make time for.

For me, my time at theological college (Sydney's Moore College) has been a time of profound spiritual growth, as well as being the most intellectually stimulating environment I've ever experienced.

I would love to see more musicians and music directors and songwriters soaking up a theological education. I stress, you don't need a degree in theology to be a great bible teacher, or a great songwriter, or a great music pastor – but it almost certainly will enrich and inspire your ability to understand God's word and communicate it to others. At least it has for me.


So if you ever get the opportunity - please, go for it!

(*Now, you might wonder why the whole bother of a full on theological education. It seems like a lot of effort (often these go for one, two, three, even four years full time). There are shorter courses which are more practical and less academic - you can learn what Ephesians say, and take a course in songwriting or preaching or planning a good service. All these are good things. But it's like the difference between studying engineering and taking a course in fixing cars... I know from experience that engineers aren't necessarily any good at changing tyres, but if you want to design the next generation of cars you're going to need a deep grasp of engineering. Likewise a short course can teach you how to write songs like Chris Tomlin; a long one will equip you for a lifetime of Godly thinking outside the current paradigm.)

What I love about Darlene Zschech's theology

I’ve never met her, but I have a huge amount of respect for Darlene Zschech. Until 2007 she was a pastor at Hillsong church here in Sydney. She still tours and leads a growing church in Newcastle. Leaving aside the obvious debt we all owe her for bringing worship music to where it has come worldwide, her discipleship and church leadership off stage has benefited some of my dearest friends.

At the same time, I believe it’s often fruitful to compare and contrast our respective theological positions on worship. Our respective traditions may have much to learn from each other. Realising that I don’t have all the answers either, in this brief blog post I also want to provide some friendly critique of her theology of worship as presented in Extravagant Worship.

There is much I love in her theology of worship.

1. Zschech is dead right in pointing out that worship is bigger than merely music. Worship is bigger than music. “Although music is a wonderful expression of worship, it is not in itself the essence of it. The core of worship is when one’s heart and soul, and all that is within, adores and connects with the Spirit of God.”¹
2. She is right to make Christian education a central goal in our music ministry: ‘make the Word memorable and settle the message into our hearts.’²
3. She presents a balanced view of the place of emotional response in music ministry: music is ‘not about stirring ourselves into an emotional frenzy’, but ‘corporate worship’ should help turn the congregation’s ‘eyes to the Lord.’³

Yet, I do want to suggest some possible tensions in her theology of worship which make me reluctant to adopt it wholesale without thinking it over some more. The biggest tension I detect is over the issue of ‘excellence’.

Zschech rightly puts great emphasis on excellence, something which I have often written about and agree on. Yet I’m more cautious about the reasons she gives for seeking excellence: ‘We are to serve God with excellence because we know an excellent God.’⁴ Like the high medievalists, Zschech wants to ‘enter the throne room of God’.⁵

Largely I think this theology is reactive against more mainline traditions (such as Anglicanism), which have been (I’ll freely admit) too afraid of excellence. She thinks this fear has ‘kept almost an entire generation out of the house of God’.⁶

And to her credit, this emphasis on excellence is qualified: we give our finest ‘at whatever stage your finest is.’⁷ We bring our gifts in a context of grace, and Zschech is too experienced a pastor to seek to establish a ‘performance-based Christianity’ on or off the stage.⁸

However I do take issue with some of the arguments she uses to bolster this argument of excellence. “Extravagant worship grabs God’s attention ... Throughout the stories in the Bible, whenever someone demonstrated extravagant worship, God reacted with extravagant blessing. It’s cause and effect. Extravagant worship brings extravagant results.’⁹

My nervousness about this is that I am very unexcellent! I’m not talking about the quality of music, even. The fact is that the excellence of our offerings, as God measures it, is entirely dependent on the heart. As Hebrews 10 points out, God has never been pleased by sacrifices or burnt offerings. Zschech obviously knows this, and so concludes that ‘the only thing God wants from you is your heart.’¹⁰

I don’t think I’m being too nitpicking to say that there is a tension here. Is God impressed by musical excellence, or does he just want us to serve with the right attitude?

What is missing, I think, is a bridge between the Old Testament passages and the New Testament hope. In the Old Testament even our most righteous works are considered as dirty rags (Isaiah 64:6). In the New Testament, we are given the incredible invitation to continually ‘through Jesus … offer to God a sacrifice of praise—the fruit of lips that confess his name’ (Hebrews 13:15). What is missing from Zschech’s worship theology, therefore, is the very important concept of a priest: not one who wears robes, but Jesus our great high priest. With Jesus standing as our representative before God, the excellence of our worship is guaranteed.

As much as it pains me to say it, therefore, the excellence (in a musical sense) of our worship, and the strength of our good intentions, becomes much less relevant to how acceptable our worship is. Don’t get me wrong, I want excellent music as much as the next music snob. But I’m not sure that we want to tie that excellence to its suitability for worshipping God.

