A quick note: I have been working on several other, more serious and timely posts, but honestly can only expend so much mental energy on them before I feel too wrung out, so this post is lighter, more evergreen fare in the meantime. There’s also the reality that there are many folks who are contributing good, thoughtful, faith-full and courageous words of wisdom now, and I would direct you to their work. I would especially commend to you the Rev. Cody Maynus’s blog, The Parson’s Pen, along with his public social media presence, as he has been writing from on the ground in Minnesota from his own lived, pastoral experiences. I would also commend to you this Joint Letter signed by 154 Episcopal Bishops, and this Pastoral Letter from Presiding Bishop Sean Rowe. People of good faith can disagree on many matters, such as the topic of this post, but there are some things which we must ground ourselves in: the dignity of human beings, rejection of cruelty to advance any end, and the absolute necessity of truth and accountability in our public discourse and conduct. We cannot have a just and equitable society without these, and they are consistent with Christian faith and teaching throughout our history, even when the Church itself has failed to live up to those standards.
I love good liturgy. I love crafting good liturgy. I love experiencing good liturgy. A big part of the reason why I’m an Episcopalian and not, say, a Quaker or an LGBTQ+ affirming Evangelical or even some other perfectly fine Mainline Protestant, is because I absolutely adore our liturgical tradition in particular. Trust me, there have been seasons of life where I have walked among other Christian and non-Christian traditions and none of them have been able to replicate, let alone surpass, the wealth of tools our tradition provides to keep us spiritually grounded, to foster growth in discipleship, and to offer strength and encouragement. I’m not especially committed to a high- broad- or low-church approach, in large part because I don’t think those buckets are especially helpful because they lack the nuance to really encapsulate liturgical styles. What matters to me beyond all other matters are three factors: Commonness, Authenticity, and Quality. Everything beyond this, in my opinion, is irrelevant to whether or not the liturgy can be called “good,” and often comes down to personal preference.
Commonness, for the purpose of this discussion, refers to the extent to which a liturgy is grounded in the authorized liturgies of The Episcopal Church. While there has been much clamoring to revise and update the Book of Common Prayer, 1979 (BCP 1979) to reflect modern language, especially as it relates to matters of inclusion, I think we would do well to focus on living into the fullness of what that text, and The Book of Occasional Services and Enriching Our Worship already include and permit, particularly for principle Sunday services and high feasts and fasts. This also goes for our musical resources, which are robust. We already have all the tools we need for crafting excellent, moving worship services. Failure to implement them effectively is, in my admittedly somewhat harsh opinion, a skills issue. Our common worship is part of what binds us together as a tradition. It gives us common language and experience, which can bridge divides and build relationships that make our polity more effective. It also helps to form and retain the membership of faithful Episcopalians even when life circumstances dictate relocation. I have known, ever since I came back to our tradition as a teen (a story for another day) that whatever city or town I’m in, if I can find an Episcopal Church, I will probably be able to easily integrate myself into the congregation for worship, even if the liturgical style is wildly different from wherever I have most recently called home. Integrating liturgical sources and elements which are not held in common, however beautiful and compelling they may be, chips away at what holds us together as a tradition. A common liturgy feels familiar to another Episcopalian, even when it features elements or stylistic features they have never encountered.
