Two years later, Steven Curtis Chapman can’t shake his daughter’s death. That’s not a bad thing. 

Biblical principles sometimes read more like clichés or fortune-cookie messages rather than life-affirming truths. Take Romans 8:28, for example: “And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose” (NKJV).

Those words penned by the apostle Paul sound good on paper. They provide comfort and hope to people dealing with sickness, a job loss or any number of challenging circumstances. It’s when the severest storms of life come blowing through that the decision must be made to believe it or not, to stand firm on God’s Word or let despair take control.

Such was the case with Steven Curtis and Mary Beth Chapman when they were suddenly thrust into the most devastating tragedy of their married lives—the death of their child.

‘Let Her Go’

May 21, 2008, was an otherwise normal afternoon at the Chapman house. Sure, there was a recent wedding engagement in the family to celebrate and a graduation to attend in a few days, but when you have six children ranging from preschool age to young adult, “normal” means there’s really no such thing as down time.

It was during such a usual afternoon that the unthinkable happened. At about 5 p.m., the Chapmans’ teenage son Will accidentally struck his 5-year-old sister, Maria, with his SUV while parking in the driveway.

LifeFlight transported her to the nearby Vanderbilt University children’s hospital in Nashville, Tenn., but rescue attempts proved futile. Maria was gone.

“When they told me that our daughter hadn’t made it, I had already determined in my mind that I was going to pray until God breathed life back into her,” Steven Curtis recalls. “I was going to bar the doors and make them carry me out. I wasn’t giving up. But it was my wife who spoke to me, and the Spirit through her, to say, ‘Let her go.’”

It took a long time before Chapman, a platinum-selling and multiple-award winning recording artist, was able to share his grief with the world. Even after he reluctantly resumed performing, he remained silent on the topic of Maria’s death for almost three months.

After he and Mary Beth found the strength to tell their story, the invitations for them to share it were mind-boggling. Everyone wanted to know how this high-profile family had survived such a horrendous tragedy.

They appeared on Larry King Live, Good Morning America and The 700 Club, and granted an interview to People magazine.

Chapman suddenly was caught up in a perplexing dichotomy. He was grieving immense loss while also attempting to accept, even embrace, these opportunities to reveal God’s love and grace to a world that wanted to hear from him.

Chapman also knew he couldn’t give people pat responses laden with Christianese. There was nothing he could do but lay his heart on the line and convey uninhibited honesty in the process.

“We couldn’t give all the answers,” Chapman says. “I think that’s part of the way God has used it.

“People who would normally be very skeptical and cynical now might go: ‘OK, I don’t care to hear about your religion and your faith and all your God talk, but if you’re surviving this and you’re making it through this, I want to hear about that. Because that isn’t religion as I know it. That’s something different.’

“Almost not having the answers, in and of itself, was in a way a pretty profound answer,” Chapman adds.

The interviews were especially tough on his wife, Chapman says. He admits there are still occasions when his desire to help others cope with loss is overtaken by a streak of selfishness.

“All of these wonderful things, and us getting to share our hope and comfort with others who are hurting, we’re thankful for that, and we see God using that,” Chapman says.

“But in my humanity and in my flesh, I’d do anything to turn the hands of time back and say: ‘As good as all that is, I don’t care. I want my daughter back.’”

Unanswered Questions

The journey that led Chapman to becoming Maria’s father is well-documented. Ten years ago, when the adoption bug hit him and Mary Beth, he was best known as the face of contemporary Christian music. Over his 23-year career he has amassed more than 10 million album sales, 45 No. 1 radio singles, five Grammy Awards and an astounding 56 Dove Awards.

First came adopted daughter Shaohannah (pronounced sho-HAN-uh). Three years later, the Chapmans adopted Stevey Joy. Then in 2004, after performing at an Easter service in Beijing, a missionary couple introduced him to a 1-year-old orphan named Maria. Chapman instinctively knew he had possibly just met his newest daughter.

By then, Chapman was already more than the most awarded Christian artist of all time. He was unofficially acting in a new role as the face of international adoption. The Chapmans became a tailor-made illustration for others of how God adopts believers into His family.

