Today in worship we sang a song that was quite moving. The verses of the song include lyrics that reminded me (and presumably others who were singing and/or listening) that God should be our all in all.
God in my living
There in my breathing
God in my waking
God in my sleeping
God in my resting
There in my working
God in my thinking
God in my speaking
The song continues in the chorus in the form of a prayer, wherein I found myself asking that God would change me so that God really would be my all in all–not merely as an ideal, but in reality.
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
Be my everything
The song continues with more of the declaration of what is real, but in a way that I began to realize I don’t always live as though it were true.
God in my hoping
There in my dreaming
God in my watching
God in my waiting
God in my laughing
There in my weeping
God in my hurting
God in my healing
As I sang about divine omnipresence, I was struck with the realization that I often live in such a way that would suggest such truths are, in fact, just a myth. Depending on how one teases out just what omnipresence is, it seems to follow naturally from Anselmian perfect being theology. As I was singing, I was broken over my sin. I wept in frustration that I am someone who knows quite a bit about the subject from both theological and philosophical perspectives, yet, despite all my learning and mastery of much of the truth concerning divine omnipresence, I don’t always live as though it were true. I can recite many of the verses that theologians cite in support of omnipresence in multiple languages, and I understand the philosophical categories that allow for nuanced descriptions of what omnipresence is and is not, but today I was moved in another way during worship.
The song continues:
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
You are everything
Christ in me
Christ in me
Christ in me the hope of glory
Be my everything
You are everything
You are everything
You are everything
Be my everything
Jesus everything
Jesus everything
Jesus everything
Be my everything
Just when I was ready to give up hope, I was reminded that Christ in me is the hope of glory (Col. 1:27). I was reminded that because of what God has done for me in Christ, I have fellowship with the Father, and the Son, and the Spirit. The good news of Christianity is the Christ died for our sins, according to the Scriptures, and three days later he rose from the dead, according to the Scriptures. Because Christ has defeated sin and death, I can enjoy the truths of divine omnipresence, and be reminded that I should seek to live out these truths, for Jesus has set me free from the law of sin and death. That is where I was, and what I would be, if not for all that Christ has done for me. For truly, God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself.
Yet, as I was singing, something else struck me. You see, it isn’t true that God is everything. The computer that I’m using to record these thoughts isn’t God. The building that we met in to worship today isn’t God. And I, most certainly, am not God. So, in a sense, it is false to say, “You are everything” to God.
But, you are quick to say, “That’s not the point of the song. That’s not what those lyrics mean.” Precisely. The words are meant to point out that our priorities often include things other than God. That is, when we’re honest, God isn’t always uppermost in our affections. As much as I’m ashamed to admit it, I find that sometimes God is really an afterthought, and hardly ever do I truly cherish Christ rightly, allowing Him to reign in me by way of the Spirit so that He occupies rightly the seat of preeminence that is my heart. Instead, I am a sinner who needs to beg God to continually transform me by the renewing of my mind (see that–it’s an intellectual endeavor) so that God would be my everything.
Yes, that’s what the words mean when sung properly, when sung Christianly. The problem is that I’ve been reading a lot of Spinoza in preparation for an article that I’ve been asked to write. Spinoza actually believed that God was everything in all the wrong ways, ways that stand in opposition to Christian orthodoxy. He believed that the world was God, so we are (technically) a part of God. His thought is nuanced and rather complex, and I can’t do it justice here, so I’ll ask that you all trust me that his views were pantheistic (God is everything, and everything is God). So here’s the issue: if a disciple of Spinoza were to show up at my church, that person could sing these lyrics and mean something completely different that what Christians mean when we sing this song. Does that mean that we should strive for the same level of analytic clarity in our music that I strive for when doing philosophy/theology? I don’t think so.
Music includes prose and poetry that should allow for something other than a literalistic hermeneutic. The task of interpretation is rather complex, especially when seeking to exegete or explicate a poem or song. Last month at the IPTR lecture, John Sanders reminded me of this when he discussed the role that conceptual metaphor theory plays in cognitive linguistics, and how these shape the task of biblical interpretation. I think he is right about most of what he is saying, so I want to be charitable as I seek to explain the meaning of music to those who lack the same theological and philosophical background that I have. But this still requires education, lest someone mistakenly understand that the music in our church actually promotes the worship of false gods.
This morning I led worship for the spanish-speaking congregation at our church. I speak Spanish well enough to know whether lyrics to songs are orthodox, and I play the guitar and sing just well enough that people don’t get up and leave the room when I do so. I found my myself wondering what the people were thinking when they sang, especially since the people that I was worshiping with lack the sort of theological and philosophical categories that help safeguard orthodoxy. You see, most of these folks are very recent converts out of non-religious backgrounds, and there’s no way to know for sure what these folks think about when they sing (English translation of Spanish song)
The only reason for my adoration is You, Jesus
My only motive for living is You, my Lord
The only truth is in You, for You are my Light and my Salvation
My only love is You, Lord, and forever I will praise You
You are all powerful
You are big and majestic
You are strong and invincible
There is no one like You
I don’t think these lyrics lend themselves to being wrongly interpreted in the same way that the song I sang in the English service do. Pantheism doesn’t flow naturally from these lyrics. But we should be careful to make sure that when people sing “The only truth is in You” they don’t mistakenly think that if something isn’t obviously theological it isn’t true. 2+2=4 is true, even though it isn’t obviously theological. Were someone to wrongly conclude such, this song might get in the way of him or her becoming the next Albert Einstein. We shouldn’t be teaching people that the only truth in the universe is the Bible, or that the only truths worth studying are obviously theological, lest we find ourselves in world without godly accountants, car mechanics, engineers, doctors, etc. True, we can tell a rather complex story about platonism/aristotelianism/idealism/theistic conceptual realism to show that, as it turns out, 2+2=4 IS a theological truth–and yes, I do think that is important. But sadly, very few people have the patience for that. Would to God that they manifest more of the fruit of the Spirit in this regard. But, until that day…
Sometimes I fear that our lack of diligence in theologically educating those who worship with us actually serves (unintentionally) to foster the worship of false gods, and worship itself becomes the font of heresy. I urge everyone to obey the greatest commandment: love God. Lest we forget, doing so is an intellectual endeavor. To be sure, it isn’t merely an intellectual endeavor, but it certainly isn’t less than that, seeing as how Jesus clearly instructs us to love God will ALL our minds.
As it turns out, music in the church turns out to be one more reason that Christians need, and must do, philosophical theology.