Introduction
The burgeoning tradition of contemporary worshipFootnote 1 has received little attention academically, beyond some historical notice.Footnote 2 The attention that it has received has generally been negative and rapidly dismissive;Footnote 3 indeed, it is striking how often academic discussions of Christian worship in contemporary Britain and/or America fail to notice the tradition at all.Footnote 4 If discussed, it is asserted to be theologically anaemic and musically poor, in contrast to the richness found in ancient liturgies, or the great hymnody of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. On the rare occasion when a writer pauses to give any evidence for these rather sweeping judgements, it will usually involve citing the words of a particularly trivial chorus, with expressed incredulity that something so lacking in content could have ever found its way into Christian worship.Footnote 5
The fact that those of our students – and indeed colleagues – who regularly attend Christian worship are quite probably attending services which model this style of worship is rarely noted;Footnote 6 its (undeniable and increasing) popularity is held up as a sign of the intellectual poverty of our churches, and their capitulation to the mores of contemporary culture. Comparisons with recent popular music lead to the accusation that what is going on is more akin to a performance than a service of worship, a performance which is merely aping, poorly, the dominant modes of live music in the surrounding culture.Footnote 7
In this article I want to challenge this picture comprehensively. It is of course possible to hold up examples of other traditions of Christian worship which are just as guilty on each point raised (the performance of a cathedral choir – which can move far more seamlessly from liturgical event to concert platform than any contemporary praise band; the repetitiveness and brevity of sung worship in the Taizé style; &c.), but I want to go deeper than that. I will argue that such criticisms err in failing to understand the underlying liturgical model of this tradition of worship and, by offering close readings of two examples of the genre, I will suggest that in fact there is a rich theological understanding in contemporary worship, and a nuanced negotiation with the surrounding culture which maintains accessibility without surrendering difference.
My basic contention is that insufficient attention has been paid to the actual liturgical use of contemporary worship songs, and that if this attention is given, a very different, and much more positive, account of the theological quality of contemporary worship will appear. Many songs which appear trite in their expression (in one of the examples considered below there is a song which repeatedly demands ‘Dance, dance, everybody dance now; shout, shout, everybody shout now’) are nonetheless able to become part of a rich liturgical event through their careful deployment in a particular context.Footnote 8 Academic critics of the tradition of contemporary worship err in failing to consider this question of the construction of a liturgical event. These songs are not written to be sung on their own, but to be woven into ‘a time of worship’, together with other songs, spoken prayers, brief readings from scripture and (often) engagement with other art-forms such as dance or the visual arts. The whole ‘time of worship’ might last fifteen minutes, or it might last two hours – or more. The skilful weaving of the elements is the task of a designated ‘worship leader’, who is responsible for ensuring that the liturgical event, taken as a whole, is properly theological and offers the congregation a satisfying liturgical journey.
On this basis, the worth of a particular song is largely determined by the context in which it is placed.Footnote 9 To criticise a song for not offering adequate theological depth is rather like criticising a brick for not being a house; it is a category mistake, misunderstanding what the song is designed to do, and denouncing it for its failure to perform a task which it was never intended to perform. (This does not mean, of course, that it is not possible to criticise individual praise songs; there are theological and aesthetic errors so devastating that the song may never find appropriate deployment. As any historian will be aware, this was as true of the hymnody of the eighteenth century as it is of the twenty-first; the only difference is that the ancient failures have generally been forgotten.) Theological depth is given by the arrangement and relationship of the elements as much, or more, than by the content of the individual elements themselves. The appropriate liturgical unit to be analysed and criticised is the time of worship, not the particular songs used within it.
Examples of Contemporary Worship
To demonstrate some of the points above, and to give a more adequate estimation of the theological worth of contemporary worship, I intend to offer close readings of two times of worship. Both were professionally recorded as they happened, and later edited and made available for sale. They are led by two of the leading worship leaders in Britain today: Matt Redman and Tim Hughes. I will begin by describing the context of the two events, and by noting common features, before attempting a theological reading of each time of worship.
