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An Incarnational Sound

Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

 

 

 

Nevertheless, It Was A Blessing

A few weeks ago I had the blessing of working with an ad hoc choir who gathered out of the student body of Duke’s Summer Course of Study program. Many were second-career local pastors in often very small congregations. For some, it had been a while since they were able to enjoy singing with a choir during worship. It was also a challenge for them to come to an hour-long, afternoon rehearsal following a grueling schedule of classes. Nevertheless, it was a blessing for all of us to share in choral song.

They were visibly tired, but excited to sing. As they shuffled in for rehearsal at Goodson Chapel at Duke Divinity School, the major themes of (and complaints about) their courses of the day pattered off the stone and glass. One drawback of being in an academic setting where new ideas about God, the church, worship, identity, mission, etc. are being impressed upon them all day, everyday, is that students can start to become hyper self-critical of the way they interact in those spaces: ‘Did I use that –ology word correctly?’ ‘Did I unintentionally shut down my fellow students’ earnest reflection?’ ‘Does the teacher think I am a fraud?’ ‘Am I a fraud??’

They were visibly tired, but excited to sing.

Though this kind of environment can become quickly tiring, there was a hidden and unexpected blessing in it: they brought that awareness and teachable (but discerning) spirit to choir. The choir members were ready to think and talk about the music beyond ‘where can we take a breath?’ and ‘are you going to give us a cut-off?’

 

North Carolinian

One moment in particular stood out. As we were working on our consonants for Richard Smallwood’s arrangement of Isaac Watts’ “I Love the Lord,” one of our sopranos openly apologized that she kept (aggressively) rolling the r on the line “and troubles rise.” After rehearsal she came up to tell me that she would practice it overnight and would definitely get it right for the following day’s chapel service. She explained that it is hard for her to not roll the ‘r’ because she’s always been taught that soft or swallowed ‘r’ sound was the correct way to sing. Upon further investigation and conversation, she said that she had learned (either explicitly or implicitly) that the sound of a North Carolinian/southern accent was not an appropriate one for group singing, i.e. choir.

Now I’m no expert in vocal technique, but it pained me to hear her say the equivalent of ‘the sound of my voice is not fit for the worship of God, so I have to change it.’ I realize that I too have uncritically internalized a deep sense that there are good and bad, beautiful and… um… less beautiful accents for singing. On what basis can and should we make these judgments? In singing any English language text, I regularly hear the encouragement to sound ‘more British,’ as though there is only one British English accent and all of its sounds are ‘pure.’

…it pained me to hear her say the equivalent of ‘the sound of my voice is not fit for the worship of God, so I have to change it.’

In any case, this soprano’s comments caused me to reflect using my theological toolkit. What theological rationale did I have for both affirming that it was appropriate to modify the sound of her voice to fit the style of music and suggest that she let the sound of her own voice shine through?

I turned to thinking about the sound of our voices as incarnational.

 

Incarnational Sound

Of course, the voice is by nature part of the fleshy stuff of our bodies that God knit together and that makes the sound of our voices incarnational in a generic sense. But I think we can take it further: for our music to honor God more fully, it needs to honor our bodies more fully. Our sounds have to be more truly of us and the stuff we’re made of—even (especially?) when that stuff is result of social and cultural formation. Christ’s incarnation reminds us that God’s glory is revealed in a specific person in a specific place at specific time in history. If “in our music God is glorified” (thanks Fred Pratt Green), it is when these voices we’ve been given sing God’s praise.

On the other hand, an incarnational perspective also encourages us remember not just we ourselves, but the contexts within which the music was originally created and intended: the urban streets of protest, the revival-era camp meeting, the gothic cathedral, the Rhineland convent, etc. The sounds of our voices should seek to honor the languages and peoples for and from whom the music is gifted. In doing so, we delight in, build empathy for, and gain perspective on the ways in which the beautiful sound of God’s glory is incarnated in other times and places.

This perspective is not a zero-sum endeavor. There is no perfect, sonic balance to avoid tipping the scales from accurate reproduction to appropriation or from authentic and sincere to manufactured and performance.

 

Reflection

As you reflect on how this theological perspective might impact your music ministry, I pray that it will keep us on our toes when it comes to the sound of our voices and simultaneously put us at ease, knowing that our attention to these concerns is a sincere act of faithfulness in its own right.

This perspective is not a zero-sum endeavor.

As that soprano and I walked out of rehearsal, our minds and voices were noticeably tired. She wondered aloud why she’d never been asked to sing more ‘North Carolinian.’ Without an answer, we began mimicking our best/worst over-the-top-British-boy-soprano sound we could muster—laughing and contented with the exhaustion of having bitten off more than we had time to chew.

 

For more thoughts on incarnational music-making, check out these blogs:

“Navigating worship as Universal and Incarnational” by Tanya Riches

“Patriotic Music on Sunday Morning: Yes or No?” by Ginny Chilton

 

 

Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

 

One of the hardest things for me in planning worship is constructing the overarching narrative of the service. From the very first word to the last, I want the worship services I plan to take the congregation on a journey of encounter with God and each other. I want it to seem effortless and inevitable, like each element couldn’t possibly lead into any other than the one that’s been chosen. If you’re in the work of actually planning any or all of worship, you know that achieving such an ideal can often be elusive (for encouragement, see Ginny’s blog last week about ‘Success’).

 

Worship As Narrative

I call worship a narrative because I think it needs to go somewhere thematically, logically, spiritually, emotionally, and even physically. It needs to have a plot, and some subplots. Key characters who are developed over time. It needs to generate conflict and resolution, tension and release; it needs to have some small climaxes and some big ones too. It needs a range of emotional engagement. Not every story is told the same way. Narrative can take on a diversity of styles, as we know about the best books in a variety of genres; scripture also shows a diversity of genres.

