I've been attending a church here in Mexico for the last couple weeks, and find myself in complete agreement with the music they play beforehand. Stylistically, artistically, does it do anything for me? Not really. But I find that, to my own surprise, I don't care about that. The sound of the music doesn't grate on me like it has in the past. Granted, they aren't playing Major 7th chords for every chord, which is a demonic problem in Contemporary Christian music. But the "Christian sound" of the music doesn't bother me anymore. There is nothing in me that judges it on what I've always believed to be artistic merit only, but which is perhaps a certain amount of subjective distaste as well. Nothing to do with the lyrical content, which in fact I usually appreciate, but the sound of Christian music itself has always made me tired.
I've lost the distaste. I don't care what it sounds like (as long as every chord isn't a Major 7th chord, which is a demonically-anemic sound). If God is happy with it, I'm happy with it. If God is glorified by it, I'm all for it.
This song doesn't do much for me personally. Well, who am I to judge what my brothers and sisters offer up to God? If God is for it, do I dare to be against it?
It's a horrifying thought.
I do like this though:
Maybe it's just the Westernized Christian music that doesn't do anything for me. Whatever the case, I find that I'm not against it like I have been in the past. At some level, my attitude about Christian music in the past has been like somebody who receives a gift and complains about the color of the wrapping paper.
Another horrifying thought. Have you ever had that problem? Found yourself not listening to the message because you didn't like the package it was contained in? Perhaps because the package has been used by Satan in the past, to put you down, reject, or even laugh at you?
Like most things, in worship, it's the heart that counts.
From the description in the video below:
In the summer of 2008, my 2nd wife and I were broken-down in the 5 Cities area of California, trading nights sleeping in the car, while the other person slept in the Airstream with the cats, which was in storage at an RV park in Grover Beach. We couldn't afford to rent the space to actually park next to and sleep in the trailer, so we had to pretend we were organizing things in it every night, which was fenced off in a storage area. We weren't supposed to be sleeping in it, and in fact were ratted out by some tattooed, "edgy" partying types (not yuppies) who were storing a trailer next to us. If you haven't learned that everybody in the world is a potential rat, and that being "cool" is one of the most meaningless, nonexistent standards ever devised by man, you haven't spent enough time living against the grain. Nobody is cool, until they prove it, over time. And even then, only a sucker will entirely believe it.
Anyway, we were attending a church in Grover Beach, and the Lord laid it on my heart to approach the band and offer to play, sing, or whatever they may have needed. They were a bunch of rich kids from Santa Barbara, and some of the evilest people I have ever met in my life. I will never forget the demon in the "worship leader's" eyes, the last time we attended. It had become obvious that they didn't want me, and watching that demon lead people through a maudlin, disingenuous set of "worship tunes" is something I will never forget.