And perhaps it was the unique nature of the Chapman family makeup, coupled with the artist’s very public persona that made the inexplicable tragedy so much more difficult to comprehend.

“There’s a very large part of us as a family that really doesn’t understand and wouldn’t begin to say that anybody understands the theology of why God allows these kinds of things,” Chapman admits. “The closest we’ll ever get is to read Job. That’s about as close as we’ll get to understanding how God uses suffering and ... why He allows it.

“I’ve heard some amazing messages and done some pretty incredible studies of Job over this last year and a half, and I’ve come to understand, I think, a lot more about what God is revealing about His heart and His character through that.”

Entrusted With a Story

Chapman believes that God has, for whatever reason, entrusted this tragic story to him and his family. Despite his understandable reluctance at times, he will tell it “over and over again” and “in a public way,” he says.

But first Chapman had to ask God some intense questions. And the best way he knew how to convey his feelings was through music. The songs that came out of his grief eventually turned into an album, Beauty Will Rise—although, according to Chapman, it is still “really weird” to refer to the processing of his emotions that way.

“I didn’t set out to make a new record or a new album based on a theme I thought God was giving me,” he says. “I call these my psalms. It’s just me crying out to God with many of the same questions David had.

“Now I know what he meant when he was saying, ‘How long, O Lord?’ or ‘How long is the enemy going to beat the tar out of me?’ or ‘How long am I going to feel so separated from You?’”

Music has long been the way Chapman has processed his life. “It’s a real natural thing,” he says. Some of the songs on the new record, such as “Questions,” were literal examples of his dealing with the unknown and grappling with the unthinkable.

“God, are You serious?” he recalls asking. “My own son driving a car and not seeing his sister, and then my daughters in the yard watching it happen and running up? There’s just too many wrongs to make any sense.

“But through those kinds of questions, I think God has given me not so much answers but places of resolve to say I don’t have to have the answer to that, but I really need to have Your presence and a sense that You’re walking through this with us.”

Eventually it became apparent that Chapman needed to share these musical stories with the world, and the CD released. Even without the music, his fans and supporters felt the need to reach out to him—many with similar stories of tragedy and loss. The outpouring was strangely both a comfort and a burden.

“People feel that need to connect,” he says. “There’s a fellowship of suffering that you become a part of, and there’s a connection there and a family of sorts. But it’s also the reason why I’ve done a limited number of interviews and meet-and-greets—because one of my real concerns, in my humanness and in my flesh, [is] there’s only so much that I know I can hear and even tell.”

‘Cinderella’ Reborn

One of Chapman’s most popular songs is “Cinderella,” inspired by his oldest daughter, Emily. Ultimately it became just as much about his three adopted girls and imagining the bittersweet moments of seeing them grow up and eventually start their own lives. After Maria’s death, Chapman resolved never to sing “Cinderella” at his concerts.

“I just thought it would be too painful,” he says. “But with time, I began to realize that if I believe God’s Word, and if I believe that there is a resurrection from the dead that Christ led the way into and that He’s overcome death and the grave, and that to be absent from the body is to be present with Christ, then I’m going to be with Him and Maria’s with Him; therefore, we’re going to be together. I’m going to see my little girl again. I’m going to dance with her again.

“So what would be unthinkably sad all of a sudden has become this hopeful declaration.”

Chapman says that epiphany led to an “insatiable hunger” to learn as much as he could about heaven. It also inspired a new song, titled “Heaven Is the Face,” which came out of a moment in which the songwriter—even though he’d been taught that heaven is about being with God—confessed: “Right now, heaven is about being with my little girl.”

“And then God led me to the thought that it’s not just that,” Chapman adds. “Every nook and cranny of heaven is full of His glory and His goodness and His perfection. There are no more orphans. There are no more goodbyes. There’s no more loneliness. That’s heaven.”

Living Hope

As Chapman has gingerly navigated through his family’s new normal, one of his biggest fears has been any appearance of embracing opportunism spun from his family’s tragedy. With management companies, publicity firms and record labels involved, he is ever aware of that possibility taking root.