My commitment to narrative for worship comes from scripture. Aside from the cosmic view of the Bible as one big narrative from Genesis to Revelation, it is true in more micro-cosmic ways. In the Old Testament, God’s people are encountered by God who (via the prophets) reminds the people of God’s story about them and they respond (e.g. Joshua 24). In the Gospels, Jesus himself tells stories (parables) to teach about the kingdom of God.

 

Hymn Sandwiches and Thematic Planning

But not all worship services or their patterns seem to have a clear direction to them. The classic ‘hymn sandwich’ service can feel like a game of ping-pong that never has a winner. ‘Thematic’ planning, where a simple theme is chosen to orient the service (e.g.  “Grace”), can sometimes generate services that have many smaller elements that point to the central theme, but are disconnected from one another. Thematic planning can especially impact services with extended song sets, resulting in an opening time of musical worship that spins its narrative wheels. Even in congregations where the liturgy is (supposedly) ‘set,’ the sense of overarching narrative can be overlooked in the midst of the structure–a forest missed for the trees. Worship planning in these settings can often feel like a ‘fill in the blank’ exercise. In all of these examples, the question remains the same, ‘How can a worship narrative more deeply embed the congregation in the story of God?’

 

Here are a few simple suggestions:

  1. Think about the genre of the scripture story for the day. Ask how the music and the whole service can inhabit that storytelling mode in its structure and content.
  2. Choose a song that uses scripture paraphrase or quotation and use it in place of one of the readings for the day (rather than a reiteration of the same text). In your worship bulletins, mark those songs as scripture or scripture paraphrase.
  3. If you’re only responsible for music choices, ask the worship leader, reader, or pastor, to say a one sentence introduction to a congregational song you’ve chosen. If speaking would be too cumbersome, put a note in the back of the bulletin. If you’re doing choral music, this is a great way to key in the congregation for how to listen well to the piece as part of the service. Why did you choose it, what are its virtues at that point in the service? What does the song express that can’t be expressed with words alone?
  4. If you’re responsible for the whole service, I can’t stress enough how the use of ‘in-between-words’ can help tell the big picture story in worship. See Paul Ryan on this (of Calvin, not the WI politician!).
  5. Avoid redundancy in music! If you have a song that acts as a confession, don’t also read a confession–let the song do its part in the worship story.
  6. Assess your choral music based on function–from week to week, an anthem’s text and music might not always best serve the narrative of worship by being sung during the offering. Ask, “What is this text and music doing and where might if fit better”?

 

If you do some of these things to support a narrative-based approach to worship planning and leadership, it will support worshippers’ deep engagement with worship. More importantly, it will support a deepening engagement with God who shows us love through the redeeming life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ–the most important story worth telling.

How do these suggestions engage with your worship context? Share with us in the comments!

 

Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

 

Christ is Risen!

He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

 

This past holy week, I was reminded of a song from Mumford & Sons’ triple-Platinum,[1] break out album Sigh No More (Glassnote Records, 2009). This folk/rock/bluegrass-inspired album is packed with religious material (both explicit and implicit). For me, popular music is often a great site for reflecting on the distinctives of Christian faith because it has a way of touching on very human desires and widely held notions of religion and spirituality. I’m thinking especially of a song on the album called Awake My Soul.” Here’s an excerpt of the pre-chorus and chorus:

 

“[…] In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die

And where you invest your love, you invest your life

Awake my soul [3x]

For you were made to meet your maker”

 

If you’ll pardon my somewhat literal (and possibly shallow) interpretation of these lyrics, you’ll see what I mean with the religious content and popular notions of religion and spirituality. The themes packed in to this little segment of the song include the life and death of the body, love and relationships, the duality of body and soul, and the nature and purpose of human life before God. There is much to commend to songwriters from this masterful lyricism, but maybe less to commend in the light of Easter where we celebrate Jesus’ life, death, and bodily resurrection. As the Apostle’s Creed summarizes, “I believe… in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”

“In these bodies we will live / in these bodies we will die” and in these bodies we will be raised again to life everlasting. Christ is Risen!

But, for some reason, the resurrection of the body seems to be one of the hardest things for many Christians to believe in.[2] Maybe it’s a symptom of popular American Christianity’s penchant for concern over the condition of one’s soul and the “weakness of the flesh.” Admittedly, it is really hard to concretely imagine.

In both his incarnation (in Spanish: encarnación—literally, “enfleshment” or “inmeatedness”) and his bodily resurrection, Jesus affirms the significance of our bodies. I’m reminded of a passage from Luis Pedraja’s wonderful book on Christology, Jesus is My Uncle (Nashville: Abingdon, 1999) where he says,

“The Incarnation also makes it equally untenable to maintain that humanity can attain divinity on its own. It is only through God’s own initiative and action that this new reality can take place. But it takes place in human flesh… It also means that life in flesh and blood, our own incarnate reality, must be taken seriously as the place where we can encounter God… it affirms that our existence as flesh and blood is a part of God’s good creation—a part that is not alien to God.” (84)

What God affirms in the Incarnation, God fulfills in the bodily resurrection. If we thought human destiny was to ‘awake my soul,’ Jesus confronts us with his whole, embodied, new creation body. And, likewise, our bodies will be raised from the dead into the new heavens and new earth eschaton. This is a central hope of a truly Christian message at Easter and something truly worth singing about!