Matt Redman's Facedown DVDFootnote 10 was recorded in 2004 at the Northpoint Community Church in Alpharreta, GA. According to the information provided on the DVD, the recorded worship event was part of a conference for songwriters. The congregation consists of some hundreds of people, apparently almost entirely youngish adults. I estimate the gender balance to be roughly even; some ethnic diversity is visible, but the group is mainly white. The band is on a raised stage, backed by a large central screen which is used for the display of images and artwork, and two smaller side screens which display the words of the songs being sung. The band includes two percussionists (male, white), who both have traditional drum kits, but also play a range of other percussion instruments. There are five other instrumentalists (all white and male), playing bass guitar, electric guitar (two), piano, and keyboards; two (white, female) backing singers; and Redman himself, who sings lead vocals and plays guitar (switching between electric and acoustic during the event). At one point a second lead vocalist joins him to share the leading of a song; there is also an extended time of spoken worship led by an African-American woman who comes on to the stage for the purpose.
Tim Hughes's Happy Day DVDFootnote 11 was recorded at an unspecified location in London in 2009. The space contains several raised balconies with banked seats and decorated fascias, and so has the appearance of a London theatre; however, a passing comment on the DVD suggests that the ‘stalls’ area contains no seats, which seems unusual. According to the accompanying information, the congregation numbered around 2,000. Again, they are mostly young adults, with a number who appear to be under 20 (an age group apparently absent from the Redman event). I again estimate a fairly even gender balance; the congregation is mainly white, but some ethnic diversity is visible. The band consists of a percussionist, mostly playing a traditional drum kit; a bass player; two electric guitarists; and a keyboard player. All are white and male. Four backing vocalists are involved, a white male, a white female, a black male, and a black female. A (white, female) cellist is present for one song; in another, Hughes is joined by a second lead vocalist; during another song two rappers and an urban dance group (mixed ethnicity and gender) enter the stage and perform. Similarly to the Redman event, a large central screen displays visual material, much of it in this case involving artistic typography based on the words of the songs, whilst two smaller side screens display the words very simply, in large white type on a plain black background.
Redman's Facedown CD, a recording of the same event as the DVD, does not include the spoken worship, and includes two moments of spontaneous singing which are not on the DVD. It also has one song in a different place to the DVD recording. The order of events described below is therefore my reconstruction of the original liturgical event, based on internal evidence in the two recordings (e.g. watching/listening for editorial breaks). The evidence is not sufficient to be absolutely certain that the reconstruction is correct, but I am confident that it is fairly close. Evidence suggests that the first song on Happy Day was separated in performance from the rest by a fairly lengthy sermon,Footnote 12 so I will exclude this from my consideration. The rest of the DVD appears to be a straight live recording of a time of worship.
The scenarios just described are similar enough to what would be experienced at a rock concert to make it worth noting the differences. Three in particular stand out: the presence of side-screens displaying the words being sung; the positioning of the backing vocalists; and the occurrence of congregational applause. First, the side screens demonstrate that these events are intended to be participatory rather than performances: whilst a crowd at a rock concert will sing along with favourite tracks, no general encouragement is given to them so to do (other than the occasional turning of a microphone to the crowd to invite them to sing a line of the chorus). Here the expectation is that those present will sing continuously with the band, and so that the event will be a shared time of worship. (The lighting of both events suggests the same point; whilst in both cases sophisticated lighting set-ups are used, and the lighting varies in classic theatrical ways to emphasise the shifting moods of the music, the ‘house lights’ are on far more often than would be the case in a concert, suggesting that the congregations are a part of the event, not merely an audience.)
Second, the backing singers are in both cases emphasised. In the Redman DVD, they are pushed to the front of the stage, in a fairly central position, and thus are much more visible than would be normal in a rock concert. Hughes has his backing vocalists in a more expected position, raised at the rear of the band, but video projection of them onto the central screen, and lighting which often picks them and Hughes himself out in stark relief, promote their part of the performance to a remarkable prominence. Further, in both cases the range of expression and posture adopted by the backing vocalists is striking when compared to a typical rock concert, and is also uncoordinated. This is perhaps particularly pronounced in the Redman DVD: one singer will start dancing suddenly; another will drop to her knees. The kneeling singer is sufficiently far from her microphone that she is contributing nothing vocally to the performance; at other times it is evident that one or another backing vocalist has ceased to sing at all, and has adopted a posture of silent adoration. How is all this to be explained?
