To most people music is intrinsically attractive. Moreover, melodies tend to ingrain themselves in the listener’s mind. A tune will haunt the memory during the whole of a lifetime. Here, for example, is a quite uninteresting statement or value judgment. As it stands nobody will pay attention to it. But now set the words to a catchy and easily remembered tune. Immediately they become words of power. Moreover, the words will tend automatically to repeat themselves every time the melody is heard or spontaneously remembered. Orpheus has entered into an alliance with Pavlov—the power of sound with the conditioned reflex. For the commercial propagandist, as for his colleagues in the fields of politics and religion, music possesses yet another advantage. Nonsense which it would be shameful for a reasonable being to write, speak or hear spoken can be sung or listened to by that same rational being with pleasure and even with a kind of intellectual conviction.
Upon closer examination one discovers scripture may not explicitly teach that angels sing. This is not a reason to be let down, however, for who knows how majestic, beautiful, and melodious their voices are even when speaking? Besides, God Himself will sing for the saints; angels are but derivative artists.
Regarding Zeph. 3:17—”The LORD your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”
Guitars cannot impart faith; Spirit-assisted preaching of the Word does. Immense sonic progressions may swell emotions but possess no magic by which to conjure genuine belief in God’s word.
Personal faith in the Lord Jesus—not outward elements of worship such as volume or lighting, instrumentation or gestures—is the conduit through which the Spirit effectually flows. Melody preserves order and unity, and may even adorn the service with a degree of natural beauty; but faith and doctrine alone give substance to song, thereby elevating mere sounds above ritualistic gonging into vehicles of spiritual devotion.
This is one of my favorite hymns, written by Charles Wesley. “Jesus, Lover of my Soul” to the tune of Aberystwyth. The last two stanzas are especially dear to me.
Jesus, lover of my soul, let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last.
Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed, all my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head with the shadow of Thy wing.
Wilt Thou not regard my call? Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall—Lo! on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gracious hand! While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope I stand, dying, and behold, I live.
Thou, O Christ, art all I want, more than all in Thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and holy is Thy Name, I am all unrighteousness;
False and full of sin I am; Thou art full of truth and grace.
Plenteous grace with Thee is found, grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound; make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art, freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart; rise to all eternity.
Franco Corelli remains the archetypal voice of heroism. Here are seven minutes that may broaden your horizons. The transitions, diminutions, and scope of this aria are breathtaking. The finale, superb!
In his cry, “tell me who I am,” Rodger Hodgson provides the classic anthem of an existentialist searching for valid epistemology, to which the Presuppositionalist replies, “God has spoken, thus you are.”
FACT: Listening to the Bryan Adams channel on Pandora obviates any intentions of getting work done, since all I can do is pump my fist and play air guitar.
DUBSTEP BREAKDOWN: The natural sound of what it would be if the Toyota assembly bots came to life for one massive, electro-industrial factory throw-down.
