Can Church Music Be Hip?

Andrew Sullivan recently hosted a series of posts inviting people to write in and discuss whether church music can be "hip." I really enjoyed the series of posts, largely because I have been wrestling myself with music in worship: both what makes a piece of music effective in worship and what makes any piece of music "hip." (The summary of the Sullivan posts can be found here.)

As I read the posts, I found myself thinking a bit more about the music that I am drawn to for worship, and why I tend to steer clear of "praise music." The questions I kept coming back to were: is there something that really separates the music that I am drawn to? Is there really something definably 'hip' about any piece of music?

I grew up in a family that was Baptist on all sides. As we got older, some of my family entrenched themselves in Baptist theology, while others drifted even farther to the right. But my immediate family went driftless for a time. First, my Aunt moved to San Francisco. Then, my Mom and Dad followed to California, and after their divorce, Mom stopped attending church for good. I don't know if she felt scarred by her Baptist past or not, but I certainly reeled as a teenager, when I discovered that the world was not all it I had been taught it was.

So I must admit that I have a long-time hair-trigger response to anything that remotely smacks of religious intolerance. And it's not that the "praise music" that's heard in most churches is intolerant in any way. But it does remind me of those churches.

So why is that? What is about them that hits me that way? Why do I sense something in them that I can only describe as disingenuous? And what is it about a song like Johnny Cash's rendition of "Ain't No Grave", or even Jars of Clay's "Flood" that doesn't trigger it?

I think it has to do with the way the sentiment is portrayed in the song. If I feel someone is trying to sell me something, I stop listening, much in the same way I hang up on a telemarketer. I don't consciously do it; I just sense that the emotion is unauthentic, and I am turned off to it.

To put it another way, if someone sings to me "I love God with all my heart...", I immediately want to stop listening. But if someone sings to me "I see God in a patch of mushrooms...", no matter how bad the music might be, I keep listening.

It's about depth. If someone tells me they love God, or asks me to do the same, there's no depth in that sentiment. But if we sing about God in a field of flowers, or in a full moon, there are surprises in store; if a song talks about how hard it is to find God when the world is falling down around you, that is a depth of emotion that I can relate to; if a song makes me think or feel differently about God or the universe, then that song is worth my time.

One night many years ago, I was finishing up a night playing at a small coffeehouse. I was alone that night, packing up my car after the gig when I was approached by a young man who had been chatting outside. Earlier, I noticed that there was a group of folks from a nearby church that had gathered for Bible study; I remember thinking that my songs must have provided a strange accompaniment for them. But they enjoyed it and were very complimentary.

The young man started out by saying he liked my songs, and noticed that they had a spiritual side to them. I was impressed that he had paid any attention at all, but he was just getting going. Within a minute, he was full into his routine, trying to save me and get me to Accept Jesus Christ as My Personal Lord and Savior.

I explained to him that I already attended another church - worked there, actually - and I wasn't interested in what he had to say. He persisted. I engaged him for a bit, debating what I felt was a very narrow reading of what or who God was. When he tried to get me to see the logic in his way of thinking by saying, "look, what is 2 plus 2?", I snapped.

"Are you kidding me? You are not going to try and reduce the complexity of the universe and humanity to a simple mathematical equation, are you?"

He sensed that he had gone too far, and backpedaled. Within another minute, he was gone, and I was happily pulling out of the parking lot.

But that interaction still sits with me to this day. Anytime I sit through a sermon or read a bumper sticker or hear a song that tries to reduce the complexity of God's creation to a slogan or a hook, I shudder. But when I hear Regina Spektor, who has absolutely no vested interest in selling a "praise" song, sing the following words, I know that I have glimpsed God in a new, exciting, terrifying, funny, and alarming way:

"No one laughs at God in a hospital
No one laughs at God in a war
No one’s laughing at God
When they’re starving or freezing or so very poor
No one laughs at God
When the doctor calls after some routine tests
No one’s laughing at God
When it’s gotten real late
And their kid’s not back from the party yet

No one laughs at God
When their airplane start to uncontrollably shake
No one’s laughing at God
When they see the one they love, hand in hand with someone else
And they hope that they’re mistaken
No one laughs at God
When the cops knock on their door
And they say we got some bad news, sir
No one’s laughing at God
When there’s a famine or fire or flood

But God can be funny
At a cocktail party when listening to a good God-themed joke, or
Or when the crazies say He hates us
And they get so red in the head you think they’re ‘bout to choke
God can be funny,
When told he’ll give you money if you just pray the right way
And when presented like a genie who does magic like Houdini
Or grants wishes like Jiminy Cricket and Santa Claus
God can be so hilarious
Ha ha
Ha ha

Now, that is hip.