(
This article was originally published in the April 2017 edition of the church newsletter.)
This past month I accepted an invitation from Chris and Charlotte Thomas to join them for an Erie Philharmonic concert. Every one of the Warner Theatre’s 2,250 seats was filled to hear pianist Emanuel Ax and the orchestra give a stirring performance of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Piano Concerto #5, composed way back in 1809. On the drive home I found myself ruminating about why some art endures for centuries, while much of it is quickly forgotten. After all, Beethoven was merely one of hundreds of composers at work in the year 1809. Vincenzo Righini, Josef Eybler, Louis Spohr...do these names ring a bell? Of course not. Their music was just as well-liked by the public, and perhaps just as tuneful, but somehow lacking the spark of genius, the mastery of form and structure that Beethoven wielded.
We often refer to this phenomenon as
the test of time. It's the notion that if something has enough artistic merit, or a profound insight to offer, it becomes absorbed into our collective cultural heritage and passed down for future generations to study and enjoy. In this category we would surely place not only the music of Beethoven but also the paintings of Da Vinci and Picasso, the poetry of Dante and Shakespeare, and the architecture of Christopher Wren and Frank Lloyd Wright, to name a few. Their works endure because they go far beyond just tickling the eyes and ears.
If you’re wondering where I’m headed with this: my point is that the same is true of the church’s sacred arts as well. I’ll offer just one example of many. Charles Wesley, the brother of Methodism’s founder John Wesley, wrote over 6,000 hymns in the 18th century. Our hymnal contains a dozen of these, such as
Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus and
O For a Thousand Tongues to Sing. Classic hymns, to be sure, but why only a dozen? I've looked at some of the others, and frankly, to call them 'mediocre' would be putting it charitably. In the zeal of his faith Charles Wesley wrote a lot of junk which, mercifully, the test of time has purged. (By contrast, almost all of Beethoven’s music is still performed today, which I consider a testament to his genius.)
The same process is still happening now, on a timescale slow enough that we may not perceive it. People are writing new songs for the church at a furious pace — and I don’t just mean the bass-guitar-and-drum driven "Praise & Worship" style, but also new music in more traditional idioms, such as my own compositions. And like the hymns of Charles Wesley, a few of these may endure as part of Christianity’s cultural legacy. But most will end up in history’s wastebasket. That's not to say that people shouldn’t be offering new songs to the Lord: Psalm 149 actually encourages it! But in reality, combining theological soundness with artistic appeal is a difficult task, and we should be on guard against songs that sacrifice one for the other. (There’s much more to say on that topic, but I’m afraid I’m out of space right now!)
Until next time,
Kevin
