It must be human nature to mark the midway point of things. When I’m reading a book, I notice when I get to the middle. Do you do that, too? I even look at the last page and divide the number by two so I’ll know when I’ve reached the mid-point of the book. (And no, I don’t read the last page to see how it ends. Spoilers!) In school, the mid-point of the school year was Christmas break: that glorious two-week oasis full of lights, music, presents, and Crock-Pots full of tiny smoked sausages swimming in barbecue sauce. In the church, we’re no different: we mark the mid-point of our seasons. The midpoint of Advent is Gaudete Sunday, when purple is exchanged for pink and the theme is decidedly more upbeat. The same goes for the middle Sunday of Lent, known as Laetare Sunday. Today is the midpoint of Easter: Sunday number four of a Seven-Sunday feast. And we mark that midpoint by highlighting one of the most prominent images of our God in all of Scripture: that of a Shepherd. This midpoint Sunday of Easter is known as Good Shepherd Sunday, or simply Shepherd Sunday.
When we ponder this image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd, our minds naturally go to some of the works of art that we’ve seen over the years. Chief among them is a painting by Bernhard Plockhorst. Now, you may not be familiar with that name, but you are familiar with the painting, or at least with reproductions of it. It’s the one that depicts Jesus with shepherd’s crook in hand, among a flock of sheep, carrying a tiny lamb in his arms. It calls to mind the parable Jesus once told of the shepherd who left ninety-nine sheep to go and search for one missing sheep. When he found that one sheep, he placed it on his shoulders and brought it home with great rejoicing. That powerful is burned into our minds because of that painting, but since we did not read that passage today, we’ll focus instead on three themes that arise from our Gospel reading.
I. The Good Shepherd is God. John is not a biographer. John has selected his material very carefully to make his point. He tells us so at the end of the Gospel: “Jesus said and did many things that are not included in this book, but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life through his name.” Of all the miracles of Jesus, John picks only seven, and he calls them not miracles, but signs: signs that point us to Jesus’ divinity. In the same manner, he chooses seven sayings of Jesus. Each of these seven sayings begins with the words “I Am,” a phrase that, to the Hebraic mind, is firmly connected with the God of the Hebrew scriptures. When Moses encountered the burning bush and was told to go talk to Pharaoh, Moses asked God, “Whom shall I say sent me?” And God replied. “I Am that I Am.” Tell them “I Am” has sent you to them. When Jesus told the leaders of his day, “Before Abraham was, I am,” they tried to kill him, because they understood what he was saying. He was deliberately using “I Am” to equate himself with the one who spoke from the burning bush. And he does this seven other times in John’s Gospel. “I am the bread of life.” “I am the light of the world.” “I am the door (or the gate).” “I am the resurrection and the life.” “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” “I am the true vine.” And this saying: “I am the Good Shepherd.” In each case, Jesus is telling his listeners that he is the One who was, and who is, and who is to come. He is proclaiming his deity, and at the same time showing us an aspect of that Deity. He is the God who nourishes our souls as the bread of life, the God who provides safe passage and protection as the door, who is the way, truth, and life, who sustains us as the vine sustains the branches, and now, who shepherds us.
II. A shepherd must be present with the sheep. It is impossible for a shepherd to herd sheep long distance. Shepherding is not a job you can phone in. If the shepherd isn’t right there with the sheep, you can bet a sheep dog will be right there with them, staring them down, even nipping at them if they won’t go the right way.
When Jesus was here on earth, we are told that he looked on the crowds and had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he shepherded them. He healed the sick. He gave food to the hungry. He reached out to those whom society, even religion, shunned. He was a kind and gentle shepherd. But what about now? Can we still say “The Lord is my shepherd?” Can we say, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me”? Thomas asked Jesus this question when Jesus told the disciples, in the Upper Room, that he was going away. Jesus answered: “I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Comforter, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of truth, who will be in you. I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. I am going away, and I am coming to you.” Now, how does that work? “I am going away, and I am coming to you”? Jesus says that through the presence of the Comforter, that is the Holy Spirit, whom the Father would send, Jesus–and the Father–would come to Jesus’ disciples. This is our ten-dollar word this morning: perichoresis, which means mutual indwelling. Where one person of the Trinity is, the other Persons are also, and what one is involved in doing, the others are involved in doing. So, Jesus ascended into heaven: we rehearse that event every week in the Creed. But, because God has sent the Holy Spirit, and because the Holy Spirit is in us and with us all the time, then Jesus too is with us, through the Holy Spirit. Jesus is our Shepherd. He is present with us, as a shepherd must be.
