Vox Populi: Developing Global Song In The Northern World

With the increase in the number of Christians in other parts of the world other than the Northern (or Western) world, the church of the Northern world should learn from the musical geniuses of these different peoples. In this article, the author suggests what African music, Asian music, and Central and Latin American music offers Northern people.

An African Experience In the fall of 1989, I spent five months in Africa, primarily in Nigeria, teaching at a seminary in the southern region of the country populated primarily by the Yoruba people. Since transportation was readily available, I made every attempt to visit as many local churches as possible on Sunday mornings and experience the vast variety of Nigerian worship. There was one congregation in particular that I enjoyed and I visited them on several occasions. It was not too far from the city of Ogbomosho, where I was living. Just as I drove into the rural area on the eastern edge of the city, there is a sign to the Promised Land. This land had been ?promised? some years ago to a colony of lepers, who, with their families, lived, farmed, worked, and worshiped on this piece of property. I always arrive early when visiting a church in order to greet people and have plenty of time to get a sense of my surroundings. At first glance, it looked like any other Yoruba village; but upon closer observation, I started to note differences. There were many more folks on crutches than I would normally see. Some people walked on padded knees because of a lack of feet. Friendly folks extended an often fingerless hand to me in greeting. While the transmission of leprosy is still a mystery, I had been assured that casual contact would not be harmful. There were many lepers with their families, who did not appear to have the disease. The sounds of children playing and singing filled the air, just as it would in any other village. Worship was always special with these people. The hymn singing was varied and vibrant. Very few owned hymnals. They were expensive. Not everyone could read. The favorites were always memorized and when new material was learned, ?lining out? proved to be an effective technique. In this community, there was the additional problem that many of its residents were not able to hold or turn the pages of a hymnal because they lacked fingers necessary for such an intricate task. The songs ranged from traditional Western hymns translated into Yoruba, e.g., "Work for the Night Is Coming," and "What a Friend We Have in Jesus," to indigenous expressions of their Christian faith. Regardless of the source or origin of the style, the ubiquitous West African drum ensemble always accompanied the group. I had grown accustomed to hearing drums at almost every service that I attended. If the truth were to be known, I really experienced a percussive void in worship when I returned to the United States. While the trap sets of the United States and Europe were making some headway in the urban situations, the indigenous four- or five-person West African drum ensemble provided an intricate carpet of sound, offering a foundation for all congregational hymns that gave not only a sense of momentum to the music, but encouraged the singers. Indeed, it was quite often that the congregation augmented the praise of the drummers with their own spontaneous polyrhythmic hand-clapping. (Keep in mind that their hands were not occupied with hymnals.) The drummers at the Promised Land were especially thrilling to watch. They all lacked fingers. Drumming was one of the few means of expression that was still open to them; and they savored it with joy. It is customary for Nigerian choirs to process into the sanctuary as a signal that worship is beginning. The choirs always enter and exit singing—the first of the worship leaders to arrive and the last to leave. It is as if the Spirit will only come in with a song. I remember the processionals of the Promised Land choir vividly. Some members were physically whole and marched in to the beat; others hobbled in on crutches with no less vitality. The proud director led the way. Because he had no feet, however, he led the processional and directed the group from his padded knees. It was a paradox to see so much joy on the face of a man who was forced to assume a position of humility. Such were the many paradoxes of the Promised Land. The Why Question My experiences in Nigeria and Kenya during 1989 and subsequent visits to Haiti, Nicaragua, Mexico, and Cuba are full of such stories. As a student of cross-cultural liturgy and music-making, the question arises, what music and liturgy from non-Western settings might inform and enrich worship in the United States? But perhaps, I am ahead of myself. Maybe the first question is not what, but why. Why should worshipers in the United States be interested in using non-Euro-American materials? After all, our market is thoroughly saturated with ?our own? music already, isn't it? Asking why is worth the effort if materials from non-Euro-American cultural contexts are going to be used effectively and with integrity in the service of liturgy. The Proverbial Elephant. My first response to the why question is a reference to the proverbial elephant surrounded by several blind people. Upon being asked to discuss their experiences, each described the elephant in the context of his or her relationship to the elephant. The person closest to the trunk or the tail had a much different description than the person touching a massive leg or the person riding on the back of the elephant. Euro-American musical tradition has had a profound impact upon the worship of the global community. Indeed, everyone is interested in learning songs from this tradition. My travel has not to this point taken me to very many places where Euro-American songs have not had some impact—albeit in varying degrees and adapted in some way to local musical customs. But, when it comes to expressing the nature of God through congregational song, we, Euro-Americans, are finally learning that even the splendor and diversity of the Euro-American musical tradition does not begin to describe "the elephant." Robin Leaver has expressed the situation very well:

