Music selection and the Wilderness of Love

[Ken Gray] So here’s a lovely reflection on worship music selection presented in the context of the Gospel reading for the First Sunday of Lent: Jesus in the Wilderness. As one who have lived and worked both sides of the organ bench, as both priest/preacher/presider, and musician, Rev. Jesse’s words make me smile.

I think worship music is the theology we memorise. Long after the sermon is forgotten, the songs remain. They sit in our bones. They shape how we see God. What we sing on Sunday becomes what we believe on Tuesday. So as the leader of a church, I have always chosen the music. Always.

People have, on occasion, said that I am controlling. I am really not. I just think things should be done properly. In the right way. At the right time. Exactly the way that I want it. Not controlling at all.

Except now I am letting someone else choose the music. From a list I made of acceptable songs. I know it is not a full relinquishing, but it was actually hard to do. Hard to sit there and not adjust the flow. Hard not to move that song two places down because it works better after the Gospel. And I kind of want a gold star for it.

Look at me. Empowering others. Growing in holiness. Releasing control. And then immediately wanting recognition for how humble I am. Yeah, okay, so I emailed Rach last week and suggested we remove a verse. Apparently surrender still comes with footnotes. Thank you for your grace, Rach.

And then I read this week’s Anglican lectionary and felt personally attacked.

Jesus goes into the wilderness for forty days. He is tested. Every test is the same test, really. Seize control. Make it happen. Stop waiting on God. And He responds with: Wait. Trust. Surrender. Definitely a personal attack.

My temptation is quieter, but it carries the same edge. Because choosing the music has never just been about theology. It has been about control. It has been about making sure nothing slips through my fingers. That everything on Sunday morning is perfect. Letting someone else choose, even from my carefully curated list, felt like a tiny wilderness. No applause. No reassurance. No guarantee it would feel the way I like it to feel.

The wilderness is rarely dramatic. Sometimes it is just sitting in the pew while someone else holds the playlist. The small, ordinary surrender that no one sees. The quiet yes to trust, instead of ego. And it turns out the Kingdom of God does not hinge on my playlist.

Last week, Rach chose songs I would not have, and they quietly, perfectly reinforced the preaching message. So where are you being asked to wait? To trust? To surrender? Maybe it is not a playlist. Maybe it is a conversation you keep steering, a plan you keep adjusting, a person you keep trying to fix.

Maybe your wilderness is quieter than you expected and smaller than you feared. You can let go. Nothing will fall. Bless you as you practise letting go, even if you are still editing a verse on the way out.

Rev Jessie

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