понедельник, 12 марта 2012 г.

Through the song the church goes on

To discuss the importance of music in worship seems similar to discussing the role of breath in our lives. I know, of course, that music is not of ultimate necessity, and that those who cannot hear, or who are not moved by music, may have spiritual lives that are as rich as any other. Still, for me, music in worship is as obvious as breathing.

The relationship between wind and breath and spirit and song is a wonderfully messy one. We read that the spirit of God moved over the waters, that the Holy Spirit comes as wind and fire, that God is Word but also mystery, breath and spirit.

When we read these profound claims, I believe we can begin to understand the central place that music may have--both in worship and as worship. Music can be the breath of our souls: "As a deer longs for the flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God."

Our souls long for a vibrant connection with their source. Theology and church doctrine are about defining paths by which we find that source, and are nurtured by it. But church structures and theological systems are inadequate in quenching the deepest thirst of the soul. Both the longings and the celebrations of the soul have a dimension which is beyond conventional language and debate.

The cries and groans of childbirth, the cheers and laughter of children at play, the gentle moans of pain and loss--all are expressions that are not translatable into ordinary speech. They are another level of communication, another way of expressing our human condition. And music is a formalization of these non-verbal expressions. One of the most refined languages of the soul is often a melody.

Music speaks in a less precise, but also a less limiting way, than words. The nuance and particularity of words may create a screen between the worshipper and God. Music, when appropriately written and placed in worship, is often the most direct path to the Holy.

When Paul in Romans speaks of creation groaning to be freed, we are very close to a musical expression of the soul as it seeks its source. It is interesting that groans and laments are the seeds of the deeply-felt blues and spirituals sung by our Afro-American sisters and brothers.

Paul would attribute these groans to the Spirit: we do not know how to pray as we ought but the Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. The formalized sighs are what some music is. Such music has the potential to communicate between the soul and its source, creature to creator.

A hymn which affirms this language of the soul is "Through our fragmentary prayers" (Hymnal: A Worship Book, 347)

Through our fragmentary prayers and our silent, heart-hid sighs, wordlessly the Spirit bears our profoundest needs and cries.

The affirmation lies here particularly in the extended "chorus" which consists simply of a textless humming at the end of each verse.

Music as gesture

Music is also like a gesture, like a hug or a handshake. However, a hug accompanied by "Great to see you!" has a different meaning from a hug accompanied by "I'm so sorry to hear that you are ill." A hug at a time of bereavement needs no words at all, as sometimes our souls are nurtured by textless music.

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Often though, music in worship is effective because the text clarifies the meaning of the gesture--most typically in the hymns we sing. Melodies and harmonies wedded with a text can deepen the meaning of both music and text. Musical gestures (both melodic shapes and rhythms) help us to understand a text in a certain way.

Sometimes, a musical gesture, the garb or coat of a hymn, wears out or is no longer appropriate. This is so because the church is a living reality, existing in time and changing with time, existing in space and changing from location to location. New hymns arise. Both old music and hymn texts, and new music and new texts are needed to express and enrich the life of the church. Through the song the church goes on.

Singing as parable

Many voices joined in song are a metaphor about discipleship, community and Christian calling. Singing in communal worship is a lesson about our place as individuals in the larger Christian community; group singing is also an act of commitment to this community. Both unison and part singing have their symbolisms when we consider raised voices as parables of the Christian community.

In my worship experience, music (congregational singing in particular) has functioned as a tangible (aural/sensual) assurance that I am part of a body of believers. Congregational singing is an ever-present sermon about our understanding of the church, perhaps like stained glass windows were for medieval worshippers.

The windows tell a story, while enhancing the story with colour, light, rhythm, and shape--with beauty. They are a constant reminder of the ever-present light and life of God.

Our hymns tell a story, and the act of singing them is part of the Christian story. Through the song the church goes on. Singing is a witness to a profound truth--it "preaches" a message simply by being a participatory action, one in which various literal bodies are audibly incorporated into the body of Christ.

Whether we sing well or badly, whether we sing the melody or harmonizing part, it is the participation in the body of believers, or in some cases, of seekers and even doubters, which constitutes the profound symbolism of corporate hymn singing.

Further, music "preaches" not only by its participatory nature but by its very medium. Music symbolizes the mysterious, non-rational part of our spiritual quest. Music in worship, and also as worship, represents a claim that God loves us as we are, and that our relationship with God involves our whole being--rational, physical and spiritual.

So let your singing, and the music you hear in worship, be an expression of your soul, a gesture which enriches the words, and an act of conviction and commitment--a symbol of the living community of faith.--Leonard Enns

The above is from a sermon at Pioneer Park Mennonite Church in Kitchener, Ontario, in August 1998. The writer teaches music at Conrad Grebel University College in Ontario.

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