As a counterpoint to yesterday's entry, today I want to take a look at a song that, as I hear it, proves by way of the contrapositive (math/logic people - check me on that one) argument, my thesis that God does not just share with us through "sanctioned" vehicles but in fact is always speaking (if we listen) - and in this case, I worry that while well-intentioned, the message the song shares could pull listeners away from good discipleship.
So, there's a Contemporary Christian song that I absolutely love listening to and getting swept up in: "I Can Only Imagine" by Mercy Me. Every time it comes on the radio, I turn it up and sing along, picturing the story as it unfolds of meeting God after having shuffled off this mortal coil:
When I walk by your side.
I can only imagine what my eyes will see
When your face is before me.
I can only imagine . . .
The song goes on (full lyrics here) to describe, through a series of questions, the ways in which the singer will worship God after entering Heaven:
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still?
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall?
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all?
I can only imagine . . .
I must admit, there are some beautiful choices to be made there - a no-lose situation if there ever were one.
What makes the song doubly interesting is the backstory of its genesis: vocalist Bart Millard had been kicking around the lyrics for some time before the song got recorded as a final track for their 1999 independent recording "The Worship Project." It was then re-released with their first studio project, "Almost There" and became a crossover secular hit.
Adding another layer of interest are the particular details behind Millard's inspiration. The immediate impetus was Millard's father's death in 1991, and it's easy to see how the reflections in the song could be applied to not only God, the Heavenly Father - the most obvious interpretation - but also as a foretelling of Millard's reunion with his earthly father. Buried in all of these layers is the revelation that the temporal father-son relationship had, for many years, been a rocky one. Millard describes it as abusive and monstrous until the cancer diagnosis that would eventually take his father's life. At that point, his father turned to a relationship with God, and in doing so re-established with his son what Millard describes as a "best friend" status.
Now I in no way want to take anything away from the reconciliation the Millards experienced or the inspiration that the song has provided to countless numbers of listeners - myself included. I'm not saying that any of the criticism I offer below is the band's intent.
But my concern, what I hope to avoid, is an interpretation that what the song lifts up is only an afterlife celebration. I think that there is an inclination sometimes to cross that line referenced in the blog title to love only the heavenward praise and worship, and not necessarily hate, but at least devalue, the amazing worship opportunities that we can share with one another as we witness and make disciples as we've been instructed to do.
Why must we wait to dance with Jesus? Let us join in the dance that is life, with all its rhythms and partners, lifting up one another in joy and holding one another in comfort!
Why should our hallelujahs be saved for the dead - not that they aren't worthy? Instead, let's make sure to lift up those who inspire us and challenge us to be better while we're here, so that we can also be worthy of others adulations. And to complete the couplets, let us also know when and how to be quiet and listen - to understand, to be in communion, to help mourn, when necessary.
All the things that we are called to do in Heaven, we can - and should - do while here on earth. It's the line of the Lord's Prayer that I most often reflect on: "On earth as it is in Heaven." I'm not saying that we'll ever get it right, but I will argue that trying to - now - will make things a whole lot better for everyone than not trying to.
Peace ...
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