“Faith & Art: Sound and the Sacred”

First Congregational United Church of Christ

August 29, 2010

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

Scripture Reading:  Luke 18: 35-43

(with drum-circle instruments and readings)

Today we have arrived at the final installment of our August sermon-series on arts and faith.  And in case you haven’t already figured this out from this morning’s service so far, today we turn from the tactile and visual arts to the auditory arts – specifically, to the art of music – and to how music-making, and music-enjoying, can enhance, nurture, and deepen our relationship with God.

            Unlike some of the other arts, when it comes to music, we know a lot about the roles that music has played in both secular life and in religious life.  One thing we know without question is that music has always been part of being in human community.

            Archeological and other historical records show us that human beings have rhythmically clapped their hands, whistled, thumped their own bodies, snapped their fingers, and raised their voices in song.  They have also expanded their range of music-making from the sounds they could produce with just their own bodies by creating new musical instruments, out of hollow logs, and from various portions – bones, horns, hides, and intestines – of other animals.  Alone, or accompanied by instruments, human beings have made music, of all kinds, for countless purposes.

            They have made music to soothe crying children (as mamas hum or sing to their babies), and to soothe nervous flocks of sheep and goats (as herders softly played simple pipes) .  They have made music to help sustain them as they engaged in strenuous or monotonous work, like planting or tending crops, or treading grapes, or digging wells, or raising new dwellings or shelters for their animals.  They have made music to mark life-passages:  to celebrate weddings … and the births of children … and to mourn the loss of loved ones.  They have made music in civic ceremonies, to enthrone new rulers, to rally troops in battle, and to celebrate victories over enemies.  And most of all, people of every time and place, people of every faith belief and tradition, have made music to deepen their encounter with the sacred, to express their awe of the Holy, and to praise the gods they have worshipped.

            Our own Israelite ancestors used music in all of these ways.  While the name of the musician Jubal may not be quite as familiar to you as the name of Elvis … or Madonna … or Michael Jackson … or J-Lo … the stories of beginnings in the Bible, in the book of Genesis, tell us that Jubal was designated as “the father of all those who play the lyre and pipe” – that is, as the pioneer musician among the Hebrew people.

            Some generations later, the shepherd-boy turned king – whose name was David – was himself a musician, and he wrote many of the most important songs of the Israelites – those passages in the Bible called the Psalms – to be used as prayers and as part of the worship of God.  In fact, David was so deeply rooted in the sacred importance of music, that when the holy Ark of the Covenant was recovered from its capture by the Philistines, and brought again to Jerusalem, David’s new royal city, King David himself joined the huge crowd of musicians assembled for the occasion, and “danced with all his might before the Lord.”

            Generations later, when God brought the Hebrew people out of captivity in Egypt, and safely through the parted waters of the Red Sea, the first thing the people did on arriving safely on the other side was to worship God, led by Miriam, Moses’ sister, playing the timbrel and singing a hymn:  “Sing to Yahweh, who has gloriously triumphed; horse and rider, God has thrown into the sea” (Exod. 15:20).  In still later Biblical times, the Hebrew prophets used music as an aid to entering into deep communication with God, and for spiritual exercises of devotion, and as a way to offer God their praises. 

            And in Jesus’ time, the people gathered for worship, drawn by the sound of the shofar, the ram’s horn, and sang to God in prayer and worship.  And they played instruments like the trumpet (just like Ron today), other pipes, drums, rattles (like our drum-circle today), and on “organs (though the word that gets translated as “organ” in the Hebrew Bible actually means a pipe, rather like a flute, not the instrument Bob and Ellen are playing this morning). 

            Our faith ancestors sang to God as they celebrated astonishing pregnancies (remember Mary’s “Magnificat”?), as they lamented the dying (remember the scene at Lazarus’ grave?), as they celebrated homecomings of prodigal children, and as Jesus and his closest followers concluded the Seder meal that has come to be known as the Last Supper.  As Jesus’ followers – like Paul, and Priscilla and Aquila, and Lydia, and so many others – built what would become the Christian church, they continued to sing and to play, and to trust in the scriptural promise that “a new song” will be sung in Heaven (Rev. 5:9-10).

            And over all those millennia, over all those generations, and all those people, whatever music they listened to, whatever music they played,     whatever music they sang, it was for the purpose of calling, praising, worshipping, and giving glory to God.

            A second thing we know about the relationship between music and faith is that music – including music for worship – has always been a fluid, changing thing.  From millennia before Jesus’ time right down to our own time and place, musical styles have come, and they have gone, over and over again.

            For example, the Latin chant that you heard a little while ago when our men’s group sang the “Agnus Dei” (Lamb of God, have mercy on us) was deeply important in early Christian monastic traditions.  The men and women who lived in monastic communities began (at 3:00 AM) – and frequently punctuated (every couple of hours) – and ended every day by singing both the Psalms, and by chanting their prayers.

