Why can't we have some honest songs?

Christian worship must be the only time in your life when you are expected to sing in public and mean what you sing. We don’t expect the actors in a West End musical to be sincerely declaring their undying love for their co-star, who they may privately loathe. When a generic pop star sings about how much they want to be with the generic subject of their generic ballad we’re not expected to believe that they are singing about an actual person, are we? Even the most personal and heartfelt song must become less ‘authentic’ after the seventieth performance.

Christian worship songs are different to other kinds of song, of course. They are addressed to a specific person: God. A worship song is nothing more than a prayer set to music. But sometimes I don’t want to say the particular prayer that the leader has chosen. Worse, sometimes I can’t say it. Take My Jesus, my Saviour, which we sang at church this morning:

My Jesus, my saviour,

Lord, there is none like You.
All of my days I want to praise
the wonders of Your mighty love…

Except, I don’t. I’m probably not supposed to admit that as a Christian and a lay preacher but I don’t want to praise God all of my days. Not this morning at least. At the moment I’m not even certain He’s there. So when I sing those words, I feel like I am lying. If I was singing a love song for a public performance or for the sheer joy of singing it would not be a problem. But I am not singing for my own pleasure (God knows my singing would never bring anyone else pleasure!). I am praying to God. Praying with words I did not write and do not mean.

Modern worship songs are particularly guilty of this kind of dishonesty. ‘I could sing of your love forever’. No you couldn’t. You would run out of breath. You would run out of words. You would have to stop to go to the toilet. Facetious? Yes but we often sing things in worship that we would never say in public, let alone in our private prayers.

‘Though I’m weak and poor,

all I have is Yours,
every single breath…’

Do you really mean that? All that you have?

‘You’re altogether lovely,

altogether worthy,
altogether wonderful to me.’

Do you really mean that? God seems wonderful and lovely to you every day; every Sunday; every time you sing that song?

Where are the songs for the people who are doubting? Where are the songs for times of searching and suffering? Do we always have to sing about how great and wonderful it is to know God? What if we occasionally sang about how God feels far away; when we’re not sure if he’s there; when we resent him for what is happening in the world?

The Book of Psalms has plenty of them:

 ‘My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do no answer; and by night, but find no rest.’

(Psalm 22)

‘I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me.

In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearing; my soul refuses to be comforted.
I think of God, and I moan; I meditate, and my spirit faints’

(Psalm 77)

 
‘By the rivers of Babylon – there we sat down and there we wept when we remembered Zion.’

(Psalm 137)

Lamentations, Jeremiah, Job: whole books of the Bible are devoted to times of suffering and darkness, when God seems far from His people. Even Jesus knew what it was to feel God’s absence:

‘Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” (Matthew 26: 38-39)

We have countless songs in our hymn books for Christmas, Easter and Pentecost. Perhaps it’s time we added a few for Gethsemane.

The problem with using these themes in worship is that, although they may comfort, they don’t tend to uplift people. You want to give people hope and good news when they worship on a Sunday morning, not despair and uncertainty. And sometimes singing a hopeful or a joyful song can do just that. But I think our public worship would be more relevant and, more importantly, more honest if we acknowledged that some of the people present are not in a place where they can sing a perky Matt Redman number.

There is space for doubt and lamentation in Christianity but many modern churchgoers are afraid to admit it. Modernity demands certainty from us. The new atheism demands irrefutable proof for the divine. Mystery and paradox are to be discarded, or at the very least hushed up and not spoken of in front of potential converts. But the orthodox, historic Christian tradition has doubt, mystery and suffering at its very core. It’s time we gave it space to breath again. Let’s leave the happy-clappy, ‘Jesus you’re a top bloke’ songs in the cupboard occasionally. Let’s ask God where he is. Let’s tell him our fears and doubts. Let’s mix some laments into our anthems. Let’s keep our worship honest.

‘And the pledge and the vow is you'll find if you seek,

But what if I try and find nothing but bleak....

Turn me tender again, fold me into you,

Turn me tender again, and mould me to new,
Faith lost its promise and bruised me deep blue,
Turn me tender gain, through union with you....’

Turn me tender again, Martyn Joseph

What is fantasy?

This is a post about fantasy – knights and wizards, dragons and goblins. It is fantasy in the tradition of Beowulf and King Arthur, J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling. And I love it. Some of the first books I can remember reading on my own were The Hobbit and The Chronicles of Narnia. I have spent hours absorbed in fantasy-themed video games such as Heroes of Might and Magic or Baldur’s Gate. Fantasy is one of my favourite genres and one I return to over and over again.