As the Apostle’s Creed summarizes, “I believe… in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”

In particular, let’s sing more about the embodied encounters of the post-resurrection Jesus as a way of celebrating that Christian hope doesn’t look so much like the Mumford family’s dead body and ‘awakened soul.’ Rather, it is better expressed in song texts like  “These Things Did Thomas Count as Real” (Thomas Troeger), “Aleluya Cristo Resucito” (Luis Bojos), or “The First Place” (Matthew Westerholm). Sing—and write new songs!—about Jesus the apparent gardener, Jesus the Emmaus road traveler, Jesus who still has nail holes in hands, and Jesus the seaside fish cook.

And while we’re at it, let’s give thanks for the bodies of those labored to make our holy week (and every week) services possible in and beyond music:

Piano Tuning Tools

For all guitar techs, luthiers, organ tuners, electricians, and brass machinists who create and care for the instruments that allow make our music possible;

For the tired eyes, arms, lips, voices, and fingers of those who make music in praise of God and service to the Church;

Gardening Tools

For the gardeners and florists of our Easter Lilies and all the visual artists whose work enlivens our places of worship and turns our gaze toward God’s beauty;

For the farmers, growers, field workers, bakers, vintners, and cooks who offer us a foretaste of the Kingdom to come in the sharing of holy meals;

Communion Bread

And for all the bodies that make up the Church—shaking, plucking, bowing, beating, pushing, pulling, resonating, and otherwise making music to remind us that the hope we celebrate at Easter will one day be resounding in the fullness of our own resurrected bodies.

“In these bodies we will live / in these bodies we will die” and in these bodies we will be raised again to life everlasting.

Amen, may it be so. Hallelujah!

 

[1] https://www.riaa.com/gold-platinum/?tab_active=default-award&se=sigh+no+more#search_section

[2] See also this short article on the issue from Albert Mohler, President of Southern Baptist Theological Seminary: https://albertmohler.com/2006/04/07/do-christians-still-believe-in-the-resurrection-of-the-body/

 

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Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

When I finally ascended to leadership in my college campus music ministry, one of my first tasks was to purge our music files. We’d been using a 3-inch, 3-ring binder system for organization. Over the previous decade+ our binders bloated to the point that they were no longer able to lie flat on a table. It’s hard to guess how many songs we had accumulated, maybe 300+?

Somewhere along the way in my church music training, I learned that an ideal size of a congregation’s repertoire should only be around 150 songs (give or take 50). So, we pared it down for quality and ease of planning—choosing from too many songs can be as paralyzing for me as too many burger options on a restaurant menu. The added benefit was that we were getting closer to that 150-song sweet spot that was supposed to aid in cultivating the virtues of song memory and congregational participation. I honestly don’t know where this teaching originated or even if I made it up—is it a calculation of # of songs per service multiplied by # services per year? Leaving out Christmas and Easter, 3 songs per service x 50 services = 150 songs… is it that simplistic? Alternatively, since there are 150 Psalms, it would stand to reason that 150 is a good, God-given number.

The point is that this ideal repertoire size was both a functional and pastoral one. If you went through the last year or two of your own repertoire, what would you find? Maybe you too have come up with a magic number fitting for your context.

I want to be able to sing something in the face of Death; to sing songs that help do something about it.

Beyond size, I’ve been thinking recently about repertoire size for an altogether different reason: the Las Vegas and Parkland shootings, #MeToo and #Blacklivesmatter, DACA and hurricane relief in Puerto Rico (or lack thereof), and the list goes on. The question is about function: what of my 150 songs do I have to sing for these occasions? Under the onslaught of injustice, only the simplest of Kyries seems to do. I’ve envied my colleagues and friends who, in the midst of street protest chants, have woven words of wit and vitality—words perfect for the moment, and likely only that moment. Those chants might live on or they might not. Either way, they’ve served their purpose; those rhyming, rhythmic shouts—songs in their own right/rite—were able to do something. Surely classic songs of comfort could work here, except for the fact that I don’t want to be comforted or even to mourn. I want to yell. I want to groan. I want to tear things apart. I want to be able to sing something in the face of Death; to sing songs that help do something about it.

Among a number of new music and worship events, books, podcasts, Facebook groups, etc. in recent years, I’ve heard this lovely encouragement: “Write/Lead/Teach songs that people will be able sing on their deathbeds.” I think the general sentiment is (at least) two-fold: a desire for songs that are able to ‘stand the test of time’ in style and content, while also lodging themselves in a person’s memory. I can get behind that sentiment. Life and Death tend to have a clarifying effect on one’s perspective. And Death has many masks—I named a few of them above.

I’m not so much worried about the songs I sing on my own deathbed (and who knows if I’ll be able to sing at all?). Instead, I’m wondering which of my 150 songs can I sing at the bedside of those victims of mass shootings, deportation, sexual assault, racism, natural disaster, and climate change? What songs can I sing marching in protest against these powers? What songs from Sunday morning can I carry to the specific needs of the world in which I live? 150 (or 200, or whatever) doesn’t sound anywhere near enough.

…this ideal repertoire size was both a functional and pastoral one.

Congregational singing is not an end in itself. Likewise, congregations committing a song to life/death-long memory is not an end in itself. Congregational songs do things. To what are we willing to employ their power? How will the breadth of our singing enliven the breadth of the church’s prayer for the myriad needs of the world? For our own felt needs? For the very real needs of the world that, though sometimes appear to be hidden, are actually and always all around us? What kinds of congregational song practices make space for the long-term and the short-term needs of congregational prayer and spiritual formation? And lastly, how many songs am I going to need to do all this?

