Ah, Bach!
If I knew I were to die tonight, I may only wish for four things: my copy of God's Word, my wife to be near, my journal, and access to the music of J.S. Bach.
Was there every such a steward of his talents as Bach? Was there ever one who could take the natural revelation of music that the Father has woven into the very created order and unveil it in such a way, transporting us to realms of cosmic delight?
Peter Kreeft and Ronald Tacelli said it well:
"There is the music of Johann Sebastian Bach.
Therefore there must be a God.
You either see this one or you don't.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
The Carpenter and the Physician
"I have been saved!" you loudly exult.
Saved from what demise, pray tell? And unto what end? This "saving" is no mere rescue in the abstract, the way a man might be rescued from a late appointment by the timely arrival of a taxicab. Of the severity of it, you cannot begin to imagine.
No, dear friends, when you ponder from whence and to what you have been saved, you have no recourse but to fall on your knees, yea, even prostrate upon your face, clenching the dust, weeping in tears of ecstatic joy and gratitude and remorse.
Can you not still feel the heat of the flames licking your feet? Have you no recollection? How quickly the thought has escaped your mind that you were dead in the crematorium of the universe, being devoured by the flames of wrath that you had earned and warranted and requested. Can you not still smell the stench of your own burning flesh, as the full recompense of all the endless years of your selfish recklessness and indulgence and rebellion now come back to greet you?
And what a greeting it was. Death, in his grim cloak and veil and his gruesome scythe, would have been a more welcome doorman than him whom you had met.
But O, what grace! Can you not still recall how the Great Physician Himself barged in while your lifeless corpse lay there and, even while you still despised Him, snatched up your body from the furnace and hoisted you out? Do not you remember? Has no one told you the tale?
Yes and indeed! Brother! Sister! Hear me! Do you not remember how that same Physician bore you across seemingly endless miles of treacherous journey outside your wanted grave, and awaiting on the far side was his home and yours? Do you not recall how your lifeless body was miraculously taken from the ashes, even while you could still feel the heat radiating from the furnace, as the skin on your arms was still terrifyingly warm? And that ugly, vile corpse that you were was miraculously remade, from a worthless heap of death and dust, to a body of glory suddenly robed in splendor? Do you remember how that Physician brought you into His home, and there you saw a multitude of seats indwelt, and there at the center that Physician sat enthroned as a King, and you were seated there at His very side? Do you recollect the suddenness of confusion and perplexity and ill-comprehension?
Oh, remember, remember, remember! Remember what you were! Remember the extremity of hopelessness from which you were rescued. Remember the utter horror of being separated from Christ, without hope and without God, on the brink of hell. May it move you to weep! May it move you pray earnestly unto the Lord of harvest for more of same stories! May it move you to exultation and thanksgiving for those saints who for countless years prayed and cried with tears of agony on your behalf, that what was was said of them might be said of you!
Remember our dear brother Piper who writes, "When the heart no longer feels the truth of hell, the gospel passes from good news to simply news. The intensity of joy is blunted and the heart-spring of love is dried up. But if I remember these horrible things and do believe them in my heart; if I let every remaining sin and every moment of indifference to spiritual things remind me of the smell of hell lingering in the remnants of my corruption; if I let my knees become weak as on the day when I tottered on the cliff of my doom; if I recall that apart from absolutely free grace I would be the most hardened sinner and now in the torments of hell; if all this I remember, and believe in my heart, then, oh, what a contrition, what a lowliness, what a meekness will be effected in my heart.
"To whom can I return evil for evil?...Where is the lowest sinner over whom I could feel a millimeter of superiority? Instead I become a brokenhearted leaper for joy. Tears for all my wickedness (yes, clean, middle-class, nice-boy wickedness of pride and unbelief and indifference and ingratitude and impurity of mind and worldliness of goals). Yet leaping with joy for the free and inexhaustible mercy of God."
And to what? Oh, dear friend, that you might glorify God and enjoy Him forever. May you never stop being satisfied in your Great King and Savior. May you never grow weary of ascribing unto Him the glory due his name. May you never tire of hearing the old, old story over and over again. May it never grow mundane for you to sing:
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Yes and, for the sake of God Himself, take part in that glorious feast! He is yours to enjoy forever. Feast and be satisfied in Him! Feast and be satisfied in his gift to you "so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
The Great Physician and Great Carpenter has crafted you from all eternity. And He has bid you come.
While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?
“Why was I made to hear Thy voice,
And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Saved from what demise, pray tell? And unto what end? This "saving" is no mere rescue in the abstract, the way a man might be rescued from a late appointment by the timely arrival of a taxicab. Of the severity of it, you cannot begin to imagine.
No, dear friends, when you ponder from whence and to what you have been saved, you have no recourse but to fall on your knees, yea, even prostrate upon your face, clenching the dust, weeping in tears of ecstatic joy and gratitude and remorse.
Can you not still feel the heat of the flames licking your feet? Have you no recollection? How quickly the thought has escaped your mind that you were dead in the crematorium of the universe, being devoured by the flames of wrath that you had earned and warranted and requested. Can you not still smell the stench of your own burning flesh, as the full recompense of all the endless years of your selfish recklessness and indulgence and rebellion now come back to greet you?
And what a greeting it was. Death, in his grim cloak and veil and his gruesome scythe, would have been a more welcome doorman than him whom you had met.
But O, what grace! Can you not still recall how the Great Physician Himself barged in while your lifeless corpse lay there and, even while you still despised Him, snatched up your body from the furnace and hoisted you out? Do not you remember? Has no one told you the tale?
