Elizabeth, your piece makes cogent points about the need to pay attention to the song we sing. Some of us have been seeking the new song you speak of so clearly. Music that Makes Community, sponsored by All Saints Company in San Francisco, has been presenting workshops, seminars, sing-alongs, etc. throughout the United States and Canada for some time to re-assert out natural need to sing. Our focus is singing in the ancient way - mostly by heart and using all manner of music from chant to hymns to new refrains that don't turn one into a musical zombie. Somehow we got to a point in ecclesiastical music that we think a lot of verses is the complete answer. Don't believe that I am against all those wonderful hymns, but we're holding onto the musical icons without writing any new ones that take into account the 21st century mind and ear. There are a number of communities that have embraced this kind of singing, but they don't necessarily have the marketing zing to tell their story. The music at St. Paul's Chapel in New York City (part of Trinity Wall St.) is one such community which caters to international visitors and local New Yorkers. The most-heard comment after a service there is "the music is wonderful" and "the service was so alive". We've had to work at it by asking hard questions and letting go of much that feels good to hold onto, but, at this vineyard at least, we're trying to tell the best story of good news in the best way we can.

Marilyn Haskel

I must admit, I'm really unclear exactly what the author is asking for here. The second and third paragraphs seem to be an acknowledgement that some of the old music sung with feeling and life are appealing to people. (And a glance across the Tiber shows that there's a lot of spiritual renewal accompanying the burgeoning chant renewal there...)

The piece seems to turn on this line: "But God also calls us away from our inaccessible customs and the lives that our privilege have bought us in America and across the globe." But I'm still left wondering exactly what these are supposed to be. Marilyn (commenting above) seems pretty convinced that it's all about music--but I'm actually unclear. Is it music? Is it liturgy?

What exactly are our "inaccessible customs"?

Thank you, Elizabeth. I might add to that (from a church that is doing a pretty good job of singing a new song even for a few %)Episcopalians tend to look to and know about large, East or West Coast churches and miss some of the smaller, middle churches. I have found some nascent, "new songs" there.

These are great points that could use lots of conversation. I go to an Anglo-Catholic church and lots of people joined precisely because of the beautiful and meaningful liturgy, as well as the very high quality Anglican music. It's a robust place. The symbolism of the liturgy is deeply nurturing, and I cite Joseph Campbell and C.G. Jung in noting the importance of symbolism.

I also think that we are not going to have a monolithic "new song." There is a great diversity of music, and alternatives in liturgy that hopefully can feed people of differing tastes. I urge folks not to take an approach that says it has to go one-way, be it contemporary music or traditional.

Having said that. I long for a Prayer Book with more inclusive language and richer imagery, more like New Zealand's. Perhaps if our 1979 BCP had been 1985 we would have gotten further. By using language that includes all of God's children and appreciates God's creation, we'd gain a more loving view that perhaps would be more inspiring and nurturing for all, especially young people. We could have that language without losing much.

As for songs. There is variety. I love the Hymnary that is used at Iona Abbey. It includes some of the beloved old tunes with inclusive language, as well as music from traditions around the globe. I love LEVAS and you don't have to be black to love it and sing those great American hymns. There's a variety.

But here's what I really think. And I'm a professional musician. Any song can be a "new song." It has to do with HOW we sing this song. I was doing Vivaldi's Gloria at Holy Trinity School of Music in Haiti in 2004 when political manifestations, complete with gunfire, broke out outside our walls. I will never sing Et in Terra Pax the same way again. I know that it is a longing throughout the world, not a reality, even though it seems peaceful enough in my suburban home. I'm also keenly aware of the Incarnation and old song or new, it brings comfort, renewal awe, and inspiration.

If it's HOW we sing the song. Then what changes HOW we sing the songs? My experience is that it's MISSION. Whether working at the homeless shelter or in Haiti, the manifestation of God in these places changes ME. And it changes HOW I sing the songs. They become prayers. Amazingly, one of the ancients described singing as "intensified prayer."

You raised great points. I would not like for it to create more navel gazing, the Episcopal Church is virtuosic at that. It is our actions, being God's hands and feet in the world, that changes the song.