In the nineteenth and earlier twentieth centuries, the export of hymnody was entirely one-way: from Europeans to Africans, Asians, or to whomever. Instead of being taken as examples of how the Christian faith can be incarnated within a particular culture, European hymns were taken to be the only valid vehicles of faith: instead of using them as signposts pointing out possibilities for the creation of new expressions of the faith from within a different culture, only mirror images were produced. (Robin A. Leaver, "Theological Dimensions of Mission Hymnody: the Counterpoint of Cult and Culture," in The Hymnology Annual: An International Forum on the Hymn and Worship, ed. Vernon Wicker [Berrien Springs, Mich.: Vande Vere Publishing Ltd., 1991], 40.)

To carry the analogy a little further, we are discovering that we do not know as much about the elephant as we thought. So the first answer to the why question is that the Euro-American view of the world and Christianity is but one of many worldviews.

Things Are Not Like They Used to Be. The second response to the why question acknowledges the changing face of Christianity. Walbert Bühlmann, a Roman Catholic theologian, helps us see some of these changes in his book, With Eyes to See: Church and World in the Third Millennium:

In 1900, 85 percent of all Christians, and 77 percent of all Catholics, lived in the Western, or Northern, world–Europe and North America. Over the last few decades, however, the historical situation has changed radically. With the baby boom and new conversions in Latin America, Africa, Asia, and Oceana, by 1970 51.86 percent of Catholics lived in the third world. Based on this trend, I predicted at that time that by the year 2000 some 70 percent of Catholics would be living in the third world. By 1985 the proportion had already risen to 59.80 percent, an increase of 7.94 percent. Were this rate of increase to hold steady over the next fifteen years, the proportion would be 67.74 percent by the year 2000. Correcting for some probable acceleration, the actual figure will indeed doubtlessly be around 70 percent.

(Walbert Bühlmann, With Eyes to See: Church and World in the Third Millennium, trans. by Robert R. Barr (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1989), 6.)

Bühlmann suggests that when Orthodox and Protestant Christians are included in the equation, third world Christians will outnumber Christians of the Northern world, 60.2 percent to 39.8 percent by the year 2000 (Bühlmann 7). To bring it a little closer to home, I recently attended an interfaith service at Temple Emanu-El in Dallas, where the gathering of at least fifteen hundred was addressed by Ann Richards, the governor of Texas. The major theme of her address was the changes in population in the state of Texas. Soon after the turn of the century, the Anglo population will be in a minority in Texas. One of the highest priorities of her administration is the placing of minorities in governmental positions of responsibility in an effort to avoid a leadership vacuum among minorities in the next century. It appears that even the Northern world will be in for many changes within a few decades. So, the second answer to the why question is a pragmatic one, "the times are [ecclesiastically and politically] changin'." Liturgical Renewal: We Are Still Looking for Answers. As important as the theological, ecclesiastical, and political realities are, I do not find these as compelling as the liturgical reality. During this century, movements for liturgical renewal have searched for new materials and forms in a variety of places. Historical liturgies and practices, the arts, ecumenism, and the marketing strategies of the church growth movement are but a few of the means promoted for revitalizing worship. Each approach offers a new perspective on liturgical life. There is some evidence in recent hymnals and worship books that another movement is vying for recognition among liturgical renewal movements. I am borrowing a term suggested by Harold Best in his recent book, Music Through the Eyes of Faith (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1993). Best suggests the term musical pluralism (see chapter 3). His rationale has many facets, but is similar in part to an idea mentioned above: "Since no one culture can 'say it all,' how fitting it is for Christians to want to join the creative ways of other cultures, for no other reason than to fill out their praise!" (Best 68). Another facet of Best's argument for musical pluralism may be tied to a classic definition of the term liturgy as "the work of the people." Perhaps this is inherent in Best's approach when he says:

Musical pluralism does not begin with aesthetics but with people. No matter how favorable or objectionable their music might be at first blush, it is of primary importance that the music makers are honest-to-goodness people who must be loved first of all as such. The next step is to understand that they honestly love the music they make or they would not have made it to begin with. (Best 68.)

