True Worship, Right Praise

The day that a praise song was not a praise song, when guitars did not wail,
and no arms were raised. When praise was all about voice and age and the kernel was not lost in the mix but obliterated. Many were there the day, the day that music lived and worship died. If only he could have been wise in instrument choice, in the relevancy of the riff maybe there could have been that feeling. And we are in a season of genre and acoustic hubris. Maybe if he had aspirated his falsetto just how and delighted with the proper dove animation behind forgotten lyrics. And they scoffed and turned up their radios tuned to the latest economy driven tune sung by the third different artist but this time with five part harmony and an extra “Praise” shouted at the 1:30 mark. And you are to be swept out by the force of true worship. You fool, you thought you could fight the dragon of pop culture and the passion of hearts tuned to pure worship. And woe to those who had been so confused for years before that they had settled on such utter drudgery and must feel lucky now that they can at least spend part of their Earthly time in proper Heavenly praise. Your theory of music is cold friend and so institutionally distant from the dressed-down, rootsy. And they have drums! A beat echoing from anything else is nothing. Take solace. Find hope in ministering to untouched demographics. But do not soon forget the feeling. The moment that music was praise.