Songs of faith are antidote for present partisan poison [column]

From my boyhood, I loved singing.

Singing filled our home and many a long drive. We were an ensemble: Mom and Dad and us eight children. At church, the congregation sang out hymns in four-part harmony a cappella. Missionary boarding school was more of the same.

I don't have perfect pitch. My voice isn't anywhere near opera quality. I've never had private singing lessons. I can't read musical notes flawlessly. But I can remember a tune. My Mom noticed this from a young age.

Singing is like honey — sweet. My whole body comes alive, from the top of the head to the tips of my fingers and toes. Most of all, my spirit soars and my soul stretches from the depths to the mountaintops.

Singing in the shower has its unique resonance. But nothing is more delightful than singing with others. Joining voice, breath, pitch, rhythm and body in harmony of song can hardly be matched for joy. It's a metaphor for community — out of many, each contributing their bit, and an occasion of unified beauty fills the space.

I've sung in many different groups: community choirs, men's quartets, school choirs, mixed quartets, worship teams, men's ensembles, congregation and family. The repertoire has included everything from Mozart's "Requiem" to Broadway hits, from sacred hymns to barbershop ditties. The only rule: It must be fun!

My wife Kathy and I recently joined a new-for-us group: the Sing for the Moment Choir at Landis Homes in Lititz (definitely not to be confused with the song "Sing for the Moment" by the rapper Eminem).

The choir gathers people living with mild to moderate dementia, and their caregivers, to sing and socialize. It fit the bill perfectly; laughter and song filled the room.

As a pastor and seminary educator for 40 years, I've been party to many vigorous discussions about worship music and singing. Growing up, four-part a cappella singing led by a chorister was the norm. When my voice changed, I learned to sing tenor and bass by matching the pitch of men beside me.

There is far less a cappella hymn singing today in the Mennonite churches I'm familiar with. Praise and worship and blended music, with lyrics projected on a screen, accompanied by guitar, piano and percussion, are much more common.

I've supported this worship shift; it makes singing more accessible to all. At this stage in life, however, I'm ready to admit that my all-time favorite kind of singing is four-part harmony, a cappella or accompanied by piano. Four-part singing is my first love, the music of my soul.

I wish there were more of it in full-throated, eager expression. The Sunday congregation becomes an impromptu choir, each voice offering its personal gift, harmonizing, tuned to the group, and lifting a sacrifice of praise to God.

During this election season, I especially need songs of worship that raise my eyes and impulses from the toxic rhetoric of lies and fear. Even my cellphone has been invaded with partisan trash.

What good does singing do when the future seems to hang in the balance of this election? Is it escapist to gather with other followers of Jesus and sing, "Jesus shall reign where e'er the sun does its successive journeys run, his kingdom stretch from shore to shore, till moons shall wax and wane nor more"? Is such a musical claim irresponsible when the fate of the country is at stake?

No. Here's why I believe songs of faith are an antidote for the present partisan poison.

Songs of faith about God's sovereignty and Jesus as Lord remind us of what is ultimate. We sing, turning away from the clamoring noise and tuning our hearts to hear the still, small voice of God's love and power. Politics are like fireworks; they flash and explode dramatically. But when we sing of God, our eyes are opened to glimpse the sun, moon and stars — the real celestial display — of God's purposes.

Singing songs of faith in God during an election season is not escapist. What is invisible to the naked eye can only be seen with the eyes of faith. Singing of God takes a deeper look behind visible, with confident hope, and sees that nothing is more powerful than God's love in Christ Jesus.

My life flows on in endless song, above earth's lamentation. I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn that hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife, I hear that music ringing. It finds an echo in my soul. How can I keep from singing?

No storm can shake my inmost calm while to that rock I'm clinging. Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth. How can I keep from singing?

Indeed!

The Rev. Dr. Mark R. Wenger is a retired Mennonite pastor and seminary educator.