Matt Redman has regularly invoked the idea of the worship leader as ‘lead worshipper’, modelling authentic worship to the congregation;Footnote 13 Tim Hughes has referenced this idea positively, and it appears to have been generally accepted.Footnote 14 In the events observed, however, both worship leaders are engaged in playing guitar, and so are rather restricted in their range of bodily expression; the backing singers, being unencumbered (and less crucially tied to their microphones), are instead fulfilling this role of demonstrating appropriate participation in, and response to, the worship to the gathered congregation. Through the committed engagement of these highlighted lead worshippers, permission is given to congregants to explore a range of physical responses, including dancing and (particularly evident on Facedown) prostration. The silence of a lead worshipper gives permission to those led to disengage from the communal singing in order to experience silent personal devotion. Equally, the exuberant engagement with the song that is the normal activity of these people encourages enthusiastic participation from others.
Third, congregational applause does not follow each number, as would be expected in a concert, and when it does occur it is sometimes redirected away from the band in deliberate ways. I note specific instances of applause in the descriptions below, but two examples of subversive redirection stand out sufficiently to be referenced here. On the Facedown DVD, the closing of the song ‘Gifted Response’ is greeted with applause; Redman remains in an attitude of worship, and through hand gesture and spontaneous spoken prayer implicitly invites the congregation to redirect their applause to God, offering it as an act of corporate worship. This unquestionably prolongs the period of applause. The closing of the Happy Day DVD is very striking: during the last song, Hughes's rewrite of Isaac Watts’ ‘When I Survey’, a large wooden cross is erected on the stage. As the music continues, Hughes leaves the stage, and spotlighting places the rest of the band in darkness, with all the visual focus directed to the cross. The sustained applause which greets the end of the time of worship is thus deliberately redirected. The success of this is visible as the curtain descends and fragmentary phrases recalling the atonement are projected onto it (‘Death is defeated’; ‘It is finished’; . . .). These are each greeted with an audible increase in the level of the still-continuing applause, which, this suggests, is being experienced by the congregation as a celebration of divine saving action, rather than of the musical performance they have just enjoyed.
In these three ways – and in other, more minor, moves – the cultural form of the rock concert is successfully negotiated and subverted by worship leader, band and congregation alike in order to create a liturgical event which remains culturally relevant, but refuses to be assimilated to the dominant tropes of the surrounding culture. In particular, musicians and congregation demonstrate by their actions a shared conviction that the musical event is not a negotiation between band and audience alone, but features a shared relationship to the divine as an essential element. To dismiss contemporary worship as a mere aping of the host culture is to miss the subtlety of the negotiation engaged in by the participants. With this recognition in place, I turn to extended readings of the two liturgical events.
Matt Redman, Facedown
The worship time led by Matt Redman and recorded on the Facedown DVD begins with ‘Praise Awaits You’. This is a song of approach addressed to God, asserting that the people are gathered with the intention of worshipping and now stand ready to worship. Already, however, worship is understood as a response to God's action (this will be a continual theme of the liturgical event). Thus, the gathered people cannot yet adequately offer praise: they come, committed and ready, to wait for God's initiative which will free them in worship. The liturgically aware watcher cannot fail to be reminded of traditional openings such as ‘O Lord open our lips/And our mouths shall proclaim your praise’. In contrast to most traditional liturgies, however, this sense of worship depending on prior divine action will continually be referenced and emphasised throughout the time of worship. The song is upbeat, and the response of the congregation includes dancing and enthusiastic participation in the song.