III. The shepherd is a sheep. When I entitled this sermon “Shepherd and Sheep,” you probably thought it was a “Jesus and me” kind of thing, or at least a “Jesus and us” kind of thing. Jesus is the shepherd and we are the sheep. We are the flock. Well, that’s true, we are, but that’s not what I had in mind. I mentioned that painting by Plockhorst earlier of the Good Shepherd, but there’s another work of art you may not have seen. It’s a relief in the rotunda of a church in Rome called the Basilica di Santa Maria in Trastevere. The most striking mosaic to me is in the apse of the church. There are twelve sheep: six on each side, looking toward a center point. There are many such mosaics in churches of this period, and typically the sheep are looking at a figure of Jesus, who is standing amid them. But in this case, the twelve sheep are looking at another sheep, who is standing in their midst. The sheep in the center is wearing a halo or crown. The Good Shepherd, you see, is the King of kings, but he’s also a sheep. His compassion toward us extended so far that he didn’t just become our shepherd: he became a sheep like us. As the Nicene Creed says, “Who for us and for our salvation came down from heaven, and was incarnate.” The Word became flesh and dwelt among us. The creator became a creature. The immortal God became mortal. The shepherd became a sheep. And we, who are the flock of that shepherd, are called to live out the same kind of love and compassion that caused his incarnation. We are called to be present with those who are suffering. Not just to say, “Go your way: be warmed and filled,” but to be present with one another in our joys and in our sorrows. Too often, I’m afraid our concept of worship–and of of being church in general–is vertical at the expense of any horizontal dimension. We want an “I-thou” encounter with God without encountering one another. Yet we worship a shepherd who became a sheep. He came and lived where we live, as one of us! We exchanged the peace last Sunday, and I know there was some trepidation about that. It is something that was foreign to Presbyterian worship before the 1970s, but it wasn’t invented in the 70s. It goes back to the first-century church, and it’s one way to demonstrate our commitment to live with one another as one body: to care for one another. To incarnate the love and compassion of our shepherd among one another. Even when we celebrate the Lord’s Supper, which should be, St. Paul tells us, a reminder that we are one Body in Christ, we make it instead a time for somber, solitary introspection, instead of the Wedding Supper of the Lamb, a feast that we share as one body with the risen, living Christ. Yes, we ought to exalt God, ascribing to God the glory due his name, but at the same time we need to emulate the shepherd who became a sheep.
The Hebrew scriptures, in Psalm 23, Isaiah 40, Ezekiel 34, and many other places, tell us that God is our shepherd. The Gospel tells us that Jesus, our Good Shepherd, is God. Jesus, our Good Shepherd, is always present with us, his sheep, through the Holy Spirit, whom the Father sent to be with us forever. And the Good Shepherd demonstrated his love for us by becoming a sheep like us. As the flock under his care, let us follow where he leads. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
We had to move. I had lost my job: more precisely: I had been removed from it, and at the same time, my wife and children found that most of their friends had been taken away from them. (You may read more about that chapter here.) We had to go. I had to find another job, and I didn’t have long to do it.
I did find another job, and we knew we needed to leave, but leaving was hard. We were not in the place emotionally to move on: we were just moving away, and pretty much against our will at that. For me, it was a necessity: if we stayed, there would be no food on the table and no roof over our heads. For the children, it was leaving behind friends, schools, piano lessons, violin lessons, dance lessons, and summer camp (none of which they’ve ever been able to do since, because we couldn’t afford it anymore). It meant leaving the place where they were born and the only home they’d ever known. We tried to keep things as “normal” as possible for them until the very last. As a matter of fact, we could not bear to pack up their playthings, to the point that when moving day came, their playroom had not even been packed at all, and we ended up leaving everything as it was, with toys all over the floor. We came back a couple of weeks later (a friend of mine had bought our house to make it easier on us to move and gave us some time to do any last-minute things before he resold it) and packed the playroom, but even then we just threw things in boxes and got out of there. It was too painful to stay for long, or to take the time to go through their things.
When we arrived here, we rented a mini-storage unit for those things and some other things we didn’t have a place for (our rental house here has no attic and no closet space to speak of). For seven years we’ve paid rent on that mini-storage unit. The other day, we borrowed a pickup truck and went to the storage unit to clean it out. It was very hard going through some of those boxes, mainly because of the playroom items. They were reminders of my children’s lives before they were so abruptly uprooted. Some of those things I know they would have enjoyed after we moved, and others I know their younger siblings would have enjoyed discovering. But we had not been ready to move on: we were just being forced to move away. Looking into those boxes was almost like looking at someone else’s life: the life our children had before we had to move away was so different. If we had simply moved on from that place, I’m sure I’d look back on it fondly. As it is, I look back on it and grieve that it was ripped away from us, and from them. I grieve for what they had to leave behind, through no fault of their own.
This time, we’re not moving away: we’re moving on. Yes, we will miss many people here. We’ve made some dear friends over these seven years. Some have moved on themselves, but others are still here and are sad that we are going. We are sad that we won’t see them anymore. But we’re moving on. We’ve sorted through the baggage–literally–from the last move, and we’re moving on. We took many things to a local mission to donate, many others to the dumpster, and some things back home (including some long-lost favorites among our LPs, which we are determined to convert to audio files!). Today, we took down the now-rusty swing set in the back yard and discarded it. The youngest shed a few tears as he saw me take it down, but his older brother (7) comforted him by saying, “Maybe we’ll get a better one at the new house” to which the youngest replied, “Yeah, I want a TIRE swing, Papa!” We’ve thrown away lots of magazines and worn or torn clothes, and we’ve donated outgrown clothes, toys, bikes, etc. There is still more to do. I spent a good portion of the evening matching dust jackets to children’s books and sorting the books by type. I don’t want this move to be a “throw stuff in boxes” affair, because we’re not being “run out of town” this time: we’re just moving on.
Moving is a huge pain, no matter what. But when you’re moving on instead of having to move away, it’s a different kind of pain. I wish, seven years ago, I had been able to think of our move as moving on instead of moving away, but I couldn’t. The pain was too much: the hurt was too deep. I know that this has colored my experience here, and I am sorrowful for that. I am grateful for those who tried to understand and who were very patient with me as I tried–as we all tried–to heal. We have, I think, for the most part. And we’re getting ready to move on.
It has been one week since my oldest (in terms of duration of the friendship, not in terms of HIS age) and bestest (see above for duration of the friendship) friend (apart from my wife), Mark, texted me to tell me that Whitney Houston had passed away. I do not know this for sure, but I suspect I am the first person he texted, or possibly the second, after his sister, Christy. He knew I would want to know.