“You could so easily throw the baby out with the bath water,” Chapman says. “There have been moments when I’ve just said: ‘I can’t do this. I can’t let this get turned into an iTunes cover shot, or whatever.’”

But inevitably he is always brought back to the concept of purpose—whether fully understood or not. Since that tragic May 21 afternoon in 2008, purpose has been an ongoing process that has led him to live in the moment and faithfully follow the path that has stretched out ahead.

“We just have to remember that this is the story God has entrusted to us,” Chapman concludes about the family’s loss. “We’ll go wherever we can to tell it to His glory and to honor our daughter’s memory and more importantly to honor the God who’s given us the hope that’s just kept us alive to this point.”

Chad Bonham is a journalist, author and producer based in Broken Arrow, Okla.

Learn more about the Chapmans’ organization created in memory of Maria at chapman.charismamag.com

Beauty From Ashes

God is turning sorrow to joy in China

When Steven Curtis and Mary Beth Chapman’s 5-year-old daughter, Maria, died in a tragic accident two years ago, pastor Greg Laurie of Harvest Ministries was one of the first people to reach out to them. Laurie, whose adult son, Chris, died in a car crash less than three months later, told Chapman: “Maria is a far greater part of your future than she is of your past.” 

Laurie’s statement has had a profound impact on Chapman, though he has come to understand how much his little girl remains ever present as well. He has seen much of this in the way Maria’s life has influenced Shaohannah’s Hope, also called Show Hope—a nonprofit founded by the Chapmans and named after their oldest adopted daughter.

Show Hope (showhope.org) helps families offset the high costs of international adoption. To date, Show Hope has awarded 2,000 grants.

“To watch what God has done through [Show Hope] has been amazing,” Chapman says. “All over the country ... children have been brought into Christian families. We get to have a front-row seat and be a part of it.”

Maria’s lasting impact on the world was further solidified in July when the Chapmans opened Maria’s Big House of Hope in Luoyang, China. The facility is a 60,000-square-foot, six-story, blue-and-white building equipped to care for orphans 5 years old and younger with special needs. It includes 140 beds and a surgical floor.

Maria’s Big House of Hope was conceived when Chapman met a Christian physician and her husband who ran a special-needs foster-care facility as a ministry.

“We saw this work and fell in love with it and just asked if there was anything they dreamed of doing beyond this,” Chapman says. “They told us about some property the government had given them in the Luoyang province, but they didn’t have the resources to build a building.”

Chapman helped raise the money, and eventually the dream was realized. Now even the Chinese government sends people from its state-run orphanage to Maria’s Big House of Hope to learn how to better run its own facilities.

“It’s had this cool effect in China, and we’ve gotten to tell our story every time, that this is in honor of our daughter who’s with Jesus now and that’s why we can do this,” Chapman says.

“At the opening, I got to sing, ‘Yours.’ I literally declared in China, ‘God, China is all yours.’ Those opportunities and seeing how God has opened those doors has been an amazing thing.”

On Feb. 12, 1996, Donna Martin’s mother passed away. In addition to being the mother of Donna and her 17 siblings, she had been the “Mama” to all of Possum Trot, a small town in eastern Texas with no pavement or stoplights. Donna was grateful for the sacrificial love her mom had shown while taking care of so many kids with so little means.

There is an uneasy feeling in evangelicalism today that everything is changing. Long-held certitudes are being challenged both within and without the Christian faith. The way things were even 10 years ago is no longer the way things are today.

Western Christianity has reached a critical juncture. We have come to the end of the line—not the end of the line for Christianity, but the end of the line for the track we have been on.

We are like people on a subway who have taken a train as far as it will go. The car has stopped, but we have not exited. We’re sitting in the terminus, waiting for the train to start moving again.

We have two choices.

We can stay on the train that’s going nowhere, or we can disembark, find our way through the confusing labyrinth of the new station, locate the proper platform for continuing our journey and catch the train that will take us farther down the line.

Changing Tracks It reminds me of times I’ve been in Paris traveling across the city on the metro system. If I want to get from Notre Dame to Montmartre, I can’t do it on one train. I have to get off, find the correct platform and catch a new train. If you’ve never done it before, it can be confusing.