For this blog, it’s an honor to have our friend Marissa Glynias Moore as a guest writer. You may recognize Marissa’s name as the 2016 winner of The Hymn Society’s Emerging Scholars Forum. Marissa is now in the last months of her doctoral dissertation in ethnomusicology at Yale University, and her work looks at what is happening when White, North American mainline Protestant congregations sing so-called “global songs” in corporate worship. I’ve asked Marissa to share with us how the last few years of scholarly research in congregations across the country has affected her own personal perspectives on music in worship.

– Adam Perez

 

Most scholars would likely agree that doing in-depth research changes their perspectives on a given topic. But even I have been surprised by how my work on “global song,” a repertoire of non-Western music currently sung by mainline Protestants and Catholics in the United States, has transformed the way I think about the role of music in the church, and the power of communally singing repertoires that promote critical engagement with contemporary global issues.

Like many music scholars, I was first introduced to the repertoire I study through performance. As a first-year graduate student, I began to sing in the choir of the University Church in Yale, a non-denominational congregation of students and community members that worships in Battell Chapel at the center of Yale’s campus. In joining Battell’s choir, I hoped to recreate the experiences I had so enjoyed as an undergraduate at the university church: performing high-level choral music while also participating in lively and congregationally-grounded worship. My college church experience introduced me to hymns for the first time, providing me with communal singing experiences that had been missing from my upbringing in the Greek Orthodox faith. I grew to love the Protestant hymnody found in the Harvard University Hymn Book, finding myself spiritually and musically transformed by the soaring melody of san rocco, the steadfast encouragement of cwm rhondda, and the triumphant celebration of victory.

But within my first weeks at Battell, I began to notice a shift in congregational repertoire compared to that of my college church. We rarely sang the hymns that had become dear to me; instead, we were more likely to be singing an Alleluia from Peru or a South African anti-apartheid “freedom song.” While I was curious about this unfamiliar genre of congregational music, the practice itself made me decidedly uncomfortable as I looked around the space: why were we, a bunch of predominantly white American college and graduate students, singing world music? Did we have the right to sing this music? Hadn’t my training as an ethnomusicologist prepared me to vehemently critique such a practice as a manifestation of appropriation?

My reaction to the practice of singing global song is not an uncommon one for congregants when they are first introduced to the repertoire, and is an even more widespread response among individuals outside of these communities. In a cultural moment where the discourse around cultural appropriation plays such a prominent role in the public sphere, attempts of cross-cultural engagement undertaken by white Americans are viewed skeptically, and for good reason, considering the long history of musical appropriation of marginalized groups.

But, throughout my research for my dissertation, I’ve seen that singing global song is not reducible to cultural appropriation, and in fact, accomplishes something quite profound for many people who sing it on a monthly or weekly basis in liturgies around the United States. Singing global song acts as measure of hospitality, not only to literally welcome global Christians into the space, but also to open the hearts of current congregants to understanding their role as equal brothers and sisters in Christ. Many people I’ve spoken to—including church leaders and congregants alike—think about global song as a way to address histories of Western dominance, and to recognize that Christianity is much broader than the way Americans worship. Rather than considering songs like “Halle Halle” or “Salaam Aleikum” as purely fun exercises in new musical repertoires, singers engage with these songs in order to imagine the global body of Christ beyond their congregations, making space for Christians within local American spaces regardless of where they come from.

The activist angle of global song practice has also allowed it to fill a distinct need in the current political climate, providing a way for congregations to sing in support of Christian brothers and sisters who are experiencing turmoil, both around the world and within our own communities. Collections like the Hymn Society’s “Singing Welcome: Hymns and Songs of Hospitality to Refugees and Immigrants” published after the administration’s restrictive immigration politics in 2017, or even singing a Haitian Kyrie in response to the president’s distasteful comments this week (as Hilary Donaldson led at Eastminster United Church in Toronto), are examples of hospitality in action, continuing to uphold the original intentions of the repertoire’s inclusion into American congregations.

This is not to say that global song practice is a perfect corrective to Western histories of imperialism, or that it always has the ability to accomplish the activist agendas it has the potential to address. However, as an ethnomusicologist, my task is to “know people making music,” as scholar Jeff Todd Titon once said, or to identify how singers experience this music in their own terms. My analysis of global song and what it means for Christians in the United States therefore depends on the conversations I have been lucky enough to have with practitioners, including many members of The Hymn Society, in addition to congregants at Arapaho United Methodist Church in Richardson, Texas, and St. Gregory of Nyssa Episcopal Church in San Francisco, California. For my conversation partners, singing global song has opened up their understanding of Christianity, acting as a first step toward addressing issues of injustice in their local contexts. I feel blessed that these people have shared their faith journeys with me, as it has led to some incredible conversations about the importance of singing in church together, not only for our personal enjoyment, but to strengthen the body of Christ around the world.

 

Marissa Glynias Moore is a doctoral candidate in ethnomusicology at Yale University, New Haven, CT where she also teaches undergraduates in the music department. Marissa lives in Brooklyn, NY.

Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

I am going to be upfront with you that, for some, this post may contain an unwelcomed or unpopular suggestion. And I know that I kind of “missed the boat” on the timing of this post—it probably would have been more appropriate before Advent, on Christ the King. Oh, one other thing to be candid about: this is a post that is going to suggest that if you don’t already sing some praise and worship in your congregation, now might be the best time, in this month and a half-ish between Christ the King and Epiphany. In fact, I won’t be suggesting you try on just any praise and worship from the last 40 years, but what we might call “classic” praise and worship. Better yet, you’re welcome to call it “traditional” praise and worship. I’m talking about the stuff from the mid- and late-1980s, the songs that came out before CCLI was a thing and before Christian bookstores picked it up and before the CCM industry saw the market value in it. I guess you might just call it “hipster” in that way—”traditional” praise and worship was doing it before it was cool.

