O.K. I’m going to get this off my chest once and for all. I have sputtered and complained to myself about this, but it is time I say it out loud.
I cannot abide applause in church.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I am an open-minded accepting sort. I am tempted to explain myself here, recount my steady trek from my fundamentalist youth when we were taught to be know-it-alls, kind and loving ones, but know-it-alls just the same, to an increasingly mystical view recognizing that the more I learn, the less I know. But I will resist and stick to the point.
In my experience, applause has been a trend gaining traction in American Protestant churches. The choir sings, a guest sings, a rock band rocks on, and, lo, the gathered crowd breaks into enthusiastic applause. Why, Joel Osteen even garners applause at key breaks throughout his sermon. I envision the illuminated APPLAUSE sign cueing the crowd as Joel basks in the adulation and slowly blinks his eyes in that sultry Elvis way.
While I risk waxing didactic, “In worship, music is not to be for entertainment or artistic display.” So saith the Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). And this is the point: worship is to be directed toward God.
Historically, across faith systems, worship has been the practice of discerning instruction and then responding to God. That hour or so some of us spend at church is, in its entirety, an act of worship. It is not a concert or a lecture. It is an effort to glean meaning—from text, history, and music—to shape our human existence. We listen, and consider, and respond by addressing God ourselves in shared spoken words, in collective and individual prayer and in more music. Tell me, why, then, should we be jarred out of that space by a round of applause for a human performance.
Am I being judge-y here? Do I risk violating that cherished maxim from Christ’s Sermon on the Mount? “Judge not lest ye be judged.” Could I be backsliding into that know-it-all teaching of my youth or am I allowed to express my frustration with this intrusion?
I recall that the composer, Leonard Cohen, described the source of his music as something invisible, almost an echo, a gift of grace from Bat Kol, the feminine voice of God. Cohen would hear and then write it down.
To that, I say, Hallelujah!
If, in church, I must strain through the concussion of many pounding palms, how am I to hear her whispers so I can compose the melody of my life?
Recently, when I shared my frustration with this issue, I was asked whether I felt the same about applause following the postlude. What a great question, I thought, and a fair one.
I do, indeed, applaud after the postlude, that final expert production of some of the church’s most complex music, done with all the drama of a magnificent pipe organ complete with rousing blasts of trumpets. The possibility of my own hypocrisy had not occurred to me. Am I guilty of disturbing the peace of a fellow worshipper? I decided I must think this through.
I enjoy certain structures in my spiritual life: the liturgical calendar, the order of worship. These were lacking, or minimized, in my early religious training. Now, I often note these structures because they enhance my experience. But how does this inform my thinking about the postlude?
Of course, “post” is a prefix indicating “after,” so perhaps I am operating under the assumption that this musical selection is taking place after the service has ended. If so, then that is what allows me to share my enjoyment for the exuberance of the piece played after. Further, I recall my own pastor’s words at the close of our Sunday morning worship time before he exits the sanctuary: “As our worship comes to an end, our service is just beginning.” Aha!
So, the issue is settled. I am grateful I was asked the question. It led me to reflect and arrive at a point where I feel vindicated in two things: both expressing my appreciation for the musicians after the organ postlude yet, still, am allowed to struggle with applause that mars my experience. I recognize the latter may present my next opportunity to grow: finding tolerance for the range of joyous responses my fellow congregants feel moved to express.
Years ago, I recall my mother-in-law, a lifelong member of a Reformed Church in America congregation, commenting on some newer members of her church who were lifting their arms in praise during the service. Wilma was a reserved person who also lived her life with evident appreciation for those around her. “I don’t mind,” I recall her saying. “If that’s how they feel moved to worship, it’s alright. At least they’re coming to church.”
The grace in her words echoes in my memory and gives me cause to wonder: perhaps I still have some residual know-it-all thinking yet to shed.