This could be a prophetic analogy for the heightened uneasiness we’re feeling in this first part of the 21st century. We need to transfer to a new train, and we’re not quite sure which one.

We can be quite certain of one thing, however: The train we have been on will not carry Christianity forward in a compelling or engaging way—no matter how enthusiastically we sing “Give Me That Old Time Religion” as we sit motionless on the track.

It’s easy to be disconcerted by all this. During a time of pronounced uncertainty it is tempting to succumb to nostalgia, to long for some point in the past that we identify as the “glory days.” But we cannot go back.

The healthy practice of recognizing the contributions of the past and building on them is not the same as a regressive attempt to return to a bygone era.

Neither is revivalism the answer. Too often it is a naive attempt to recapture a particular past. It’s like a Renaissance fair—nice entertainment for a pleasant afternoon, but you can’t live there.

An idealized memory of the past is not a vision that can carry us into the future. Nostalgic reminiscing is for those who no longer have the courage or will to creatively engage with contemporary challenges and opportunities. All of this is related to the critical juncture we’ve come to in the course of Western Christianity.

Ride Over! So then, what is this train we’re on that is stuck at the station? I think it can be summed up as “Christianity characterized by protest.” We need to face reality—the “protest train” has come to the end of the line.

It’s been 500 years since the Protestant Reformation—when Christianity first boarded this protest train. At the beginning of the line, it was a way forward from the moribund corruption of medieval Catholicism.

But for all the good the Reformation did (and it was absolutely necessary!) we must understand it for what it was. It was a debate between Roman Catholics and Protestant reformers over the theology and practice of the medieval church, a debate among Christians within Christendom.

And that’s all well and good.

But we no longer live in that Christendom—the one in which Christianity was the default assumption of an entire age, continent and culture. We live in an era that is, if not post-Christian, certainly post-Christendom.

Yet we make the mistake of trying to engage our postmodern secular culture in the same way the reformers engaged medieval Catholicism—through protest. This approach doesn’t make sense and is no longer tenable.

The Reformation, though it brought necessary reform, placed us on a trajectory to become angry protestors. Protest is deeply ingrained in our identity. It’s in our DNA. But Protestant reform is no longer the central issue and is not the problem. The problem is our uncharitable and ugly protest attitude.

Testy Passengers? To attempt to engage post-Enlightenment secular people with the gospel of Jesus Christ by protesting their sin and secularism is madness. It’s a method guaranteed to fail. It is simply not the way for the church to move forward. We are in danger of being reduced to angry protesters sitting in the station on a train going nowhere, shouting at people who long ago stopped listening to us.

If we are going to persuade a skeptical world of the gospel of Jesus Christ and make a compelling case for Christianity in this century, we will have to do so on their terms. We can no longer pretend to be living in medieval Christendom or frontier America.

Simply citing chapter and verse and shouting, “The Bible says so!” is going to be largely ineffective. Telling a secular world that does not possess an a priori acceptance of Scripture that Jesus is the way because John 14:6 says so is seen as circular reasoning and unconvincing.

To persuade postmodern Westerners that Jesus is the way we must actually demonstrate the Jesus way as a viable alternative lifestyle. This lifestyle will have to be characterized, not by angry protest and polarizing politics, but by faith and hope and—most of all—forgiving love.

Because of our tradition of protest inherited from the Reformation, as well as the American Revolution, we have an ingrained infatuation for the angry dissenter who can “tell it like it is.” Whether it’s delivered by a pundit, politician or preacher, the rant has become something of a contemporary art form.

But this kind of populism plays well only with those who already agree with us. It’s cathartic and can “energize the base,” as we say, but in the end the angry preachers stuck in a paradigm of protest only further alienate an already disinterested culture. They deepen the destructive “Us vs. Them” attitude endemic in American evangelicalism.

Have we embraced, due to our frightened response to uncertainty and shifting culture, an angry “Ann Coulter Christianity” and made apostles of Rush Limbaugh, Glenn Beck and Sean Hannity without recognizing they are simply entertainers and profiteers in America’s culture war? If so, we had better disembark the protest train before we are marginalized into complete irrelevance.