Elizabeth,

Thank you for posting. For me, part of singing a new song is learning to actually hear ourselves sing. I’m lucky to have attended Saint Gregory’s Church in San Francisco and Saint Paul’s Chapel in Manhattan (my current church), where Marilyn Haskel (who commented earlier) is the music director. In both places, almost all of the singing is unaccompanied, which means we can actually hear all of the other singers instead of drowning in organ pipes.

The ability to hear each other has made it all the more possible to introduce music from traditions that don’t rely on pipe organs. At both Saint Gregory’s and Saint Paul’s, the music directors have drawn on music from all over Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Latin America, as well as Native American, Celtic, and Russian Orthodox traditions. Letting go of constant reliance on the organ has not only produced more robust singing but freed these congregations (and others like them) to embrace many other forms of congregational music making. At Saint Paul’s Chapel, we still use the organ on occasion, but we use other instruments, too. Each week, we have a percussion postlude, where drummers and hand-clappers play rhythms from the West African drumming tradition.

Thank you for raising your voice and these important issues.

I resonate with Cynthia's comment. The issue is very often HOW a particular song is led. I'm not talking simply adding a rock beat to an old hymn (although, that might be effective), but just playing the organ with a little well-rehearsed articulation can bring the oldest, stodgiest hymn to life. (Yes, Jacob, my good friend, I still believe the organ can be used well.) I'm also part of the Music that Makes Community group, as well, and through that experience have discovered many "new" ways of singing old songs, often by eliminating the instruments all together and letting the people's voice have a primary place. (I guess I actually do agree with most of what you've said, Jacob.) Having said all that in support of keeping the old songs alive, Marilyn is absolutely right. We must always continue the creative process. We need new songs and sounds that stand side by side with the tradition. It's never either/or. And it's not only professional composers who are needed. Many simple tunes, created by average singers "in the pew," are the most enduring and endearing. This is an important conversation. Thanks for keeping it alive. . . . from a Lurking Lutheran.

Folks, I don't think the main thrust of this essay was about music per se...

Brandon Sargent

I have been part of the "music makes community" and that has been a powerful experience of singing paperless music with a crowd. I have brought some elements to my church and it has enhance the community and singing.

Brandon,

Picking up on your comment, being able to hear ourselves, whether singing or speaking, is an important piece of the work in front of us. At places such as Saint Gregory's, Saint Paul's Chapel, and Saint Lydia's in Brooklyn (which I neglected to mention earlier), the services have been transformed by the experience of hearing each other sing and pray. The intercessions make room for individual voices. The sermons (at Saint Gregory's and Saint Lydias) leave room for responses. All of this frees the worshippers physically. With paperless singing, they have their hands free. These services also make room for physical movement.

These acts of liturgical liberation pave the way for liberating our vision, as Elizabeth's essay urges. In my experience, opening up the liturgy opens up my ideas about what the church can be, not only liturgically but spiritually, socially, politically. One step in that direction is to reconsider the ossified worship habits that literally keep our eyes locked on a printed page (and not on each other) for most of the service and keep our voices submerged beneath pipe organs and which leave no room for individually voiced prayers and experiences.

Brava!!! (And we could not be more delighted to be welcoming Elizabeth to All Saints Church in Pasadena on December 11th during our adult education hour. Come by if you're in the neighborhood and let's sing a new song together!)

Susan Russell
All Saints Church, Pasadena

Even my comments weren't about music, per se. I'm saying that action in the world changes us, and we experience song and liturgy differently. I'm saying it is our experience. St. Gregory's way, which would not be so much to my liking, is not THE way, and my Anglo-Catholic way, is not THE way. The WAY is to love our neighbor and seek Christ in all persons. I'm saying when we work with that reality in the world, we find NEW meaning in song and liturgy. It can be an ancient Anglo-Catholic liturgy and be life-giving - or it can be the new fangled liturgy out in San Francisco. But calling anyone's liturgy "ossified" is highly provocative and one of those "damn lies" to justify our own tastes and avoid the deeper issues.

I've worshipped all over North America, Haiti and Europe, in racially diverse settings, and including modern liturgies. The diversity in liturgy and music is a STRENGTH because different ways invite people into the mystery of God.