Included in Best's discussion of musical pluralism are not only musics from non-Western cultures, but diverse musics within our culture. Central to his thesis, however, is the vitality that could be brought to worship life in the United States through musical pluralism. Drawing from the visitation of the Holy Spirit, Best reminds us that "Pentecost tells us that one artistic tongue is only a start and thousand will never suffice" (Best 67). Living beyond Culture. It is important to ask why when pursuing a musical course that may change the face of liturgy during the next half century. In searching for a shorter, direct answer, I find John Blacking's argument the most compelling. Although Blacking speaks as an anthropologist, his thesis is most relevant to the church musician looking to the future. In his book, How Musical Is Man? (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1973), Blacking is concerned about the provincial blinders that a single culture places on the perception of the musician:

An understanding of [the] processes involved in the production of music may provide us with evidence that men are more remarkable and capable creatures than most societies ever allow them to be. This is not the fault of culture itself, but the fault of man, who mistakes the means of culture for the end, and so lives for culture and not beyond culture. (Blacking 7.)

This is not primarily a discussion of the future of church in the twenty-first century. If it were, I would borrow Blacking's idea and say that the future of church music is dependent upon the ability of church musicians to lead their congregations to live beyond their inherited culture. If the Christian message is to be incarnate in the music and liturgy, we share in the future. We must seize the possibility of living beyond our primary cultural contexts. Indeed, the life and ministry of Christ might be viewed from the perspective of the accounts, in which he lived beyond the cultural norms of his day. Whether dealing with a suspect minority group like the Samaritans, relating to women, choosing his followers from among the powerless of his society, assuming postures of humility and servanthood as a model for leadership, teaching the elders at the age of twelve, cleansing the temple of some early capitalists, or preaching a gospel that threatened the established political and religious orders, Jesus lived beyond the cultural expectations of a poor Jewish man of his day. The What Question Having considered to some degree the question of why, I want to approach the question of what global music might offer to those of us in the Northern world. Let us dismiss immediately the tokenism of a few new musical selections that will add a little variety to our preset musical agendas. If the discussion above has any validity, tokenism will not suffice. The church music community has done some preliminary thinking in this area in the report of The Milwaukee Symposia for Church Composers (Washington, D.C.: National Association of Pastoral Musicians, 1992). In the section on "Cross-Cultural Music Making"(paragraphs 56–63), there are excellent points for our consideration as we pursue a response to the inclusion of multicultural materials in liturgy. Perhaps a few quotes from this document might help focus our thinking:

Cultivating the cross-cultural dimension of the Christian life in worship does not mean simply borrowing ideas from some distant culture or language. (par. 57)

Beginning the cross-cultural diversity by recognizing the diversity in our own midst does not mean that we can limit ourselves to attending to the cultural diversity in our own community. The call to mission, implicit in every celebration of Christian liturgy, requires that we recognize the needs of those beyond our local horizons. (par. 58.) Developing an authentic cross-cultural perspective requires that this issue live at the very heart of the liturgical preparation process. (par. 59.) From a musical perspective, accepting the challenge of cross-cultural worship requires addressing the ethnocentrism that has marked Western Christian music for the last millennium. (par. 60.) Even in linguistically and ethnically homogenous communities, singing the music of another culture means entering into their world. (par. 63.)

Tokenism is not implied by these statements. In spite of the brevity of this document and the section on cross-cultural music-making, the seeds of an agenda for the future are there, ready to be sown. Time does not allow a broader commentary on each of the statements extracted from this document. Please allow me to offer some commentary on the final statement. What does the music of other cultures offer to a linguistically and ethnically homogeneous community? My limited experience in the liturgical and musical life of cultures outside the Northern world and the use of global materials within predominately Anglo liturgical settings suggests some potentially radical changes that might occur. I have chosen for the sake of time to limit my discussion to the broad geographical areas of Africa, Asia, and Latin and South America, although this approach might be taken with various musical cultures within the United States. In general terms, the continental regions of Africa, Asia, and Latin/South America each contain a diversity of musical expression from the profoundly simple to the significantly complex. Each region contains music that expresses feelings from the deepest sorrow to ecstatic joy. Yet, in the midst of such great musical variety within each continental region, there are primary semblances of musical experience that characterize the diverse musical expressions on each continent. I wish to propose what I consider to be a primary semblance in the diverse musics of Africa, Asia, and Latin America that might be of significance to liturgy in the predominately Anglo liturgical communities of the Northern world. The term semblance is borrowed from the writings of Susanne K. Langer, where she states that "… what art expresses is not actual feeling, but ideas of feeling; as language does not express actual things and events but ideas of them [i.e., semblance]" (Feeling and Form: A Theory of Art [New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953], 59). It is not my intention to reduce the broad range of musical expression of each continent to one simple statement. The purpose is to chose a salient musical semblance from each broad cultural region that might liturgically offer ethnically homogeneous Anglo congregations in the United States a way to learn to live and worship beyond their primary culture. A Primary Musical Semblance of Africa: Communal Music-Making The opening narrative came from a scene in a rural Nigerian village. While the fact that this village was a leper colony offered some variance from the norm, a primary semblance of African music-making was still there in abundance. For me, this semblance is the sense of community that is fostered by and through music. Music-making in Africa is participatory—not a spectator sport. There is very little distinction between those that sing in the established choir and those who are a part of the congregation. When, on occasion, I was asked to sing a solo, I soon learned that the congregation demonstrated their appreciation for my singing by humming, clapping, or swaying with my music, rather than passively listening. When it comes to music-making, the individual soloist is important only inasmuch as that person prompts or facilitates the singing of the group. In this regard, the solo musician in most African worship has much in common with the role of the cantor as discussed by Paul Westermeyer in his book, The Church Musician ([San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1988], 13 ff). The call-and-response form punctuates all aspects of liturgy from the prayers and hymns to the reading of Scripture and the sermon. The leader is a prompter in the primarily oral liturgical tradition of Africa. Notice in the following prayer of thanksgiving from a Nigerian African church, the frequency that the congregation punctuates this Yoruba prayer with an "Amen." They do not wait until the end, but offer encouragement all along the way.