The next two songs then acknowledge and name the divine actions which make worship possible: atonement and revelation. A song titled ‘Nothing But the Blood’ celebrates and recalls the central event of evangelical devotion, the atoning sacrifice of Christ, with an emphasis here on the possibility of approach to God created by the death of Jesus: ‘Your cross testifies to grace, tells of the Father's heart, to make a way for us’. The music builds in a crescendo to a moment of intensity held by repeated fragmentary lyrics, presumably improvised (‘It's your blood . . . it's your blood . . . it's your blood . . . ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven . . . singing of the blood . . .’), and appropriately emphasising this central theme. The congregational response, modelled by the backing vocalists, expresses devotion: stillness, or gentle swaying; many eyes closed; and many hands upraised. It is obvious from the ‘crowd shots’ that many worshippers are saying/singing their own words of devotion (which I presume would have included some exercise of glossolalia), having ‘tuned out’ of the song, and being led to respond in personal worship. From this point on, this form of ‘disengaged’ personal response by members of the congregation is increasingly visible.
There is no doubt here that musical techniques, including a crescendo and changes of tempo, are used to evoke emotional response; this is, however, done in a theologically responsible way (if one shares the theological assumptions of this evangelical tradition of spiritualityFootnote 15). There is here a modelling of that emotional response which is held to be appropriate to a focus on the central event of salvation, not a mere heightening of emotion to elicit response or to gain the congregation's approval.
A second song turns to the second divine action which establishes worship: revelation. Titled ‘Seeing and Singing’, the song introduces another persistent theme in this liturgical event, that of the possibility and necessity of vision of God. Seeing God is held to be at once the highest human good (an echo of the tradition of the beatific vision being the essence of heaven's joys, no doubt), the necessary basis for worship, and something which is again impossible without divine enabling and assistance: ‘No one can sing of things they have not seen – open our eyes towards a greater glimpse, the glory of you’. The concept of glory, the visibility of divine majesty, is here introduced, a concept which will run through what follows. The song starts fairly quietly, and there is notably less engagement from the congregation; as the theme develops, a crescendo builds, and patterns of devotional response similar to those observed in the previous song become visible. Again, the song moves into improvised fragmentary lyrics, this time quiet enough that the, clearly very diverse, vocal worship of the congregants can be heard on the recording.
The liturgical movement now assumes that the prayers for God's presence, and for a ‘greater glimpse’ of God's glory, have in fact been answered, and so that worship is now possible. A song of uncomplicated worship based on Rev 4:11 follows, ‘Worthy, You are Worthy’. The inadequacy of the response is immediately confessed, however: ‘I cannot begin to tell . . .’ The two verses focus respectively on God's glory and on the gift of salvation, recalling the two bases for worship established in the previous songs. The theme of visibility is again recalled, with repeated references to ‘glory’ and each verse ending with the couplet ‘O Lord my ears had heard of you, but now my eyes have seen’.
The stress that worship remains possible only as a response to God's initiative is not to be lost, however, so the next song acknowledges this explicitly, describing worship in its title as a ‘Gifted Response’. Access to the Father is possible only through Jesus in the power of the Spirit, and this is explicitly confessed in this song, a moment of quiet and serious devotion. During this song, the attitude of prostration, thus far not observed in the congregation, is first modelled by one of the vocalists, giving permission for many in the congregation to follow her lead later in the time of worship. The song builds in a crescendo at its close, eliciting a round of applause from the congregation, which, as noted above, Redman prolongs and redirects with improvised phrases of spoken worship.
The time of worship then moves into its most exuberant point, another song of explicit praise, called ‘Dancing Generation’. There is clear enjoyment amongst both band and congregation of this part of the worship, which is unrestrained celebration. Even here, however, the gifts of God which enable worship continue to be confessed: atonement (‘Your mercy taught us how to dance . . .’); and revelation (‘Your glory taught us how to shout . . .’) – the latter recalling again the theme of God's glory. Both are again reaffirmed in the song's bridge (‘It's the overflow of a forgiven soul, and now we've seen you Lord, our hearts cannot stay silent . . .’). The unrestrained emotion of the worship, demonstrated by dancing and shouting, is therefore carefully and explicitly grounded in the twin affirmed bases of atonement and revelation. The congregation responds enthusiastically to the invitations to dance and shout in worship, and the song concludes with a further round of applause.