The question is our experience, and how others experience us - as people loving our neighbors and affirming all as created in the image of God? Or as people who would rather navel gaze and insult others on their taste in liturgy and music instead of GETTING OUT there and loving our neighbor. (By the way, the Anglo-Catholic movement did re-invigorate the church and bring about a powerful new interest in social issues, FYI). There's no monolithic answer. Only that it helps to engage in the mystery of God to be able to engage with the world.

Iona is described as a "thin place" between heaven and earth. I found it to be true. But on Sundays in my church, I also fine a "thin place" and it renews me and inspires me for the work of seeing Christ in all people 24/7. So find your "thin place." It's an important place. But remember what it's for.

Cynthia, by ossified, I was referring not to specific practices. I continue to enjoy the high church services at Trinity Wall Street and in the parish I grew up in. I love organs and the great hymns we sing in those places. I don't want to trample on anyone else's enjoyment of those traditions, especially because there's so much in them that speaks powerfully to me (even though I worship down the street).

What I feel has become ossified is our imagination. My own experience, informed by lots of church shopping over the years, is that we Episcopalians have fallen into worship habits without thinking about the tradeoffs they are making. (And I know Elizabeth's essay goes beyond music and liturgy, but music liturgy is one place to start the conversation.) By all means, let's have organs playing on hymns, but let's also understand that when we do that, we might think about how to allow our singing voices to be heard. We might also think about the music that we are deciding to keep out if we must stick with organs for every piece of music, just as those eager to get rid of organs should consider the high cost of doing that. (Personally, I like having both options.) It's perfectly possible, as Scott Weidler suggests, to enliven all kinds of liturgical traditions.

Similarly, by singing only written hymns, we are making a whole set of decisions about our physical experience of church should be.

And worshippers at places such as Saint Gregory's and Saint Paul's Chapel will do well to continue to ask each other "What did we notice?" on a regular basis. I strongly believe that we at Saint Paul's and other such places must not become precious or mindless about what we do. Because as Cynthia says, there is no ONE way. There are many ways, so let's give ourselves the permission and the tools to explore what they might be.

I really appreciate your comments, Jacob. What I really want is for TEC to consider it's prophetic role in the world, and not get bogged down in what I ungraciously referred to as "navel gazing." There isn't ONE way to do life giving liturgy and music, but I suspect there are lots of ways to do it badly, or mindlessly. And folks should be open to the spirit in that regard. I strongly suspect that if we focus on the Baptismal Covenant, and really strive to seek Jesus in all people, and love our neighbor and all that, we might make new discoveries within ourselves, within our liturgy and music, within our church and the world. I so much want that to be the focus of TEC. It's easier for us to say rude things to other Episcopalians on issues of taste than it is for us to stand up and say "We stand with the 99 percent. We stand for justice... etc." I want us to STAND UP! The music will be sweeter at that point. All music.

Cynthia, I absolutely agree we must stand up. I actually see a connection between listening to our experience of liturgy and standing in solidarity with others on issues of social justice. Examining our liturgical practices, especially in regard to how we welcome strangers into our worship and allow their voices to be heard is a crucial part of that broader consciousness shift.

I don't think you were ungracious in referring to navel gazing. We absolutely must keep ourselves from falling into that. If our liturgical practices are aimed only at pleasing ourselves, our social justice may well reflect the same lack of vision. Liturgy is not a matter of taste. It's a matter of how we live out God's love on Sunday morning. It's important to make that act as robust as possible, and part of doing that is understanding that whatever we do within the church walls must have the power to catapult us out into the world to engage it fully.

