Singing Ugly

There I was in a roomful of mostly teenage boys, all of them belting out the words to "Blessed Be Your Name" as I strummed my guitar and sang it out with them. We'd sung it the past three or four weeks in a row, but they still weren't tired of it. Not in the way many people would be by that point. In fact, they were the ones who'd requested we sing it. Sometimes singing sounds a bit more like shouting, though. And although some music majors I know might have cringed had they heard it, I would never have traded those minutes of hearing our guys sing out passionately to Jesus, much less the privilege of singing to Him with them. 

To some, it may have sounded overly-boisterous. To others, perhaps a bit off-key. But for me and the other youth leaders present (if I am allowed to speak for them), it was beautiful. True, a few of the boys may have only been singing so loud simply because they knew the words to this one, and one or two might have been attempting to show off (or goof off). But many of them, you could tell, were truly worshiping. 

Very, very few things in my twenty-two years of living have ever impacted me quite the way those moments did. My heart wanted to burst inside me with joy and thankfulness and awe, just seeing glimpses of what God was doing in these kids I love (and now miss terribly. I still pray for you.), how He was drawing their hearts after Him. It felt like I got a sneak-peek in that moment of His Fatherly heart, for He delights to hear His children sing.

God doesn't demand a series of perfect notes; more often I think He wants to hear our broken dissonance. Anyone can practice and train until they can mechanically produce just the right sounds, but is it just me or does flawless performance sometimes seem to be lacking in feeling? Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying you shouldn't work at singing "better." But I can tell you that after hearing students of music hurl all their disgust at a Christmas concert because at one point the audience was invited to join in and they "weren't singing it right" or were way off key, my heart was not pressed much towards worship; it was broken, because all they could see were the notes and not the far more priceless souls of the people uttering them. 

There's this theory I've run into at times, that some people can't sing. I, personally, think it's hogwash. I invite and even plea with you to sing ugly. Please. Do it for me. Because on the days when I'm focusing more on hitting the appropriate notes than on the One I'm singing to, I need to hear you behind or beside me crying from an earnest heart like some of those youth-group boys in Jackson were that night. I need to be reminded it's less about my perfect performance (though I dare say I've never given one of those anyway), and more about the One we're singing to. 

I very much look forward to the day when all God's people are gathered together in one place to worship the one true King and desire of our hearts. I don't know whether we'll all be able to sing perfectly then or what, but I have a feeling we won't so much care what we might sound like individually at that point. Our eyes, our ears, our hearts--they will be focused elsewhere. They'll be focused where they should be in the here and now. 

So if singing beautifully comes more naturally to you, don't look down on someone else for singing off-key. Learn to find delight in their willingness to sing anyway, even if perhaps its a more humbling experience than it is for you; or maybe it's not because they can't hear themselves. Maybe none of us should care to hear ourselves. I for one sing best (I think) when I'm not focusing on the singing, but on Jesus. I can't say that for sure, because honestly when it happens I'm not really listening to myself. Because it's not about me. It's not about my voice, or yours for that matter. It's about the One who gave us a reason to sing--who is the reason why we sing. 

There's just something about hearing multiple voices raised in praise and surrender to Him. It's beautiful. It's encouraging. It's a teeny, tiny piece of heaven here on this earth. So don't sacrifice that by putting overmuch emphasis on how you or anyone around you is singing. Just worship; get lost in awe and joy and the sovereignty of the One who is our hope, our King, our Redeemer. He's worthy of all our praise, and then some. Let's put the emphasis where it's due. 

Fiercely

Jesus,
teach me to love fiercely--
to not give up for being wounded,
to not despair when change is not instant.
To not hold back for fear
or self-preservation.

Teach me not to accept,
but to love.
To open myself to all the pain of knowing fully.
Teach me to rebel against that which is not as it should be--
in my own heart as much as in others',
if not more.

Train my hands to fight.
Help my ears to hear.
Remind me it's not up to me,
that You are stronger,
and it's You who will deliver.

Train my eyes to see
where the past and the future meet,
to know the moment that is now,
in which all our histories collide
with the only story that can change their trajectory.

Teach me to love recklessly,
to hold nothing back, nothing in reserve.
Life is not lived when my eyes are on my own supply
or my own preservation.

Teach me not to back down from a fight,
not to assume I have no part to play,
not to pretend it's not my job to pray;
not my job to love those who are broken,
no matter how well put-together they appear.

Teach me to stand
when it seems everyone else is running,
to hold the ground next to someone
whom others fear will be struck by lightning.
Not to show they're right, but to prove they're loved.
Not to let things slide, but to hold them to a standard.

Let my brokenness reflect Your light.
In my weakness, prove Your thundering might.
We all know I'm not perfect.
We both know if it's up to me it's doomed.
Because my track record is a perfect row of failures,
But Yours is an unbroken streak of wins.