Yes and indeed! Brother! Sister! Hear me! Do you not remember how that same Physician bore you across seemingly endless miles of treacherous journey outside your wanted grave, and awaiting on the far side was his home and yours? Do you not recall how your lifeless body was miraculously taken from the ashes, even while you could still feel the heat radiating from the furnace, as the skin on your arms was still terrifyingly warm? And that ugly, vile corpse that you were was miraculously remade, from a worthless heap of death and dust, to a body of glory suddenly robed in splendor? Do you remember how that Physician brought you into His home, and there you saw a multitude of seats indwelt, and there at the center that Physician sat enthroned as a King, and you were seated there at His very side? Do you recollect the suddenness of confusion and perplexity and ill-comprehension?
Oh, remember, remember, remember! Remember what you were! Remember the extremity of hopelessness from which you were rescued. Remember the utter horror of being separated from Christ, without hope and without God, on the brink of hell. May it move you to weep! May it move you pray earnestly unto the Lord of harvest for more of same stories! May it move you to exultation and thanksgiving for those saints who for countless years prayed and cried with tears of agony on your behalf, that what was was said of them might be said of you!
Remember our dear brother Piper who writes, "When the heart no longer feels the truth of hell, the gospel passes from good news to simply news. The intensity of joy is blunted and the heart-spring of love is dried up. But if I remember these horrible things and do believe them in my heart; if I let every remaining sin and every moment of indifference to spiritual things remind me of the smell of hell lingering in the remnants of my corruption; if I let my knees become weak as on the day when I tottered on the cliff of my doom; if I recall that apart from absolutely free grace I would be the most hardened sinner and now in the torments of hell; if all this I remember, and believe in my heart, then, oh, what a contrition, what a lowliness, what a meekness will be effected in my heart.
"To whom can I return evil for evil?...Where is the lowest sinner over whom I could feel a millimeter of superiority? Instead I become a brokenhearted leaper for joy. Tears for all my wickedness (yes, clean, middle-class, nice-boy wickedness of pride and unbelief and indifference and ingratitude and impurity of mind and worldliness of goals). Yet leaping with joy for the free and inexhaustible mercy of God."
And to what? Oh, dear friend, that you might glorify God and enjoy Him forever. May you never stop being satisfied in your Great King and Savior. May you never grow weary of ascribing unto Him the glory due his name. May you never tire of hearing the old, old story over and over again. May it never grow mundane for you to sing:
My sin, oh, the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!
Yes and, for the sake of God Himself, take part in that glorious feast! He is yours to enjoy forever. Feast and be satisfied in Him! Feast and be satisfied in his gift to you "so that in the coming ages he might show the immeasurable riches of his grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them."
The Great Physician and Great Carpenter has crafted you from all eternity. And He has bid you come.
While all our hearts and all our songs
Join to admire the feast,
Each of us cry, with thankful tongues,
“Lord, why was I a guest?
“Why was I made to hear Thy voice,
And enter while there’s room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come?”
’Twas the same love that spread the feast
That sweetly drew us in;
Else we had still refused to taste,
And perished in our sin.
Saturday, March 3, 2012
Thoughtful Orchestration
Not trying to be coy or deceptive here: this issue is one my favorite hobby horses.
I found this article posted here at Kevin DeYoung's blog.
I believe Harold Best is spot-on in his evaluation: neither the band nor the organ is to be demonized, but rather poor orchestration of any musical accompaniment is to be scorned. The point of instruments is to bolster congregational singing, not drown it out or be showy. Leave that to the concert hall on Saturday night. Performances have no right to intrude on congregational singing on Sunday morning.
Here's the article snippet:
I found this article posted here at Kevin DeYoung's blog.
I believe Harold Best is spot-on in his evaluation: neither the band nor the organ is to be demonized, but rather poor orchestration of any musical accompaniment is to be scorned. The point of instruments is to bolster congregational singing, not drown it out or be showy. Leave that to the concert hall on Saturday night. Performances have no right to intrude on congregational singing on Sunday morning.
Here's the article snippet:
Speaking of wise words from Harold Best, here are some good thoughts on thinking carefully about how to use (and, just as critically, not to use) instruments in corporate worship:
I want to be respectful and thoughtful in these next words, and I realize that I might be wandering into the territories and preferences of other contributors to this book. But as valuable as the instruments and sounds of the typical praise band might be, they often do little to bolster and enhance congregational song in the pure sense of physics and acoustics. They can easily overwhelm to the point where congregations no longer hear themselves sing and end up accompanying the worship band, when the reverse should be true. This does not mean praying for good riddance. That would be evil. Rather, it means that musicians who truly understand the laws of sound, the acoustical congregational voice, and the rigors of instrumental collaboration must make use of their instruments in radically different ways. I attend a church in which the worship band—especially the drummer—understands how delicate and understated their work can be. As a result, there is better singing and less watching than I have observed in so many other churches and colleges around the country. By the same token, organists must be more insightfully trained as to how the instrument is to be played beyond the often boringly slow and tedious sound masses that are enough to put a thunderstorm to sleep.I long for the time when all instruments together comprise a worship band, where insightful musicians will come to understand the orchestrational aspect of instrumental music. I mean this: A skillful orchestrater understands that all the instruments at his or her disposal do not play all the time—no, not even the drum set. Rather, through sensitivity to the rich variety of musical contexts and, in our case, to the wide-ranging contexts of congregational song, instruments and instrumental combinations are chosen that remain in perpetual ebb and flow, showing sensitive shifts of color and texture based both on the art of musical cation and the nuances of text and context. This is not impossible; it is simply difficult. But what isn’t when it comes to doing things well? (Exploring the Worship Spectrum: 6 Views, 74)
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