In the constructed narrative of the liturgical event, the experience of unrestrained worship immediately leads to a desire for the deepening of the experience of God. In language remarkably reminiscent of accounts of the ascent of the soul in the medieval mystical tradition, there is prayer for a more comprehensive sight of God in the song ‘Pure Light’: ‘through grace untold to see you, with this heart unveiled to know you, Lord in your pure light’. Again, the theme of the visibility of God's glory is recalled, and a prayer for the gift (‘through grace untold’) of a further sight is made through the song. Again, one of the vocalists models prostration as an appropriate attitude of worship.
This prayer is echoed in a period of spoken worship. Many of the themes of the earlier worship are recalled: worship as response to gift; salvation; the visibility of God; the inadequacy of human knowledge of God. The emphasis of the prayer, however, is on God's immanent presence (‘every time I take a breath, I discover you’) and on God as the one who alone is capable of satisfying human desires.
The granting of this prayer for a further sight of God leads to the central moment of the time of worship, the title track of the DVD:
The lighting, visual art on the main screen, and quietness of the music emphasise the sense of the deep seriousness and reverence of this moment of worship. Now many, perhaps 50 per cent, of the congregants respond to the invitation to prostrate themselves in worship, to ‘fall face down’. One of the percussionists ceases to play to adopt an attitude of worship on stage; one or both of the backing vocalists are kneeling throughout the song. The liturgical movement has led into a particular intensity of experienced divine presence,Footnote 16 and the theme of revealed, visible glory comes to the fore in the lyrics. Prostration is confessed lyrically and modelled physically as the appropriate human response. As the song ends, Redman himself drops to his knees as he continues to play the guitar line.
This is immediately followed by a further reminder that all worship depends on God's prevenient action, ‘Breathing the Breath’: ‘We have nothing to give that didn't first come from your hands. We have nothing to offer you which you did not provide’. The language of breath, introduced in the spoken worship, is now taken up in the lyrics to express the worshippers’ utter dependence on God: ‘we're breathing the breath that you gave us to breathe, to worship you’. Redman twice ceases to play the guitar and models a response of worship with his posture; the congregation seem mostly lost in private worship at this point: heads bowed, eyes closed, very few visibly singing the lyrics, but many clearly making their own responses of prayer or song to God.
The liturgical movement has been through an overwhelming experience of intimacy with God; the next song, ‘Mission's Flame’, with its repeated prayer ‘send us out’, might be read as simply an act of dismissal. This is a misreading, or so it seems to me. Certainly the focus shifts to the world beyond the congregation, with video scenes of everyday life playing on the screen, but the lyrics suggest a continued, and striking, further liturgical movement: the experience of intimacy, the sight of divine glory, results in worship, but also results in an outward evangelistic focus. The song begins ‘Let worship be the fuel for mission's flame’, and the suggestion made is that the glimpse of God's glory in worship gives the worshipper an insatiable desire to invite others to experience the same fulfilment, both for their sake, and because the conversion of the nations will increase the visibility of God's glory.
The time of worship closes with a final song of praise which is at the same time a further affirmation of this theme. The chorus proclaims ‘this is a love song, a song of devotion, of reverent passion, Saviour, a love song to you’; the verses echo 1 Cor 13 in insisting that the heights of spiritual experience, without love, are utterly meaningless. Love for God and love for God's creatures is the only worthwhile result of worship. The song and the liturgical event close with a confession recalling the central theme, and reaffirming the reality of the constructed liturgical journey: ‘we've seen a glimpse of you in your glory Lord’.
Tim Hughes, Happy Day
Tim Hughes begins his time of worship with a song of devotion, ‘Beautiful One’, which recalls and affirms a personal experience of salvation in the first verse (‘Your cross has spoken mercy over me’), and asserts the visibility of God's majesty in the works of creation in the second. The linking concept, as the title suggests, is divine beauty; a repeated chorus and bridge alike proclaim devotion to God the ‘Beautiful One’ and assert the inevitability of worship for the one who sees God's beauty (‘my soul must sing’).
