Simple Words, Big Challenge

Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday—it marks the beginning of the season of Lent. Customs and traditions vary among different groups of Christians, but one universal reality is that Lent is a time of self-reflection and spiritual renewal. Scripture readings, hymns, spiritual songs, anthems—all encourage us in our own way to ask God to “search me and know my heart … see if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting” (Psalm 139:23–24) or to “create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me” (Psalm 51:10). These verses are beautiful prayers and widely known among Christians. But what will we discover about ourselves when we pray like this? Do we really want to know (and to change!), or are these next six weeks more liturgically observant than life-changing for us? What does life change look like for each of us anyway?

Another scripture verse that lives large in Sunday school classes, memes, and throw pillows is Micah 6:8, “… and what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” That sounds really good, but where does it come from and what does it mean—especially to church musicians and worship leaders?

Somewhere around 2,600 years ago and a few hundred years before the first Lent, a prophet called Micah was asking similar questions about self-reflection and spiritual renewal. Micah has become known through historical perspective as the “conscience of Israel.” He was a farm kid who had moved to the city of Jerusalem, called by God to address serious spiritual malaise among God’s people. Simply put, the Israelites were bored with their relationship with God and were only going through the motions of being obedient. Meanwhile, especially in the city, they were occupied with city things—business and success and climbing over each other when they needed to.

Micah was called to reveal God’s heart to his people—a heart that wasn’t angry or vengeful at all, but was more like someone in a human relationship that had grown cold. Traditionally, the way back into God’s embrace was through sacrifices. Chapters had been written in the Pentateuch—the first five books of the Bible—that outlined what human beings needed to do to atone for disobedience that resulted in breaking their relationship with God. These involved sacrifices of animals and grain and elaborate rituals. So put in context, Micah 6:6–8 reads like this:

With what shall I come before the Lord
and bow down before the exalted God?
Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,
with calves a year old?
Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,
with ten thousand rivers of olive oil?
Shall I offer my firstborn for my transgression,
the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

It seems like opulent Jerusalem was willing to buy its way back into God’s favor if necessary, hence the exaggerated offerings. What they likely were far less ready for was the simple but life-changing requirement to “see that justice is done, let mercy be your first concern, and humbly obey God” (Micah 6:8 CEV).

All this is interesting, but what does it have to do with music and worship? Everything.

I’ve seen music ministries where Micah 6:8 is, literally or figuratively, central to their mission statement. These are places where volunteers are valued and nurtured, where everyone from the most accomplished musicians to the freshest newbies was encouraged and embraced, where compassion for people overrode concern for performance, and where top-down humility and spiritual maturity cultivated a culture of joy. Tragically, I’ve also encountered the opposite extreme. There is no place for the tyranny of egos or the cancer of cliques in a music ministry. One close friend spent the first two years of his call in a new congregation eliminating the toxic atmosphere of the choirs he inherited. The result was found not only in the emotional and spiritual health of the musicians but also in the authenticity and musicality of the leadership they offered to the congregation.

Personal humility is at the core of personal discipleship, and above anything else, Christians are called to make disciples—many of us through music. C.S. Lewis got it right: “Humility isn’t thinking less of yourself, it’s thinking of yourself less.” And it’s amazing how genuine spiritual humility naturally sees to it that justice is done and that mercy becomes our first concern.

This is the “clean heart” and “right spirit” David was asking for in Psalm 51 and again in Psalm 139. This is what the apostle Paul was saying to the Christians in Philippi:

In your relationships with one another, have the same mindset as Christ Jesus:

Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage; rather, he made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to death—even death on a cross!
—Philippians 2:5–8

This is what Lent is all about—the renewal that comes from journeying with Christ to the cross and through the tomb, and reminding ourselves that we Christians are Easter people, called to patiently and lovingly represent the living Christ to a Good Friday world.

Justice, mercy, humility, love. The words are simple—the reality isn’t. Like the citydwellers in Micah’s day, God’s call runs counter to our world and to the natural inclination of our own hearts. But the health, happiness, and spiritual integrity of our ensembles—as well as our witness to our congregations and the broader world—depends on obedience to what the Lord requires.