fbpx

Seeking the One who satisfies

Sunrise

David wrote in Psalm 63, “You satisfy me as with rich food; my mouth will praise you with joyful lips. When I think of you as I lie on my bed, I meditate on you during the night watches because you are my helper; I will rejoice in the shadow of your wings” (5-7).

What I love about David’s words here is how he expressed his satisfaction in God. It’s a relationship of intense enjoyment. Think about that: He genuinely enjoys God, not in an abstract way, but in practice. He praises with joyful lips. He thinks of him late into the evening and as he goes to bed. David describes himself as one who literally can’t stop thinking about God!

Which is strange for so many of us, of course. After all, we so often want it to be the reverse—that God can’t stop thinking about us. (Which is an issue for another time.) But strange or not, it’s worth asking ourselves the question:

When was the last time we set aside time and just enjoyed God?

When did we last open the Bible, just to read it? To hear from God? Not hoping to find a verse that answers the prayer request we’ve had for the last six months, or (depending on your convictions) seeking a special word just for you. When did we read just to learn more about him, and to enjoy his presence in that respect?

This is one of the great themes of the Bible, especially in the psalms. Throughout, the Bible is described sweeter than honey, enlightening, pure, clean, good, righteous, and more desirable than gold.

Whenever a psalmist—whether David or another—writes about God’s Word, there is an unabashed delight in the tone. They’re the words of people satisfied by God—satisfied with the One who is their helper. This is one of the many things I love about the psalms. it’s one of the many things I love about the Bible. In it, we meet the One who matters more than anything. Let’s never stop seeking him, the only One who truly satisfies.

If you don’t care, you should worry

Hand raised in worship

I don’t think I’ve ever met a Christian who doesn’t care about music, which I consider a wonderful gift from God.

I’ve met some who care too much in some ways. Or maybe it’s better to say they care but aren’t great at expressing themselves. (Which probably explains some of the emails worship leaders get.) And this, too, is something I’m thankful for. After all, as Luther once wrote,

Music is a fair and lovely gift of God which has often wakened and moved me to the joy of preaching. . . I have no use for cranks who despise music, because it is a gift of God. Music drives away the Devil and makes people gay; they forget thereby all wrath, unchastity, arrogance, and the like. Next after theology I give to music the highest place and the greatest honor.

That’s some pretty high praise, isn’t it? Next to theology, music has the highest place and greatest honor in Luther’s view. And that makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, there’s something about music that gets to our heart in a way that nothing else can. It gets past our defenses. It makes us feel feelings, even.

Which is why it’s probably good to be persnickety about it, even if persnickety people need to be a little more gracious in how they (or, rather, we) communicate.

I’m grateful I can sing the songs we do with a clear conscience. I’m also glad I know some persnickety people (and, to some degree, that I am one, too). But sometimes I worry that I would become blasé about worship through song. That I wouldn’t have an opinion or a question to ask. That I stop paying attention to what we’re singing or not singing.

More simply, I worry that I wouldn’t care.

And that’s dangerous because if I don’t care, that means I don’t care, if you get me.

Sometimes it’s tempting for people like me—the persnickety ones—to check out for a whole host of reasons. You’ve asked your questions graciously. You’ve hopefully received answers. Things aren’t different this week, or next week, or the week after. I hope I can encourage you: keep asking the questions you need to ask. Keep being gracious. Keep being godly in how you express yourself. But most importantly, in whatever way you can, keep engaging with the music.

Keep caring. 

Your brothers and sisters need you to, probably more than you know.

The one thing we can’t fake

Hand raised in worship

Toward the end of the 19th century, J.C. Ryle wrote, “There has been of late years a lower standard of personal holiness among believers than there used to be in the days of our fathers. The whole result is that the Spirit is grieved! And the matter calls for much humiliation and searching of heart.”