You might be wondering what, exactly, this so-called “traditional” praise and worship was doing? And what that non-liturgical charismatic praise and worship stuff has to do with the so-called “liturgical” calendar?

——-

It’s no mystery that the central themes of the Advent season revolve around waiting, anticipation, patience, preparation, and expectation. These themes are quite appropriate for this first season of the church calendar that celebrates the grand narrative of Christian hope that ended last week with Christ the King Sunday. The King has now crowned the liturgical year, and we’re back to the beginning of our story in time: Christ the King not-yet.

If your experience in congregational song is anything like mine, the deepest sense of expectation during Advent is actually for the opportunity to sing Christmas carols. Radios and shopping malls everywhere have long beat us to the punch, and it’ll be another three weeks before many communities let their O come‘s become has come’s. We (myself included) can often be quite zealous about our careful navigation of the liturgical calendar. We’ve got a cosmic story to tell and only 52ish Sundays a year to tell it, much less the four of Advent and the one Sunday after Christmas. Time is short. Choose carefully, choose wisely.

For so many, the songs themselves are the greatest reason for the season. I don’t mean to be harsh but—as you probably know from experience—no other season of the Christian year is so infused with popular demand for a certain repertoire of music. In the span of just a few days, many communities celebrate a Lessons and Carols service, Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, and the Church Christmas Pageants/musicals, not to mention all the concerts put on by schools and community organizations (also not to mention those of you who livestream musical events like those at St. Olaf College or King’s College Choir Cambridge—you know who you are).

In the midst of our waiting for this short flurry and flourish of appropriately Christmas-y repertoire, how can we infuse a deep sense of expectation for the coming of Christ himself? How can we help Advent sound its own part of the story? Do we commit to only the “traditional” Advent carols and the medieval church modes?

—–

Pentecostal and charismatic traditions have something to teach the rest of the church about a fervent expectation and experience of God in worship. Sure, we have had some inter-Christian disagreements about what happens when God is “manifestly” present, and that’s fair enough. But what I think we in congregational song can learn is another musical way to celebrate the basic rhythm of Christian worship in revelation and response and in expectation and fulfillment and how we might more deeply join in the palpable sense of excitement that God is truly making Godself present in our worship and in the world, and God is doing so powerfully.

One thing traditional praise and worship does well is generate a sense expectation. In fact, the expressed goal of these songs and their use in worship is to facilitate the journey from expectation to fulfillment of God’s coming in Christ through the power of the Spirit. And not with the journey itself as the goal, but the celebration of the very presence of God.

Now, if there’s one thing that I feel confident in saying that this season of Advent to Christmas is about; one thing that matters for our participation in the present portion the Christian narrative; one thing that we can hang our discipleship hats on, it’s so that we have the palpable sense of expectation that is ultimately fulfilled with an enjoyment of God’s presence in the incarnation; Emmanuel, God with us. Traditional praise and worship can help us do this well, if we give it the opportunity and take it on its own terms.

Here’s one great example: go have a look/listen at the early Integrity’s Hosanna! Music tapes from the mid 1980s—a great place to start would be the tape “All Hail King Jesus”[1] from 1985 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OlAWfJl8Ljo). I mentioned in the opening that this would have been quite appropriate on Christ the King Sunday— “but wait, there’s more!”—listen to how chock-full the songs are with language of expectation directly from the Psalms and Prophets and invites our direct response to the great acts of God, especially in the person and presence of Jesus Christ. Over the course of the album, it moves from boisterous praise and confident statements of beckoning or expectation into quieter songs of response to the enthroned Jesus Christ. It’s a very cosmic—and very Advent-friendly—narrative.

Use these (or others from this repertoire), and make them your own. But also be sure to give them the space they need to do the work they were made to do. So to say, take some cues from this album as to how the performance practices might do as much work as the texts in generating a strong sense of expectation and fulfillment. The other great part about traditional praise and worship is that the instrumentation is highly adaptable. You can do it with virtually any arrangement of musicians that will suit your context and your services. Because these were originally done in orchestral settings, it makes for a much easier process of simplifying to suit your context than “complexifying” to suit. Take for example the title track mentioned above, “All Hail King Jesus” that Lifeway offers in lead sheet, chord chart, piano, vocal, and full orchestral versions (print or as digital files).[2] All very easily accessible. But don’t just do one song, do a whole set, musical transitions and all. It’s called “flow.”

All this to say: I hope we continue to reach across the musical boundaries that have grown up around us to celebrate the good in other traditions of congregational song in Christian worship by participating in them. “Traditional” praise and worship has something to offer all of us in learning how to deeply experience and rehearse the story of the coming of Christ in Advent and Christmas as more than a symbol of Christian unity, but an embodiment of it. As Rosa’s recent blog reminded us so keenly: our singing is an act of love, not just with our lips or ears but with our actions and our presence. We celebrate in sung prayer and presence as an act of love for each others’ diverse experiences of God. And all of this stems from the layers of hope, expectation, and ultimate fulfillment we find in this first season of the Christian year, and ultimately in God’s eschatological fulfillment to which the year so beautifully points.

 

[1] The title track of the album, “All Hail King Jesus” Words and music by Dave Moody. © Copyright 1978 Dayspring Music, LLC.