Since then, the airwaves have been full of tributes to Whitney Houston. My younger children have no idea who she was, and my older ones are asking what anyone younger than I am asking: “What’s the deal with Whitney Houston?” That’s because they know her only as a slightly unhinged personality from reality TV, or as a punchline to a Saturday Night Live skit. They only know the post-Bobby-Brown, post-drugs, post-”crack-is-whack” Whitney. And that’s a shame.
I wasn’t what you’d call a rabid Whitney Houston fan. In fact, I have never owned any of her recordings, on LP, CD, or any other format. I did see her live, though: it was during her 1987 “Moment of Truth” tour. She sang to a packed-out BJCC Coliseum. And yes, she sang: she did not lip-sync. And every song was in a different arrangement from her albums. Her own arrangements. No auto-tune. Whitney Houston was the real deal. Sure, she showed her Gospel roots by throwing in some melismas, but never to the extent that they obscured the melody: certainly nothing like the hundreds of Whitney wannabes we’ve been subjected to over the years on American Idol, The X-Factor, etc. Whitney’s voice, before her lifestyle choices took their toll on it, was incredibly rich, incredibly powerful, and incredibly moving. When I saw her perform, she had just turned 24: I had just turned 20.
To anyone who had a pulse in the mid ’80s to early ’90s, Whitney Houston’s music was a part of the soundtrack of everyday life. Everyone, whether they wanted to admit it or not, liked Whitney Houston. My DAD liked Whitney Houston: my Dixie-Gospel-Caravan-loving Dad liked Whitney Houston. I remember him singing along to “I Wanna Dance With Somebody” every time it came on the radio or TV, which, if you know my Dad, is saying something. I worked at Musicland in Brookwood Village during the Christmas break of 1987, and we sold a dizzying number of copies of her sophomore LP, “Whitney.” I remember in particular one mom and her 9- or 10-year-old daughter who came in, asking for the new Whitney Houston album. I showed them where it was and handed them a copy. The mom asked, “Does this have ‘I Wanna Dance With Somebody’ on it?” I assured her it did. Wanting to make absolutely sure, they flipped the album over and looked at the track listing. When they saw the song listed on the album cover, they looked at each other, smiled, and then I don’t know who squealed louder: the mom or her little girl. I smiled too. Whitney Houston had that effect on people.
From her song “One Moment in Time” for the 1988 Olympics to her rendition of the National Anthem in 1991 (during the Gulf War), her position as America’s musical sweetheart was sealed. I think part of the “deal” with Whitney Houston–the fact that people are talking about her death so much–is not only that she was “our” age (although that does make it strange), and not even only because of the place her music had in everyone’s everyday lives during that time, but because of what she became later. She lost her voice, both figuratively and literally. We see her as she was in her youth, in her prime, and then we see where she was when she died, and how she died, and we wonder “What if?”
Illegal drugs ruined her life, but a legal one–nicotine (particularly cigarettes)–ruined her voice, just as they ruined the voice of her older cousin, Dionne Warwick. She lost her range, her power, her sense of pitch, and the ability to sustain all but the shortest notes. According to reports, her dependence on cigarettes came after she got off the illegal drugs:Â one addiction replaced another.
In the last couple of years, Whitney Houston was talking about Jesus a lot more. Some reports have indicated that in the last few days of her life, she stated that she thought her time was short. Perhaps we’ll know more soon. Perhaps we never will. But I hope that the Gospel she sang about as a child in a New Jersey Baptist church became, at some point, more than just words to a song. I hope she did find her way home.
In most movie versions of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, there is one detail they get horribly wrong. It has to do with the arrival of the various ghosts. You may think you know this by heart: “Expect the first when the bell tolls one, expect the second when the bell tolls two, and expect the third when the bell tolls three,” right? Wrong.
Here are Dickens’ words (which are reflected in only a couple of the film versions): “Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one. Expect the second on the next night at the same hour. The third upon the next night when the last stroke of twelve has ceased to vibrate.” OK, so three successive days–25 December, 26 December, and 27 December, right? Well, not quite. That would be right, except for this passage from Chapter 3:
Scrooge had observed this change [that the spirit seemed to grow old very quickly], but never spoke of it, until they left a children’s Twelfth Night party, when, looking at the Spirit as they stood together in an open place, he noticed that its hair was grey.
“Are spirits’ lives so short?” asked Scrooge.
“My life upon this globe, is very brief,” replied the Ghost. “It ends to-night [i.e. Twelfth Night: 5 January].”
“To-night!” cried Scrooge.
“To-night at midnight. Hark! The time is drawing near.”
So, from Scrooge’s perspective, he is with the first spirit from 1:00 a.m. Christmas Day until 1:00 a.m. on the Second Day of Christmas (26 December), with the second spirit from 1:00 a.m. on the 26th through midnight of Twelfth Night (5 January), and with the third spirit on Epiphany (6 January). That’s why it makes sense, when Scrooge awakes, to be so confused that it’s Christmas Day. When he says “I haven’t missed it,” it’s because, from his perspective, he was walking with the spirits for the entire 12 Days of Christmas!
Most historians credit Dickens with bringing the celebration of Christmas back to the popular imagination, both in Britain and here in the U.S. Before the publication of A Christmas Carol, Christmas had fallen on hard times as a celebration. A Christmas Carol helped to revive many Christmas traditions from England’s pre-Puritan past. To this day, many of our images of a “perfect” Christmas are decidedly Dickensian: carolers in Victorian garb, a plum pudding with a sprig of holly in it, Noble firs with candles, etc.” Wouldn’t it be nice if we hadn’t left out this detail of Dickens’ classic: the Christmas the spirits encouraged Scrooge to keep was not a one-day affair.
What if …
What if we really were earnest about “keeping Christmas,” as the spirits encouraged Scrooge to do? What if, along with Christmas trees, Christmas puddings, carolers, and all the other “Dickensian” elements, we also revived the custom of Twelfth Night parties? What if we made Epiphany the climax of the Christmas feast and not an almost-forgotten afterthought?
