When it comes to music, I’m a little bit of a snob. When it comes to Church Music, my snobbery inflates into this massive Godzilla-like monster, and we all know that story. As long as the monster was on the little island it was happy to fight vastatosaurus rexes… Oh, wait. That’s King Kong. When you take the monster off the island and drag him to the city where he ends up listening to “Jesus is My Boyfriend” songs, he resentfully stands there and staring at the praise team wishing that they actually learned real harmony, or tempo, or volume control. He tries not be too hard on them, knowing that the minister of music is likely not actually a student of music, but more likely, a friend of the pastor and a fan of Jesus, which is fine in a certain sense. But maybe the song writers should take a poetry class or two, and then perhaps the lyrics will be thoughtful application of actual concepts described in scripture or real theology. When he realizes this will never happen he climbs to the top of the steeple. Wait, that’s me, and I have yet to climb a steeple in frustration.
If music be the food of love, most of the churches are serving cotton candy.