[2] https://www.lifewayworship.com/findAndBuy/songPage/AllHailKingJesus?versionId=90387&searchString=null#song-Parts

 

 

It’s my privilege to be joined in this special conversation with Dr. Markus Rathey, the Robert S. Tangeman Professor in the Practice of Music History at the Yale Institute of Sacred Music, in New Haven, CT. It is a privilege not only for Markus’ expertise in this area but also because he was one of my own advisors and mentors during my time at Yale Divinity and the ISM. Markus joins our conversation here at Centered in Song—a blog of the Center for Congregational Song—to enlighten us on the experience of church music and musicians at the time of Luther’s Reformation as we mark this 500th Anniversary.

Author – Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School.

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Adam: Over the last year, many have been writing about the lasting influences of Luther and the Protestant Reformation, and many musically-inclined friends have reflected on the changes in music making that parallel changes in preaching, bible reading, etc. Let’s start there. Tell us about the Reformation in music. Is music as central as we like to believe when we sing “A Mighty Fortress” together? 

Markus: It is probably less essential than most musicians and those who do music and theology want to imagine. The reason for the Reformation was, of course, the question of Justification and the struggle over indulgences. The musical side of the Reformation came later. If you just look at the timeline, the Reformation starts on October 31, 1517, and Luther starts publishing his hymns in 1523—so there is already a gap of six years.

And if you look at Luther’s liturgical reforms, first in the Latin Mass and later with the German Mass, again the reform of the Latin Mass happens much earlier than the German Mass (in 1526), and only then does hymnody become an integral part of the liturgy.  A similar phenomenon happens when musicians talk about the Council of Trent and the Catholic Reformation. They talk about the myth of abolishing polyphonic music altogether, and the idea that Palestrina saved church music. First of all, it didn’t happen that way, but also the music-related session took place toward the end of the Council—and you have essentially two sentences that talk about music. So I think as musicians, our perspective is a little bit skewed, and music wasn’t actually as essential to the theological discourse as we want it to be, especially early on. I will add that in the popular discourse of ordinary people, however, music was more important because it is where they encountered the doctrine, internalizing it by singing and memorizing it. This would have been happening in 1524/5 with the publication of the larger collections such as Johann Walter’s Eyn geystlich Gesangk Buchleyn.

 

Adam: You teach a class called Music and Theology in the 16th Century (which I had the privilege of taking, Fall 2013) and study Lutheran church music in the 17th and 18th centuries—what do you find is commonly misunderstood about music and the Reformation?

Markus: Two things in particular. First, one we talked about a little already: the idea that music was so central for the Reformation. The reformations don’t start with music—though music does become very important later on, once the theological ideas have been established. Second, we often forget that music in the Reformation was not so much about taste or personal preferences but the theology of music, and the broader theology of the different reformers were intimately connected. For Zwingli, influenced by Erasmus’ Neo-Platonism, rejecting music comes from broader rejection of the physical world. For Luther, music is pre-lapsarian, that is, part of the good, divinely created world that comes directly from God. Thus we can and should use music. Calvin is in-between. He definitely understands the power of music, but he also sees its dangerous potential (very similar to St. Augustine more than 1000 years before him). Therefore, music must be harnessed by asking composers to create new melodies for the Genevan Psalter—an attempt to exclude other musical references—while sticking to the pure, biblical texts. The other feature for Calvin is to not allow instruments in corporate worship.

 

Adam: The way we often think of Luther seems to me to be more similar to the Romantic-era musical titans than anything else—sort of one übermann against the powers of the world. Is Luther really the jack-of-all-trades instigator, preacher, translator, theologian, composer, grass-roots organizer, etc. that we make him out to be? 

Markus: Luther did have a lot of skills. As a preacher and rhetorician, a theologian, a poet, and author of some of the early hymn melodies—though it’s a bit unclear how many were written by Luther because he collaborated so much with Johann Walter. He’s not a Josquin-level composer, but they are good, beautiful melodies. But music was also an important part of his life. He played the lute, liked to sing; he sang with his family and friends, and music was an important part of his private life, and he appreciated the power of music.

 

Adam: Who is the typical church musician? How would musical changes of the Reformation have affected their lives and work? 

Markus: The job of a church musician in the 16th century is very different than it would be today. The cantor would be the main church musician responsible for church music and conducts the boy choir who provides vocal music for the service. The organist is often a musician with other duties, including some outside the church. The cantor is also part of the school system, where he would teach the choir boys to sing, preparing them for the Sunday service, so the school system and the liturgical duties on Sunday morning are closely connected. Essential to understanding the life of the church musician is that he was a music teacher at the school.

 

Adam: How does this system develop

Markus: Luther already talks about reforming the school systems in the 1520s and 30s, collaborating with Melanchthon—one of his other sidekicks. The reform of the schools was a very important part of the Reformation because in order to read and understand the Bible, to go back to the sources (ad fontes), you have to teach kids to read. You need an educational system.

 

Adam: What was the role of music in the educational system—how did it differ between contexts?

Markus: Luther once said he wouldn’t accept a teacher if he wasn’t able to sing; musical skill was a basic qualification for a teacher. So if you have smaller, poorer schools, the schoolteacher would teach everything, including music. The boys in that school might not be very skilled but would still be able to sing the hymns in unison on Sunday morning. In more affluent urban schools with more skilled singers, the school would have a Cantor who gives music lessons and conducts the choir, and the boys would be able to sing polyphony. The school system leads directly to congregational singing in the liturgy.

 

Adam: How long did it take for this vernacular singing to get established alongside the vernacular liturgy?

Markus: The common assumption is that Luther came and said, ‘Okay, now we have to celebrate the liturgy in the vernacular; let’s get rid of all this old Latin.’ This is not the case at all. Even after Luther develops the German Mass, the primary liturgy at the major churches is still in Latin (with the exception of the sermon, of course, and some other parts of the liturgy). The second type of service, for the lesser-educated people, was the service in the vernacular. Within the vernacular liturgy, the vernacular hymns played a large part. But we also have to remember that singing the hymns was something one also did at home. For domestic piety, vernacular hymns were even more important. The boys came back from school where they learned these hymns and taught their parents how to sing them. So to say, through the kids, the music teacher also had a strong impact on the families.

