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TWO HEAVENS #6
PLINK PLINK PLINK
My friend Morris Venden tells a marvelous story about
a little girl — maybe three years old — who came bursting into her father's
office. "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! I've learned how to write!"
Now, Daddy knew full well that she couldn't write worth a lick; she hadn't
even graduated from the sandbox to Sesame Street yet. But there in her
hand she had a piece of paper COVERED with all kinds of scribbles and
blotches. And she held it up to him. "See?"
Well, he did what most dads do. He began to gush over it. "Wow! Sure
enough. You DID learn how to write. You go, girl." Or . . . whatever
dads said in that neighborhood. "Good job, honey. That's really great
writing."
She soaked in his praise for a minute, still grinning from ear to ear.
And all of a sudden she sliced right through his false front with this:
"What's it say, Daddy? What's it say?"
And the poor guy turned hot and cold all over. "What's it SAY?"
Well, it didn't say anything . . . but he couldn't tell her that. And
she was looking up at her wonderful daddy, this icon of truthfulness and
hope. "What's it say, Daddy?" And as Venden tells the story,
God must have given this dad wisdom from heaven, because he scooped his
daughter up in his lap and told her. "Well, sweetie, it says here
that you're a little girl. And you're trying to learn how to write. And
you're just getting started, but one of these days you're going to be
able to write really well. Poems and stories and books and everything."
And he gave her a big squeeze. "That's what it says."
And the kid can't believe it. "It does?"
"Yes."
It's a sweet story, isn't it? And Venden helps us to see ourselves in
the picture, where we do some little good deeds, some little smidgen of
obedience, and we're so happy and we go rushing to God. "Hey, God!
Lookit! I've learned how to obey!" And God sees these tiny little
efforts of ours, these oh-so-human endeavors, where our so-called goodness
just barely measures a blip on His screen, where we cast the smallest
shadow beneath the glory of His eternal Ten Commandments. But in kindness,
He looks down and says to us, "Yes! You ARE trying to obey! Your
heart is right. You're doing your best. And one of these days, if you
stay in friendship with Me, I'm going to help you to know and experience
the real thing."
Well, friend, why do I tell these couple of little anecdotes about scribbles
on paper and our feeble efforts? We spent all last week visiting together
about what a lot of Christians are calling the "(quote) music wars."
A recent Christianity Today article — in fact, the COVER feature — was
entitled "Triumph of the Praise Songs: How Guitars Beat Out the Organ
in the Worship WARS." People who like "Onward Christian Soldiers"
and people who like Audio Adrenaline look across the great divide at each
other, and some of them actually pick up swords and spears. Spiritual
ones, at least.
The fundamental question that every single believer has to answer, of
course, is this one. It's not hugely important what WE think of our music;
after all, we human beings have notoriously twisted taste, don't we? We've
proved that with our TV Guides, our diets, our vocabularies, and the whole
nine yards. If WE like our music a certain way in church, that wouldn't
really prove anything at all. But the question is this: What does GOD
think of our music? Whether it's by Fanny Crosby or Philips, Craig, and
Dean?
I'd like to put off just a bit longer any discussion about the MORALITY
of my favorite music, or of your favorite music. But is it even GOOD?
Is it grand and glorious to God? Impressive? Well performed?
I guess all of us have run into the buzz saw of badly done music at church.
Kids get up there with their plug-in guitars and their microphones — with
all the cables and the feedback and the one singer that's way louder than
the rest. And the drummer who can't keep time. And an old man like me
sits in the back row, 55 years old and getting older by the second as
that bass guitar's thumps go right through my spleen. And the music is
just plain bad. I know it's bad. Everyone knows it's bad. Surely GOD must
know it's bad.
And on the other side, I'm sure there are little country Baptist churches,
and Methodist churches — and I can testify that I've been in enough Adventist
churches — where even the traditional music was just not very well done.
The organ was reedy, out-of-tune, too loud, too soft, too BROKEN . . .
which meant we sang a cappella that Sabbath. The choir leader didn't show
up. The PA didn't work. Everyone in the alto section was consistently
off-key. It reminds us of that church bulletin where the sermon title
was announced: "What and Where Is Hell?" And right below, it
said: "Come early and listen to our choir practice!"