Drawing on that tradition, much early worship-music in “regular” churches (not just monastic churches) sung by “regular” people (nonmonastics, like you and me) involved plain-chant, or line-singing.  The Psalms, particularly, were sung in a style called metrical psalmody.  New instruments – like the piano and the (contemporary) organ – emerged, along with brilliant composers of music for those instruments.  And eventually, to encourage more engaged congregational singing, some religious leaders (like Martin Luther) began to compose hymn-tunes based on secular, popular-culture songs.

            In some of our own lifetimes, we can remember the huge shifts in some churches (including this one), when the preferred worship instrumentation changed again, and worship-services resonated with the notes of guitars and “folk-songs.”  And today, many churches (especially those that are non-denominational), have replaced organs, hymnals, and hymns with praise bands and praise choruses.

            And over and over these past two millennia, whatever music people of faith have listened to, whatever music they have played, whatever music they have sung, it was and is for the purpose of calling, praising, and worshipping God.

            That sense of connection between music and the divine is – whatever styles of music we do or don’t prefer – and whether or not we’ve ever thought about it consciously – is a lived truth that every single one of us sitting here this morning knows in our heart of hearts.  That quotation in today’s bulletin could have been written by just about any one of us.

Think about a time when you were weeding your garden, or fixing breakfast, or driving to work, or running an errand, and you realized you were humming the hymn we had sung in church a day or two before.  Or that you were softly singing an old favorite hymn that somehow resonated with whatever was going on in your life right then.  Maybe it was “Great is Your Faithfulness.”  Or “Take it to the Lord in Prayer.”  Or “Jesus Loves Me” (which most emphatically, is not just for children).

Or maybe you can remember a time when you were in worship, and the congregation began to sing a hymn that was your childhood favorite, or that was sung at the baptism of your child; or at the funeral of someone you loved.  And suddenly, memories and feelings of joy … or gratitude … or grief well up, and we have a deep sense of the importance of being surrounded and held by the faith community, and by our God.

These songs are not just songs of our lips, but also of our hearts and souls, and they help us connect – or re-connect – with the Holy in a very deep way.  Whether we consider ourselves “musical” or not, it appears that most human beings can and do experience the transformative – even holy – power that music can have.

            Now, that does not mean that we will be touched and moved by all music.  In fact, in today’s service you may have heard that Latin chant, and wondered, “why on earth is that in our worship today?”  Or it have happened during our Scriptural reading and sacred responses, with the drum circle accompaniment.  It may happen during a piece you haven’t heard yet in the service, a form of music with which you may be unfamiliar (like our upcoming “Rock Band”) or one with which you are familiar, but not particularly fond of (yes, there are people who don’t love Handel!).

            And that brings us to a third thing we know about the relationship between faith and music.  Every time the music of faith has changed in some way, faithful people have struggled with, and usually resisted the change.

            Like back in the early 1500s, when our Calvinist ancestors decided to ban all instruments from worship.  And the worshipping people who so loved the organ … or the bells … were hurt, and angry, and outraged!  They knew they “just couldn’t worship” without the sound of the instruments.

            Or a century later, when our Puritan ancestors forbade the singing of Christmas carols, because they believed it was a pagan practice.  And the worshipping people who so loved the Christmas carols, and found them such a meaningful part of worship, were hurt, and angry, and outraged!  They knew they “just couldn’t worship” without the Christmas carols.

            Or a century after that, when after centuries of metrical psalm-singing in church, another generation of reformers forbade that kind of singing any longer.  And the worshipping people who so singing the metrical psalms were hurt, and angry, and outraged!  They knew they “just couldn’t worship” without the sung Psalms.

            Or when half a century after that, several controversial pastors (like our own Congregational forefather Solomon Stoddard) replaced metrical psalmody (which by then had come back into practice) with “regular singing” in their congregations, adopting the then-utterly-scandalous new hymnal by Isaac Watts, Hymns and Spiritual Songs.  And the worshipping people who so loved the “old music that we all know” were hurt, and angry, and outraged!

            And each and every time “our denomination” – whether that is the UCC, or the UMC, or the Presbyterian Church USA, or some other – has replaced its long-used, much beloved hymnal with a new one.  And the worshipping people who so loved whatever and however the music “used to be” and “has always been” are hurt, and angry, and outraged!  And they all know they “just can’t worship” without the old hymnal.

            Even in the midst of our own struggles, as the so-called “worship wars” (more properly, I think, the “worship-music wars”) rage today, I hope we can temper some of our own temptations to hurt, and anger, and outrage, by remembering those things we know to have been true about music and worship.  That human beings have always worshipped in and through their music … and almost certainly always will.  That the forms of worshipful music have changed, and keep on changing, across times and places … and almost certainly always will.  And that no matter what form the music takes, whatever music people of faith have listened to, whatever music they have played, whatever music they have sung, it was and is for the purpose of calling, praising, and worshipping God.  May it be so for us in the songs that we sing, in the music we love, and in the sacred sounds with which we still may struggle.  Amen.