If you’ve been in church for a while, you’re undoubtedly familiar with the concept of the “worship wars.”  As much as we’d prefer not to use the words “worship” and “war” in the same sentence, it’s hard to ignore the embattled positions over the relative merits of “traditional” or “contemporary” worship.  Talk about your First World Problems, right?

But even the categories of “traditional” and “contemporary” don’t really do justice to the wide variety of styles present in today’s American Church.  It used to be that you’d identify a church by its denomination—that is, by a set of doctrines or shared beliefs that distinguish one church from another.  Now, we live in an age that some are calling “postdenominational” (try saying that with your mouth full).  Worship styles define the identity of the worshipping community more than actual beliefs.

In this series, we’re defining worship as the means by which we express and form our love—and for Christians this means our love for God and His Kingdom.  We’ve already addressed the nature of “expression” and “formation;” today we examine the “means” by which we worship.  And we might as well start off with a bit of history.

REDEEMING FORMS

It was the fourteenth century B.C.  Though Israel had departed Egypt roughly 100 years earlier, Egyptian culture moved forward.  Pharaoh Amenhotep and his wife Nefertiti changed the face of Egyptian religion: they replaced the worship of many gods with the worship of one—the sun god Aton.  They even wrote hymns to this god, some of which were probably well-known to the people of Israel.

See for yourself: look at the following selections between the Song of Aton and Psalm 104:

What’s going on here?  Is it possible that Israel cribbed lines from the local radio station?  Well, kinda.  In his excellent study of the Jewish temple, G.K. Beale observes that many facets of Israelite religion strongly resembled those of other, neighboring religions.  A cynical observer might allow this to fuel his skepticism: “See?  There’s nothing unique about Israel’s religion; it was just adapted from the nations around them.”  Not to belabor the point, but I can actually attest that if you were to take an Old Testament or religions course in a University setting, you could probably expect your professor to hand you something like I’ve shown you above—in the hopes of dispelling any vision you may have had of Israel’s uniqueness.

But Beale goes further in his study to emphasize the sharp contrasts between Israel and her neighbors.  Sure, Israel borrowed from Egypt’s cultural forms—but not her content.  Beale suggests that Israel borrowed from others as a way of showing God’s superiority to the rival religions that surrounded Israel.  Or, he suggests, it could simply be that every human soul yearns to touch the face of God—other religions are simply failed attempts at connecting with man’s creator.

What does this have to do with worship?  It’s simple, really: the form of worship is less significant than the object of worship.  Believe it or not, there are churches that argue that certain styles or genres of music can never be used to worship God.  But even the Psalms reveal that certain cultural styles can be adapted to reflect God’s truth and character.  Even many of today’s traditional hymns are adaptations of popular tunes sung during the days of Martin Luther and—later—John Wesley.

This also means that there can be no real point in arguing the superiority of one style or another.  In truth, each style may impact different people in different ways.  Personally you’ll never, ever get me to listen to country music—but I don’t fault those who find value and meaning in country-based music.

SACRED AND THE SECULAR?

This also means that the line between “sacred” music and “secular” music isn’t always as clear as we’d like to think.  In some churches, worship leaders are strategically incorporating songs from non-Christian artists into their overall worship experience.  Why?  We can’t revise the artist’s original meaning—a love song is still a love song, after all—but surely some songs speak to a universal human longing, a longing that can only be fulfilled in God.  Obviously, this requires wisdom, discernment, and a clear communication of purpose, but there may be times when even the most secular artists reveal the most sacred of human longings.

LEX ORANDI, LEX CREDENDI

But why all the “worship wars?”  Why do so many people in our churches end up “church-hopping” so regularly and so willingly?  Why are we so quick to grow bored with our worship?

I believe the answer to these questions is very simple: in these instances, it is not Christ we worship, but Christianity.  The difference is simple: our devotion is not to Christ alone, but to the actual means by which we worship Him.  Said another way, what we worship is worship itself.

Historically the church has expressed this through the Latin phrase: lex orandi, lex credendi.  Literally it means “the church believes as she prays,” but I prefer Dr. Martin Lloyd Jones’ modern paraphrase: “What you win them with, you win them to.”  In other words, if we “win” people to our church through impassioned, cutting edge worship experiences, then there’s a possibility that we have won them to those experiences rather than Jesus.  If people are won to the emotion that colors so much of today’s worship music, then they will always be looking for their next emotional “fix.”  And “worship wars” will always erupt between those more devoted to the style of worship than the object of worship. Cater to preferences, and you cultivate a generation of consumers.  Devote oneself to the gospel, and you cultivate a generation of disciples.

So what is to be done?  The answer, I believe, is to actively pursue the same attitude as the One we worship—who lowered Himself by becoming a human being and ascend to the agony of the cross.  If we abandon our often-selfish demands to worship the way we want, then we can enjoy the things that draw our brothers and sisters closer to God.  And in so doing, we lay a greater foundation for unity and lasting joy.