I've seen You redeem what seemed unfixable.
I've watched You bring victory
where all we've ever earned is loss.
I've seen You embrace the worthless
and pour all Your worth into us.

Teach me to love like You love:
to fight, to pursue, to defend;
to break myself to spare another;
to hope when all seems lost,
to grin in the darkness,
and sing in the desert.

Teach me to love with a heart of fire,
light as dangerous as it is warm,
unafraid to risk dying out
as it reaches to spark the nearest branch.

I have one life, one fleeting flame.
And I'd bet it's better to spend
what resources and time I have
trying to spread that fire rather than quench it,
striving to burn out brightly
rather than slowly wane.

So, Father, teach me to love,
and to love fiercely.

Entering the Battle (Notes on Music: Part 1)

I mean that title. But before I get into it, let me tell you what I don't mean by it. I don't mean I'm looking for trouble or I'm planning to be antagonistic about all this. I don't mean I'm wanting to start some kind of debate. By nature, I am a shy, sheepish person who doesn't particularly like stirring up hornets' nests. But beneath the surface there is a fire, a burning passion that somehow can't sit still and watch all the time, and leave things the way they are. I'm aware that some of the things I have to say in upcoming posts are not going to be popular, and they might make you feel uncomfortable, or offended, or uncertain. I'm not asking you to agree with every word I say or every facet of opinion I hold regarding art or music or the music industry or even our culture. You don't have to agree with me. In fact, you don't even have to read it.

But I have to write it. I have to write it because it has been welling up inside me for so long and the dam's about to break if I try to put it off longer. I have to write it because I can't keep silent any longer, because there is a battle going on over this and because this battle I've been fighting silently for years now is surfacing, and the same God who at other times has miraculously enabled me to keep my mouth shut is now opening it. I honestly still don't feel like I'm ready for this, but perhaps I need that edge of incapability to force me to approach this humbly and not with arrogance.

Now let me explain a little more about the battle aspect. As KJ52 put it in a song, "See, the battle's for souls, and we['re] on the front lines." When it all boils down, the heart of the matter is not our music or our taste or our opinions; it's about a war that's been waging longer than any of us have been alive, and the victories in that battle take place when the God of the universe brings people from death into life. It's not about our music. But it influences our music, and music can play a role in this battle. Part of the reason this topic is so close to my heart is how influential music has been in my own story of God bringing me from death into life.

Music communicates. It does so differently than other modes of communication: it's not always as clear as writing or as straightforward as speaking. On some levels, music is its own language, conveying moods, ideas, themes, feelings, and heart-cries even when there are no words accompanying it. It serves a function, because there aren't always words, and sometimes our words need something to drive them home to the listener's heart. And music can do that.

God created music for a reason. And at the core of that reason is the same purpose He created everything else for: His glory. Because He needs stars and planets and people and all of creation testifying to his goodness to make Him feel secure in His position? No. Because He is that good. Because He is the only One worthy of such worship; nothing and no one else compares to Him, nor ever will.

If we're going to get into talking about things like love and God's glory and worship, we may need to pause here to bring up something that is at once impossible to fully explain or comprehend for our finite minds, but which is central and crucial to the why and the how of it all: the Trinity. You cannot fully explain or understand the love of God if you don't understand this truth about who He is: that He Himself sets the example of love not being self-seeking (1 Cor. 13). God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit: One God. I know, on the surface it makes about as much sense as your math teacher telling you 3=1. But then again, it's not the only time the Bible defies our math textbooks: He also said that husband and wife become "one flesh" (2=1), remember?

So the moral of the story is to throw away your algebra book, because it obviously doesn't line up with what the Bible teaches, right? (Friends who are math majors--please don't stone me for saying that!) Of course not. The Bible is full of math. The point here both is and isn't the math. It is, because the Trinity (and marriage, for that matter) stands out as a stark reminder to us that our God is much, much bigger and greater than we will ever be able to fully know. That's why He's God, and we're not. I for one don't have the capacity to keep the earth spinning around the sun, hold every molecule together, and orchestrate the events and interwoven stories and struggles of every person on this earth in this moment. I can't even fully grasp all that He is at work in, from sunsets to flowers to providing birds with food to eat.

Back to the Trinity: this is the epitome of love that seeks another's gain. The Father, Son, and Spirit have been in constant unity and fellowship since before time began. The Father's love for the Son and the Spirit, the Son's love for the Spirit and the Father, the Spirit's love for the Father and the Son...who can adequately describe it? See, God's not after His own glory for the sake of making a name for Himself; His Name already stood, unshakably and undeniably, long before He made anything to testify of it. Everything that exists finds its purpose in proclaiming His glory, because He is more glorious than even all creation's worship can proclaim. He is greater than all we see, all we have seen, all we ever will.

"For from Him and through Him and to Him are all things. To Him be glory forever. Amen." 