1 Darlene Zschech, Extravagant Worship (Minneapolis: Bethany House, 2002)., 27.

2 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 196.

3 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 169.

4 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 127.

5 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 155.

6 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 128.

7 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 127.

8 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 148.

9 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 34-35.

10 Zschech, Extravagant Worship, 46.

Why the methodists had all the good music

Have you ever noticed how many of the great hymns in the English language were written by non-conformists like Isaac Watts and the Wesleys? These were people who stood apart (sometimes at great personal cost) from the mainline Anglican church of their day. This was a time where uniformity in worship was highly valued above everything. Edward VI and Elizbeth I had both laid down guidelines for worship, insiting on a ‘plain and modest song’. Nothing to flash. Thomas Sternhold supplied a boring but competent translation of the Psalter into English, and this was the basis of worship inside the mainline official Anglian church.¹

Not so for the non-conformists. John Wesley wrote to a friend criticising this style of worship, insisting that Christians should:

“sing praise to God ... with the spirit, and with the understanding also: not in the miserable, scandalous doggerel of Hopkins and Sternhold [i.e. the English Psalter], but in psalms and hymns which are both sense and poetry.”²

He thought the style should be whatever would ‘best raise the soul to God’, and that meant he was not confined to using simple boring arrangements of the Psalms.³

But the reason why Wesley ended up with such a stress on emotion was not accidental. I think it flowed from his theology. The reason why he wanted music to help people in ‘praising [God] lustily and with a good courage’ was so that their hearts could be changed.⁴ I suspect that John Wesley’s Arminianism – his overemphasis on human responsibility while forgetting that only God can soften or harden hearts – set him on this trajectory.

My hunch is, too, that this set much of methodism (and later Pentecostalism) onto this path of emotional music. If you believe that people turning to Jesus is a wholly human decision, not a miracle, then you’re going to do all you can to make sure they make the right decision.

The challenge, then, for those of us who believe that a decision to turn to Christ is both a human choice and a miracle that only God can bring about is to still write incredible songs which move the heart. A belief in divine sovereignty in conversion doesn’t stop us from engaging in apologetics, clear preaching, or trying to live the gospel in an attractive way. So it shouldn’t stop us from having poignant music either.

1 Evans, Music in the Modern Church, 31.

2 John Wesley, ‘To A Friend, On Public Worship’, in The Works of the Rev John Wesley: Tracts and Letters on Various Subjects (1st ed.; New York: J & J Harper, 1827), 233.

3 John Wesley, ‘To A Friend, On Public Worship’, in The Works of the Rev John Wesley: Tracts and Letters on Various Subjects (1st ed.; New York: J & J Harper, 1827), 233.

4 John Wesley, ‘To A Friend, On Public Worship’, in The Works of the Rev John Wesley: Tracts and Letters on Various Subjects (1st ed.; New York: J & J Harper, 1827), 233.

The ends justify the means

 When it comes to music, I’m with Luther: the ends justify the means.

It is interesting to compare the attitude of Calvin, Zwingli and Luther to using secular music styles in church. Calvin (1509–1564) refused to use either catholic styles of music, or the secular styles of his day (which he said were ‘lascivious, injurious, alluring’¹). He was afraid that ‘venom and corruption’ might reach ‘the depths of the heart’.² In a similar vein, Ulrich Zwingli held that ‘spirit and flesh contradict each other’.³ He was dubious about singing, preferring to sing ‘not with our voices, like the Jewish singers, but with our hearts’.⁴ In the summer of 1524 his followers smashed all the organs they could find, hoping to bring things back to pure worship.⁵

So against his reformation buddies, Martin Luther (1483-46) stands out. He was prepared to use any style of music that would help people engage with God: ‘For their sake [simple laymen] we must read, sing, preach, write and compose, and if it would help the matter along, I would have all the bells pealing, and all the organs playing, and let everything chime that has a clapper’.⁶ Rumour has it he used pub tunes – this is not quite right, but he certainly used folk music to drive the gospel messages home. (Incidentally, it is no accident that J.S. Bach composed his amazing Cantatas while working at Leipzig Luthern church). The key values were education, scriptural words, and communion between the church here and the church in heaven. Whatever would serve these goals would be employed in church.

1 Charles Garside, The Origins of Calvin's Theology of Music: 1536–1543 (Philadelphia: American Philosophical Society, 1979), 28.

2 Paul Westermeyer, Te Deum: The Church and Music (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 156.

3 Paul Westermeyer, Te Deum: The Church and Music (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 151.

4 Ulrich Zwingli, ‘Conclusion 45’ in Charles Garside, Zwingli and the Arts (New Haven: Yale, 1966), 45.

5 Paul Westermeyer, Te Deum: The Church and Music (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 150.

6 Flynn, ‘Liturgical Music’, 780

Praise Pit Worship?

