The Gospel Famine of Contemporary Christian Music
Distaste has become disdain. It’s official.
I liken beating up on Contemporary Chrisian Music (CCM) to roughing up your little brother. It’s easy, fun, just doesn’t accomplish much, might even get you in trouble. Then again, sometimes your little brother is so annoying, it practically demands a response.
I’m beyond that.
I love to sing God’s praises, with God’s people. There is no sweeter sound, but as I’ve wrestled with CCM, not wanting to be Pharisaical, I’ve become increasingly uncomfortable with it. Driving home from visiting my mother in Ohio the other day, as I was forced to listen to CCM for lack of options, it dawned on me why.
There is a near Gospel famine in CCM, or so I thought.
This is a bold declaration. I needed proof.
First Hints
I was at a recovery meeting several years ago. I’ve always loved the passionate worship of those in recovery. People at the end of their rope worship with a fervency I sometimes see lacking in church.
That night, the worship band struck up and began to sing. The people joined in. Hands raised. Eyes closed. They sang:
This is how I fight my battles.
They sang it again.
This is how I fight my battles.
It became a chant. Repeated. And then repeated again. Yet again. A chorus, repeated, and then repeated again. It was hypnotic. “Well, how do I fight my battles?” I mused. At some point, I opened my eyes and looked around. People had their eyes closed, arms raised, singing about how they fight their battles. “Am I in the twilight zone?”
Unfortunately, we never learned how to fight our battles, at least not on that night.
Other Issues
Okay, look, I’m willing to overlook a lot, and I have.
I’ve overlooked for years the rampant profiteering of the CCM industry. It’s an industry, a business, at the end of the day. The bottom line is their bottom line. All the CCM labels are owned by secular overlords who have no interest in Gospel clarity or Gospel proclamation. They cater to whatever sells, be it mildly heretical or outright damnable.
I’ve overlooked the feminization of the church, spear-headed by the CCM industry, effeminate men moaning into the microphone, or women singing their “Jesus is my boyfriend” lyrics. If you can replace the name of Jesus in a song with your crush’s name and it makes sense, that’s an issue.
I’ve looked past the hypnotic and mindless repetition, the loose theology, the fact that Christian music imitating secular music just isn’t well done. Sometimes it’s outright awful.
No longer do I consider it redeemable.
An Experiment
In the car, Juan and I did an experiment. “Let’s listen for the Gospel,” I told him as we tuned up our local CCM station. “We’ll give it an hour.” Juan dutifully took notes.
The very first song encouraged us to praise Him anywhere. Yes, we should. “Praise, give Him praise, give Him praise.” Okay…but why? “He is worthy. Yes, He is worthy of all of the praise.” I agree, but why? Nothing. There are “countless reasons” we are assured, with some vague references to faithfulness, blessings, promises, but no Gospel, the fundamental reason we ought to praise Him. Sigh.
Next up, the singer is suffering, with darkness echoing all around and everything crashing down, but in the midst of this, we have hope in God. He is writing a symphony that drowns out all these other things. Okay, perhaps truth there with some artistic license, but no Gospel. The song concluded with this stirring stanza:
Ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, a symphony
Ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, a symphony
Ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, a symphony
Ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, ooh-whoa, a symphony
The very next song encouraged us to have gratitude, that the singer only has this and nothing else to bring to God. Yes, but gratitude for what? We’re left with this exhortation:
So come on, my soul
Oh, don't you get shy on me
Lift up your song
'Cause you've got a lion inside of those lungs
Get up and praise the Lord
I don’t even know what this means, asking my soul not to get shy on me? He wants us to sing louder, I reckon, what with a lion inside of our lungs and all.
We sang, “Man, I'm talking 'bout a big God, big God (big God).” We appealed to God, “Let Your fire fall and cast out all my fears, Let Your fire fall, Your love is all I feel.” I don’t really know what it means for God to let His fire fall. The language of judgement?
“Every song is picked by you!” the DJ boisterously interrupted. “You’re not making it any better,” I thought to myself.
We asked God to turn it around, a denial or at least a misunderstanding of God’s sovereignty, but nevertheless, no Gospel. “He is up to something!” though, so at least there’s that. The next song repeated ad nauseum, “You make me brave. You make me brave,” but then, “He made a way for all to enter in.” Was this it?!? But alas, we were left to wonder about this supposed way to enter in.
“This is how I thank the Lord, for saving me,” we sang. But how did He save us? Why did He save us? Why are we thanking Him?
And on it went, song after song, hinting at truths about God, truths certainly worthy of praising Him for, but missing something, missing teeth.
Admittedly, we got close.
I was reassured that, “the cross has made you flawless.” Yes, but how? And then, it was explained that we filthy wretches are wrapped up in righteousness, because of His unconditional love. On another, a creedal sounding declaration, an outright statement of belief in the death, burial, and resurrection of Christ, just no mention of why it matters, what it means. There were glimpses of the Gospel, hints, but shrouded in unclear language, hidden among silly metaphors, mindless repetition.
On a hunch, I tuned the radio over to the local bluegrass station and literally, the first words sung were, “On Golgotha He died for me, and I didn’t deserve it”. There it was! The next song was Amazing Grace, traditional mind you, no Chris Tomlin. Of course, the Gospel is there. The very next song was about the thief on the cross, that Jesus is the one who saves. The Gospel was blatant, explicit, certainly twangy. Though I love bluegrass, I spared Juan and tuned it back to the local CCM channel.
“Positive and encouraging,” the DJ declared. I was less than encouraged for sure.
The Verdict
The themes were at least consistent.
Be demonstrative. As you worship, as you praise, please raise up your hands. Please sing loudly. Don’t just stand there, for God’s sake. Much of it seemed to seek to incite an outward response, an overt expression, which lines up well with the rampant emotionalism of much modern evangelicalism.
Be victorious. God is with you. He will give you a breakthrough. Your hard times won’t last. I’ve heard modern Christianity described as Therapeutic Moralistic Deism, and I find this very appropriate. It certainly reflects in the music. God is fighting your battles for you.
Call upon the name of Jesus. Repeatedly, we are urged to invoke the name of Jesus. This is the source of our help, our victory. Almost mantra-like.
Our music displays our theology. It reveals it, as it teaches it.
Lamenting to my wife, who is my sounding board, she reminded me that even in my preaching, I sometimes preached about things other than the Gospel. I considered this and for sure, she was right, but all my preaching hopefully ended up on the Gospel, in some way. If it didn’t, then what was I doing in the first place?
I know I’m painting with some broad strokes. Granted, we listened for one hour and to be fair, I’m sure that the Gospel is present somewhere in Contemporary Christian Music, but during our experiment, it wasn’t. Instead, there was a complete absence of the Gospel, of the substitutionary atonement of Christ on the cross, His death in the place of guilty sinners, of justification by grace through faith, of the imputation of the righteousness of Christ to believers, the fundamental doctrines of Christianity, the true reasons we rejoice.
Instead of being confronted with my sin and my need for a Savior, I was confronted with frivolity and silliness, empty lyrics masked by catchy beats and polished production. At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon—you young people and your rock n’ roll—I’ll just quietly change the station.