The sermon which has preceded this time of worship had stressed the linkage of worship with action, particularly action concerned with social justice, and with evangelism, taking as its text Jesus’ naming of the greatest commandment as entire love for God, and the second as love for neighbour. The second song, ‘Give us your courage’, echoes the movement of the sermon in moving immediately from worship to commitment to action: ‘Holding out your light to a world in need. Living out the love of Jesus . . .’ The song opens with a repeated yodel-like call which I can best represent as ‘Weh-Oh’; this inarticulate lyric is repeated many times at the end, and seems to have become a meaningful expression of worship for those present. Extensive shots of the congregation at this point do not depict a group of people enjoying a ‘sing-along’; eyes are closed, faces upraised, arms lifted and expressions are serious. Hughes guides the inarticulate worship of the moment with improvised prayer, picking up the theme of the song.
In my reading of the inner logic of this liturgical event, I take these two opening songs to function something like an ‘abstract’ at the beginning of an article. The message of the sermon, that heartfelt worship and devoted service are inseparable, has now been repeated in song, and the remaining worship will explore this basic movement and message more expansively. Three songs follow which recall the creedal form of the gospel narrative, focusing on nativity, passion and resurrection respectively. The first of these, ‘Here I am to worship’, states the congregation's readiness to offer praise. The praise offered is reactive, however: verses recall the wonder of the incarnation (‘Light of the world, you stepped down into darkness . . . Humbly you came to the earth you created, all for love's sake became poor . . .’), with ‘[s]o here I am to worship . . .’ the repeated response in the chorus. This performance of the song ends with a bridge looking forward to the passion, and a repeated affirmation, ‘I love the King and the King loves me’.
‘Remember’ picks up the passion theme, inviting the worshippers to commit to remembrance of Jesus’ suffering and death, and to recollection of this event: ‘Jesus for your glory I will tell the story of the cross’. The music, appropriately, is more reflective, although the song builds in crescendo to recall the empty grave at its end. This links to the third song in this narrative triptych, ‘Happy Day’, an upbeat and excited celebration of resurrection, naming the Easter event as ‘the greatest day in history’ and rejoicing in the salvation and transformation which it has wrought in the worshipper's life. This song again looks forward at its end, this time towards the return of the risen Jesus and to final consummation. At its finale comes the first audible congregational applause.
This celebration of salvation leads to a moment of exuberant worship in a very simple song inviting, or instructing, all present to dance and shout: ‘Dance, dance, everybody dance now; shout, shout, everybody shout now’. These repeated invocations are interrupted by the arrival on stage of two rappers and an urban dance group, who continue the same exuberant theme despite shifting the musical style temporarily. The congregation responds readily to the invitations to participate in the praise in physical ways, and a moment of high excitement is reached in the liturgical event. Notice, however, the context here: this unrestrained celebration is the culmination of a lengthy exploration of the gospel narrative, and so is appropriately located liturgically.
This exuberance is, strikingly, followed immediately by the words ‘[t]here must be more than this’, as a song called ‘Consuming Fire’ begins. Excitement and celebration in worship is not enough, even when properly located as response to God's saving acts, and so four songs follow seeking further divine blessing in order that the worshippers may be made useful in the work of the Kingdom. ‘Consuming Fire’ itself simply asks for an increase in commitment, narrated here as ‘a passion for your name’. Passion will result in more committed worship (‘leave us abandoned to your praise’) but will also give a thirst for sanctified living, which is explored in the next song, ‘Everything’, a prayer for divine presence to be the reality of every aspect of the worshipper's life, not just something experienced during the liturgical event. This has echoes of the famous words from the Sarum Primer, with couplets like ‘God in my resting, there in my working’, ‘God in my laughing, there in my weeping’. A chorus repeatedly implores ‘Jesus, be my everything’. During this song, the large video screen focuses on a stylised graphic of a large tree with an extensive root system. The sung prayer is thus interpreted as the worshipper imploring that every aspect of her life be rooted thoroughly in God.