Authenticity refers to the extent to which a given liturgy reflects the culture and sensibilities of the congregation itself. Whether it’s a theologically rich but melodically obtuse German hymn whose melody was never meant to align with the grammar and cadence of even the most artful English translation, or a Black Spiritual being sung by folks who simply do not have a sense of rhythm, or Rite I “thee”s and “thou”s and “canst”s and inverted grammar that renders the meaning of the words as meaningless as if they were Ecclesiastical Latin, liturgy which does not reflect the cultural context of a congregation does profound spiritual harm. This does not mean that liturgies written above an eighth grade reading level or with an eye towards embracing the diversity of the human family should not be embraced in every field, hill, and holler. Nor does this mean that a liturgist ought not occasionally stretch a congregation outside their comfort zone. I genuinely believe, for instance, that the hymn “Lift Every Voice and Sing” is one of the most beautiful expressions of Christian Hope ever crafted in the English language and that it ought to be embraced and sung often in as many contexts as possible, even though it has a very particular cultural history, and there are certainly a good many contexts in which the full magnitude of its meaning would be lost without intentional formation. What’s important, and essential, for authenticity is that a liturgical element makes sense to participants, intellectually and emotionally, and that it is accessible enough for maximal participation, even when it stretches participants beyond their comfort zones. Maximal participation and engagement matters, and is a sign of good liturgy, regardless of the style or nuances of that liturgy. An authentic liturgy feels right in its context.
Quality is a simple, straightforward factor, and it rises out of authenticity, to a certain extent. Can people follow what is happening? Can written content be read fluently by the average participant? Can melodies be sung? Does what you’re hearing sound good, even if it may not be aesthetically your personal ideal? One need not be a fan of a particular genre of music to be able to tell if an instrument is played well or if a vocalist is competent without the benefit of a producer’s laptop. Likewise, when a liturgy feels lifeless, stodgy, robotic, or hacked to pieces, it cheapens the experience. This doesn’t mean every musician needs to be a virtuoso, every preacher a barnstormer, or every officiant and celebrant a master of elocution. It also doesn’t mean we must strive for perfection. Indeed, one of my favorite things about a good liturgy that the whole congregation is invested in is the way that it allows us to embrace our imperfections, individually and collectively. A quality liturgy feels good, even if it is not the aesthetic experience one personally prefers.
So, what does this have to do with guitars?
Put simply: the guitar is the ideal 21st century instrumental accompaniment to an overwhelming majority of liturgical contexts. It has broad cross-cultural appeal, is played widely, and is relatively inexpensive. It is also an incredibly flexible instrument for different liturgical styles. Moreover, it holds much in common with even the most ancient sacred music. Stringed instruments such as lyres, harps, lutes, and psalteries have accompanied sacred music about as long as we have record of either instruments or religion.
Organs, while lovely and delightful instruments with a long history of use for sacred music, have substantial aesthetic and practical downsides. To begin, they are unbelievably expensive to purchase and maintain. (I remember the first time someone told me how much it costs to have an organ tuned and my soul briefly left my working-barely-above-minimum-wage-at-the-time body) Beyond this, finding competent, let alone modestly gifted, nevermind truly skilled, organists is a real challenge, even for churches that can afford to pay well. It’s a difficult instrument to play— it requires all four limbs just to play at a basic level. To play it well and to maximal effect is a remarkable skill, meaning it takes a long time and a great deal of effort to train up a competent organist. Moreover, the grandeur of an organ is most appropriate in a space which, itself, has a level of grandeur. There is nothing in this world like listening to a pipe organ played by a skilled organist in a stone cathedral with soaring ceilings that reverberate as notes play off every nook and cranny of the space. Alternatively, whomst among us has not encountered an out of tune or buzzy organ played haltingly (and even misplayed) in a smallish church where it drowns out all but the most confident singers? This isn’t a condemnation of electronic organs— I’ve heard likely greater than my fair share of wonderfully played electronic organs— but they often have a certain plasticity of tone that amplifies poor playing. Finally, a key challenge with organs is that, because they are already a full body effort to play, an organist cannot sing and play at the same time, like they can with either a piano or a guitar. In a small parish where confident voices are few, this substantially reduces the degree to which the musician is able to actually lead and drive congregational engagement with the liturgy.