Creator of Heaven and earth, accept our praises—AMEN!

Messiah, accept our thanks and accept our praises—AMEN! As young people and adults, accept our thanks and praises—AMEN! As male and female, accept our thanks and praises—AMEN! On this Sunday accept our thanks and praises—AMEN! On all days accept our thanks and praises—AMEN! Let not the mouths which we thank thee become sour—AMEN! Let us not give thanks in sorrow—AMEN! Let us not give thanks in tears—AMEN! Let us not give thanks in regret—AMEN! Let us not be thankful half-heartedly—AMEN! Accept our thanks and praises, O Lord, make us useful to Thee—AMEN! Hear us O Ruler of Heaven, through Jesus Christ our Lord—AMEN! (John Carden, comp., With All God's People: The New Ecumenical Prayer Cycle [Geneva: WCC Publications, 1992], 190–191.)

While in Nigeria, I studied the Yoruba talking drum, an instrument capable of making different levels of pitch, simulating the tonal changes in pitch of the Yoruba language. Each morning in the chapel worship at the seminary where I taught, a different drum ensemble was featured—five in all. In one conversation with my drum instructor, I asked him who was the best drum player in the seminary. After some time, he told me in a polite way that I had not asked a relevant question. The question was not, ?who is the best drum player?? but ?who is the best drum ensemble?? An individual drummer was of little musical significance without an ensemble of drummers. Skill in West African drumming is demonstrated in the process of interacting with other drummers. Drumming, indeed like most music-making, is realized in community. I read of an analogous situation in Vincent Donovan's book, Christianity Revisited (Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978). Donovan was a Roman Catholic missionary working among the Masai people of East Africa. After some months of discussing the essence of Christianity with the elders of a particular group of Masai, they decided to accept Christianity. Donovan encouraged them to write a credo that expressed their new-found faith. Once again, Donovan discovered that the question was wrong. The Masai wrote not a credo, but a credemos. It was unthinkable to write, "I believe." The Masai creed emphasized repeatedly, "we believe." Other changes included a shift from the traditional Masai belief that there was no afterlife to a belief in eternal life. When someone dies, the deceased is carried to the bush and the hyenas do the rest. Let us read together the Masai credemos: We believe in the one High God, who out of love created the beautiful world and everything good in it. God created people and wanted them to be happy in the world. God loves the world and every nation and tribe on the earth. We have known this High God in the darkness, and now we know God in the light. God promised in the book called the Bible, the word of God, that all nations and tribes of the world would be saved.

We believe that God made good this promise by sending Jesus Christ, the Son of God, a Jew by tribe, born poor in a little village, who left his home and was always on safari doing good, curing people by the power of God, teaching about God and people, showing that the meaning of religion is love. He was rejected by his people, tortured, and nailed—hands and feet—to a cross and died. He lay buried, but the hyenas did not find his body, and on the third day, he rose from the grave. He ascended to the skies. He is the Lord!

We believe that all our sins are forgiven through him. All who have faith in him must be sorry for their sins, be baptized in the Holy Spirit of God, live the rules of love, and share the bread together in love, to announce the good news to others until Jesus comes again. We are waiting for him. He is alive! He lives! This we believe. Amen! (Vincent J. Donovan, Christianity Revisited [Maryknoll, N.Y.: Orbis Books, 1978], 200.)

I suggest that the primary African musical semblance that the Northern world needs to experience is community. The musical and liturgical forms that support this semblance in corporate worship would be most helpful in the narcissistic, self-centered, individualistic worship of many predominately Anglo churches. The question so often voiced—"Were my needs met?"—would be unthinkable in the midst of African worshiping communities. Strength for the individual is found in what strengthens the community.