The origin of the Twelve Days of Christmas lies partly in a compromise in the early days of Christianity. Christians in Rome, and others in the Western part of the church, celebrated the Feast of the Incarnation on 25 December as “The Nativity of Our Lord.” In the Eastern Church, the principal feast of the Incarnation was the Theophany (manifestation of God) on 6 January. The Twelve Days of Christmas were a way of bridging this divide. In the West, 6 January came to be known as Epiphany, and the principal focus was the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles, as illustrated by the arrival of the Magi (Wise Men), who were the first Gentiles to see Christ. Because of the lavish gifts they brought to the Christ Child, Epiphany became the chief gift-giving day of the Christmas season.
What if …
What if we spread Christmas evenly across the season, from December 25 through Epiphany? What if we held parties or feasts on Twelfth Night (Epiphany Eve) that were reminiscent of wedding feasts (as Epiphany celebrations used to be), since the Bridegroom has arrived? What if we didn’t try to crowd Christmas Eve/Day church services, stockings, presents under the tree, family games, and Christmas Dinner all into Christmas Eve/Day? What if Christians took a cue from the Jewish community and did Christmas like they do Chanukah? I’m not talking about spending 12 times as much money on Christmas. What if we spent the same (or even less) on Christmas, but just spread it out over 12 days, making more room for celebrating the events and results of the Redemption Story rather than just the trappings of its celebration?
Suggestions (and I’m just thinking out loud now): what if Christmas Eve meant church, and that’s pretty much it. What if on Christmas morning, Santa had filled the stockings, and that’s all he leaves? (Some do stockings on St. Nicholas Day: 6 December, I realize.) Then Christmas Dinner could be a bigger focus, and consequent time around the table with family and friends. Gifts from Santa (if you “do” Santa) could be opened Christmas Night, gifts from parents to children (and children to parents) on the night of the 26th, gifts from siblings to one another the night of the 27th, gifts from grandparents to grandchildren (and vice versa) on the 28th, etc. At each point, as families gather around the hearth and/or tree on each night of Christmas, the significance of each day could be shared (for example, St. Stephen on the 26th, Holy Innocents on the 28th, etc.). Each night would not have to be a gift-giving night. Days could and should be set aside, during Christmastide, for serving others: taking food to elderly and/or sick people in your church and neighborhood, taking special foods to homeless shelters or soup kitchens, etc. When I was young, my mother always liked to take bags of oranges to the Jimmie Hale Mission in Birmingham for Christmas so the men who ate there could have fresh fruit.
Does your family or church have any special traditions for celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas and Epiphany? Any things you want to try next year?
This is a copy of a letter I sent to KNOE/Hoak Media, Inc. today:
Dear KNOE/Hoak Media:
I have been following the information about the negotiations with Suddenlink cable, both the version provided by KNOE and the version provided by Suddenlink on their blog. It is my understanding that Hoak Media is asking for an increase in retransmission fees of over 200%. This is exorbitant and unreasonable. Furthermore, KNOE is posting misleading statements that Suddenlink will “pull” KNOE and KAQY from its service. Suddenlink has asked that Hoak Media keep these stations on under the current terms until a deal can be reached. That does not sound like a threat to pull the stations. If these stations are removed from Suddenlink, Hoak media will be the one to do it.
In the statement John Dennison was given to read last night on KNOE’s 10 o’clock news, it was mentioned that Suddenlink currently pays more for stations such as Disney and TNT than it does for KNOE, KAQY, and the CW 15. There is a good reason for this: those are cable channels and KNOE is an over-the-air broadcast station. That is an apples-to-oranges comparison.
I quote from an article in “The Hill” by Philip Napoli from the 22nd of this month:
In the wake of these ongoing disputes, the FCC is reviewing its retransmission consent regulations, which were mandated by the 1992 Cable Act. Broadcasters argue that the fees are integral for maintaining local programming on the air. In fact, that was the whole basis for the legislation in the first place – broadcasters maintained that they were public trustees, serving local informational needs, and needed to maintain economic viability and wide accessibility. Retransmission consent fees would provide these broadcasters the financial capacity and stability to continue providing the public with critical local programming.Nearly two decades later, the retransmission consent regulations are still in place, and the payments that they generate are now a massive source of revenue for broadcasters. In 2006, broadcasters pocketed $216 million in retransmission fees. This year, that number skyrocketed to an estimated $1.3 billion. Given this substantial increase, one would assume that local programming would have benefited. The contrary appears to be true.
In multiple studies, researchers have found that local news and programming has markedly dwindled over the past decades. A study by the FCC this year found that television stations provide on average less than 1.5 hours of local public affairs programming per week. Commercial stations that provide absolutely no local news programming are increasingly prevalent, as are stations that merely replay the local news broadcasts of other stations in their market.  Additionally, financial and personnel resources devoted to local news and public affairs have dropped significantly in recent years. No matter how it’s measured, broadcaster commitment to localism through local news and information programming hasn’t kept up with skyrocketing retransmission payments.
“Must-carry” was a much more equitable scenario. Over-the-air, local stations serve the public interest. They are “free to air.” They earn their revenue from selling local advertising. Cable systems carry those channels for the benefit of those who live outside the range of antenna reception (such as the people of Ruston). The claim made on KNOE last night that Hoak’s stations maintain some incredible “local commitment” is specious:Â KAQY and the CW have NO local content whatsoever, and KNOE routinely runs 5-minute commercials (in the guise of a “spotlight on local business”) in the slot that is supposed to be for local news and weather during the CBS Morning News. Furthermore, I have contacted KNOE many times about upcoming events here in the Ruston area and have received no response whatsoever. Hoak cannot make a claim of “local involvement” in the context of discussions with Suddenlink. Without Suddenlink, Ruston residents would not be able to receive KNOE at all, and KNOE has not taken any interest in the Ruston community, besides taking money from Ruston businesses who advertise on KNOE.