Maybe I'm just getting too old and out of touch with youth culture, but I'm not sure what to make of a new trend in evangelical youth ministry: the 'praise pit'.

In case you haven't been to a youth event recently, I can paint the scene for you. The band gets up on stage, some thumping up tempo beat stars, and the lead singer coaches all the young people to swarm down the front and start jumping for the next bracket of songs.

Here's what I like about it: it's obviously a lot of fun, it's pushing the boundary of youth ministry and redeeming a harmless secular cultural practice (mosh pits) in an under 18s friendly environment, and it's letting young people express something with their whole bodies. In principle, I should be in favour of it. I'm happy for all sorts of things to be expressions of our worship: interpretive dance, acrobatics, heck even changing nappies can be done for the glory of God.

But still something feels weird about it becoming the prime form of our 'worship' time, particularly if it eats up time otherwise devoted to singing. I don't have a position, I just have some questions:

• is it a true substitute for singing? Sometimes I'm sure people keep singing during the moshing. But I suspect it becomes less about the singing and more about the experience. My experience of mosh pits is that it's about the vibe of the moment, the letting go of inhibitions in an electric group atmosphere. It might have a place in a well rounded youth program, but I'm not sure it can take the place entirely of singing.
• is it an inclusive activity? For instance, I know more boys than girls who enjoy moshpits (admittedly, this may be because in the secular venues I'm thinking of boys like to use the moshpits to touch girls inappropriately - I hope this is not the case in a Christian environment). 
• is it giving young people enough credit? The young people I work with, whether believing or searching for meaning, come to church mostly because they want spiritual answers. They see through attempts to make church resemble something it's not. 'If I wanted to mosh I'd go to the city. I'm here to find out what the meaning of life is'. What do you learn from moshing?
• does it give space for the whole gamut of emotions in the Christian life? The thing I love about music is that it gives voice to a bunch of different ways of feeling: ecstatic, thankful, angry, relieved, devoted ... whereas moshing for me is an expression of primal energy. I like it. But I wonder whether it's the only thing that we want to say together when we meet?

My suspicion is that it may well have a space in our corporate worship, but this space is relatively small compared to the much greater benefit of singing (which has the advantage of appealing across ages, across cultures, allowing greater variety of teaching, expressing more emotions, etc).

Maybe I'm out of touch, maybe this is one thing where it's better to be like the world than uniquely Christian (congregational singing is much more unique to the church). So tell me, am I just being a grumpy old man? What is your experience?

Unprofessional and proud of it

One of my friends was a (semi)professional comedian. I love his jokes. I saw him on TV once and he had the whole concert hall in stitches. But he could be terrible company sometimes. If, hanging out with friends, you tried to make a joke which didn’t go so well he would respond in mock condescension: ‘oh please Andy, leave it to the professionals’.

In some contexts professionalism is out of place. And my church is one of them.

The push to professionalism in our music has a long history. The middle ages had competing styles of music. On the one hand there was Gregorian chant, which was simple simple simple. This came from (I think) a suspicion of emotion and a desire to strip everything back so that the rational propositions of the Scriptures would be more clear to us.

On the other hand, other styles of music became way complex. Things got so out of control that people often couldn’t tell what language was being sung, and Pope John XXII got concerned that we had lost sight of the purpose of church music.¹

Originally, music had been a communal activity. While Tertullian hints that some songs were performed by good singers,² Ambrose of Milan, John Chrysostom and Basil the Great all give the impression that the focus was communal singing.³ Just prior to the reformation, this priority to the communal was in danger of being obscured. In the style of music called ‘Lector chant’ the crowd would merely sing the occasional ‘alelluia’. In the style called ‘Schola chant’ trained clergy would do it all. The average punters could not pull off the quality of music that was desired, and so they left it to the professionals.

I don’t dispute that the quality of music is important in church. I am not even against paying professional musicians to be involved in services, where the size and strategy of the church demands it. But whatever we do, I think the purpose of singing should remain firmly in our view. Employing professional musicians may help people to sing better in a large auditorium, because the pressures of performing in such a large space require a level of skill or commitment which is beyond most volunteers. It is no different, in my mind, to employing a full time minister to prepare sermons. But if the pursuit of professionalism actually disenfranchises the average people the pews so they don’t sing any more, then I think we have a problem. We don’t want to leave it to the professionals.

1 Evans, Music in the Modern Church, 27.

2 Flynn, ‘Liturgical Music’, 770.

3 John Chrysostom, ‘On Psalm 145’ at para 1469; Ambrose of Milan ‘Commentaries on the Twelve Psalms of David’ at para 1158; Basil the Great, ‘Homily on Psalm 1’ at para 1346, in Johnson, Worship in the Early Church: Anthology of Historical Sources.