Well, let me stop being so negative. Let's go to some of the finest church
choirs in the country. Let's go to Willow Creek Community Church. Let's
go to Saddleback. First Baptist in Dallas. Let's go to Loma Linda University
Seventh-day Adventist Church, or to Westminster Abbey. Put on the stage
one of the top-notch Christian praise bands, or the finest classical organist,
or the unforgettable choir from Azusa Pacific University. Now, THAT'S
good stuff. God would surely be impressed by THAT. Wouldn't He?
Well, friend, we're forgetting what God has up in heaven, aren't we? We're
forgetting the angel choirs — made up of millions of angels — and how
they've had thousands of years to compose and rehearse. There's never
a false note in heaven. Angels never miss rehearsal. Angels never come
to practice with a grudge to nurse, a bit of temper or pique which sours
the face and flattens the notes. That never happens.
And of course, we can't imagine the instruments there. Sounds and chords
and progressions and musical motifs that have never been considered on
this off-tune little planet; we're just not up to it. Listen, they hear
symphonies by the Sea of Glass that have never entered into the hearts
of man; the Bible says so in First Corinthians 2. They sing a new song;
the book of Revelations says that. Up there, it's music, music, music,
24 hours a day . . . the likes of which words cannot describe and our
greatest composers cannot duplicate.
And then, on a very regular basis, God leans over the railing and listens
to the feeble plink plink plink we offer Him from down here. Guitars and
drums. Pipe organs and choirs. High and low. Rock and non-rock. But to
the trained ears of heaven, it's pretty much plink plink plink.
And yet — I believe this with all my heart — God is pleased by the music
we offer up in worship to Him. Not because it's so good; obviously, He
has better channels He can tune in up there. But because it's being offered
from hearts that worship and adore and love.
We mentioned all last week, with a bit of a sigh, how one of our great
Voice of Prophecy resources, the late C. S. Lewis, failed us by admitting
that he pretty much hated ALL Christian music. Just didn't like it. But
as he makes his own confession, and as he analyzes the WORTH of our songs,
our anthems, or hymns, our choruses, he makes this observation:
"ALL our offerings, whether of music or
martyrdom, are like the intrinsically WORTHLESS present of a child, which
a father values indeed, but values only for the INTENTION."
If you're a dad, you know all about this. Your two-year-old
brings you a present for your birthday. And it is just . . . NOTHING.
Some ceramic blob, or a picture he colored, or a jar with centipedes from
the backyard. Or a grungy little toy he got for you from Pic'n'Save, using
YOUR money. "Here, Daddy." And like the father in our opening
story, you oooh and you ahhh and you hug and you praise. Not because the
present is wonderful, but because the heart is wonderful. You find beauty
in the gift, because the spirit of the GIVER is right.
There's a story about scribbles and off-key music found in the book of
Genesis, chapter four. Actually, this Cain-and-Abel anecdote has to do
with offerings brought to God. Abel, the younger son, brought God a lamb
from his flock, while Cain, with whatever motivation in mind, brought
God some of the fruits out of his garden. Now, did God need the fruit,
or the lamb? No. He wasn't hungry, and He already had all the lambs and
cattle on a thousand hills. God never NEEDS the things we offer up to
Him, whether they're offerings, lambs, or organ preludes. His own storehouses
are already full. What's important is the heart we bring along WITH the
gift. And the NIV text notes here in Genesis four indicate that for some
reason Cain had come to worship with a bad motivation and a bad attitude.
Some scholars conjecture that God had already explained to earth's first
family the importance of the LAMB – pointing forward to the true Lamb
of God coming later for their redemption. Over in Hebrews 11, we discover
that Abel's offering was better because it was given "by faith."
In any case, the lesson for us is clear. In our gifts of worship to God,
of music, our songs and our violins and our guitars — all trinkets and
scribblings by heaven's standards — it's the heart that counts. Is humility
there? And worship? And faith? Are you bringing your loving Father your
very best gift?
If so, He's going to smile and enjoy it. Plink plink plink.
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