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TWO HEAVENS #4
WHO WANTS TO HEAR "LES MIZ"?
It's one of the finest musical expressions there is,
composed by the French genius Alain Boublil. Les Misérables — often
dubbed "The world's favorite musical," based on the book by
Victor Hugo, of course. And some of the best songs in the three-hour Broadway
performance are done by the character Jean Valjean. This past December
in Los Angeles, down at the Ahmanson Theater, a brilliant tenor named
Ivan Rutherford performed all his solos, bringing down the house with
"Who Am I?", "Bring Him Home," and leading the chorus
in "One Day More." This is high-brow, classically excellent
material approved by the world's greatest musical critics.
On the other hand, I suppose that right down the street from the Ahmanson
there must be a bar or two where men in working-class clothes gather after
a hard ten hours of work. And after a few drinks, they probably start
to sway around there in the bar, and they begin to bellow out the old
favorites like "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You" or "My Girl."
Off-key, off-beat . . . and off limits to some of us who are trying to
keep our bloodstreams alcohol-free and our minds junk-free.
But here we have the high and the low. A man in a tuxedo, or wearing the
mayor's clothes in the role of Jean Valjean, singing in operatic perfection.
And in the pub, working-class stiffs are belching out their own boozy
favorites. Is it music on both ends? Is it ACCEPTABLE on both ends?
I mentioned on Tuesday, with a bit of impatience, perhaps, the views of
Christian writer C. S. Lewis regarding church music. To him, sitting in
the founder's circle of London's finest opera houses, ALL church music
was low-brow. He hated ALL of it. I already shared his disdainful quote
about church music, but here it is again in all its sarcastic, slicing
splendor:
"Fifth-rate poems set to sixth-rate music."
Lewis would sit in church on a Sunday morning, and
look around him at all the common people. Not too well dressed, some of
them. Uneducated, perhaps. And undoubtedly, a few of them would go right
from the church to the nearest pub, play a round of darts, have a pint
or two, and begin to sing "My Gal Sal" in the same tone as they
had just done the hymns at church. In fact, C. S. Lewis described the
average congregational song on a Sunday morning as "people shouting
their favorite hymns." "The lusty roar of the congregation."
And he was not impressed.
He points out, though, as he examines his own soul, that all of us tend
to look from OUR musical camp over to the other side . . . and sniff.
Oh BROTHER. How in the world can they listen to THAT? Jean Valjean looks
down at the beer-swilling riffraff with their campfire songs and just
shakes his head. He wouldn't wish their music on his worst enemy, Javert.
The Bowery Boys, on the other hand, look at the poster where Monsieur
Valjean's got on his fancy-schmancy tuxedo and his opera hair, and they
shake their heads too. How in tarnation can anybody spend sixty bucks
to hear THAT lacy-legato stuff? Go FIGURE.
Of course, this division exists within our churches too. Some congregations
embrace what we call a "high-church" creed: classical music,
a pipe organ. A paid minister of music with a Ph.D. The choirs have their
music carefully chosen by someone who can trace the background of the
hymn, making sure they don't unwittingly use something that came out of
a European beer garden.
I've actually had letters and phone calls coming from some of the finest
universities in my own denomination. People in the music department, urging
us here in our radio ministry to stay strictly within the confines of
the very pure. "Don't let down your guard," they say.
On the other hand . . . we have the other hand. The left hand wants something
with a common touch. A bit of Southern Gospel. A bit of guitar. A bit
of beat. "I'll Fly Away." "Turn Your Radio On." And,
speaking of the "(quote) shouting of the congregation," I can't
help but notice that one of THE most popular "praise-and-worship"
songs being sung right now in tens of thousands of Christians churches
is entitled "Shout to the Lord." Actually a very good song .
. . but not done with a pipe organ as accompaniment. And my point is this:
there are these groups out there — both probably convinced that they're
right. Both convinced that their side ought to win. Both sides probably
disdaining the other side.