 

Adam: What are some lessons you think the church today can learn from studying and understanding music in the Reformation?

Markus:

  1. Start early—teach kids! You can’t have a functioning church choir if your people don’t know how to sing! You can’t expect to have a good worship band if you have kids who can barely play an instrument. For any kind of music, teach them how to sing and make music. This is especially important since our public school systems often don’t have good music programs or are being cut altogether. And even if you want to teach the parents, the best way to do it is to do it through the kids.
  2. Understand our task as church musicians is not only to be administrators of tradition, but teachers of all ages.
  3. When you make liturgical changes, consider your congregation. Like with Luther’s introduction of German Mass, there are some changes you might like to make, but you shouldn’t because it will confuse or upset your parishioners. Your ideas about any reform and change must be taken pastorally, with love for the congregation. If you can’t do it in a way that is acceptable to them, you should think twice whether the change is really necessary.

 

 

Adam: Now that we’re excited about this history, what books should we go read?

Markus:

Let me begin with a recommendation that doesn’t primarily deal with music but that gives a great overview of the Reformation(s) in general. It was written by my Yale colleague Carlos Eire, Reformations. The Early Modern World, 1450-1650 (Yale Univ. Press 2016). For readers who are interested in the history of congregational singing in Luther’s Wittenberg, I recommend Robin Leaver’s new book The Whole Church Sings. Congregational Singing in Luther’s Wittenberg (Eerdmans 2017); and for a broader overview of the theological and liturgical contexts of his musical ideas, Leaver’s Luther’s Liturgical Music. Principles and Implications (Eerdmans, 2007).

 

Author – Adam Perez is currently a doctoral student in liturgical studies at Duke Divinity School in Durham, NC.

Launch Event Recap

We began our time together in just the way you might expect for the launch of the Center for Congregation Song: by singing! In fact, singing was the ligature that bound us (and our lovely schedule) together at Harmony!

In the elegant setting of The Room on Main in downtown Dallas, we began in worship with Ana Hernandez. She lead us into contemplation through song—not for turning inward, but for turning and tuning our ears to the beautifully diverse voices around us. Accompanied by simple shruti box or guitar, the breath carried our song together. It was a beautiful microcosm and model for the rest of the weekend.

After opening worship, attendees shared round table discussions where many were able to connect and converse with various affinity groups before heading down to our “Gospel Sing in the Park.”

Main Street Garden Park and the Dallas skyline

Joslyn Henderson leading our song

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Down at Main Street Garden park, Joslyn Henderson lead our worship with songs from across the spectrum of Black gospel music. In the late afternoon light, as dogs barked and city buses bumbled past, it was a deep joy to see so many pause to share in our song. In the late evening, attendees gathered for a relaxed time of socializing and sharing (and in my case, stumble upon some help for a research project—thanks Ben Brody!).

Monday morning we turned our hearts and our hands outward. John Bell lead us in songs and stories about the very real issues of food and justice worldwide. Simultaneously, Kids Against Hunger partnered with us to prepared dry meals for hungry persons around Texas and around the world.

Swee Hong Lim and Cynthia Wilson shared the Plenary Address. Their talks constituted a broader conversation about the relationship between congregational song and culture. On one hand, Swee Hong Lim asked how we, as congregational song practitioners, can prevent “ethno-tourism” and work against a kind of new colonialism enacted through music. Lim also used some examples of fusion musics to highlight the way we often project our own normative values onto what music from ‘other’ cultures should sound like. Likewise, Cynthia Wilson turned her attention to the margins, examining how congregational song can be appropriately contextualized with both the input of the ‘other’ and their full incorporation so as to be agents of transformation. For Wilson, this is especially important as music in the Africana context is part of a rich incarnational theology.

Just before lunch, CCS Director Brian Hehn introduced the mission and programs of the CCS. The guiding postures that pervaded his presentation included ‘conversations’ and resourcing. The afternoon practitioner talks also highlighted the practice of conversing or sharing over topics that can sometimes be either difficult, such as across lines of race and culture, or even taboo, like the struggles in one’s faith or spirituality.

After lunch, the community was graced by shorter talks from four excellent practitioners, Father Ray East, Amanda Powell, Jan Kraybill, and Tony Alonso. Each encouraged the group to push past norms and common boundaries: from using the Organ as an anti-bullying tool to bringing rap music and poetry more fully into realm of urban Christian ministry. We concluded the time with a panel discussion that included all the presenters. Questions related to music, songwriting, and pastoral concerns extended the groups conversation. The event closed with another contemplative time of singing and listening under Ana Hernandez’s leadership.

The world was a better place this morning thanks to your efforts.  Every segment of the launch was highly professional, inclusive, and engaging.  At no time was I tempted to sneak out for a nap or a bit of shopping!  My choir got a taste of paperless singing today and they were so excited!  One girl exclaimed, “Wow! this is so creative!” – Nancy Graham, Memphis, TN

 

Continuing the Conversation: Dissonance?

Over the course of the weekend at the launch event, “Harmony,” I found myself stuck on a phrase that was used by a few of the presenters as they reflected on their hopes for the future of congregational song. It’s a great one, really—eminently tweet-able. One that seems to bring together so much of religious life and experience. It goes something like this, ‘We need to be writing congregational songs that people will be singing on their deathbeds.’ The sentiment is well taken: we need to write songs (or ‘hymns’ if you prefer) that persons and communities can carry with them through their whole lives, ‘even unto death.’

