Garth Bolinder
The church board meeting was going long into the night. Fatigue and frustration were raising tempers to the boiling point. Finally, one rather rotund gentleman rose to his feet in red-faced exasperation.
“How long do we have to put up with this nonsense?” he demanded as his fist pounded the long oak table with a resounding thud. “We’ve tried and tried to be cooperative, but he just won’t listen. Let’s face it. He’s impossible, and his music is even worse.”
“Well, I think we ought to give him a chance,” responded the thoughtful-looking gentleman in the corner. “At least he’s concerned that worship be …”
“And what do you know about worship?” snorted the first man, his bulbous nose pulsating. “You’re new here. You don’t know how things are done.”
“My wife says he’s too demanding with the children. She says the kids don’t even want to go to Junior Choir anymore,” chirped a bespectacled man in a long coat.
“If he’d just play some of the old familiar hymns once in a while. Those new tunes are so difficult to sing. When he gets going on that instrument, it seems like he’s in another world.”
“Well, what do we do?” asked the chairman, trying to keep a semblance of order.
“My wife thinks he should have the decency to leave on his own accord, for the sake of the children.”
“He oughta be fired,” challenged the rotund one.
“We can’t. He’s under contract,” the chairman interjected.
“Then let’s send him a written ultimatum that tells him in no uncertain terms he’s under probation. He either gets with our program or he’s out. Don’t you agree, Pastor?”
Now we don’t know if the board meeting actually happened like that, but we do know a stern letter was sent through Dr. Deyling to the music minister. It was dated February 16, 1730. The recipient was a hard-working musician employed by a local church in Leipzig. His name? Johann Sebastian Bach.
Today it seems ludicrous to imagine J. S. Bach creating a stir with his contemporary Christian music. He’s considered to be classical and “long hair.” Many hail him as the greatest musician who ever lived.
Does not this ruckus illustrate the dilemma of the wedding of music and the church? Often they can’t seem to live together, but certainly they can’t live apart. Anyone in pastoral ministry has felt the tension of this holy alliance. We’ve soared to glorious heights at the Christmas cantata and sunk beneath the depths when the phone began ringing the next week. Somewhere between musicians and congregation, between heavenly aspiration and earthly reality stands the pastor. Whether in a small church with all volunteer musicians, or overseeing a miniconservatory in a megachurch, pastors are the catalysts for the music ministry. If music is going to thrive, it must begin with us.
You may be an accomplished musician, able to sight-read, vocalize, and arrange with the best. Or you may be at the other end of the scale, the only instrument you play being the radio. Your church may have an acclaimed music program, or it may leave much to be desired. As your choir sings every Sunday you may exclaim, “Now that’s music!” Or you may mutter under your breath, “That’s music?”
I don’t claim to be a great musician. I write as a pastor. But I do love music. It lifts me, instructs me, soothes me, and even heals me in my journey Homeward. As I better understand its ministry, my appreciation grows. The church I serve doesn’t claim musical superiority. But we are continually discovering its beauty, simplicity, and power.
What follows, then, is a plainsong on the joys and trials of music ministry. You’re invited to join in. Seeking to improve our respective ministries is a worthy pursuit. For since the morning stars sang together, music ministry has been here to stay.
© 1986 Christianity Today