As of this week, we are a Nielson home. If Hoak Media insists on this more than 200% increase in retransmission fees and subsequently pulls its programming from Suddenlink Cable in Ruston, its ratings for KNOE, KAQY, and the CW 15 will be almost zero, as it is impossible for us to receive these channels over the air, even with a three-story tall antenna. We already receive KSLA (CBS) and KTBS (ABC) from Shreveport via Suddenlink, and we will simply start watching them for CBS and ABC programming, and record this fact in our ratings book. Since we are over the age of 15, there is nothing on the CW that appeals to us, so we will not miss that station in the least.
Please stop spreading misinformation via your local media outlet and engage in good-faith negotiations with Suddenlink Communications.
Throughout the 1990s, churches experimented with the “seeker-friendly” or “Willow Creek” philosophy of church marketing. One of the underlying premises of this philosophy was, if you want to attract “unchurched” people to your church, then the last thing your church should resemble is–a church. Pulpits had to go, replaced by flimsy music stands that could be removed at a minute’s notice. Baptismal fonts and Communion tables had to be kept sight unseen (only to be brought out for the midweek “believers’ service”: Sunday was reserved for the “unchurched”). Many churches got rid of the choir (as we saw last time) in favor of more showbiz-oriented “worship teams” or “praise teams”. In some cases, the choirs stayed around, although they were usually relegated to the role of background singers for the “stars” on the worship team. But even if the choir escaped the axe, the organ (and the organist) almost never did.
So far, the American church in the 21st century is exploring emergent and missional philosophies. (I realize that these terms are not synonymous, but there is considerable overlap between the two.) One of the encouraging aspects of these current trends is that churches have finally realized that most worshipers are longing for a sense of connectedness to historic Christianity. People want to know that they are part of a larger story: a story that began long before we arrived on the scene and that will continue long after we are gone. Seeker-friendly churches could not deliver the goods in this area. Seeker-friendly worship was extremely tied to its own temporal and geographic context, whereas emergent or missional worship tries to reflect a more global view as well as what Robert Webber called the “ancient-future” outlook. One important element, however, is still largely missing:
Bring back the organ.
If you ask the average person on the street what a church is “supposed” to look like, they will most likely mention pews, stained glass windows, pulpits, altars, etc.: all those “churchy” furnishings the Willow Creek movement tried to eradicate. Similarly, in surveys, people routinely associate church music with hymns, choirs, and organs. In Western culture, the sound of a pipe organ is probably the most “churchy” sound people can imagine. For some reason, church leaders have got it in their heads that “people don’t want that,” but this is mistaken. Marva Dawn, in Reaching Out Without Dumbing Down, cites a survey of American Christian teenagers which reveals that the type of music they deem appropriate for worship is music that is characterized by all these “churchy” elements: choirs, hymns, and the organ. Adults suppose that teens will consider rock and roll the most appropriate for worship, since that is what they prefer to listen to in their daily lives, but this is not the case. So by removing “churchy” music and instruments in the name of “what the young folks like” actually results in an environment that young people actually find fake and, frankly, embarrassing. If the survey Dawn cites is any indication, when young people go to church, they want it to “sound like church.” They want it to “feel like church.” Most churches can take one simple step that will go a long way in recapturing that feeling:
Bring back the organ!
Besides the fact that most people connect the sound of a pipe organ with church more than any other sound, there are many sound reasons (pun intended) for retaining (or recovering) the use of the organ as the primary instrument in worship.
1.  The organ is the best man-made instrument for supporting congregational singing. I say the best man-made instrument, because the best instrument for encouraging singing is the human voice itself. One sings more freely and with greatest confidence when one is surrounded by good singers. But if one is going to have accompanied singing in church (discussions of accompanied vs. unaccompanied singing will have to wait for another time), instruments that most closely resemble the human voice in terms of sound production will encourage better singing than instruments which differ from the human voice. The human voice is a wind instrument: supported air is sent through the larynx, causing the vocal folds to vibrate, thus creating sound. The organ is a wind instrument too: actually a collection of wind instruments all in one place (reeds, flutes, trumpets, etc.), and one person can play them all simultaneously. The piano is a percussion instrument, not a wind instrument. As soon as a note is struck on the piano, the sound immediately begins to decay. That does not encourage sustained singing “on the breath.” This is not to say that the piano is not a great instrument, or that great music has not been written for the piano: I am a pianist myself and love the instrument a great deal. But it is not well-suited for accompanying congregational praise. Neither is the guitar. The guitar is, technically, a stringed instrument, but it is played as a percussion instrument (by plucking or strumming the strings), not in a sustained manner (bowing) as other stringed instruments can be played. Guitar-led congregational singing is inevitably throaty singing, and is usually pretty anemic as well, except for those who are singing into microphones, and then, of course, their voices are being artificially amplified or “lifted up,” and there should be no artifice in our worship. Forced, throaty singing does damage to the musical instrument that God gave each of us (our voices): God’s people need to learn to sing “on the breath” (note: this is not the same thing as breathy singing!), and accompanying singing with wind instruments, such as the organ and/or a brass choir, is one of the best ways to encourage healthy singing.