(A final note, though it may sound that way in description, Saint Gregory's liturgy is actually not new fangled. Most of it is recovered from ancient practice, and so it merely looks new. Of further interest, Saint Gregory's has a fantastic food pantry program that feeds hundreds of families each week. It's one of the best ministries in San Francisco, a town full of great church work. Sara Miles, who started and runs that program, is also a liturgy freak, in the best sense. So Saint Gregory's is a great example of what you and Elizabeth are calling for. xoxo)

Jacob, there are habits, and there are habits. Routine denigration of the ECUSA hymnal tradition is one of those habits. Let me tell you a story: over the summer, at our parish, the guitar service and the organ service were merged into one combined service with a mixture of both. As Chief Choir Shill (no choir in the summer), I could readily see how this was playing out: people sang the hymns from the hymnal, but they didn't sing the "praise songs" that much, partly because the music was too difficult, and partly because there were the amplified singers over top everyone else. Well, one Sunday the organist failed to appear (twisted ankle), so the hymns were sung unaccompanied. Well, guess what: without the organ, it was even more obvious that people sang the hymns and not the guitar songs. And on top of that, the priest, in a loss of nerve, eliminated the the final hymn (the very easy "All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name") in favor of having the guitarists pick something else. Well, they picked a Cursillo song that most people didn't know. It's not a bad song, but nobody sang it, because half the people didn't know it, and many of those who did recognize it (myself included) couldn't sing it without the words in front of them.

The truth is that our hymnal tradition is one of our greatest strengths. We have a wealth of music, and people like to sing it. The way we do liturgy, when we take it seriously, is not one of our problems; it's one of our assets.

The habit that IS a problem is our tendency to lapse into a chaplaincy for the college-educated, liberal-minded upper middle class. You can see that happening in the posts and responses that appear here: nobody much is going to say anything to shake right-minded members of that social circle. It's OK to drive off people with our ersatz leftist politics, and OK to assume that everyone in the pews is simultaneously powerful (because we're the class that produces upper level bureaucrats---at times it feels as though the entire foreign service is assumed to Episcopalian) and without responsibility (because the really rich are Republicans and probably Southern Baptist or something else regressive). That if the Marxists really assumed power, most of us would either be up against the wall as bourgeois enemies of the state, or would compromise ourselves totally in service to the new regime: nobody is going to talk about that. That contempt for the lives of the lower classes is rife among us: that's not going to be talked about either. I don't know how many of us are in the 1%; it's probably less than half a century ago (and anyway the Presbies have always been richer), and anyway we don't have a problem with taking their money to use to our own ends. That most of us are in the 5% is likely inarguable, and those of us who aren't technically so well off are, by education and family, numbered among that are wealthy; that we have little appeal for the other 95% is obvious. Our mission has become to make right-minded, well-off people feel good about their social and political attitudes. It's not prophetic to repeat what everyone around us believes; it's merely mutual self-congratulation. Meanwhile, part of the reason we are dwindling is nothing more than that we, or more precisely, people of our social class cannot bring themselves to reproduce in adequate numbers.

And still, on we go, burbling vacuities about "inclusion" and a host of contentless corporate virtues, in between expressions of the angry vendetta against the separatists. Yes, we can look back with some pride at what was done for civil rights in the 1950s and early '60s; but we don't know how to minster to our own people any more. And thus, we grow old and fade.

I agree that there is a connection between liturgy and action in the world. And that it's vital to be welcoming and inclusive. We are growing and our traditional music and A/C liturgy is a draw. So I'm saying that the diversity is a strength, no one parish can be all things to all people. But each parish can do spirit-filled liturgy and music, of whatever genre.
I can't speak to all these demographics. I just know that most Americans are very insulated from the struggles of much of humanity. If Episcopalians are generally more insulated, then we have to make the effort to Witness. And Witnessing can lead to greater connection, and perhaps actions and attitudes. I did read Sara Miles's excellent book and her emphasis on experience is much appreciated.
I want TEC to collectively get out of our heads and into the streets. Forget our comfort zones. Check out the reality of humanity, and join it.

"Sing to the LORD, a new song..."

As I'm sure you know, has nothing to do with what song you are actually singing...[or what workshop you attend] but everything to do with a 'new' heart, a circumcised heart, a heart of flesh! You must have a new heart, to sing a 'new song'.

When I joined a church that was unashamed of the gospel -- I noticed something different -- everyone was singing their hearts out! Thank you Jesus, what a Joy.

Cynthia and Jake,
I've been following your conversation here with interest and enthusiasm.

It's hard to get at the practice questions beneath our music-making because we're so used to conversations that are really about genres, styles and taste, and because the misleading dichotomy of traditional and conservative haunts us.

The quality of creative thinking your bringing responding to each other's postings is getting us somewhere else. I think that's fantastic.