Back for a moment to our high-falutin' friend, Clive Staples Lewis, who
sneered at the common folks with their common, plaid-coat church songs.
"Christ is coming in the sky. I will see Him by and by." That
kind of thing, and he thought it was pure junk. However, he finally makes
a confession about his own feelings:
"I disliked very much their hymns. . . .
But as I went on I saw the great merit of it. I came up against different
people of quite different outlooks and different education, and then gradually
my CONCEIT just began peeling off. I realized that the hymns (which WERE
just sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and
benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and
then you realize that you aren't fit to clean those boots." And then
this poignant confession: "It [the music, the humility] gets you
out of your solitary conceit."
And you know, maybe all of us need a dose of that humility
as we try to resolve these music wars. If all your life you've been to
high church, or to a place of worship where the traditional music has
dominated, you're probably very impatient with what's happening now. The
guitars, the amplifiers, the lame lyrics. (They seem lame to you, at least.
"Shine, Jesus, shine. Shine, Jesus, shine. Shine, Jesus, shine.")
But consider for a moment here the people — maybe young people, maybe
teenagers, maybe "seekers" who have never been to church — who
are for the first time bringing their talents to the Lord. A young person
works for hours with a computer, trying to get the lyrics to the songs
up there on a big screen. He spends hours on it. A teenager, just a high
school sophomore, has a pony tail and a bass guitar, and the music director
says: "Sure! Bring it to practice Thursday night. We'll fit you in.
You can play with us." "Are you sure?" the kid says. "You
really want me?" And he rehearses his part. He looks forward to the
weekend when he has a part in worship. Can we be humble enough, you and
I, to see the devotion in their heart, the first tiny steps these people
are taking toward the kingdom? Can we be humble enough to walk past the
youth tent at camp meeting, where we hear the keyboard and the drums .
. . and be glad that people are worshiping there?
And let's go at it from the other side of the coin. Look at that faithful
saint who has been in her chosen pew for 60 years. For six decades, she's
sung out of THE official hymnal. That faded black book in the pew, where
"Praise to the Lord" is #1, "On Jordan's Stormy Banks"
is #620, and nobody's ever tampered with those numbers, with The Way Things
Are. To her, that is music. That is worship. It has meaning to her. And
for six decades she has been a vital part of that church, attending, witnessing,
inviting, contributing. She could no more relate to a concert by DC Talk
than fly to the moon. And yet her Christian experience is valid too.
Can we glance OUT of our own pew, as C. S. Lewis did, and see the person
on the other side? And say to ourselves: "Wait a minute. Maybe I
HAVEN'T discovered the ONLY formula. Maybe that person's experience is
real too. Maybe God CAN work through a variety of expressions, and within
the Body of Christ we need to make room for each other. Maybe, just maybe."
Perhaps the fact that there are these "worship wars" is actually
a good thing . . . if it serves, as Lewis admitted, to "get us out
of our solitary conceit."
Thinking back to our past attitudes, I suppose most of us find that it's
two very short steps from: "I like THIS music," to "EVERYONE
should only like THIS music," to "GOD only delights in THIS
music." And whether you're wearing a $900 evening gown, and playing
the harp at the Shubert Theater, or banging a tambourine at "The
Place," one of our livelier worship services here in the Conejo Valley
every Sabbath morning, it's tempting to decide that God's on your side
and ONLY your side.
Well, one verse of Scripture at least helps us to look across the aisle.
In Psalm 149:3, 4, it's interesting that we find BOTH of those specific
instruments mentioned:
"Let them praise His name with dancing and
make music to Him with . . . tambourine . . . AND . . . harp." Notice:
tambourine AND harp. And why? "For the Lord takes delight in His
people; He crowns the HUMBLE with salvation."
Poor, resentful, struggling, choking-on-pride
C. S. Lewis finally got himself a dose of humility sitting there in church.
The little old lady across the way with her cheap elastic-side boots was
singin' to Jesus. He finally got humble enough to value that, to honor
it. And it's a good thing, says the Bible, because it's the humble who
get a crown.
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