Baby's Got A Brand New Bag
by R.C. Sproul Jr.

From our founding, deep in the ancient mists of the distant past, of the Highlands Study Center, (roughly three years ago) we have been expressing our concern that we in the church are worldly. And we think that's a problem, not a sign of hope. And perhaps nothing shows this more than the music that we sing when we gather for that Sunday morning thing, whatever that is. Though I believe a case could be made that the music that we call "Contemporary" fails miserably by any legitimate aesthetic standard, I am not making that case here and now. One could also argue that "Contemporary Christian Music" shows our worldliness simply by its very nature, that it mimics the music of the world. But I'm not making that case here. That it reflects and grows out of the marketing paradigm of the modern church could also be argued. Rather here I argue that Contemporary Christian Music is worldly because it flows out of a worldly view of history.

There was once a time in this world when the age of an idea or concept was considered to be a virtue. That which was old was probably pretty good. And that which was new, at least in the arena of aesthetics, was judged not so much by how much it broke with the old, but rather how it honored the old. Modernism changed all that. Now that which is old is viewed with suspicion, and new is all the rage. Consider the arcane art of advertising. How often do you read of a product bragging about how old it is? I have in my cupboard a box of cereal that has plastered on it, "Same great taste, new box!" Wow, if the box is new, the cereal must be better.

But it's not just widgets that are doomed to drown in the fountain of youth. The same is true of ideas. No one wants to be caught dead hanging onto any moldy oldie ideas anymore. We'd hate for anyone to think we're old-fashioned, after all. We want to be on the cutting edge. The latest trend is to be out in front of the latest trend. Heck, modem isn't even new enough anymore; we need to be in front of that, and so we are post-modem.

And so any church that fails to catch the latest wave is sure to be spinning in the swirling eddies of the backwaters. And that includes music. Just as we treat the theological giants of the faith as interesting museum pieces that can't really speak to our day, so we treat those who put the ancient wisdom to ancient music as hopelessly anachronistic. And with both the complaint is the same, it's just too hard. Why struggle through Turretin, when that nice Max Lucado is so much more fun? Why try to find an organ player when anyone can play three chords on the guitar? Why praise God for His transcendence when we like, can just, really tell God that He just really is like, so great?

Of course the argument is made that all the great hymns of the faith were once new. And we're told that one day old fuddy-duddies's like me will be singing "Shine, Jesus, Shine" while the young kids want something new and fresh. It's too early to tell which of the Top 40 of today will make it to the classics shelf. Hogwash. The great music of the past, while it was indeed once new, was made by artists who knew how to honor their fathers. We, on the other hand, make Beethoven roll over. Our sense of aesthetic history goes only as far back as Larry Norman.

Even if music is just a matter of taste, and make no mistake, it isn't, shouldn't we at least try to honor our fathers, and learn to like what they liked? Couldn't we at least ask our musical elders why they did things the way they did, rather than just assume they operated out of the same selfish, camal presuppositions we work out of? Shouldn't we at least consider that perhaps they knew a thing or two we've missed? Maybe they weren't being chauvinists after all when they argued that beauty is objective, and that God deserves our finest, that He is the audience, and we mere players. Of course the same is true of our liturgy, but that's for another time.

The individualism that drives this mass move to conformity with the world is likewise worldly. Even if the old music weren't any good, wouldn't it be worth at least something to know that the songs we sing on the Lord's Day are the same as our fathers sang, and their fathers? Shouldn't we mirror the covenantal nature of how God deals with us in the way we sing to Him? My grandfather sang Holy, Holy, Holy, and his grandfather before him. And so when I sing it, I remember God's faithfulness to my family, which in turn teaches me to teach my children well.

We all stand in a stream. The only question is- is it a stream filled with the muck of the world, or with the waters of life? The drive for the new is drowning in the former, and denying the power of the water that gave life to those who gave them life. Let's stop spitting on the graves of our fathers. Let's do the work it takes to sing and play (and think) skillfully, and keep our family traditions.

We stand for reformation, not revolution. We keep all that we possibly can from our past, and mourn when truth requires that we throw anything away. And the older it is, the slower we should be to discard it. Not because it was old, but because it was good, and because it belonged to our fathers. Honor your father and mother, that it may go well with you.