-Romans 11:36

This is at the heart of the battle that started when a created being who was not worthy of such worship, tried to claim God's glory as his own. Captivated by his own light, he rebelled against its Source: the One who had made him and given him everything he was, everything he had, everything he was now trying to elevate above his Maker. Lucifer fell, along with all who followed him. And the story could have ended there, before this world knew the sting of death and the pain of sin. But there was a greater glory that would not have been seen or known or even guessed at, had God stomped out Satan when he first rebelled. As Switchfoot put it, "The shadow proves the sunshine." The darkness is itself evidence of the light's existence, and that there is something standing between that light and the patch of ground that's shaded. But darkness always loses out to the light. 

There was a greater glory to be displayed in our God's faithfulness to people who also rebelled against Him, who ran from Him, who failed time and again (ahem, still do) to see and sing of His glory. He has proven Himself stronger than our darkness in His ability to call us "into His marvelous light," so that we may proclaim His greatness and His glory. 

The greater glory is known as the Gospel. The good news. The fulfilled promise, that our God did not leave us as orphans, that He did not leave us broken, empty, chasing the tails of our own glory. This is the fulfillment of what we were created for: to know and to sing of the glory of the One who made us. The greater-ness of our God, who overcomes everything that would stand between Him and accomplishing His purposes in this earth to display the greater glory.

And this is the battle. And music plays a part. In the posts that follow this one, I'm not going to claim what all music should or should not look like. But I'm also not going to pull any punches and say that "art for art's sake" is okay. The purpose of our music, just like the purpose of our lives, should be the praise of His glory. And there's not one set way to do that. But we'll get into all that at a later date. =) For now, I leave you with this song to ponder how much bigger our God is than we will ever fully understand. 

Take Your Kid to Work Day

There is a scene in The Lion King where Mufasa takes his son, Simba, up to the top of Pride Rock at dawn and tells him, "Everything the light touches is our kingdom." 

After Simba's awed response, the young lion cub looks around and asks, "What about that shadowy place?"

"That is beyond our borders," Mufasa replies. "You must never go there, Simba."

Well, unlike Mufasa, our Father, when He shows us what all is under His dominion, does not order us to stay out of "that shadowy place" where the Light doesn't seem to be reaching. Instead, He says, "That's Mine too; they just don't know it yet." And rather than ordering us to stay put while He goes and takes care of things, our Father takes us with Him to work. He shows us the ropes. He teaches us how to defeat the enemy by relying on Him, and by training us to be like Him, enables us to reach others and win souls right alongside Him. 

I used to pray as if God preferred to do everything Himself, like a dad who would rather fix the car the right way and get it done more quickly than he would if he were showing his son what was wrong and what to do. But then God started showing me the grandeur of His plan. He is perfectly able to quickly, effectively, and effortlessly make all things as they ought to be. He could have destroyed Lucifer and the angels the moment they rebelled, could have extinguished Adam and Eve the very moment they ate of the fruit. He could have simply eliminated the sin that was trying to wreak havoc on His perfect plan for creation. But He didn't. Why?

Because He had a greater plan. He let Lucifer rebel, let him try to destroy and usurp what was rightfully His. God has been thwarting Satan's plans every day since. It started with a promise--the promise of a Messiah who would come and set His people free. And for centuries upon centuries, Satan accused God of having a double-standard. How come he was punished and cast away from God's presence, while the humans weren't? How could He forgive them? 

And then Jesus came on the scene and paid the price of sin, fixing the problem by offering Himself as the sacrifice for God's wrath, taking the just penalty of sin on our behalf. He made a way for us to be justified in the eyes of a holy God. Not only that, He adopted us as His own children. Us, who didn't even deserve to be slaves or servants, because what we really deserved was death. But He made us heirs of His Kingdom. 

But you see, our Father will never die--not in a stampede of antelope, nor by any other means. He is eternal. So we do not inherit the Kingdom by waiting until the present King dies. No, in His infinite wisdom and glory, God has made a way for something far better. We don't have to sit around and watch Him do His work. Instead, we get to be part of it! 

God uses people. It seems like a bad idea to us sometimes--why use the imperfect to represent the Perfect?--but God knows exactly what He's doing. Incredibly, He is able to better prove to this world who He is and what He is about through imperfect vessels known as human beings, because His strength is proven in our weakness, and His goodness in the midst of even our failure. And He doesn't leave us to an endless cycle of failure and forgiveness, either. He teaches and leads and builds us in His ways, after His own image, enabling us to be more like Him the more we seek His face and bear His heart for those around us. 

Do we always get it right? No. But just like a father teaching his child how to do something, when we mess up, He makes good come of it. Sometimes He uses our failures simply as a learning experience, but He also turns those situations around and uses them for good. Through it all, He leads us to follow in His footsteps.