Ryle’s concern is just as true in our day as it was in his own. Regardless of our role in our congregations, many of us are aware of an uncomfortable presence in our churches. An almost apathetic, perfunctory approach to our faith—a spiritual funk. We go to church at least a couple times a month. We (maybe) sing a few songs while we are there. We read our Bibles as much as two to three times a week. We pray before our meals and when something big happens…

And in our honest moments, we recognize we’re all prone to this sort of apathy. This feeling of being fake. It’s not an “out there” problem. It’s not an issue for someone else, but not me. It’s something each of us personally has to deal with.

But, how?

A while ago, I was reading a book offering a solution to the problem. And it’s answer was personal piety. Read your Bible, sing songs, pray, share your faith, listen to expository preaching… that kind of stuff. And I think these things have their place, certainly. I’m all for reading the Bible regularly, praying, singing, evangelizing and sitting under faithful preaching. (And I hope you are, too.) But I have to wonder if it’s not that simple—if the answer isn’t just being more personally pious.

At least, not entirely.

Maybe the reason so many seem apathetic is because we have a flawed understanding of what a past generation called “religious affections.” Jonathan Edwards, for example, carefully considered genuine vs questionable evidence of our love for God. And he found that many of the things we point to as evidence might be—but they might be fake.

  • A desire to speak of spiritual realities and the Bible may be evidence we love Christ, but it may not.
  • A desire to sing songs may be evidence, but it may not.
  • A desire to pray may be evidence, but it may not.

But Edwards went on to say that if we want to know if our claim to love Christ is true, we need only look at one thing: our love for one another. And this makes sense because, as Jesus said, “By this all people will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another” (John 13:35). And elsewhere we are consistently told this same thing: to love one another. To pursue each other and spur one another on in love and good deeds.

And this is much harder to do, in many ways. There are ways we can fake it till we make it in our expressiveness in worship gatherings. However, the height of our hands is rarely a solid evidence of the internal realities of the heart. A smart person can talk a big game for a while on Bible stuff, too. But what we can’t fake—at least not in the way we think—is love.

So what does this have to do with the quote from Ryle? Perhaps this: A lower standard of personal holiness is only concerned about our personal emotional response. But personal holiness does not execute personally. True holiness—and true love or zeal for Christ—is always concerned with love for others. We live it—we practice it—day by day.

And we’re going to get it wrong. We’re going to act unloving at times, or struggle to actually want to love others. But if we desire Christ, we will grow to love those he loves. And that’s something you can’t fake.

When awe makes you silent

Sometimes you just need to be silent. It’s okay.

Really.

There’s a line of thinking among evangelicals about worship—specifically, about our response to singing. We tend to try to evaluate what’s going on in the heart by what we’re seeing on the outside. So a person who is singing loudly or has his hands raised high[1. Even when the song doesn’t tell him to.] is a more authentic worshiper than the person who is silent.

Hand raised in worship

I’m not sure it’s so simple, though. I wish it were. I wish it were easy to see what’s going on in the heart and mind of every person we meet. To know for certain what a person is really thinking, or really believes. But we don’t get that ability. God doesn’t give it to us. He gives reminders and indicators, sure. Out of the heart, the mouth speaks. If we love him, we will be known by our love for one another. We will desire to keep ourselves pure and undefiled, and care for widows and orphans in their distress. That kind of stuff.

But these don’t really talk about our response to the music we sing at church. Assuming, of course, that the songs themselves are Christ-exalting, and God-glorifying in their content, there’s no doubt many of us be singing, with all of our being engaged. But sometimes when we’re confronted by the majesty of God—especially in song—there’s only one thing we can do:

Be silent.

Sometimes we just need to say nothing. To stand in awe as we marvel at the majesty of Jesus.