The guitar answers every single shortcoming of the organ. I have personally seen teenagers at summer camp pick up a guitar for the first time on a Monday and be strumming along to basic worship songs by Friday. A basic acoustic guitar of middling quality can be obtained for about $300, and most players are able to manage their own instrument’s standard maintenance without an abundance of specialized tools for basically just the cost of fresh strings. According to my beloved spouse who patiently answered my inquiries while trying to do other things, this works out to around $5-$10 every couple of months with daily playing. This ease of learning and financial accessibility also means that guitarists are abundant. Guitars can be played to suit a variety of musical styles, and the visual aesthetic of the instrument itself can be suited to the worship space. Plus, a musician on guitar can also sing, meaning if they are also a vocalist, they can truly lead and support congregational singing. It should also go without saying that, due to the guitar’s ubiquity in modern music, your average congregant, regardless of age or cultural background, has likely had the experience outside church of singing along with a person playing guitar, even if only through the speaker of a car while rolling down the road. Finally, while acoustic electric guitars exist for spaces that truly require amplification, an acoustic guitar is generally able to fill a small to medium size space without dominating vocals, making it ideal for modest worship spaces or worship spaces where amplification would be unseemly or impractical.
I want to be clear here that I am not arguing we throw out our hymnals and adopt a praise music model with every church led by a guy in jeans with rolled up shirtsleeves named Jordan or Chad. (All due respect and affection for Jordans and Chads) In fact, it’s my personal experience that a wide variety of even our most traditional hymns sound absolutely lovely accompanied by guitar. Rather, it’s my strong belief in all matters liturgical to use the tools we have, within the constraints we cannot change, to create opportunities for wholehearted worship. I’ve personally seen the effect of introducing a guitar as the primary instrument for principal Sunday worship, and the way it breathes life into a crowd.
Many of our churches, especially our least well-resourced and struggling ones, have had to resort to recorded instrumental music or no music at all for want of an organist, even if they have the money to pay one. I think it should go without saying that a live instrument, even if not the one a community has grown accustomed to, provides a better quality of music overall and supports congregational singing more effectively than a pre-recorded one. It should also go without saying that having music during a principal Sunday service is better than not. While this change may not be effortless and may take time to grow accustomed to, switching to guitar from organ, especially from an electronic organ, can shake the dust off a stodgy liturgy while still retaining the fullness of our tradition and offer a sense of renewed vitality.
I don’t think this change should be reserved for only those churches that are in such dire straits that they have no other option. Every generation in the church should engage in some level of liturgical renewal while remaining grounded in our tradition… and while I’ve certainly joked with my friends about designing a Midwest Emo Mass as our Millennial response to the Baby Boomer Jazz Mass, and that I desperately want to hear punk renditions of all our frequent flyer hymns, the vision I have for principal Sunday guitar is much less stylistic. Now, this is probably where a certain degree of my personal preference comes into play, because I personally prefer simpler, less fussy worship. I shy away from the notion of being “low church” since I still prefer a more liturgically conservative, by-the-book service, and the day will never come that I turn away from venerating the saints, the Blessed Mother chief among them, and I love me some smells and bells, but none of that necessarily has to be fussy or complicated. What my heart longs for is to straightforwardly and wholeheartedly encounter and worship God in community, and for the music and prayers we use to be such that we are able to worship God with such excellence as we are able to reach. It’s my experience that it is simply more difficult in small, humble places to do that when we are using tools which do not fit that place and people, whether that’s a gaudy and overlarge brass processional cross in a chapel built to hold twenty souls, an ill-designed liturgy that pulls prayers from hither and yon with no sense of cohesion, or a poorly played organ that drowns out the congregation. It’s also my experience that, all things being equal, simply shifting to guitar can radically alter the energy of a worship service in a powerfully positive way.
So go on: do the thing. Give it a try. For a Sunday. For a season. Maybe you’ll find it does your church good. Or maybe you can invest in training up an organist. Either way, you need not settle for anything less than good liturgy.
Now, all this said, did I, mere days ago, completely seriously, encourage my own child to consider taking up the organ should said child wish to pursue music, specifically citing the shortage of organists as a route to probably always having a steady music gig? Yes. Because while I believe I make a compelling case, I also know how stubbornly we hold on to “the way we’ve always done things,” in the church.