Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education

J. Martin C. Scott
(University of Edinburgh)

Introduction
There can hardly be a day which passes in our lives in which we have
no contact with music. Whether it be the background radio or TV in
the morning as we rush to get ready, the incessant piped music of
shopping arcades, railway stations and dentists’ waiting rooms, or the
irritating jolliness of electronic Mozart as we wait interminably on
the telephonist’s hold-button—we all encounter music. It may be, of
course, that we are intentional in our encounter: choosing to take time
to listen to our CDs; tuning in to our favourite radio station; perhaps
even making our own music employing our varying degrees of skill
in voice or instrument.
Like it or not, music forms a major part of our daily living. In terms
of doing theology, it is important to note that this is not merely an
accompaniment of the modern age, but is reflected in both the Bible
itself and the traditions of the Christian church. We know well that
the Psalms reflect part of the wider worship life of Israel, but music
and song appear in all the forms of literature in the Hebrew scriptures
(e.g. Exod. 15.1-18, 20-22; Judg. 5.1-30; 1 Chron. 15.16-24; Job 30.31;
Isa. 5.1-10; 38.20). We know also that the earliest Christian groups
employed singing as part of their communal living and saw music as
part of the heaven to come (Mk 14.26; Eph. 5.19-20; Col. 3.16; Rev. 5.9-
14; 14.2-3; 15.2-4). Our modern hymn books are still sprinkled through
with a wide variety of hymns preserved from the first seven or eight
centuries of the church. 1
Apart from a few exceptions, such as the Carmina Burana, 2 now

1. A few examples would be: ‘Jesus, our mighty Lord, our strength in sad-
ness’—a translation of words by Clement of Alexandria (c. 200); ‘O splendour of
God’s glory bright’—Ambrose (c. 380); ‘I bind unto myself today’—St Patrick’s
breastplate (c. 450); ‘Welcome, day of the Lord’ (Salve festa dies)—Fortunatus
(c. 600).
2. Carmina Burana (Latin for ‘Songs of the Buran’, probably the ‘peasant’ peo-
 Scott Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education 47

popularized through the setting of Carl Orff, all the earliest mediaeval
music we know comes mediated through the life of the church. Again
there is familiar material amongst our modern hymn translations, the
best known example most likely being ‘All creatures of our God and
King’, based on a poem by Francis of Assisi (1182–1226). The Reform-
ers were noted for their introduction of new forms of music, many of
Luther’s hymns in particular still remaining popular to this day. The
chorale tradition, so highly developed by J.S. Bach, long pre-dates his
raising of the form to new levels. The post-Reformation and post-
Enlightenment era saw a massive explosion of music as a vehicle of
expression beyond the confines of the church, but within the life of
the church the traditions of hymn writing saw a huge expansion
through the rise of Methodism and the major non-conformist denomi-
nations, especially Congregationalists and Baptists. The Wesleyan
tradition especially, with the work of its founding brothers John and
Charles, is an obvious example, but other traditions produced such
notable figures as Isaac Watts and James Montgomery.
What many of these church musicians sought to do through their
hymn-writing was to communicate the deep insights of theology in a
way which was accessible to everyone. Often they took the common
music of the people—the tavern song, the sea shanty, working tunes,
the music-hall ballad (in later Victorian times)—and allowed it to be-
come a vehicle for theological expression. The universal language of
music became a point of contact into the mysteries of the faith. At this
point, at least, we come a little closer to heart of what this brief article
seeks to articulate.
We are not concerned here merely with the notion of using music
in theological education, nor indeed with the narrow subject of the
churches’ hymnology. Many people have already observed the way in
which musicians have gone about expressing their faith, or interpret-
ing the traditions of the church through their settings of texts or even
their allusion to religious themes. What I am more concerned about is
taking an integrated approach to the interface between theology and
music. I have worked for the last ten years in an environment where
the development of integrated patterns of learning in theology has
been at the top of the agenda,3 and feel it is important to strive towards

ple) is a collection of mediaeval poems and songs of a largely secular nature,

which were found in the Benediktbeuren Kloster in southern Germany.
3. The author was a tutor in the Partnership for Theological Education,
Manchester from 1990 to 1999, and has recently moved to take up an appointment
with the Church of Scotland’s Board of Ministry, Edinburgh.
48 The British Journal of Theological Education 11.1 (2000)

a holistic understanding of the relationship between theology and

music. An integrated approach to theological education will take seri-
ously the development of all the senses, and seek to break down the
compartmentalization that has characterized so much of traditional
theology. The aim will thus be to find ways in which the whole self
may be merged with the task of doing theology. As an inescapable
part of life, music must surely have a place within a properly inte-
grated approach to theology.
Given the rich tradition of music which forms an integral part of
both the life of the church, and more generally of the world around
us, we must surely ask the question: why has so little time been spent
in theological education in exploring the use of music as an integral
part of the task of theological reflection? Certainly there have been
those who have used musical analogies to describe the tasks of theol-
ogy,4 and even some who have taken particular musical traditions
and used them to analyse theological themes. But these forays into the
relationship between music and theology are relatively rare and often
couched in language that only the specialist in both disciplines is
likely to be able fully to comprehend.
As I noted above, traditional approaches to theology, even those
taking some account of music, have tended to put theological ‘dis-
ciplines’ into neat but separate boxes. So within the field of music, for
example, it may be acceptable to look at music and religion; or in the
field of theology, music has belonged tidily in boxes like ‘worship’, or
‘liturgy’, or wider ‘church life’. What I want to plead for instead is for
us to see our interaction with music as an integral part of our engage-
ment in the task of theological reflection. It is thus a crucial part of
‘playing in tune’: of harmoniously bringing together the often frag-
mented and wounded parts of our physical, spiritual, intellectual and
psychological selves in creative reflection on the nature, purpose and
mission of God.
Both theology and education are fundamentally about transforma-
tion: of the self and of our world-view. Much of music is also about
transformation: of the senses and of the spirit through raised con-
sciousness of the parts of us that are not subject merely to words.
Such transformation cannot be achieved through a distant, or semi-
detached listening to either music or the world. If all we want is back-
ground accompaniment, where listener and music drift past one an-
other on parallel, non-intersecting roads, we cannot hope to engage in

