Let us sing robustly, in unity, the rich truths fit for all occasions—joy, sorrow, indignation, triumph, and in gratitude worship the Triune God. Let us pursue that which is pure and lovely, true and good. Let us lay aside the foolishness of performative worship and be done with mood and emotional pursuits. Let us worship in Spirit and in Truth.

I found myself this past summer sitting with extended family on the Lord’s Day at church while vacationing out of state. First, I should point out that it is a unique blessing to visit family and have the majority not only be believers but also wishing to attend church while on vacation (or at all for that matter).

This was your fairly typical non-denominational setting. It fit what I describe as the “We do church different here” vibe. I’m sure I’m not the only one who has noticed that refrain plastered across websites and used as the opening monologue in many a church welcome video. You know, the statement that tells you this church is going to look precisely like every other church, not meeting in a traditional building that was planted in the last twenty-five years.

The door to the industrial warehouse turned worship center is opened by a series of greeters, all of whom smile and welcome and point you to coffee and kids check-in points—but fail to ask your name or offer theirs. The hallways are crowded with a variety of people, all seeming to have some assignment as they have taken those “next steps” in their faith (usually a one-way ticket to “serving,” i.e., rarely participating in corporate worship again).

Upon entering the sanctuary, a stage is seen as the centerpiece, complete with full audio and lighting rigging, bedecked with instruments, and a simple stand/podium replaces the traditional pulpit. As we approached our seats, an older lady volunteer approached and asked if we wanted to participate in communion before handing out pre-packaged cups of grape juice (the ones with the paper wafer under the first lid). As a Reformed Baptist, I struggled with my conscience for a moment. (see: 1689 Chapter 30 and particularly 28.2)

What followed is what most would expect. The lights dimmed to a dark ambience to be offset by the production and spectacle of the worship band. I noticed that the room was only half-filled despite being the main 11 am service (only to realize that many filtered in by the end of the second song). The room was devoid of children, with only one other toddler besides my own daughter noticeable (Some families gathered in the hallway where the service was pumped to displays).

Singing or Being Sung To?

One of the surprising realizations of modern worship is its commonalities with the Roman Catholic tradition. Roman churches have long debated the role of music in sacred liturgy as well as the appropriateness of congregational versus choral singing. It was often that the church was to be “sung to” rather than “sung with” when it came to psalms and hymns in the public gathering. Modern churches hold no such position; however, they ironically contribute to a similar effect.

It stood out to me that once the music kicked in, it was not only quite difficult to hear anyone other than the band, but looking around, many were not singing at all, but stood with crossed arms, silently. Some (mostly women) mouthed the words, but if they audibly sang, I could not tell. For all intents and purposes, worship was reduced to either performance or a performative environment where private worship occurred. Other than physical proximity, there wasn’t really anything corporate about this worship service.

The music was loud, the focus on emotion and atmosphere, and while the lyrics of the songs were generally better than many, if not most modern churches, the melodies were unpredictable, unsingable, and varied by fills and spontaneous prayers, rendering them all the more something to consume rather than participate in.

The Exception

There was one song in the middle of the service that stood as a glaring exception. While I lament the unnecessary addition of a chorus/bridge, nevertheless, they sang a hymn, and a glorious one at that- All Hail the Power of Jesus’ Name. The whole feeling of the room changed. The instruments were more understated, and for the first time in the whole service, I could not only see but hear actual singing in the congregation. For a moment, relief flooded my soul, I sang loudly and treasured the voices of my family loudly participating in song – and then the weird bridge hit to be followed by more spontaneous prayer, feels-inducing keys accompanying. So close. But for a moment, it was beautiful.

The service carried on. To be clear and charitable, the sermon was a verse-by-verse exposition, and the gospel was clearly communicated (albeit from a different soteriological and eschatological framework than I adhere to). While the applications were passive and no true call to repentance issued, some clear exegesis and exhortations were obvious and appreciated. The liturgy of the service was filled with prayer, though seemingly emotive and spontaneous, and Scripture, even a unison reading for the call to worship. Overall, I had much to be thankful for, despite my observations.

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