On Music: Setting an Expansive Table
Lisa Dahill
In the congregation I currently serve, as in many congregations, members are aware that we are living in a time in the United States when the parent of an adopted teen from Guatemala (who is a legal US citizen) is spending sleepless nights and anxious days wondering if their beloved daughter will make it home from school, soccer, or the grocery store without being abducted, detained without due process, or even deported to the country of her birth (with only a three-month residence before adoption) or another country where she neither speaks the language nor has any ties.
Our churches are no longer the sanctuaries they had previously been for those vulnerable among us, as this administration has rescinded the longstanding “sensitive locations” policy, which for more than a decade provided protections for churches, hospitals, and schools from government immigration enforcement actions. So many of us, members of our faith communities, neighbors, and co-workers, are living in a state of nationalist-generated hegemonic anxiety, regardless of immigration or citizenship status, and for good reason, given the devastating consequences of our government’s current policies. This is not a political statement but a simple recitation of current events.
What then shall we sing in the face of such aggression and distress? Drawing from the example of John Bell of the Iona Community, when talking about worship practices with groups of people, I often ask, “Who are we setting this table for?” We set a table for ancestors in faith, the people who founded this congregation and our faith tradition. We set the table for all the saints who rest from their labors in this congregation, who provided this space. We set the table for the people who regularly worship in this space and engage in service to the church and community. We set the table for the people we can imagine might join us one day (this is often, of course, a dream of families with young children, generous givers, and reliable volunteers). We set the table for people living right outside the doors of the church, in houses and neighborhoods nearby. We set the table for those who are unhoused, who may sleep in our courtyards on cold nights, as we strive for a time when all persons will have safe housing. We set the table for the people who come in late at night and clean the very space we’re worshiping in, who may speak very little English and may be victims of the current deportation mania. During the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, we often reference “the faithful of every time and place who forever sing to the glory of your name . . .”1 Are we doing all we can to set the table for the faithful of every time and place?
If we are truly setting this table for the faithful saints of every time and place, might we intentionally join our voices in faithful song in the languages of those vulnerable around us as a sign of a truly deep, hospitable welcome that risks something, a welcome that changes both the guest and the hosts? Whether or not the vulnerable among us would risk coming to worship, surely we should sing in prayer and solidarity for justice and fair treatment in society.
The Gloria from Argentina “Santo, Santo, Santo,” the first line of which constitutes the hymnal’s name, includes verses for each person of the Trinity, which can be prepared and led in a call-and-response form. Singing the verses responsively in English and in Spanish is a way to join us in one voice. For an English-speaking congregation, a leader might sing the Spanish text first before the congregation repeats it. It might also be helpful to sing the Spanish verses at a slower tempo for English-speaking congregations. Repeating this over successive weeks might build familiarity so that other Spanish verses could be added one at a time.
The choir or a soloist might sing “Santo, santo, santo. ¡Mi corazón te adora! Mi corazón te sabe decir: ¡Santo eres Señor!” For the second iteration, the congregation could sing in English: “Holy, holy, holy. My heart, my heart adores you! My heart knows how to say to you: you are holy, Lord!2 Then the soloist, choir, and congregation could sing it together in Spanish, having heard the pronunciation the first time.
It is important to give an English-speaking congregation tools to sing the Spanish text respectfully. It may also be important to cultivate a worship culture in which imperfect attempts are allowed as we learn. God does not require perfect Spanish or perfect English. It is most important that we join our voices with the faithful of every time and place. This beautiful song of praise could be used as a refrain in a prayer or could be sung in numerous other moments in the Service for the Lord’s Day.
Of course, this is just one example of a piece of global music that may help to unite voices in song across differences in identity and experience. With concise musical and textual guidance and clearly articulated theology, expanding congregational singing in historically white congregations to include music from beyond national and increasingly nationalistic borders is vital for such a time as this. This must be done with sensitivity and respect, without tokenizing or appropriating another’s identity. We sing as a way to stand in solidarity and prayer together in the face of injustice, misunderstanding, and hate, to enact the realm of God by setting an expansive table.
Notes
1. Book of Common Worship (Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press, 2018), 126ff.
2. Santo, Santo, Santo/Holy, Holy, Holy: Songs for the People of God. © 2018 GIA Publications, Inc.
