One tool for transforming our "secular" musical work into worship is the concept of seasonal music making. As we strive to see our daily musical work as a way of contemplating truths about the Savior, we recognize His relevance and presence with us.During the Christmas season, I wrote about the many moods of joy and hope that we need to keep alive in the world through our music making. In the middle of Lent, there may be other moods and mindsets that are appropriate for us to espouse and communicate.
In many of our churches, "alleluias" are absent during Lent. Might there be other rules or concepts to help us dwell more fully in the meaning of this season through our music?
I begin by asking many questions of the music that I play and teach. First of all, what is somber in this music? I want to play somber repertoire during this time, and I want to play my repertoire somberly. What in this music is broken or foreshadows broken- ness? What expectations are not fulfilled, and how abrupt are the disappointments? What in this music is hungry and dry? What is starving or parched? Does my performance satisfy too much at a time like this? What to do with joyful and serene movements?
Guided by these questions and having tried to teach some students from a Lenten mindset, I have found a few ideas about playing at this time that feel meaningful and right to me:
Musical silences can be treated as symbols of the human perception of God’s absence. That is, silences in music can be about the aloneness we feel when we are tempted. This sense of aloneness was known to the Psalmist. I believe it was also known to Jesus throughout His career and particularly on the cross. His aloneness must have been far beyond anything we have to endure. Still, echoes of His monumental aloneness may be found in the silences in our music. Perhaps God can connect with some listener in those silences.
If there is an appropriate season for lamentation in our music, this is it. Why not, on occasion, let your playing be a bemoaning of your sin? How often do we as performers dare to humble ourselves spiritually as we play? Or how often do we let our sins move us to strong emotions? Perhaps the blending of music and confession can bring us to a more deeply sorrowful and repentant stance.
As Lent is a path of repentance and reaching for God, we may find ourselves at the end of ourselves. It may be wonderfully appropriate to come to our music from such a place of personal contemplation on the gravity of the season. This may bring a sense of detachment to our playing that can be exchanged for ebullient joy at Easter. I have found that many passages that I had formerly thought of as joyful sound clangorous and empty against the backdrop of Lent. I think it is good for them to sound inadequate at this time.
God is with us in the Lenten journey as Rev. O. Ben Sparks of Second Presbyterian Church in Richmond, VA recently reminded his congregation. While remembering God’s presence and leadership, we also do ourselves a great favor in this season to remember the gulf between the Lord and ourselves as well as the suffering He endured to bridge that gulf. It may seem a little threatening to allow this type of spiritual contemplation into our well-ordered musical lives, but the end result could be lives more fully transformed to God’s will.I believe it can also lead to a greater love and understanding of music. It can help us understand how much music can be for God, and also what a small "creature " music is compared to all of the Lord’s truth.