A recent discussion triggered a memory that I had conveniently let recess way back in the corner of my mind. Possibly it will speak to you or it may be just another nugget of honesty about me that you can put away too.
At the age of 12, I began to play my horn in church picking up the art of playing by ear as quickly as I could. Now that I recall it, it was in the church that Bro. Philip Harrelson now pastors in Dothan, AL. Though at the time, he was on the drums rather than the platform.
Bro. Harrelson’s father would strum his guitar and sing beautifully from the church hymnal. You know the ones…the old standards. And by that I am not demeaning the songs, but rather uplifting them. Songs like At the Cross, Come and Dine, Its All in Him, He Set Me Free…and the like. I would play along, learning the melodies, find different parts to play and inserting the occasional riff here and there. There were even times that God would move in those worship services and the Spirit of God would move me as I played those great songs.As the life of an Army brat would have it, we continued to move, being stationed a various locations and attending various churches. I continued to play, doing the occasional special, participating in church orchestras. When I landed in St. Louis around the age of 20, I was blessed to be involved with directing the APC church orchestra. If you were ever fortunate enough to pass by here from the mid 70’s to the late 90’s, you might have been able to be blessed by some very talented musicians. God blessed this church with many, many great horn players and the orchestra usually ran between 15-20 members on a consistent basis.
There were several times that I was asked to lead the song service. I actually had never done this before now. This was during a time where the “meat” of our song service was still obtained from the hymnal. As I began to lead these services for the first few times, I found myself buried in the song book. That is when it hit me. Although I had enjoyed and been blessed in many instances playing these God inspired melodies, I had neglected to hear the messages of the songs. When I played these notes that were penned by men and women who put them to equally inspired lyrics, I missed the meaning of the words. I was raised in this Truth, cutting my teeth on the back of pews and trying to sleep under them while it rained bobby pins. There was no excuse for me not to know the words to every verse of every song. I was ashamed and convicted. How many times had I missed out on the will of God in a service for me because I was so concentrated on the playing of a beautiful tune? There was no doubt that God had moved on me while playing. There was no doubt that he had blessed me as I played for His glory. But what further blessings had I denied myself in worship and praise when I ignored the words for the sound of the music?
It is apparent today in services that we attend, God still moves and blesses during sincere worship and praise. I must admit since this moment in my life, I take great pause in being in a service that inspires worship to a beat, rhythm or melodic cadence. I am disheartened that we too often get into the “spirit” of the music rather than the essence of the message of the lyrics. It doesn’t matter how well or how musically pleasing I can play a rendition of Grace, Grace, Wonderful Grace if I never focus on the actual meaning of the words that the notes have been transcribed to.
