In need of better songs….

We all sing. In terms of musicality some of us sing well, some not so well. But much more important than the tunefulness of the melody is the meaning of what we sing. Admittedly this is apparently contradicted by the lyrics of many of the most popular songs. I am often bemused by the words folk are happy to belt out at the top of their voices, even on those occasions when I actually understand the words that are being used. The aim of song writers often seems to be to provide a diverting overall sound rather than any sense or message. There will be the odd half phrase perhaps hinting at what a song is “about”. On that basis one might be able to classify it as happy or sad, or whether it’s about life or love or loss. But meaning and message are often lost among slush and filler. And some songs seem to be “about” nothing. There are interesting exceptions.

In this city (Liverpool) there is a particular song sung as an anthem that has taken on a particular significance. Collectively we (if I might number myself among the Scousers) have become known for it. “You’ll never walk alone” is a show tune from Rogers and Hammerstein’s “Carousel”. The actual words are, largely, nonsense. If taken as advice on what to do in a given set of circumstances (“When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high”), they would lead to disaster or at the very least stinging eyes and a severe headache from flying debris. And some of them are flat wrong and not true to life (“At the end of the storm, There’s a golden sky, And the sweet silver song of a lark”). At the end of some of life’s storms it often seems that there’s more storm. And usually the larks have more sense than to hang about; rather than singing sweetly they swiftly relocate to sing elsewhere. But we all innately understand metaphor, and where a lyric chimes with our hopes we suspend our disbelief. When sung by thousands of Scousers at Anfield, in the context of remembered disasters like Hillsborough, with their attendant multiple injustices, the song takes wing and does seem to make sense after all. Then the sound of singing fades, and we’re left with what? Well, not a lot. Perhaps a warm fuzzy feeling. But this too doesn’t last. How we need better songs.

Last week, Week 3 of the Keswick Convention, in the morning Bible readings Vaughan Roberts was considering just such songs. They are the collection of 150 songs nestling in the middle of the Old Testament, the Psalms. But no random collection this. Like every other book making up the Bible, these particular songs were not just thrown together. Although they were accumulated over a long period of time, the book of Psalms has a structure and trajectory;  as VR put it “momentum builds up”. So, day by day we traced the pattern that leads from the sweeping introduction of Psalms 1 and 2, through the succeeding books, from struggle and lament, via hope to the praise due to the God of covenant promises, whose individual, global and cosmic purposes will not be thwarted. Here are the better songs we need. Songs worth singing. And VR drew our attention to the effect of singing these songs.

The analogy he used to illustrate his point was the scene in "Casablanca" when Victor (the hero unless you’re a big Bogart fan), outraged by a bunch of Nazi officers singing their Nazi songs, tells the band to strike up the Marseillaise. Up to that point the non-Nazi denizens at Rick’s had looked weak and befuddled, compared to the apparent strength and confidence of their new overlords. But led by Victor the crowd picks up the words of the song of their homeland. Lungs fill, backs straighten and soon tears flow with hope of better days to come.  That is the effect of such songs (partly captured by “You’ll never walk alone” too). But there were no guarantees that this hope would not be crushed.

Not so those songs in the Psalms, even when sung by exiles. For the whole of creation has a goal set for it and Heaven’s King will one day be vindicated. Those who take refuge in Him will be saved and safe. This state of affairs has never appeared believable to fallen humanity, so taken with themselves and singing competing songs. The hope in Psalms appeared even less believable when the long-promised King was executed on a Roman cross. And of course if that was the end of the story, then these songs too would simply be about pious but ultimately frustrated hope, with no real purchase on reality. But it was this King who could not be held by death, and who was raised to demonstrate the inexorable progress of His Kingdom. Even so, at the time it didn’t look much like progress. The ancient world was not impressed. After all, how can a crucified God be any kind of God at all? And yet the Psalm of the sufferer (Ps 22) becomes the Psalm of the Sovereign (Ps 24). And although what is ancient is past (obviously), the good news of Jesus the still-coming king, continues to spread. His songs continue to be sung.

To be reminded of better songs at Keswick was valuable and refreshing (and the singing was good too). The need for others to learn these better songs has been amply demonstrated by the riots that broke out in the UK a week ago and appear to be continuing. The rioters have their songs of course, songs of hostility and hatred. These, it turns out, are also old songs. But they have never achieved anything except to provide an accompaniment to destruction and heartache.

I know which songs I’d rather sing.