I was reminded of this, in part, as I wrapped up my reading of Job earlier this week. The context is different, of course, but there’s a principle here that’s worth considering. After all the complaints have been made, and after Elihu speaks his word, Job doesn’t keep talking. When Job is confronted by God in all of his glory, he doesn’t respond. He stops. He realizes his foolishness and says, “I am so insignificant. How can I answer You? I place my hand over my mouth. I have spoken once, and I will not reply; twice, but now I can add nothing” (Job 40:4-5, HCSB).

Seeing God, hearing from God, causes him to be silent.

In the context of congregational singing, this is true as well. Sometimes the right thing to do is sing loudly. We engage our voices and our physical being in giving praise to God with our mouths. But sometimes our awe of God is going to stop our mouths. And this is good for us, too.

Because as we consider the goodness of God toward us in the gospel, sometimes the only thing we can do is be silent.

Music for people who struggle with singing

Music suggestions for people who struggle with singing at church

There’s something you need to know: I am a terrible singer. Like, really bad at it. If you ever sit next to me at church on a Sunday when I’m belting it out, I’m really sorry. But I don’t let my awfulness stop me. I try to sing as much as I can during every worship gathering. I know that singing together really does matters. It’s not the totality of worship, but it is a powerful thing.

But even so, there are times when I struggle with singing.

I know I know I know: everyone’s written about why people struggle with singing in church. You’ve read or heard most of what can be said about theologically shallow, vapid lyrics in contemporary praise songs. (And if you’ve hung out with me, I can guarantee this is true.) You’ve read (or at least I hope you have) advice on how to sing when you struggle. You’ve maybe (I hope) talked with your pastor about it, too.

So maybe it’s time for something different. Maybe we don’t need another list of the reasons [insert flavor of the week band’s] songs aren’t the bee’s knees or why meaningless additions to great songs hinder my sanctification. And if you’re looking for a post in which I throw my church under the bus on music… sorry. (Also, gross.)

Instead, I want to do something helpful for everyone who struggles with singing at times, and those who don’t, too. Today, I want to share with you a few albums that I think are really great. These are a few of the ones that I’ll listen to portions of on the way to and from church, or when I’m working and I need to fill my mind with something encouraging and edifying.[1. In other words, what I listen to when I’m not listening to rock and/or roll music from the 1960s through the 2000s.]

Y’all ready for this?

Five albums that will make you want to sing

The Water and the Blood by The Modern Post. Dustin Kensrue put this album out three or four years ago, and it is phenomenal. The theology is rich but not complex, the melodies are hooky, and the key is actually within my range. (Miracle!) Every time I put it on, I can’t help but start singing. Standout songs: “Psalm 145,” “Suffering Servant;” “Rejoice;” “The Voice of the Lord;” “Come Lord Jesus.”

Liberating King by Stephen Miller. Miller does a great job of balancing the heart and the head on this album. The music itself is solid, the lyrics are accessible, but the commitment is to keep the listeners’ focus on God, rather than on us. (For more of my thoughts on this album, read my full review from 2015.) Standout songs: “It is Well;” “You Complete All You Begin.”

Messenger Hymns by Matt Boswell. Boswell has now released two volumes of new and rearranged songs, and both are very strong. The music is often understated, letting the lyrics take prominence. The lyrics themselves fill me with joy, as I am continually pointed to our great and amazing God. Standout songs: “O Sing My Soul;” “Let the Nations Be Glad;” “God Omniscient, God All Knowing;” “Come Behold the Wondrous Mystery.”

Live at the Gospel Coalition by Keith and Kristyn Getty. Chances are you’re already a fan of the Gettys. “In Christ Alone” is probably their best-known hymn, but it is by no means their only great song. I’m especially a fan of this album because the best way to listen to the Gettys is live. Standout songs: “In Christ Alone;” “Christ is Risen, He is Risen Indeed;” “Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty;” “Compassion Hymn.”

