Sing me something wonderful

O Lord God of hosts, the God of Israel, awake to visit all the heathen: be not merciful to any wicked transgressors. Selah.
They return at evening: they make a noise like a dog, and go round about the city.
Behold, they belch out with their mouth: swords are in their lips: for who, say they, doth hear?
But thou, O Lord, shalt laugh at them; thou shalt have all the heathen in derision.
Because of his strength will I wait upon thee: for God is my defence.
The God of my mercy shall prevent me: God shall let me see my desire upon mine enemies.
(Psalm 59:5-10, KJV)

Psalm 59 is a song, an ancient hymn meant to be sung, not primarily read as we now do. I’d love to hear it as it might have been heard at King Solomon’s court, accompanied by the instruments of the day. The “Selah” is Hebrew and may either be a musical direction or a sacred salutation, almost like the “Amen” with which we’re familiar.

For hundreds of years now, Protestant churches generally have held in common the words and the melody of, for instance, Martin Luther’s, Ein Feste Burg is unser Gott, “A mighty fortress is our God,” and thousands could still hum the melody if asked, I would guess. I wonder if in 800 or so BC, Psalm 59 had a similarly memorable tune, and if people would hum it as they milled grain for bread.
 

Great hymns have always been replete with poetic, figurative language. In Psalm 59, “swords are in their lips,” or “they make noise like a dog” are obviously metaphoric, figurative. “God is a castle” in Luther’s hymn likewise emphasizes a point through the use of figurative language. The impact of this language can only be appreciated when we recognize their intent and have learned to appreciate the purpose of the poets’ employment of language that goes beyond the literal, something most of have grasped intuitively since we were kids and our moms told us that our rooms looked “like a pig sty.”

Music originates in the imaginations of people; people’s imaginations are heavily imprinted by the realities of the age in which they happen to live. The art of an epoch is probably more informative in understanding the people of the time than is the history of its wars and famines, its architecture and technologies. To King David, God is a warrior; to Martin Luther, God is a castle. To present-day evangelical protestantism, God is . . . well, look at the music and art of our time and tell me!

I came across an article by Josh Hunt, a proponent of “contemporary worship,” called Introducing Contemporary Worship into a Traditional Church. A point Hunt makes (as I understand it) is that contemporary worship follows the post-modern shifts in culture and therefore brings young people into the church. There’s much more of interest in Hunt's article for anyone seeking to understand the phenomenon and I’d urge us from traditional backgrounds to read the article by clicking here.

Some music has words and some doesn’t. Vivaldi’s Gloria has words (albeit in Latin); his Four Seasons is instrumental; Handel’s Messiah gains much of its worship impact from a text compiled by Charles Jennens. Without getting into a debate about which is more impactful—words or music (tune, meter, etc)—I do wonder about the marriage of our biology and music that can result in a range of reactions from indifference to euphoric.

 I recently heard Eric Clapton’s Tears in Heaven for the first time (I'm not really "out there" in the pop music scene) and was “grabbed” by it immediately, even before I’d picked up the words or learned the story of this song as a ballad of lament for a four year-old son lost in a tragic accident. It was the music—masterful acoustic guitar work, a singable melody, subtle but driving rhythm—to which something in me responded (I think). Subsequent encounters with the song have made the word and the story equal parts of the experience but I still hum the tune in my head over and over despite not having caught, or remembered, all the lyrics.
 
Psalm 95 has dark lyrics, but ends in a triumphant declaration: “But I will sing of thy power; yea, I will sing aloud of thy mercy in the morning: for thou hast been my defence and refuge in the day of my trouble. (Psalm 59:16, KJV)
 
Jump some 3000 years to a contemporary song by Yolanda Adams:

Not because I've been so faithful
Not Because I've always obeyed
It's not because I trust him
To be with me all of the way
But it's because He loves me so dearly
He was there to answer my call
There always to protect me
For He's kept me in the midst of it all

 

Or to live “elevation worship” by clicking here:
 

There is a wide band of continuity from Psalm 95 through EinFeste Burg, through Be Thou my Vision, and to and through Yolanda Adams and the “elevation worship” sampler at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZOBIPb-6PTc&index=4&list=PLxW5OY0N3VvfEEP1KnBIrJVddUNG-M4wZ

What roles do intellect, experience, emotional need or taste play in deciding how to worship, what songs to sing? My guess is all of the above. More to the point is the question of our tolerance or intolerance for others’ tastes and preferences. Just like it’s not possible to add a cubit to one’s stature by taking thought (deciding, in other words), it’s probably futile to like a piece of music as an act of will.

Deciding that I prefer a style of worship and a genre of music “because it’s the best” can only lead to pretty significant division in the church. But then, maybe division is what we prefer. 

Is it?