The challenge is daunting. Many have asked the question over the years, ‘what is it that makes a text or text-tune pairing so long-lasting?’  It’s not like there is a formula for generating that je ne sais quoi—the one we find in songs like “Amazing Grace,” or “It is Well/When Peace, Like a River.” Of course, those two examples do share a certain comforting quality that makes them especially fitting for the harder times of life and it goes without saying that songs of comfort are especially fitting for those deathbed moments. But to take the commendation seriously, is the ‘deathbed’ the norm by which we should measure congregational song?

The other end of the spectrum seems to have been expressed by John Bell as he introduced the “Serve and Sing” session. Bell remarked upon the fact that we North Americans have very few songs that address the occasion for which we were gathered that morning: to address the problem of lack of food, rather than its bounty. Why is this the case?

In my ears, Bell’s reflection and lament about the state of song stood in stark contrast to the other laments about the (perceived lack of) longevity of song. While others seemed to be asking for songs that would transcend time and space, Bell seemed to be asking for songs immanently and intimately tied to lived experiences and issues of justice. Should this be the norm by which we measure congregational song? Can the transcendent and immanent co-exist? Can we ‘have our cake and eat it too?’

Okay, I know I’ve probably taken the sentiment farther than they intended, but I think it sheds a discerning light on our imagination of the ‘future’ of congregational song that we reflected on so richly at Harmony. It comes together, I think, around regular theme from the event: the power of story. One important reason those above-mentioned songs are so comforting at the bedside of the ill or distressed is that those same songs have been with us in those places before. Those songs not only have their own stories of comfort in the face of fear and distress, but we have woven our stories into them too. In some sense, the songs about hunger and justice are also part of stories and narratives in which we are involved. We must weave our diverse experiences of want for justice and plenty in the kingdom of God with those for whom food itself engenders this sentiment. The song can then become part of the script in our inclusive drama of life, death, deep hope, and justice in the kingdom of God.

 

 

Author Brian Hehn is the Director of The Center for Congregational Song

The Beginning

Negativity. Pessimism. Insults. Arrogance. Blame. Simplifications…These are many of the characteristics that are easy to find when browsing the internet, scrolling through social media, listening to the news, and even walking the hallways of our churches. But when I read the Gospels, when I look to inspirational leaders who make a difference in this world, and when I interact with many of my colleagues and friends, I find:
Joy. Optimism. Praises. Humility. Grace. Contextualization.

The Center for Congregational Song (CCS) is a new endeavor that I pray will make a difference in our churches and our communities. But that difference cannot and will not be made through negativity. Why? Because there is too much to celebrate and too much good work to be done. There is so much inspiration out there; so many people who are serving faithfully and striving diligently to enliven the voice of God’s people. As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. prophetically said, “darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that.” Our song must be a light. When people struggle with the darkness of despair or depression, our song must be like David’s healing music for King Saul. When our communities are invaded by the darkness of oppression or fear, we must join Jesus as he sings with his disciples in the upper room.

I hope that you’ll join us in this work. Join us by continuing to lead God’s people in song. Join us by sharing the good resources you have found with us so that we can connect others. Join us by telling your colleagues and friends about us. Whether you become a consumer, contributor, or cheerleader, we want you to become a part of The Center’s work.

As you explore all our initiatives and resources, it’s important to know that our work is guided by a series of “guiding stances.” These stances have been carefully crafted by The Center Director’s Advisory Group as well as The Hymn Society’s Executive Leadership. To read about these guiding stances, you can click here.
This blog begins with a core team of writers in place and ready to write. Each contributor comes from a different background, different tradition, and has a different skill-set. So what you’ll get by following this blog is a variety of ideas from a variety of viewpoints, and we view that as a strength. So let me introduce you to our core team:


Rosa Cándida Ramírez is the Worship Pastor of La Fuente Ministries, an intercultural, intergenerational bilingual ministry in Pasadena, California. As a second generation Latina, she is passionate about the role of language and culture in worship, and the creation of bilingual worship resources. During her time as a student, she worked with Fuller Theological Seminary’s All-Seminary Chapel in helping create intercultural worship and is currently working as a consultant with the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship.


Ginny Chilton is Music Minister at Church of the Ascension in Norfolk, Virginia, where she serves as organist, choirmaster, and elementary music teacher. She enjoys the variety that comes with working in a church: organ music, worship planning, choir directing, children’s music, handbells, etc. Before moving to Virginia, she had been in Boston where she completed two master’s degrees at Boston University: a master’s of sacred music and a master’s of divinity.


Adam Perez is a doctoral student in liturgical studies and music at Duke Divinity School in Durham, NC. A native of Miami, FL, Adam earned a B.A. in music education from Trinity Christian College (Palos Heights, IL) and a M.A. in religion and music from Yale Divinity School and the Yale Institute of Sacred Music. He has been involved in planning and leading worship in a wide variety of settings and styles, most recently as the Interim Minister of Music at All Saints’ United Methodist Church in Morrisville, North Carolina. Adam is passionate about vital corporate worship and is committed to helping communities and their leaders engage in worship with wisdom and hospitality.


Me! I am the director of The Center for Congregational Song and I love my job. Getting to spend intentional time seeking out and meeting people across the U.S. and Canada who are passionate about the church’s song and then connecting others to their work is a large part of what I do. I live and breathe congregational song and am beyond blessed to learn from and with musicians and pastors in a variety of contexts and denominations. I’m excited about what this blog and the entire Center for Congregational Song can and will do in the coming years to help encourage, promote, and enliven congregational song.