While working as a church musician in an increasingly secular society, where identifying as Christian can be misconstrued as identifying as a narrow-minded, gay-hating hypocrite, I’ve learned to answer the questions “Do you believe in God?” and “Are you religious?” in several different ways, depending on who is asking. If a friend my age inquires, and I expect they might react with scorn if I identified as a “believer” (what a horrid term that is, by the way), I might say, “Yes, well, I love the ritual and music of the church, but I’m not so sure if I believe in God.” If the question comes up in an interview, I might finagle my answer into something like, “For me, I experience God through music, by way of producing it in a communal context and through offering my own solo interpretations…” In other contexts, I might just say “I don’t know, but I prefer to keep that kind of stuff private, thank you very much.” The fact that music has always been attractive to me and integral to my personal identity is undeniable and not in question, but what I have been trying to figure out recently is how that plays into my faith; the two have always been intertwined and contribute to each other, but are they even separate at all?
A favorite phrase that echoes in my head often is “Music is something of the spirit.” Music has the ability to circumvent logic and skip straight to your sinews, to your gut. It is evocative and incredibly powerful; look at the often-shared stories and videos of Alzheimer’s patients miraculously engaging with songs from their youth. Or perhaps there’s a certain song you encounter on the radio, which always brings you back to a moment in your past, or an important person in your life. Everyone recognizes this power that music holds - what culture in the world doesn’t place some sort of value in music or chant?
I think people tend to resonate most strongly with music that they know well, though this is not always the case. But I’d hazard a guess that if you quizzed the average symphony attendees about their favorite piece on a program, the overwhelming majority would respond with the well-beloved Mozart or Beethoven symphony, rather than the new, more modern world premiere, simply because the former is something they’ve heard before. After enough time living with a piece of music, one can enjoy and look forward to all its twists and turns over and over, just like a favorite book or film.
For those who don't identify as musically-inclined (though I do think it is innately human to encounter God/anything profound through music, and not just for those with degrees in it), I am convinced that “academic” tastes in music can still be made accessible, especially when properly introduced. After doing my weekly organ videos for my church’s YouTube channel, I can’t tell you how many people (mainly non-organists) expressed some sort of appreciation for my digestible introductions to the pieces performed — and some of this music was very niche, even for organists! This demonstrates to me that good music in an approachable context can serve everyone, especially in church.
Something I find complicated about my own sacred music preferences is how specific they are. There is an unwritten list of composers, styles, and eras that I find far more convincing than others, and I am quick to look down upon those not on that list. But who am I to judge any piece that someone likely poured their heart, soul, and talent into creating? Am I still being an advocate for organists and worship leaders if my preferences are misunderstood as simple snobbery? Has my training, first as a chorister and then at a music conservatory, made me less qualified to lead a congregation or choir in singing, because my views might be seen as loftier than that of the average Joe? The last thing I want to do is discourage anyone through my music choices.
This harkens back to the debate about what sort of music we should be making in church. There are SO many strong opinions about this, and each one is likely tied to the tradition with which someone is most familiar:
Church music should be an extension of what we encounter in our daily life; why make it any different from what we might hear on the pop station of a radio? [As I write this, a neighbor in my apartment complex is blasting some Christian Praise music. I can’t actually make out the words, but the repetitive chord progressions and pulsing beat are unmistakable.]
Church music offers something sacred and separate from our earthly lives. It is an offering to God, and we need to offer our very best and closest attempt at perfection, because that’s what God deserves.
God doesn’t care how in tune we are when we sing praises; loosen up a bit and just enjoy the communal fellowship in song.
Music shouldn’t be too fancy, or else it distracts from the real point of church: the Gospel.
If the music is too complicated, it will just alienate the congregation.
We need not dwell so much on hymns; let’s skip a few verses or play the tune quicker, so that the service doesn’t take up more than an hour of our sabbath day. [This one really bugs me; please don’t forget that hymns are prayers and poetry, “to sing is to pray twice”…]
Music should be for everyone to take part in. It’s divisive and alienating for the choir to sing while the congregation only gets to listen.
The actual musical notes really don’t matter; it’s all about the sincerity of the performance.
And so on and so forth.
That said, music can be emotionally manipulative, outside of its words. Certain harmonic progressions, suspensions, resolutions, and melodies can be incredibly powerful and provoke visceral responses, some of which may be vehemently resented by a listener! Personally, I get very annoyed if a piece that I particularly love causes me to choke up - this literally prevents me from producing sound, not to mention I run the risk of being observed as sentimental (I’ve worked too hard on maintaining a tough exterior to allow this to happen!). But where do we draw the line between unwanted manipulation and a profound emotional response? Clearly the same piece of music can affect different people in hugely different ways (or even the same person differently when they’re in a different emotional space). Is it unreasonable of me to scorn music that I deem shallow and manipulative, and is it selfish of me to push only the music that I find especially meaningful? Surely there is a middle ground in which everyone in church gets to hear their favorites at some point, while still being exposed to new styles and genres. I think that in my role as a worship leader, I have been entrusted to help choose appropriate music, and I believe my training lends at least some credibility to this responsibility.
In past stints of employment, I have worked in settings where the music does not resonate with my tastes, and I have found it really affects my focus and energy within the context of the service. Am I just a massive snob, or is the infelicitous pairing of music and liturgy (or lack thereof) actually interfering with my personal worship? Does it even matter if it interferes with my personal worship? We tend to associate hymn tunes with specific texts, based on whichever hymnal with which we grew up. When I worked in the UK and found completely different pairings, I felt thrown off (hearing “Love divine, all loves excelling” sung to Blaenwern rather than Hyfrodol was strange, but now I adore Blaenwern and would choose it every time!), and I’ve had similar reactions in my exploration of the United Methodist Hymnal in my relatively new post. Obviously, I am able to play my heart out and lead congregational singing with gusto, regardless of the hymnal in use. But when the music aligns with the liturgy (and my tastes/preferences/associations), then it feels like unreserved worship to me.
I can’t help but wonder, is it a cheap trick when music heads straight for the gut? Does God/the Holy Spirit not do the same thing? For those days when the headlines provide only worry and doom, and God seems far away or even absent, the process of making music in community can still provide a sense of meaning and fulfilment.
Is it even possible to throw oneself into worship while being on the clock in one’s place of employment? Because of the strength of our emotional connection to music, how damaging can it be to one’s faith to leave a church service feeling resentful or unfulfilled by the musical choices? How on earth should worship leaders cater to everyone’s tastes?
There are lots of questions above that don’t have clear-cut answers, but I think the key for me is to play every service with the attitude that the music for the day might be life-changing and utterly special for even just one person in the congregation. That one person may not be me, the organist, but in any case, such music should be played with respect and reverence. Ideally, in my opinion, music can touch the majority of the congregation when it is chosen with the themes, lectionary, and liturgy of the day in mind; when it is rehearsed and performed thoughtfully and without stress or anxiety; and when it is offered sincerely in praise of God.
Guercino’s depiction of St Cecilia - the patron saint of music