2.   The organ is made up of choirs. In my previous article (about choral music in the church), we saw that biblical worship is all about choirs. If Christian worship is fundamentally choral worship, then it follows that instrumental choirs would accompany the singing of human choirs (remember that the congregation itself is one of those human choirs). One should assemble brass choirs, woodwind choirs, handbell choirs, etc. to use in worship, but it is impractical to use these on a weekly basis. (I do not recommend the weekly use of a church wind ensemble or orchestra, as they are almost always out of tune and do not play together, due to their limited rehearsal time. It seems more desirable to have these groups make contributions to worship frequently enough that their gifts are being employed, but not so often that their performances sound thrown together. Worship should not be artificial, but it should not be shoddy either.) Employing the organ is a way to have wind-ensemble-led congregational singing every week. Furthermore, the various choirs (ranks) or families of pipes that make up the organ mean that there can be an almost limitless variety of tone colors in the worship service. A talented, thoughtful organist will change registrations as necessary to complement the changing moods of the various stanzas of the hymns that are sung.
3.  The organ is a powerful instrument. It is no wonder that the organ is called “the king of instruments.” Such power is useful in painting a picture in worship of the majesty and grandeur of our God. Now many instruments can produce loud sounds, but in the case of the organ, it is the instrument itself, not the performer, that is the source of this strength. A pianist must exert his strength to play loudly, drawing attention to his own might. Playing the organ indeed requires great skill, but the player himself is dwarfed by the sheer magnitude of the instrument, so the “Look at me!” factor is much less in the case of an organist than with a pianist, guitarist, or other instrumentalist. It helps to have such an instrument in worship that points beyond ourselves, particularly one whose power comes not from the one playing it, but from the wind, as God reminds us that life is to be lived “not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit (Heb. ruach, “breath” or “wind”), declares the Lord of hosts (Zechariah 4:6).”
4.   The organ is a very expensive instrument. Yes, I see this as a plus, not a drawback. Too often churches assume that “good stewardship” means being cheap, but some things are worth the money. Christ’s honor is worth the money. We live in a nation littered with disposable-looking metal buildings erected as houses of worship because it was the cheap thing to do. Contrast this with the great Romanesque and Gothic cathedrals of Europe, which took centuries to complete. Those who began building those churches never lived to see their completion. In many cases, their children never lived to see the completion of these churches. That is dedication to something bigger than one’s self. That is looking past one’s own nose. Evangelicals gather in their disposable buildings and play disposable music on disposable instruments. An organ installation, by contrast, is a permanent thing. It says, “We are committed to excellence in church music, and we want to encourage that excellence for many, many generations to come.” Isn’t Christ’s honor worth that? Spend the money on something that will last. Let the world keep its disposable music.
5.   The organ can help create a “church culture.” The church should not follow the world; rather, in all areas, including the arts, the church should lead the way, setting the example of excellence, and let the world follow suit. For the past century or more, the world has led the way and the church has followed suit, usually with results that are far from excellent. Evangelical Christians in particular have been known for creating inferior copies for themselves of things that already exist in the world. This is what Francis Schaeffer referred to as “the Evangelical ghetto.” Or, as Ken Meyers has put it, Evangelical Christians have learned to be of the world but not in it. Instead of aping the culture around us, the church should be creating a “church culture” that is superior to anything in the world. In church music, the organ is the cornerstone of the “church sound” and thus of a church musical culture. With the exception of some concert halls and old-time movie palaces, churches are pretty much the only buildings where pipe organs can be found, and since the organ is not a portable instrument, that also means churches are pretty much the only places that pipe organ music will be heard. This means that the sound of church music will be unique. A renaissance of interest in pipe organ music will also mean that those churches with fine pipe organ installations will be in demand as locations for recitals, which can only help further the church’s visibility in the community.
Colleges in this country have seen a dramatic decrease in the number of organ majors. It is no wonder: young people have grown up in churches in which, if there was a pipe organ, it sat in a corner gathering dust. Since so few churches are looking for organists, the job prospects for young people who might desire to become organists are slim, so they major in something else. But it is not too late. Forward-thinking churches can, and should, endow organ scholarships for the purpose of raising up a new generation of skilled, theologically-minded church organists who can help create a new, more excellent culture of church music. If your church’s organ is in disrepair, have it fixed. If it has fallen into disuse or is used rarely, have that problem fixed too. Search for a gifted, dedicated organist (i.e., one who takes his/her job seriously and will practice accordingly), and reward him or her handsomely for undertaking this important part of leading in worship (you pay peanuts, you get monkeys). We need to restore the “king of instruments” to a place of prominence, as it can help us exalt the King of kings like no other instrument can.
(Or: Why your church needs to have choirs if it doesn’t already.)
This article originally appeared on a former site of mine. I am reposting it here in honor of the upcoming National Choir Appreciation Sunday (January 8).
Throughout the church in recent years, the two biggest casualties of the “worship wars” have been the church choir and the organ (and thus the organist as well). When worship committees decide to jettison “traditional” worship, that’s the death knell for the choir and organ. To be sure, sometimes they still hang around, but there’s an awkwardness to the presence of either a choir or an organ in the context of pop-music-oriented worship. The organ just isn’t as cool as the guitar, the drums, or even the synthesizers, and the choir is usually relegated to the role of an also-ran. If the “praise team” are the varsity cheerleaders, then the church choir becomes the pep club: the kids who weren’t popular enough to be picked for the squad.
What’s truly sad about all of this is that, if we are concerned with our spiritual health, we are much better off with choirs and organ than with a “praise team” or “worship team” of singers and a “praise band.” We’ll discuss the organ in the next article, but for now I’d like to focus on choirs: adult choirs, youth choirs, children’s choirs, handbell choirs, brass choirs, etc. A church choir isn’t just there to sing an anthem in the service or to lead the hymns. A church choir, under the direction of a competent, spiritual, thinking director, can teach us about much more than choral music. It can teach us about what it is to be the church, about what it is to be a Christian.
