It may be that the worship wars — and the contemporary vs. traditional, worship band vs. organ attitudes that went with them — are over. It may be that other conflicts are brewing in the underbrush. It hardly matters. Hidden behind the headlines has been another change: quieter and more profound than the question, “Should we sing Isaac Watts or Matt Redman?” This change has been underway since the early 1980s. It’s difficult to put a name to it and, the more you look at it, even harder to define. Some call it “global music,” others recognize it as simply the song of the world church.
It’s true, of course, that hymnals draw from many traditions. The 1972 Book of Praise offered German chorales, French Reformation hymns and Spanish, English and Swiss folk songs. But they were almost exclusively European and North American. Even the folk songs were filtered through classical music’s common practice: no strange dissonances and jarring syncopations, thank you very much.
The songs of the global church represent many more cultures and use a greater variety of forms: freedom songs from South Africa, sambas from South America, songs from Taiwan and chants from Taizé. In addition, the use of global music has brought with it an attempt to mirror the sounds, the languages and the rhythms of the sources. These ways of singing, even more than the songs and hymns themselves, have changed the ways we sing together.
How? First, some history.
The change started gathering momentum in 1983 in Vancouver, where the World Council of Churches held its sixth assembly. Though global song was only part of the whole event, it deeply moved the participants. Rev. Drew Strickland called the music in the worship tent a “spine-tingling, visceral experience.”
The council followed the Vancouver event with worship workshops in Odense, Denmark and Kitwe, Zambia and Crieff Hills, Ont. I was at the Crieff Hills workshop, a 10-day event in which we experienced new languages, forms, rhythms and sounds, and worked together to craft a common liturgy. We explored many issues: why global song is so difficult to define, what are acceptable ways of using music from other cultures, what musical forms are appropriate for worship. We worked with many worship animators, or enliveners, among them Argentinian pastor and composer Pablo Sosa, Zimbabwean composer Patrick Matsikenyiri and Paschal Jordan, a Benedictine brother from Trinidad and Tobago (now working in Guyana). But as important as the music sung on this particular week in 1988 was the fact that this group included pastors, composers, writers and editors who would shape denominational hymnbooks in North America in the following decades.
The most influential songbook from this time, one that foreshadowed the global content of the denominational hymnbooks, was published in Sweden in 1980. Freedom is Coming! appeared after a Swedish singing group returned from a visit to South Africa singing songs such as Siyahamba, Halleluja Pelo Tsa Rona, and Freedom is Coming. These songs helped give the anti-apartheid movement outside of South Africa a singing voice, and have since travelled the world.
Important as I believe these turning points to be, it has been the work of individual song leaders that has helped introduce North American congregations to the songs of the world church. John Bell and Pablo Sosa are the best known names among them, but their number and their influence are growing. Each brings a different temperament, theology and culture to their work of song animation; what they have in common is a commitment to congregational song. The songs they teach also share some key elements:
- The importance of melody
- Short texts
- The importance of physical involvement: rhythm, movement, dance and gesture
- Singing in original languages as well as the singer’s native language
So … how does singing songs of the world church change how congregations sing?
Global song is largely drawn from folk music and popular song — melodies for the ordinary singing voice. Through the work of the song animators and worship enliveners, congregations are rediscovering the joy of singing together. The short texts allow congregations to carry songs with them. I believe that neither our use of bound books or video screens will disappear. But songs that have been memorized give us the ability to make “melody without ceasing … giving thanks to God the Father at all times.” Children are naturally drawn to these short songs, but not only children: these songs help adults who struggle with reading participate in worship.
Physical movement — dancing, gesturing, signing — has long been considered an unwelcome disruption of the core values of churches that preach (and practice) solemnity, quiet reverence and sober praise. The rhythms of global music offer more than mere entertainment. They embody the vision and promise of Pentecost, where faithful pilgrims from all parts of the world sing of God’s great acts in their own language — and everyone hears and understands.
Singing in other languages, congregations are realizing, is something Christian churches have always done. Singing in Shona or Zulu is no different from singing in Hebrew, Latin or Greek. “Alleluia,” “Maranatha,” “Gloria in excelsis Deo,” “Kyrie eleison” — these are all phrases that, paradoxically, mean more when they are not translated. They become part of the texture of our worship, reminding us that we are deeply connected in our present and our past to others who worship the living God.
Are the worship wars over? Who knows? In the meantime, I propose we replace either/or, with both/and. Both contemporary and ancient, both hymn and song, both local and global.
Dallas hymn-writer John Thornburg, another teacher of congregational song, believes we should sing not only our own song, our favourite hymns, but also the song of the person next to us in the pew. Amen, I say, and add this: songs of the world church are the songs of our neighbour. In singing the world church, the whole church, we just might be singing the song of the one who isn’t sitting next to us — yet.