The Good King by Ghost Ship. Ghost Ship caught my attention three years ago with this album, and it’s because of one song my kids wanted me to play over and over again: “Mediator.” And if there’s one word I could use to describe the entire album, it would be “hopeful.” Listening to it inspires me to feel this way. It makes me grateful for all I’ve been given, and it makes me look forward to the new creation when I will get to see Jesus face-to-face. And that’s what good praise music should do, isn’t it? Standout songs: “Mediator;” “The Gospel;” “Behold the Lamb of God.”

Hopefully you’ve noticed something with these recommendations: None of these artists are afraid of writing new songs. None of them are are overly complex in their theology. All of them use guitars, drums, repeating choruses, personal pronouns, and everything else the straw man arguments tell me I’m supposed to hate in church music. They are just good albums that take my eyes off of me and fix them on our great God and Savior.

That’s all I need to inspire me to sing. I hope it’s the same for you.

One of the best songs to sing (especially when you don’t feel like singing)

church-song

One of my greatest ongoing struggles as a Christian has been singing during corporate worship. I’m not a very good singer (though I’ve been told I do decent rendition of Radiohead’s “Creep”), but I don’t really mind if people can or can’t hear me. My difficulty is I have a hard time connecting with so many of the songs that are popular to sing at the moment.

There are some that fill my heart with joy, and I want to sing them loudly and joyfully. But honestly? Those are few and far between. Most I find myself trying to sing, stopping, considering the lyrics and whether they are either biblical or coherent[1. There have been more than a few times where I’ve turned to Emily and said, “Is it me, or did that make absolutely no sense?”]

Maybe I’m too critical… (To some degree, yeah, probably.)

Nevertheless, when I don’t feel like singing, there are songs that I find myself starting to think about when I don’t feel like I can sing what everyone else is. It’s one I actually find myself singing as I’m getting ready for work in the morning. I first heard it at the close of a prayer meeting with Peter Jones at a TruthXchange event about five years ago. It was written in 1674, and is really simple—it has four verses and it’s simply an encouragement to offer praise.

Here are the words:

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.

What I love about this simple hymn is how it focuses us on the Trinity: God—the Father, Son and Holy Spirit—from whom all blessings flow. And the weight of it is an encouragement to offer him praise. Why? Not because of a treatise outlining his deeds, but primarily because of who he is.

To me, this is a beautiful encouragement, especially in those times when I really don’t feel like singing. When I’ve had a rough night’s sleep, or the morning’s been a nightmare (the Sunday freak outs are the best), or whatever the case may be. And what’s fantastic is, it helps. Its words reorient my mind toward my Lord and Savior, and off of my other issues—the rough sleep, the difficult morning, or my fear of having to sing something that doesn’t make a lot of sense at church. It helps me to offer praise personally and meaningfully, to recognize the reasons I have to sing his praises. And there are so many.

Perhaps you’re like me, and you’re going to church and not really feeling into singing. Maybe you’re frustrated with the choice of songs. Maybe you’ve slept terribly. Maybe you’ve had a big fight with the kids this morning, and the last thing you really want to do is sing. Can I encourage you? Read these words—better yet, sing them:

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him, all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen.

The least victorious praise song ever might be the most glorifying

medium_6952507370

One of my favorite hymns is “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.” There are few songs I sing with greater intensity, in fact.[1. Though I almost never join in when our praise band uses the awful chorus Gateway Worship added.]

What is it about this song that is so captivating for me? I think a lot of it has to do with how it resonates with my own experience.

All throughout this song, we find the cry of a heart that knows its own proneness to drift away from the Lord. From its first lines—”Come Thou Fount of every blessing / Tune my heart to sing Thy grace”—to its last—”Here’s my heart, O take and seal it / Seal it for Thy courts above.”

It’s a song to remind the heart of what the Lord has done. To fix our eyes on the “Mount of God’s unchanging love.” It’s a memorial to Jesus as the one who helps us—our Ebenezer—by whose help alone we can come, and by whose pleasure we will live on in the kingdom to come.