I’ve been in church choirs most of my life, and I’ve directed a few as well. Here’s what I’ve learned about the church and about life from being in the church choir:
1.  It’s not about me. There’s a reason choirs are usually robed, and it’s not because they enjoy wearing those things (they’re usually really, really hot). When everyone in the choir is in matching robes, everyone is, in effect, disguised. They are not up there as an assortment of random individuals. They are there as a unified whole. When the choir looks like a choir and behaves like a choir, they teach us how to behave like the Church: how to work together as one and to check our individual egos at the door when we come to worship. Contrast this with the typical worship team, in which each member, holding his or her personal microphone, tries his best to emote and work the room, thus drawing attention to himself. If I’m on the worship team, the spotlight is on me. If I’m in the choir, it’s not about me. It’s about the One on the throne and the Lamb, to whom all our worship is directed (Rev. 4-5).
2.   Keep your eyes on the Director. While the worship team seeks to make eye contact with the members of the “audience” (because, after all, that’s how most congregations think of themselves), a good choir director teaches his choir never to look out into the congregation, but to keep their eyes on the director at all times. This allows the choir to follow his every cue. He may take a section faster than usual, or change the dynamics in an unexpected way. From observing a well-trained choir, a congregation can learn what Hebrews 12:1-2 means: “Let us keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith.” We need to keep our eyes on our Director at all times: otherwise, we will surely lose our way.
3.   Blend. Choir directors often ask their choir members to “blend” their voices, but few know what this means or how to achieve it. We all know what it sounds like when a member of the choir “sticks out”: it’s not pretty. Blending is the opposite of sticking out. But trying to blend in doesn’t mean each member of the choir tries to sound exactly like everyone else in the choir. The secret of blend sounds impossibly simple: blend occurs when all the members of a choir pronounce their vowels the same way. That’s pretty much it. They don’t try to disguise their voices or become someone they’re not: they just pronounce their vowels the same way. In the church, we’ve each been given different gifts. For the church to be the church, we don’t all become exactly the same: we celebrate the diversity that God has built into the church by his own design (I Cor. 12, 14; Eph. 4:10-12), and we simply tell the same story, the Gospel story. We maintain our uniqueness, but we blend, because we’re all part of that story, like tiles in a mosaic. Some churches have a staff position entitled “Minister of Assimilation.” How horrifying. We shouldn’t want to assimilate anyone or to be assimilated ourselves. God would not have created each of us unique and gifted us uniquely if he wanted us to be assimilated. Instead, God wants us to blend while retaining our God-given distinctives.
4.   The whole is more than the sum of its parts. Put several people on a stage to perform for the crowd, and you have several people on a stage. Put together a 16-voice choir (or 32, or 40) and you don’t just have a bunch of people singing together. Sixteen people singing the same song is one thing, but a choir singing a song is something more. Something happens when a collection of people learns to sing together, to breathe together, to think together, as a choir. A new entity comes into being, with its own personality and its own unique sound: the choir. Together, a choir can do things that none of the individual singers could ever do on his own. Call it the science of acoustics. Call it the “magic” of choral music. Call it unity. That’s what can happen in a church too, when we truly have the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:3-11). Scripture calls it “the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”
5.   Biblical worship is all about choirs. I Chronicles 25 tells of David assembling the choirs of musicians (both vocal choirs and instrumental choirs), under God’s direct orders, for service in the Temple. In Nehemiah 12, we read of two great choirs that were assembled to give thanks to God for the rebuilding of the walls of Jerusalem, one choir at the South Gate of the city and one at the North Gate (quite possibly the first double-choir motet in history). The Psalms are replete with dedications to “the choir director” of the Temple. Whether we are talking about choirs of singers or choirs of instrumentalists, biblical worship is characterized by choirs. The musicians who have rehearsed and who are robed and in the choir loft to sing anthems to God and to lead congregational singing are one choir, but the congregation is a choir too (one at the North Gate and one at the South Gate?). Even the organ is composed of choirs: families or ranks of pipes that sound good together (more on the organ next time). Biblical worship is all about choirs. Understanding what a choir is and does, it is not too much of a stretch to say that biblical worship is choral worship. Why would you not have choirs as the foundation of your church’s music ministry? How can one not have choirs as the foundation of a music ministry?
In worship, we are never to say, either with our words or with our actions, “Look at me!” As the angels in the Bible do, we who lead in worship are to deflect the attention away from ourselves and toward the only One who is worthy of that attention. When worship is led primarily by soloists or by small groups such as worship teams, praise teams, or praise bands, the “Look at me!” effect is almost inevitable. To be sure, a choir can be guilty of seeking the limelight too, but when a choir behaves like a choir, this does not happen. Having a biblically-literate, theologically-conversant, liturgically-sensitive choir director will ensure that this does not happen. A good choir director makes for a good choir, and a good choir makes for worship that is appropriately directed toward God rather than toward self.
I once had a fellow pastor tell me, proudly, “Our church has never had a choir or an organ, and it never will.” He went on to explain that they were designing their new sanctuary in such a way that there could never be any possibility in the future for a choir or an organ. It is almost as if that pastor were saying, “We want to do everything we can to encourage an entertainment model of worship, one in which the musical performers seek, and receive, the applause of men.” David saw fit to appoint choirs. (I certainly hope he “saw fit” to do so: God ordered him to do so.) The Hebrews of Nehemiah’s day saw fit to celebrate the greatness of God with antiphonal choirs. God saw fit to announce the birth of his Son with a mass choir of angels (Luke 2:13-14). He sees fit even now to have choirs of elders, cherubim, and saints adoring him eternally through the use of a responsorial and antiphonal liturgy (Rev. 4-5).