A Primary Musical Semblance of Asia: Mystery and Silence When it comes to the myriad forms of Asian worship, I am at a loss for first hand experiences. My thesis of a primary musical semblance for this part of the world is especially tentative. It is grounded in two things—the students from various parts of Asia to whom I have had the privilege of teaching over the years (including students from Korea, Japan, China, Singapore, Tonga, and the Philippines) and the musical materials from various parts of Asia, especially those provided through the work of I-to-Loh and Francisco Feliciano at the Asian Institute for Liturgy and Music in Manila. Among the most valuable of these materials is the hymnal, Sound the Bamboo, published under the auspices of the Christian Council of Asia. Based on this limited experience, I venture the thesis that the primary musical semblance of the diverse traditions represented in Asia that is most needed in the Northern Anglo world is that of silence and mystery. While a full range of emotional experience is expressed through Asian music, the sound of a Japanese koto or shakuhachi or the Chinese p'ip'a seems, at least to my Western (or Northern) ears, to leave space for the contemplation of the Mystery that created and sustains us. Perhaps the following prayer from the Buddhist/Christian Center in Hong Kong illustrates this point:

With all my heart I take refuge in God,

the Lord of all things, the Creator of the universe, the Source of all good. With all my heart I take refuge in Christ, the Remover of all sin, the One who re-establishes our pure nature within us, the perfect revelation of the eternal Word of God. With all my heart I take refuge in the One who embraces the whole universe and has myriad ways and means of influencing souls, the pure and tranquil Holy Spirit. Amen. (Carden 198.)

The predominately Anglo church has much to learn from Asian Christians about the truth that emerges from silence and the reality that appears in the space of contemplation. Protestant Christians, in particular, feel that a thought is not complete until it has been verbalized and the more words—the better. Asian Christians understand the beauty of mystery and the value of waiting for "the still, small voice." As a student friend from Singapore said to me recently, "It is all right if we do not understand God completely. Western systematic theology is fine as long as it doesn't expect to answer all the questions, and in attempting to do so, put God in a box." A Primary Musical Semblance of Latin and South America: Fiesta In some ways it is easiest to identify the primary musical semblance of Latino music and its use in worship. Pablo Sosa and others have identified the spirit of the fiesta, especially as it is revealed in the Eucharist, as the most significant Central and South American contribution to world liturgy. Some of the mass settings from Central America articulate this very well. The Misa Popular Nicaragüense, Misa Campesina Nicaragüense, and Misa Popular Salvadoreña, all are a remarkable synthesis of the prophetic and the celebrative. Once again, my experience is limited, but I have noted an inverse relationship between the level of human suffering and the degree of fiesta spirit manifest during the Eucharist. In other words, the less that the people have in material wealth, the greater the sense of celebration and thanksgiving that takes place during the Eucharist. There are many other aspects of the music from our neighbors to the south that would enrich Anglo worship, e.g., the use of movement, songs on the theme of hope, the connection between the rural communities and the love of nature, the rich agrarian metaphors in the congregational songs, etc., but liturgical renewal movements in this country would benefit the most from the vital role of the sacraments in Latino liturgy. The following questions still remain: (1) How do we educate church musicians in the art of cultural/musical pluralism, i.e., to live beyond culture? (2) How do pastors and musicians learn to integrate these materials in to the fabric of a given liturgical tradition? (3) How do we change the conventional Northern view of the choir versus congregation to a view that emphasizes a musical partnership between choir and congregation? (4) How do we prepare for the theological questions that will arise from cross-cultural music-making and liturgy? (5) How do we move beyond treating the liturgical and musical offerings of our Christian sisters and brothers as quaint, and see them as substantive and meaningful (for indeed, these cultures recognize the many musics of the Northern world as significant)? (6) Are we ready to listen to the musical voices beyond the Northern world (these would include some voices within the boundaries of the United States), i.e., are we ready for missions in reverse? In conclusion, I place much of my hope for the future of church music in the twenty-first century in the development of congregational song within liturgy. The task for the predominately Anglo church is to incorporate the diverse voices of the global community into the sung faith of our worshiping communities. If we can sing beyond our culture, maybe we can begin to live beyond our culture. I close with a benediction found on a church wall in Mexico:

Give us Señor, a little sun, a little happiness and some work.

Give us a heart to comfort those in pain. Give us the ability to be good, strong, wise and free so that we may be generous with others as we are with ourselves. Finally, Señor, let us all live in your own, one family. Amen. (Carden 254.)