This same Jesus who “sought me when a stranger,” when I wasn’t looking for Christ and he was but a stranger to me. Who nevertheless, came and sought me out. Who rescued me from danger, and placed his blood between me and the judgment of God.

Is it even possible to mumble your way through such things?

But where I sing the loudest is during what in most modern hymnals is the final verse:

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

It’s the plea in these words that are so moving—and resonate so deeply. That proneness to wander, to leave the God I love… This acknowledgement of our total, and utter dependence upon the Lord… that we need him to bind our hearts to him, lest we wander off after other things. That we are prone to wander, no matter how deeply we say we love Jesus.

 

Does that not sound like much of your week and walk with the Lord? You struggle in your prayer life. You struggle in your devotions. Your mind wanders off to the things of the world and whatever you’re binge-watching on Netflix… Can we be honest? That’s probably most of us reading this post right now. It’s definitely the guy writing it.

But this isn’t the stuff of your typical praise song, is it? It’s hard to make a song like this fit the “victorious Christian living” mould. And I suspect it’s what more of us really need—a little less victory and a little more humility.

There’s nothing particularly wrong about boisterously singing of how we’ll “lay me down,”[2. Which makes the grammar nerd in me cringe.] but I’m not always sure it’s the right thing. Sometimes I think God might be more greatly praised when we sing of the wandering nature of our hearts—for it’s in our weakness that his strength is made perfect in us.

Where ingratitude shows up first

origin_8702598055

I have a love/hate relationship with a lot of the character traits Christians should have. I love that they exist, but I hate how elusive they seem to be. Take humility, for example. This is one of the defining characteristics of a Christian: to pursue humility earnestly, embracing it as Christ did, who “though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped” (Philippians 2:6). But it’s one that seems to be rarely seen among Christians. Or at least in me, certainly.

But aside from humility, there’s another character trait that always seems to escape me: a thankful heart. This is one that comes and goes. There have been times where I say I’ve most definitely been characterized by gratitude. I believe it was a Tuesday.

And then there’s the rest of the time.

But it doesn’t happen all at once. Ungratefulness develops slowly. But where I first notice it is in my prayer life.

While reading Tim Keller’s Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God, I was hit hard by what he shares about the purpose of praise in the life of a believer—and the reality of what a lack of praise is:

Cosmic ingratitude is living in the illusion that you are spiritually self-sufficient. It is taking credit for something that was a gift. It is the belief that you know best how to live, that you have the power and ability to keep your life on the right path and protect yourself from danger. That is a delusion and a dangerous one. We did not create ourselves, and we can’t keep our lives going one second without his upholding power.… We have a problem with thanks and praise, and yet praise is the alpha prayer—the one kind of prayer that properly motivates, energizes, and shapes the others. (196-197)

It hurts, doesn’t it?

That’s really what a lack of thankfulness is. Cosmic ingratitude is the essence of sin. It’s a lack of desire to honor the One from whom all blessings flow. And this brings me back to my prayer life and how I see ungratefulness rear its head:

All I do is ask for stuff.

It’s just petition, petition, petition: the grown-up equivalent of CanIhaveapooldadCanIhaveapooldadCanIhaveapooldadCanIhaveapooldad?

It’s not that petitions are wrong, obviously. God wants us to ask Him for our daily bread—He wants us to bring our needs before Him—but if that’s the sum total of my prayer life, something’s broken.

What this boils down to is praise puts us in touch with reality. When we lack praise, we are living in a fantasy world. And I don’t want to live in a delusional fantasy world, one where God exists to meet my needs as though He were a cosmic butler.

Thankfully, we have a way out. And it’s simple: learn to praise Him because “praising him helps us enter the real world and enjoy him more fully” (203).

This is an area I’m slowly growing in. And it’s not fun because I have little people watching me grow in it (I’d much rather be good at it right now, y’know?). But it’s the kind of world I want to live in. The kind of prayer I want to offer. And the kind of habit I want to develop. What about you?


Photo credit: chuckp via photopin cc