Start a choir. If you already have one, start more. No matter what the “conventional wisdom” says these days, choirs are not outmoded. Choirs can never be outmoded. Choirs in worship are there by God’s design, not man’s. Do we really think we can improve on his idea?
Lots of Christians publicly shaming other Christians about days, from “Oh no, I don’t celebrate Christmas: I’m a REFORMED Presbyterian!” to “If you are cancelling services on Sunday, you don’t love Jesus.” “One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind.” (Romans 14:5 ESV) We are not “cancelling” the Lord’s Day service: we are holding it on Saturday evening. A biblical day begins at sundown the night before. That’s why the calendar says Chanukah began today but the first candle was lit last night. This is why many Catholic churches have Vigil Masses every Saturday night. This is why the Great Vigil of Easter and Christmas Eve even EXIST. We should not judge the thoughts and intents of others’ hearts: we can’t see in their hearts. Don’t assume that just because a church is having services on Christmas Eve (which after sundown IS Christmas, AND the Lord’s Day) and not Christmas Day, don’t assume it’s because they put the family ahead of God.
Our church is very small. We had to make a decision: do we have Christmas Eve only, Christmas Day only, or both? We made the decision, as we did six years ago, to have Christmas Eve only, because 1) our service is beloved by many in the community, including many who are not members of our church; 2) Many of our members go away on Christmas and would thus miss any and all Christmas worship were we to have Christmas Day only; and 3) Two services are impractical for our church as many of our members travel up to an hour to be at worship. If we were large enough to need two services, they would be identical: one on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas Day.
(Cross-posted from my Facebook page.)
If you observe the day, observe it to the Lord (Rom. 14:6), whether it’s after sundown on the 24th, on the morning of the 25th, or both. Don’t judge other believers as “unspiritual” if they choose to worship at only one of these times and not both. If you think you’re “too Reformed” for Christmas, stop looking down your nose at those who see benefit in setting aside a particular day (or better, 12 days!) to celebrate the Incarnation.
Of all my Catholic friends, I don’t know any who look down on fellow Catholics who worship on Saturday night instead of Sunday morning. In the same way, in the Jewish community it is simply a matter of preference if one goes to Shul on Friday night or Saturday morning. Think of the message we Protestants send to the watching world when one group is so hateful to another for worshiping 15 hours ahead of their schedule!
Since yesterday was Gaudete Sunday, I’ve personally lightened up and have actually had the radio on the “all Christmas music, all the time” station a few times yesterday and today. In that brief time, I’ve already heard all I want to hear of most, if not all, of the deeply secular works out there. I’ve also formulated, and will now share with you, this humble (OK, semi-humble?) Christmas Music Manifesto:
Except for church-hymn type Christmas songs (”O Come All Ye Faithful,” “Silent Night,” etc.), most Christmas songs on the radio are essentially novelty songs, which means they don’t improve with multiple versions. In other words, once Andy Williams recorded “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year,” we didn’t need any more versions, ever. This especially includes Amy Grant’s remake with the cringe-worthy faux English accent that she stole from Carrie Fisher in Star Wars. Bing Crosby gets “White Christmas.” Remakes don’t add anything.
LDB: Everyone knows I’m not a big fan of The Christmas Song That Must Not Be Named, but for Christ’s sake (literally), if you’re going to sing it, at least sing it right. It’s “Baby Jesu,” not “little baby.” It’s “Mary nodded,” not “then he nodded.” Do you want people to think this is just about some random baby out there instead of Baby Jesus? Don’t answer that.
“Sleigh Ride” was originally conceived as a miniature tone-poem depicting (wait for it) a sleigh ride through the snow, complete with clip-clop effects, sleigh bells, the sound of a whip crack, and a horse’s whinny effect on the trumpet. It was written by Leroy Anderson, who wrote many other such tone poems, including “The Typewriter” and “Jazz Pizzicato.” It’s delightful, as an instrumental. ONLY as an instrumental. The words came much later. The words are stupid. “Sleigh Ride” should not be done with words.
Especially if the stupid-words version of “Sleigh Ride” is being sung by Air Supply. I’m pretty sure that’s one of the signs of the Apocalypse.
Aaron Neville should never be permitted to sing anything, ever. Even in private.
If you’re going to record a church-hymn type of Christmas song, please leave the American Idol-style melismas at the recording studio door. We do not want to sing along with your vocal acrobatics, and Baby Jesus is crying more about what Whitney and Mariah are doing to these songs than he is about the fact that some kid is playing a drum in his face while he’s trying to sleep (as if the cows aren’t distracting enough).
“My Favorite Things” is not a Christmas song. Neither are “Let It Snow,” “Baby, It’s Cold Outside,” “Winter Wonderland,” “Marshmallow World,” or “Frosty the Snowman.” So stop it already.
I meant what I said about Aaron Neville.
The arrangement of the Pachelbel Canon with a boy choir singing about Santa Claus is both stupid and creepy. Singing about Santa Claus with an air of religious devotion is nauseating.
At least Aaron Neville isn’t singing along with the boy choir.
At this very moment, Aaron Neville is probably entering a recording studio to overdub some egregious melismas over that boy choir Pachelbel Canon Santa hymn.
“Linus and Lucy” and “O Tannenbaum” by Vince Guaraldi are not the only jazz recordings associated with Christmas. Miles Davis’ “Blue Xmas (To Whom It May Concern)” is pure gold, as is Lambert, Hendricks, and Ross’s “Deck Us All With Boston Charlie,” yet these never get any airplay. Fix that, right away.
No, Aaron Neville does not count as jazz.
Any song that is based on email glurge should be permanently outlawed. You know what I’m talking about.
