Not Knowing the Words to the Song

Note: I’m having such a difficult time writing currently and I don’t know why. Unless something happens in my life or in the larger world that shakes me from my creative doldrums, I just can’t seem to articulate my thoughts. On hand that is immensely frustrating. On the other hand, I’ve been doing a lot of work and am probably more at peace with myself than I have been in a long time. Maybe I don’t have as many ghosts clanging around my head that I have to exorcise them with the written word. But I still miss writing. In fact, I should be writing. So I am going to try spill out some of the random thoughts that are floating in my head in hopes that something will be the spark that ignites the rest of my mind.

I went to the National Youth Workers Convention in Memphis this past week and, on the whole, it was a productive experience. I went to several workshops that will be quite helpful down the road. There were a couple of great speakers in the Big Room gatherings. 

But the first thing that struck me was the disconnect between myself and the music. And I mean that it literally struck me. The bass drum was like a defibrillator. Even in the back, I felt its sound wave kick my heart. But I didn’t know the songs. And when you are in a room where it seems like everyone else knows every word deep in the marrow of their bones, but you don’t then it creates this immediate sense of alienation.

I don’t really know how people who lead worship week in and week out handle that. Because the last thing you want when someone comes into a place of worship is for them to feel like a stranger. That is going to happen but you want to minimize that foreignness. Perhaps it can’t be handled in that one week. There are songs at our church that I didn’t know when I first got here, but I have come to know and love them with time and connections to a community.

But that’s not where we were in that giant convention hall. That disconnect was there and it was not aided by the lead singer imploring us to “shout it out to God” no matter how good-natured his intent was. Sing it with all my heart? Dude, this is the first time I have ever heard this song. One of the things that I love about music is the way that it often pulls me closer to God in ways that words cannot do in as adequate a manner. Yet I think that because it can connect in such a deep way that music is even more frustrating when it doesn’t connect. When you feel like you’re repeatedly running into a brick wall.

There was one moment this weekend in which a wrecking ball was taken to that brick barrier. On the second night the band Crowder was playing a concert, but their plan to swamp rock through their most recent album was brought to a screeching halt by some technical difficulties. So they grabbed their acoustic instruments and came to the front of the stage for some well-known worship songs.

And they sang “How He Loves,” which I know and love deeply. “If grace is an ocean / we’re all sinking” is one of my absolute favorite lines in a church song. In that moment, I wasn’t self-conscious about the fact that I was alien from the music. I dove into it. It enveloped me. And even though Crowder takes the wussy way out with “unforseen kiss,” it still did not jar me. I felt God walk in the room.

And I’m not sure what the takeaway from that is. Because I’m a big proponent of learning new songs and having new experiences because I think that if we only connect with God in the old songs then there is some danger of those songs becoming an idol. There is a give and take. But it raises this question of how we invite new people in without alienating them.

And maybe the connection is people. You get to know a community, you learn their language and their heart, and you get to know their way of connecting with God. Then maybe you connect with God a little bit more. But there still has to eventually be that connection with you. It doesn’t work by proxy. Or does it? I’m not sure.