What I think I'm hearing in your interchange is this - when we're attending to our practice, that is our spiritual practice, we'll notice who we invite to make music, how we lead and share it, how we listen to one another and collaborate making it, and so on, questions of Christian formation, empowering people, and so offering ourselves an experience of the power of the Spirit among us. At that point the liturgy is in the world, a part of justice-making that people can carry out to small and large actions of courage and generous love.

And all of this may be most evident when we're resourceful and committed singing the 'new song.' But a song that's new to us could easily be an ancient chant that goes back to first century synagogue days or a new piece composed the day before.

"Right" in music-making isn't about the right music and the wrong music, but more like 'right livelihood' in Buddhist discourse. A way of music-making that leads us to live more fully into who we really are, for us Christians, who we are in Christ.

While it's true that Episcopalians are more affluent than some other demographics, I'm not convinced that it follows that they are on that account unacquainted with struggle.

I don't know about anybody else, but the people in the parishes I've belonged to have had their share of tragedies: the sicknesses and deaths of children and young people; suicide; children born with disabilities; financial hardship; prison sentences; mental health issues; etc.

The automatic tying-together of affluence and ease of life is a mistake, in my experience. At this point in time in particular, with membership in the church declining, it's maybe even more likely that people who attend on a regular basis are there trying to deal with some personal tragedy or difficulty.

That's the reality as I've seen it, anyway. Sure, it's good to help others, even if only as a way to get out of one's own trouble for awhile - but it's also very necessary to provide people a place where they can rest in God, and find help.

(And thanks very much to LGMarshall above, who has put his or her finger on the very heart of the issue: the Gospel is what it's all about, and what we're here for....)

Under no circumstances am I saying that the affluent are insulated from all tragedy. I'm talking about our communal life, and I don't want TEC to get bogged down in "navel gazing" about liturgy and music. I want TEC to focus on our prophetic role in the world.

No one is immune from hardship. It is the human condition and it is an important aspect that we share together in community. It's almost unthinkable to face it alone. There is indeed a need for spiritual nourishment for ourselves, and to support one another in our parishes. But we are called to consider the suffering of others as well, to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God. To seek Christ in all persons, to feed the widows and orphans. The Gospel overwhelmingly calls for social justice. All of us suffer the human condition, but consider a couple of things, one, the condition of many is seriously impoverished and without the same capacity that many of us have. Two, when there is nothing that medical science can do for our loved ones, and it is completely out of our control, it is exactly those moments when we hand it over to God, and when we are most connected to God and our fellow human beings. Ideally, the hardships develop compassion in us for others.
I'm saying that our life experience changes our experience of liturgy, music, and community. And I'm urging TEC to emphasize the experience of reaching out.

Well, I'm right with on these endless discussions of "liturgy"; I swear, if I hear that word one more time.... ;-)

And yes, "reaching out" is good - but I think TEC needs to get a lot better at "reaching in" first, personally.

First of all: we're not all rich and privileged, and I don't think it's helpful for us to imagine that we are. Is that the characteristic of the Episcopal Church we want to concentrate on? (You've already heard my objection to the brushing aside of people's pain on account of their - perhaps imaginary - bank balance.) Second: if we pay attention to the people who are all around us suffering, in our own congregations, and families, and neighborhoods, we won't be "reaching out"; these people will at that point be a part of us. Third: whatever "prophetic role" we might have in the world won't do a single thing, today, to help anybody who's suffering. Neither will it do anything to help the seriously impoverished, in any way, today. But attending to the wounds of people we know can and will help. (Personally, I wish we'd get off the "prophetic" track, myself. I really don't think we're all that; we're just another church in the world, like thousands of others.) Fourth: lots of Episcopal congregations are ALREADY engaged in ministries in their communities and in the larger world - so I'm not sure why we need to emphasize "reaching out." It's already happening.

I think we should put more effort into inviting people inside so they can have a relationship with God; that actually CAN give people the help they need, today.

Wow. Such a robust and engaging conversation. I can only add that the sermon was about "singing a new song" mostly in a metaphorical way, across all of our worship practices, and in our spirituality as it flows through everyday life.