Now that we are a full decade into the third Christian millennium, it’s time to take stock of a movement that in Western culture isn’t moving forward much anymore. How then have American evangelicals come to be identified?

Largely by our protests and our politics. We are mostly known for what we are against and what political positions we hold. We have unwittingly allowed our movement to be defined in the negative and to be co-opted as a useful tool in the cynical world of partisan politics.

Excess Baggage But don’t we have something better to do? Don’t we have some good news to tell? Isn’t it time for us to become identified by something more refreshing and more imaginative than angry protest and partisan politics? Might it not be time for a new reformation? And this time, not a reformation in the form of protest, but one in some other form?

The purpose of reformation actually is re-formation—to recover a true form. What is the true form of Christianity? It is the cruciform—the shape of the cross. The hope I see for Christianity in the 21st century is in a “cruciform reformation.”

Instead of using protest as a pattern, what if the church reformed itself according to the cruciform? What if we responded to hostility and criticism, not with angry retaliation, but in the Christ-like form of forgiving love? What if instead of “fighting for our rights” we laid down our rights and in love simply prayed, “Father, forgive them”?

Or ask yourself these questions: Does the protest paradigm look like the cruciform? Does the Christian who wants to protest every perceived slight with an angry petition remind you of the Christ who forgave His enemies from the cross? Does our grasping for power and privilege conform to the image of the crucified Christ?

Five hundred years ago Martin Luther and the other reformers looked to Scripture as the basis for reforming the church. I suggest we do the same. And I suggest we center our reading in the Gospels.

The great 20th century Swiss theologian Hans Urs von Balthasar wrote: “Being disguised under the disfigurement of an ugly crucifixion and death, the Christ upon the cross is paradoxically the clearest revelation of who God is.”

He’s correct. The cross is the full and final revelation of God. His nature of forgiving love is supremely demonstrated at the cross. When Jesus could have summoned 12 legions of angels to exact vengeance, He instead prayed for His enemies to be forgiven.

Vengeance was canceled in favor of love. Retaliation was overruled in favor of reconciliation. Protest was abandoned in favor of forgiveness. This is the cruciform.

That evangelical Christianity has become identified by protest and politics instead of forgiving love is nothing short of scandalous. The disreputable behavior of celebrity preachers notwithstanding, the greatest scandal in the evangelical church is that we are no longer associated with the practice of radical forgiveness.

It should be obvious that forgiveness lies at the heart of the Christian faith. That should be obvious from the simple fact that at the most crucial moments the gracious melody of forgiveness is heard as the recurring theme of Christianity.

Consider how prevalent forgiveness is in Christianity’s seminal moments and sacred texts.

As Jesus teaches His disciples to pray they are instructed to say, “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” (see Luke 11:4). As Jesus hangs on the cross we hear Him pray—almost unbelievably: “Father, forgive them” (Luke 23:34, NKJV). In His first resurrection appearance to His disciples, Jesus says, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them” (John 20:23). And in the Apostles’ Creed we are taught to confess, “I believe in the forgiveness of sins.”

Whether we look to The Lord’s Prayer, or Jesus’ death or resurrection, or the great creeds of the church, we are never far from the theme of forgiveness. If Christianity isn’t about forgiveness, it’s about nothing at all. And I am afraid that if we don’t leave the protest train, we are in danger of making Christianity about ... nothing at all!

Tickets, Please We have come to the end of an era. We are in a time of transition. Things are uncertain. Old assumptions are being re-evaluated. We feel uncomfortable. We are trying to make our way through a confusing metro station we’ve never been to. We are tempted to cling to the familiar and stay on the train that has brought us here.

That is not the way forward. We have to find the new platform and catch the next train. The platform is forgiveness. The train is a cruciform reformation. If we leave the paradigm of protest, position ourselves on a platform of radical forgiveness and get on board with a cruciform reformation, the 21st century will be full of hope, promise and unparalleled opportunity for the church of Jesus Christ. 

Brian Zahnd is pastor of Word of Life Church in St. Joseph, Mo., and author of What to Do on the Worst Day of Your Life. His next book, Unconditional? (Charisma House), is scheduled to release in January.

