“Was that an original composition?”
I had finished reading a prayer for the group when that question was floated my way. I confirmed that it was and we moved on. The rest of the night went on without another thought to the question.
Early the next day, as my mind began it’s high pace morning routine, that question returned. The night before I was a little bewildered when I answered the question, but I didn’t put any thought into why. Now, though, my mind raced over it again. I wouldn’t pray with any words that weren’t my own. It didn’t make sense to me to do such a thing, but it made sense, I figured, that someone would ask. Then a powerful thought interrupted mine.
The night before, one of the others had made a small comment: all talents, abilities, skills, successes, and other good things are all gifts from God. They originate from God. How could we be proud of something we were given and did not earn nor deserve? We can’t even be proud of the little things, for we are images of God and the good in us is just a reflection of him. It didn’t come from us to begin with.
God gave me words.
He gives me words every day of my life. I pen them, I say them, and I work with them. Words feel like sculpting clay or puzzle pieces in my hands. Given time, I sculpt the putty and craft them and I organize and bring to coalition a song or cry of my heart towards him. Yet I do not create the words. I cannot take credit for them anymore than I can take credit for the gift he gave enabling me to use them.
Again, another thought interrupted, as if to drive the point home further.
Would a painter give his love a painting he did not make? Would a musician sing a love song to his beloved that he did not write? Would a poet recite a ballad to his bride that was not his?
Far be it! Such gifts would be meaningless.
I then pondered aloud, “Is this the real reason I don’t like to sing in church?” Was every other reason just a smoke screen to this simple thought? When I considered the times I stood singing, I felt a sudden weight lifted as I realized with greater clearity the way God designed me.
It feels so empty to use the words of another. When I read those and sing them, I feel as though I’m just listening. The words are not a part of me. They are words that I did not suffer to learn or experience first hand. They are words in which I did not toil over each sentence and mark. I did not shape them, imbued with meaning from the depth of our relationship and received from the heart of the Holy Spirit. They are not words given to my by my savior for me to give back to him. They are just words on a page written by another. They lack the intimacy now so familiar to me.
That night, when I prayed with the group, I could no more have used the words of another than I can these words that craft this page. There could be no greater misuse of his gifts to me than to silence this gift and use the words of another to share my heart towards God.
NOTE: Does this mean a song I hear will never mean any thing or I will never feel what the author felt? By no means. But for such a thing to occur, I must have experienced enough to understand those words and to take the meaning as my own. Such songs are usually ones conveying deep heartache and broken desperation and whose words plunge into the depth of God’s character. Those words, though they are not my own, are the ones I can related to. Though, as one music ministry pastor once said to me, such songs often cannot be sung in church, for they convey truths too difficult to easily understand for the greater congregation. It is not my desire to strip away the music from the church, but rather to acknowledge that those words are not mine. Nor is it my intent to say that all music sung in church is shallow, for some of the greatest pieces of music and theological history have come from such a venue. Rather, my heart is to say that, on any given Sunday, I have the opportunity and privilege be a part of a body, functioning as a whole. I have the wonderful chance to watch, listen, and enjoy as others use the talents God has given them. Sure, singing those words on Sunday may often by empty words sung from me, but for many, God is giving them pre-written words that they may praise him in a way they otherwise would never have been able. He is giving them a way to say things that they lack the giftings to express. There is wondrous unity when the bride of Christ functions in such a way as this. And such is beauty in the incorruptible majesty that is the body of our Savior and King.