Fantasy has recently pushed its way back into the mainstream with HBO’s adaptation of GRR Martin’s doorstopper A Game of Thrones. Not having Sky Atlantic, I have been unable to watch it, but I have read the first two books in the Song of Ice and Fire series. What intrigued me about the TV adaption, and provoked this blog post, were the press releases. David Benioff, one of the writers, described it as: ‘The Sopranos Meets Middle Earth’. One magazine article I read simply said: ‘It’s The Lord of the Rings with sex’.

The Lord of the Rings with sex? Does it need sex? Would the story have been massively improved if Aragorn had taken Eowyn for a roll in the hay? Would we have empathised more with Frodo if he had stopped to shag the occasional elf? Would Sauron have been a more effective villain if he had manifested to rape a character or two?

I have read two books from A Song of Ice and Fire and the sex scenes were easily the worst thing about them. They had all the erotic feeling of a biology textbook. If anything was pornographic about them, it was the violence. A Clash of Kings, the second book, was particularly bad in this regard. It seemed that Martin could not let a chapter pass without a reference to murder, torture or rape. Which begs the question: whose fantasy is this?

                                                 
A Song of Ice and Fire is sometimes referred to as ‘dark fantasy’, to set it apart from ‘heroic’ or ‘high’ fantasy such as The Lord of the Rings or the Shannara series. ‘Dark fantasy’ is usually characterised by graphic violence, plenty of sex and its morally grey anti-heroes. All of these things have their place in fiction but I would question whether that place is in fantasy.

Do not get me wrong. I am not arguing that all fantasy should be sanitised or child-friendly. Fritz Leiber’s Lankhmar series of short stories are some of the best examples of fantasy I have ever read and they concern two morally ambiguous thieves, whose adventures often feature sex and violence. The key is how the author treats them. A Song of Ice and Fire seems to be out to make fantasy ‘dark’ and ‘gritty’. Martin wants to write a ‘mature’ fantasy story but his books come across as immature, equating ‘adult’ with graphic sex scenes and copious violence.  

It is not even particularly realistic. There is no doubt that the Middle Ages were a brutal time to be alive, with much violence, exploitation and hypocrisy. But life was not totally joyless: people still fell in love, formed friendships, told jokes, celebrated holidays. There was culture too. The Middle Ages produced some astounding works of art, music, literature and architecture. Science, philosophy and theology continued to advance. There were monsters, undoubtedly, but there were also saints. There was still light in the darkness. A Song of Ice and Fire all but snuffs out that light in the name ‘grim and gritty’ story telling. Again, this begs the question: whose fantasy is this?

This is not supposed to be an account of real people or events. This is all being dreamt up by the author. So why do these dreams look more like nightmares? They might be entertaining nightmares; the horror genre is all about creating new nightmares. But is that what fantasy is all about? Thrilling us with bloodshed? Just because a story contains dragons and wizards, does that automatically make it a fantasy? Is the genre more than its tropes?

I once read that one of the reasons that Harry Potter is so popular is because it presents its readers with an ideal boarding school; a world of charm, mystery and adventure. It is the world ‘as it should be’ or, at least, as we wish it could be. To me, that is the core of fantasy: it is a genre where we can explore our deepest desires. A Song of Ice and Fire does not do that. It is a story so dark and bloody that it is neither truly realistic or fantastical. It does not inspire readers or reach for something better – it wallows in the worst aspects of our history and our natures.

G.K. Chesterton said that: 'fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.’ That, to me, is the core of all true fantasy. We read The Lord of the Rings because it tells us about the strength and nobility of little, unimportant people like you and me. We look in our wardrobes for the way to Narnia because it reminds us that there is magic and wonder in even the most ordinary places. We read about the knight slaying the dragon because it tells us that the dragons in our lives can be slain too.

At its best, fantasy affirms the deep truths of the universe and inspires us to continue to hope and dream. It tells us that heroes are real, that evil can be overcome and that there is still wonder and enchantment in the world.

Hello there!

I've decided to have another stab at keeping a blog. I'm not sure what I will be blogging about - maybe some reviews of things I am watching, reading or playing. Probably some opinion pieces. The title should give you a clue about the general tone. I'll try to keep is cheerful but this is most likely to become a place where I offload my frustrations, so expect plenty of grumbling!

Keep an eye out for my first real post. It could be a few days, it could be a few weeks; I don't know.