Listen to Brian Zahnd elaborate on the future of the church at zahnd.charismamag.com

The Protestant Reformation

A brief look at a major shift in church history

The Protestant Reformation began in Germany in 1517 with Martin Luther, a Saint Augustine friar and professor. Luther wrote and published The Ninety-Five Theses as a protest of clerical abuses aimed at the hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church.

He is said to have posted his Ninety-Five Theses to the main door of The Castle Church in Wittenberg. At the time, the church was a repository for one of Europe’s largest collections of Catholic relics. The storehouse included some extreme oddities such as vials of the milk of the Virgin Mary—but viewing the antiquities was said to bring official relief from temporal punishment for sins in purgatory.

However, Luther was primarily disgusted with “indulgences.” The Catholic Church sold these as part of a fundraising scheme and propagated them upon the people in both convoluted language and theology:

Buying an indulgence would enable the payee to partly or wholly avoid—depending on specific Church restrictions—God’s temporal punishment due for sins committed but forgiven.

Numerous religious voices fell in line to support Luther’s initial protest. The discontent spread quickly, due largely to the efficiency of the printing press. It enabled copies of The Ninety-Five Theses and other documents and ideas to be disseminated widely.

Paralleling the events of the Reformation in Germany was a similar movement in Switzerland under Ulrich Zwingli, a Zurich pastor.

Some of Zwingli’s followers, however, believed the German Reformation was too conservative.

Ultimately, ensuing protests in assorted locations spawned new groups or movements—such as Calvinism, which has its basis in the writings of John Calvin, a French theologian.

In 1521, Luther was excommunicated from the Church by Pope Leo X, who had also condemned the Reformation.

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The dawn of the 1970s was a time when life as many Americans knew it was rapidly changing. Widespread disenchantment with materialism and the American Dream of the 1950s had jolted the nation’s social consciousness. A generation of youth had found its revolutionary voice and was confronting oppression domestically and abroad.

The country was divided over a war on foreign soil, there was social decay at home between young and old, and racial tension simmered from the injustice of civil rights violations. It was as if current events were conspiring against a generation.

Amid this whirlwind of unrest Motown artist Marvin Gaye captured the ethos of the age with his 1971 song “What’s Going On?” It was an impassioned cry for justice in which he appealed to the nation’s conscience. The song didn’t fit the pop-music template, but Gaye was determined to release it anyway and was vindicated when the song landed at No. 2 on the Top 40 charts in 1971.

“Mother, mother, there’s too many of you crying,” Gaye sang. “Brother, brother, there’s far too many of you dying / Father, father, we don’t need to escalate / War is not the answer / For only love can conquer hate / Picket lines and picket signs, don’t punish me with brutality / Talk to me, so you can see / We’ve got to find a way to bring some lovin’ here today.”

Fast-forward to 2010, and Gaye’s plea feels just as timely. The soundtrack of the ’70s is still speaking to us. We’re asking: “Where’s the lovin’ here today?”

Where’s the lovin’ in the church’s music? Where’s the kind of lovin’ that rights wrongs and reconciles relationships in our world today?

Our generation has markings similar to Gaye’s generation—war, genocide, street gangs, ethnocentrism, generational poverty, famine, AIDS, substandard housing and education, rampant materialism, religious hatred, environmental degradation.

Because the gospel is the story of a loving God who reconciles people into a loving relationship with Himself and one another, justice fits into His story as Christ rights the wrongs that prevent those relationships. Worship, whether as music or lifestyle, should reflect this facet of Jesus’ mission. 

Our Story or His Story

Too often instead our worship is directed inwardly and turns into a distorted, selfish facsimile. Our songs long for God to meet personal needs and mediate justice on our own behalf. Many of them have been radically reduced to individualized laundry lists of wants. Consider these lyrics from popular contemporary worship songs:

•  “I can feel [the presence] [the Spirit] [the power] of the Lord / And I’m gonna get my blessing right now.”

•  “In my life I’m soaked in blessing / And in heaven there’s a great reward / As for me and my house, we’re gonna serve the Lord / I’ve got Jesus, Jesus / He calls me for His own / And He lifts me, lifts me / Above the world I know.”

