Which one is better…fast or slow? Depends on who you ask and what their outlook is.
It seems like a tension as old as time. It’s The tortoise and the hare, or the impatient and aspiring Danielson and the wise sage Miyagi—wax on, wax off.
Back when I was in the music industry (many, many, moons ago), I observed a cultural rhythm at work. An artist would spend a dedicated period of time creating a body of work, say a collection of songs that had a thematic and sonic arch. Those songs worked their way through the machine of the industry being produced and polished, then marketed, and finally distributed to the world. That body of work then became catalytic for a season of sharing. Artists toured. People engaged with the music and bought records, like vinyl ones. There was a natural ebb and flow to the process, a sort of sowing and reaping, one propelling the other. I suppose the same could be said for the rhythms of the novelist or the painter, possibility and provision coming from intentional creativity. (Sidenote…I love the phenomenon of a hoard of people gathering around an old and once forgotten van Gogh in some exhibit in Paris just to catch a glimpse of his handiwork. It just feels right to me…like a protest to the tyranny of the immediate.) The point is a season of creation and a season of sharing working in relation and balance with one another.
When I left the music industry in 2011 and entered the world of worship ministry in the evangelical megachurch, I found the cultural rhythm to be the exact opposite. Instead of the discipline of a dedicated space and time for the attentive act of creation driving the season for sharing or reaping, it was the calendar and culture driving things. For you Greek scholars, things moved from Kairos to Chronos. Ask any vocational worship pastor and they will readily tell you that there is, indeed, a weekend at the end of every week. The evolution of the mode of worship for the western evangelical church, which has largely separated itself from the timelessness and simplicity of the sacraments as its center, has created a rapid-fire pace for the vocational worshipper. Fewer people are asking what God desires from the gathering of the saints, more people are looking for great songs that fuel a greater experience. The ones that “work.” The result is a distinction between and division in classes. Those who have time and resources to create and those who’s function is simply to execute what is created at the demanded pace. As a result, the role of the worship leader shifts from one who goes on an adventurous journey ahead of those he serves to discover and unearth the reality of God through authentic creativity for God’s glory and mutual edification, to one who can execute somebody else’s ideas at a high level at the required pace. Inevitably a stereotype that reinforces itself more narrowly over time is created. Add to this the consumeristic tendencies of the broader church culture and you’ve got a perfect storm. The drift is toward inauthenticity and uniformity and away from genuine heart expression. This seems a far cry from Bach, Palestrina, or Michaelangelo.
I was once interviewed by a graduate student writing a thesis paper on the role of music in culture. He was taking a hard look at the role of music in the world of academia and the church to see what, if any, conclusions could be drawn. At the end of his period of observation, he came to the conclusion that the artist in the modern church is unique in that they rarely actually create anything. Some of this comes from the participation in a greater prescribed liturgy for the sake of the edification of the congregation (something I love). But some of it is due to quirky shortcomings of the model itself.
I’ve had some folks approach me for my opinions on songs that they’ve generated through products like Suno. (For those unfamiliar, this is an AI based program that pulls on existing musical expression to “create” a polished, fully produced, seemingly final product.) I’m always torn with how to respond. The truth is the songs sounds amazing, but I can’t quite bring my soul to fully acknowledge the validity of what’s in front of me. Sometimes my responses have generated hurt feelings, for which I apologize. Perhaps it’s because the process of creating something is a large part of what makes it beautiful: The push against inactivity. The cost and time of throwing your heart into something and actually fleshing it out. The risk of sharing it in its subtleties and imperfections. When it’s really done—I mean really curated, it’s a reflection of the creator’s unique humanity. There’s a weight to it, an innate glory that, I believe, is an expression of God in us.
I once got in a tussle with a church musician over the use of pre-recorded tracks in our worship services…including piping canned vocals into the house and broadcast mixes to “enhance the sound.” In plain speak, this is the sound of a different group of people singing at a different time being put through the sound system to make it feel fuller to the congregant. It was highly ironic to me that the church in which this argument was taking place was particularly known for its extreme culture of actual corporate singing, which was the product of a dynamic partnership between passionate biblical expositions and supportive worship leadership over a long period of time. In short, people would show up to church to sing…loud. Grown men who sounded terrible included. Air moved in the room. Breath was expended, sometimes even sweat. This expression of the church was not in need of microchip help. To me, this was not a matter of subjective artistic opinion. It was a spiritual war for the ethos of a culture of believers expressing themselves in truth.
At this point, it is incredibly tongue and cheek to make the statement that we live in a microwave culture. The microwave itself is now 81 years old. Things have become more dire and extreme, not less. We are now facing existential questions about whether technology has a form of consciousness all its own. The constant demand for complex information in clearly articulated and relatable thought from the digital world is increasing exponentially. We are having conversations with it, and those conversations are consoling us. Information is being mistaken for wisdom and shallow regurgitation for true creativity. Gnosis for Pneuma. In a sort of cultural Darwinism, bigger and faster is now not only considered better, but required. Corporate elites look down on those who express concern. In the church world we even try to use this stuff for God’s work in an attempt to try to speed Him up, or make His product better. We forget that He exists in complete sovereignty outside of time, and if anything, his invitation to us is spearheaded in joining Him in the act of simply being in our own redeemed uniqueness in Christ. This is not to minimize “progress”, but to properly contextualize it as the fruit that it is. It is entrusting the fruit not to the one who sows nor the one who reaps, but He who produces it. His is a deeper work that isn’t held captive to our anxieties and insecurities about what we can achieve for Him, or how fast or clean we achieve it.
Ok. It’s official. I sound like an old guy. Every second that passes proves it to be truer than it was the second before—which is the point.
I’ll just say it: I desire time and space to create. Don’t you? I think good stuff comes from sitting in the quiet and letting the mind wander. It might be good for a quick soundbite insta reel in its finished form, it might not. But I want to believe the faith and effort to apply yourself to the process will be worth it in the end. It will be real and honest.
I love the look of the ornate rings one finds on the inside of a giant felled tree trunk out in the middle of the woods. They draw me into a deeper sense of appreciation for how that tree got to be what it was—what it is. It’s beautiful, even as it lies there separated from its roots. The tree’s slow and steady pace and long existence through winters, springs, summers, and falls all lend to its weight and significance. You can’t speed that sort of thing up, and what you’re looking at—what you’re experiencing—in its presence is the proof.
So, back to the original question:
Which one’s better…fast or slow? For the impatient and ambitious…fast. For the stick-in-the-mud and complacent…maybe slow. I’m hopeful for in step with the Spirit, joining with God in the peace of the eternal now and seeing what comes of it.