Prayer for personal transformation continues in the next song, ‘We Won't Stay Silent’, which begins (somewhat paradoxically, but the paradox is an ancient one in Christian spirituality) with the worshippers pleading for an increase in their prayerfulness, asking on the one hand that the promise of Rom 8:26 be fulfilled in them (‘Spirit, intercede for us, with groans too deep for words’), and on the other that their own prayer lives be transformed (‘Teach us how to pray – could we be a prayerful people?’). The song moves then into the expected result of such a deepening of personal and communal spirituality: witness. Here the witness is primarily evangelistic: ‘desperate Lord for you to be, in our cities, in our streets, lifted high for all to see’. This focus broadens in the next song, ‘God of Justice’, to include social action (‘to feed the hungry, stand beside the broken’). Similarly to the Redman event, the big screen now shows images of everyday life, in this case, recognisably filmed around London, and so particularly powerful, as liturgical exploration of Kingdom themes is linked visually with daily realities in the lives of the congregation. As the focus of the worship moves outward, Micah 6:8 stands as the controlling vision of the song, with ‘acting justly, loving mercy’ a repeated trope.
The closing song, a rewrite of Watts’ hymn ‘When I Survey’, which adds to the verses a chorus of expressed gratitude and worship, closes the time of worship with a return to focus on the gospel narrative. The time of worship, then, re-expresses the theme of the sermon that Christian spirituality is at heart a union of devotion to God and love for neighbour, in celebration, prayer and commitment. The gospel narrative grounds the whole event, and is the focus of the most exuberant celebration; service to the world as an expression of love for God is the lasting message of the event. Heartfelt devotion and a commitment to action are united in a way that Wannenwetch regards as characteristic of a properly theological practice of Christian worship;Footnote 17 despite – or even because of – the inclusion of some simple, even trite, lyrics, this is a theologically serious liturgical event.
Conclusion
The two worship events described are similar in style, but different in content and context. There are shared themes: the idea that the appropriate response to an experience of exuberant worship is prayer for a deepening of personal spirituality; the focus on the event of atonement; the insistence that Christian worship is not complete without a turning outward to prayer and service for the world. Both, I submit, are theologically rich and coherent. The differences, however, are also striking. One focuses on a present experience of devotion as the goal of (this event of) worship and the motor of further service; the other is framed by celebratory recollections of the gospel narrative, but perhaps finds its focus in the recommitment of the worshippers to increased love for God and for neighbour. Central tropes for Redman, such as the visibility of divine glory and the necessity of revelation, are almost absent from Hughes's event; similarly, Hughes places far more emphasis on an extended and repeated retelling of the gospel narrative, and on prayer for deepened spirituality.
This diversity suggests a particular feature of contemporary worship: its ability to be reshaped to meet particular needs and opportunities. This is not unique: Free Church worship has always had this openness in its use of selected hymns and extensive use of extempore (or occasionally composed) prayers. Like Free Church worship, contemporary worship thus places a particular burden on the worship leader: the theological coherence (and indeed orthodoxy), and pastoral appropriateness, of the liturgical event depend on her abilities to construct an appropriate time of worship. Of course, this problem is present for any liturgist who is offered any choice in the construction of worship: if she is offered any choice of hymnody, or of words to speak in a homily (or indeed of modes of dress or patterns of physical action), then the opportunity to create an incoherent liturgical event is present.
It is noticeable that most of those tasked with constructing contemporary worship are chosen from the local congregation for their musical abilities, and given little or no training in theology or liturgics. In view of this, my observation of fairly extensive experience of this liturgical tradition in the UK is that most worship leaders do a remarkably good job of constructing theologically serious and appropriate liturgical events; there remains a need, however, for some serious liturgical study of this tradition, vital and extensive as it is in the contemporary church. This might feed in to some training opportunities for contemporary worship leaders which are being offered, and help this tradition of worship to grow to its full potential. The present near-silence of scholarship does not reflect reality and does not serve the church.