• “(I got the) anointing / (Got God’s) favor / (And we’re still) standing / I want it all back / Give me my stuff back / Give me my stuff / Give me my stuff back / I want it all / I want that.”

By contrast, three instances of “spoken-word lyrics” recorded in the Bible to accompany Jesus’ birth read much differently. They reverberate through history.

• “He has put down the mighty from their thrones, and exalted the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich He has sent away empty” (Luke 1:52-53, NKJV). What of the Rolls-Royce driving, private-jet flying, multiple-mansion dwelling, high-fashion wearing modern Christian profiteers? What about the good life to which their songs and sermons aspire?

•  “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14, NIV). The peace they sang of is shalom, and favor refers to “the year of the Lord’s favor” embraced within Christ’s mission (see Luke 4:18-19; Isaiah 61). More than the absence of strife, shalom is what the Prince of Peace came to re-establish. The condition of sin robs us of shalom, but Jesus’ justice restores it. When we attempt to co-opt Jesus’ favor as a rationale to get more affluence, we cheapen everything the gospel represents.

•  “A light to bring revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory of Your people Israel. ... ‘This Child is destined for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign which will be spoken against (yes, a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed’” (Luke 2:32, 34-35, NKJV). Not much of our contemporary touchy-feely hoopla here either.

Not one of these “songs” celebrates the themes that predominate in our weekly worship services. There is no mention of “me,” except in the context of calling and responsibility beyond oneself; no focus on “blessing,” except as it relates to our ability being empowered by God for blessing others; no pursuit of personal comfort—rather, the promise is given of a sword that will pierce one’s soul.

What Would Jesus Sing?

The soundtrack that accompanied heaven’s greatest lyrics—the Word made flesh (see John 1:14)—bears little resemblance to popular songs we sing in our churches. When Jesus came and lived among us, His manner of doing so invited shame and ridicule, not material bounty.

He lived among us as a child of poverty (born in a barn); political refugee (in Egypt); social pariah (survivor of a capital crime: unmarried pregnancy); ghetto immigrant (“What good comes from Nazareth?”); and blue-collar worker (carpenter) who was a subject of an imperialistic colonizer (Rome).

Many of the people whose lives He changed had lived unfavorably or unlawfully in their society. His friends and followers included Mary Magdalene (ex-prostitute), Matthew and Zacchaeus (ex-crooked bureaucrats and tax collectors), and Simon Peter (ex-insurrectionist and card-carrying member of a terror organization in Palestine).

If Jesus actually were to show up today at one of our stylized worship experiences, He might well sing a different tune, one that sounds more like the warning He gave His people through the Old Testament prophet Amos:

“I can’t stand your religious meetings. I’m fed up with your conferences and conventions. I want nothing to do with your religion projects, your pretentious slogans and goals. I’m sick of your fund-raising schemes, your public relations and image making. I’ve had all I can take of your noisy ego-music.

“When was the last time you sang to me? Do you know what I want? I want justice—oceans of it. I want fairness—rivers of it. That’s what I want. That’s all I want” (Amos 5:21-24, The Message).

If all God wants is oceans of justice rather than egocentric noise, then a broken world’s needs must reclaim center stage from our personal blessings during corporate worship experiences. In our churches, many of us remain mute on such issues as public repentance for neglecting the poor. Some of us have abandoned prophetic moments of opportunity in lieu of religious protocol.

Traditions That Count

But there is good news too. More and more music ministers today across traditions are giving voice to justice within worship services. Jason Upton (“Poverty”), Aaron Niequist (“Love Can Change the World”) and Derek Webb (“Rich Young Ruler”) are just a few.

Historically, some denominational traditions have embraced justice-oriented hymns and music. The song “O Healing River” (1964) is sung to inspire believers in organizations such as Ecumenical Advocacy Alliance (e-alliance.ch) that work to establish justice in various social contexts.

Contemporary Christian music pioneer Keith Green was an anomaly among evangelicals through the 1970s and early 1980s, writing songs that called Christians out and challenged the church to action, such as “Asleep in the Light”:

“Oh, bless me, Lord / Bless me, Lord /
You know it’s all I ever hear / No one aches / No one hurts / No one even sheds one tear / ... / Open up, open up /
And give yourself away / You’ve seen the need / You hear the cry / So how can you delay?”