Keswick from the inside…

For the last few summers we’ve headed to Keswick in the English lakes for our summer holiday, to of all things, a Christian convention (I’ve written previously about the apparent strangeness of this). The Keswick convention now extends through three weeks of the English summer, and provides Bible teaching, seminars and other things to about 3000-5000 people per week. It is not small, and it is not new; next year will mark its 150^th anniversary. But in previous years we have been here as punters (or customers as someone suggested I should call participants). We have turned up to morning Bible readings (that is just a meeting at the centre of which is effectively a sermon) and evening celebrations (just a meeting with a slightly shorter sermon), and in between we’ve walked and read, eaten ice cream, snoozed, met up with friends and so on. Just a happy and relaxed way to spend a week of summer. But this year is different.

Keswick runs on volunteers as well as being supported by the voluntary giving of those who attend (and probably others). This year I think the estimate was about 700 volunteers over the three weeks. We had obviously heard the of the need for volunteers when we attended in previous years. But this year we took the plunge. So, months ago we filled in the requisite forms and named the appropriate referees. There are various teams that make up the volunteer body (tech team, welcome team, catering etc). Having followed a process of elimination (i.e. what would I not enjoy?) I applied for the BaseCamp team. I should explain that BaseCamp is what the Convention calls an area that houses the café, bookshop and various exhibitors from Christian organisations. It also provides an overflow for the main tent where meetings take place, providing live streaming of the as well as a slightly less formal vibe. I had a rough idea of what BaseCamp was like having frequented it in the past. But I didn’t really have much idea of what volunteering to serve in it for a week would be like.

This is not to say I was unprepared. Before pitching up in Keswick there was training to do. This was delivered online in the form of videos which covered everything from standards and ethos to safeguarding, as well as more technical stuff like risk awareness training and “radio protocols” (over!). There was a team meeting on zoom before the Convention and a run of emails. So I certainly felt like I was preparing. All of this was completed on the first day we turned up (last Saturday) when we had a briefing in our base for the week, met the team, had a specific security briefing (a sign of the times) and a walk round the venue. I was genuinely impressed at the effort to prepare and support us, an effort that I’m assuming is made with the other teams. Some members of the team were old hands, and some of us newbies, but from the start we were all possessed of a good spirit of getting stuck in. And just as well. Because having had a couple of hours of briefings, followed by a couple of hours of finding our accommodation (which the Convention provides for volunteers) the first evening was upon us and the site was opened to its Week 2 denizens.

And so here we are now in the middle of the week. My feet and back are bit sore it is true; the hours have been quite long, and a good part if it is spent standing up. But my enthusiasm is undimmed. Our role has been slightly odd in that while we are certainly interested in the Conventioneers we also have a bunch of exhibitors to engage with. We have a basic responsibility for everyone’s safety and security (which today meant getting security to remove an unattended bag), and a sort of pastoral interest in all those who come through our doors. This is particularly the case for those who might be here on their own and appreciate a chat. But there are also  questions to be answered and directions to be given. Keswick attracts wide spectrum of ages and theological outlooks if obviously  concentrated on that part of the spectrum that might still be labelled evangelical. Some come as part of a group, others knowing that they’ll be meeting old friends. Some come alone but know they’ll be welcomed and supported. Some are perhaps lonely. But in Basecamp there’s been time and space for some of our team to sit and chat at our tables with care and sensitivity. Hopefully all those who arrive alone don’t feel alone for too long.

But we also have about 30 exhibitors to look after. Because this was Week 2, their stands were already set up, even if there was a change in personnel. We had the happy task of talking to them and making sure they had what they needed. But this was no chore. They are a very interesting bunch of people, with a passion for the tasks that their organisations undertake. So talking to them isn’t a problem. And many of them have really interesting back stories and experiences as individuals that make for interesting listening. There’s also a real variety of organisations represented, from straightforward missions (if there is ever such a thing) to specific areas and groups, via support agencies of various kinds to theological educators and trainers.

So this has turned out to be a very people focused week. Many interactions may be trivial, but many are not. And there is the possibility that some will be truly significant. Maybe we will facilitate the call of someone to the mission field. That’s not just about classic missionary service overseas (still vital) but also about opportunities on our doorstep. Maybe we will have the privilege of providing encouragement to someone who turned up feeling downtrodden and depressed. Maybe helped by a conversation in BaseCamp, they’ll be enabled to return home with renewed vigour. I was impressed with the level of preparation and it’s been a real pleasure serving alongside my teammates. Seeing things from the inside, and doing things on the inside, has been a great experience.

Might even do it again…..