Jesus’ mission to bring good news to the poor, sight to the blind and liberty to the oppressed should define our worship, be it expressed in music or lifestyle. Music, because we feel it, penetrates our hearts and stimulates a response. It ennobles ideas, emotes passion and defines eras. Gaye’s opus reminds us of that.

Reflecting Christ’s purpose through our lives will require the courage to break free from convention, perceive the new things God is doing in our midst and zealously pursue them.

What’s stopping us? 

Jeremy Del Rio is an attorney and consultant for youth development, social justice and cultural engagement. He is a co-founder of 20/20 Vision for Schools, a campaign to transform public education (jeremydelrio.com). Louis Carlo is associate pastor at Abounding Grace Ministries in New York City, adjunct professor at Alliance Theological Seminary, as well as a photographer and occasional filmmaker (agmin.org).

Listen to Jeremy Del Rio’s sermon “Vision for a New Day” at podcasts.charismamag.com

More Than a Feeling
6 ways to worship ‘in spirit and truth’ 

As God’s worshippers, how can we navigate the paths of justice in our congregational gatherings? It will mean matching the mission of Jesus with the music and expressions of worship we embrace and facilitating worship as lifestyle. It may also require us to take practical steps toward personal change:

1) Refocus. Reductionist Western worship is possible because we have lost a sense of awe and reverence for who God is, fashioning instead a God in our own image. Author Mark Labberton writes in his book The Dangerous Act of Worship: “The God we seek is the God we want, not the God who is. We fashion a god who blesses without obligation, who lets us feel his presence without living his life, who stands with us and never against us, who gives us what we want, when we want it.” Let’s refocus on who really matters.

2) Repent. The failure to incorporate laments for justice into corporate worship underscores that we misunderstand what worship really is. It is neither the rhythmic pursuit of a euphoric high nor the somber embrace of silent reflection. Jesus describes true worshippers as those who worship “in spirit and truth” (John 4:23, NKJV). Paul says: “Do not conform to this world”—trendy fashions and such—”but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, that you may prove what is that good and acceptable and perfect will of God” (Rom. 12:2). Where our will conforms to the world’s patterns and trumps God’s will, let’s repent for rejecting true worship.

3) Remember. The holy God we revere is also our righteous king who exacts justice on behalf of His people. Moses and Miriam remembered when they praised Him for demonstrating justice in His dealings with Pharaoh and liberating His people (see Ex. 15). Hannah remembered when she thanked God for His justice on her behalf (see 1 Sam. 2). King David remembered when he declared, “The Lord reigns!” and embraced a heavenly king who ruled above him and all others. Let’s also remember that our Lord Himself loves justice (see Is. 61:8).

4) Reconnect. No longer should worship gatherings embrace the first part of the Great Commandment, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength,” at the expense of the second part, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Let’s reconnect His love into a coherent whole.

5) Realign. Justice and worship at their core each deal with power and the abuses of power. By emphasizing God’s kingship, His rule over all creation, and His impeccable character, we intentionally create space for the Most High to address the fallen powers in our churches, states, nation and world. Let’s realign our congregations under God’s power rather than under the abusive power structures dominating the world.

6) Rediscover. As we identify and proclaim the laments of marginalized people with a deep understanding that their cries are our cries, we will begin to see our perspectives shift and the power of God move in ways that we never would have imagined. Let’s rediscover the unleashed, all-powerful God, not our tempered and controlled god-in-a-box. Like Aslan of Narnia, He may not be safe, but He is good.

Voices of Justice

Keith Green Not one to mince words in God’s defense, Green wrote numerous songs that called out fellow Christians, challenging them to action

Sara Groves She has toured to benefit relief organization Food for the Hungry and the Christian human-rights group International Justice Mission 

Jason Upton His songs can be raw, unpolished, unplanned. Critics call him a music artist to love or avoid. He says: “Most of my songs are prayers.” 

Misty Edwards She writes many of her songs during times of spontaneous worship. “I think worship needs to change so we linger until we encounter God.”