4. For example: F.M. Young, The Art of Performance: Towards a Theology of Holy
Scripture (London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1990).
 Scott Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education 49

serious communication. Rather, it will be in the engaged encounter of

music with theology in our lives and experience that we begin to find
the integrative power of music.
So what are some of the simple ways in which we might engage
with music in the world of theological education? What might we
hope to achieve through using music as an integral part of doing
theology? It is important here to emphasize that this short article is
not an attempt to lay down any hard and fast rules, but is rather a
sharing of experience, which needs to be taken and adapted to suit the
particular needs of the reader’s situation. Part of the beauty of using
music as a hermeneutical tool is the flexibility and individuality of the
range of possibilities open to those who take the risk.
Music opens for us a gateway to freedom of expression. The history
of theology is a history of the overwhelming use of words; above all
to define. How many of the ‘great’ debates of theology have centred
around the minutiae of the meanings of words. The one thing which
music surely allows us above any other is the opportunity for an
interpretation that is released from the tyranny of words. Through the
meditative process into which listening to music leads us, we can find
our minds achieving space for free expression. At this point in the
process of theological reflection music helps us to move into diver-
gent rather than convergent ways of thinking.
For some, of course, this is hazardous ground upon which to tread.
If we seek clear definition and conformity to a particular line of
thought then music is a dangerous ally. If it is some kind of ‘objec-
tivity’ that we crave in the hermeneutical task, then music is certainly
no tool to employ. The strong emphasis on historical-critical method in
biblical studies in the last century would be one reason, for example,
why music almost never emerged as an interpretative key in reading
Hebrew and Christian texts. Any quest after ‘original’ meaning or
‘authorial intention’ would surely find music an uncomfortable part-
ner! But if we are unafraid of ambiguity, if we are prepared to live
with uncertainty, if we are willing to take the risk of living on the ‘edge
of chaos’, 5 then we may well be on the verge of unlocking new and
creative insight on theology through the use of music in our reflection.
Music also allows us the opportunity to engage our emotions in
exploring theology. This stands in stark contrast to the striving after

5. For further exposition of the creative possibilities of the ‘edge of chaos’ see:
A. Battram, Navigating Complexity (London: The Industrial Society, 1998). For an
accessible description of Chaos Theory see: J. Gleick, Chaos: the Amazing Science of
the Unpredictable (London: Vintage, 1998).
50 The British Journal of Theological Education 11.1 (2000)

‘detachment’ that has characterized so much of our more traditional

theology. By touching our deepest longings, exciting our passion, stir-
ring our anger, evoking our tears and awakening our love (to name
but a few of the chords it may strike in us), music may lead us to a
new engagement with the grand, and not-so-grand narratives of the-
ology. This is above all an incarnational approach to theological re-
flection, no exact science but a deep and thoroughly engaged com-
mitment to exploring the experiences of life and the mysteries of God.
Music always has the potential to draw us into a fuller experience
and expression of life that is, at times, beyond words. Part of the dif-
ficulty of writing this article is its very dependence on the medium of
words. If you have never been moved to tears by music, perhaps you
cannot enter into what I am trying to explain here, but if you have
you will know that sense of being in the presence of the inexpressible.
At this point music shares a commonality with other forms of art and
offers us the possibility of developing a ‘reader-response’ hermeneutic
even when words fail us. The eloquence of our tears or the renewal of
our love will speak greater volumes than the banality of some of our
spoken or written texts. The recognition of this is an intensely
theological event, drawing us towards the elusive God and rendering
conventional language silent6 . If we will permit ourselves to face
through music the dilemma of finding our emotions and thoughts to
be inexpressible, while at the same time desiring above all to com-
municate them through words, we may well come close to the kinds
of experience which the great mystics have tried to pass on down
through the ages.
Given my own interest in New Testament interpretation, I would
also want to mention the power of music not only in relation to ex-
pression beyond words, but also in respect of its use in exploring words.
By this I mean, the use of music in a way similar to that employed by
a growing number of scholars in recent years approaching the biblical
text through fiction and film. This technique is christened by Larry
Kreitzer, ‘reversing the hermeneutical flow’.7 The approach allows the
modern reader to discover ‘that there are truths in the biblical texts
that we shall see better if we come to them via their interpretation in

6. For a challenging description of the transcendent power of music see the

final chapter ‘Final Bliss: Surpassing Language’, in A.L. Blackwell, The Sacred in
Music (Cambridge: Lutterworth Press, 1999), pp. 199-232.
7. Cf. L.J. Kreitzer, The New Testament in Fiction and Film: On Reversing the
Hermeneutical Flow (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993) and several subsequent volumes in
the same vein.
 Scott Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education 51

films and plays’.8 Similarly, we may discover that there is meaning to

be unlocked through approaching the biblical text via music.
Blackwell quotes Schleiermacher saying: ‘what the word has made
clear music must make alive’9 —a worthwhile sentiment in itself. But
here I would like to turn the statement somewhat on its head in
reversing the flow from music to text: what words have left clouded,
music may make clear!
Perhaps the easiest way to describe what I mean is to give a couple
of examples of the ways in which I have been able to use music as an
integrative and interpretative element in theological reflection. As
part of the regular programme of teaching at the Partnership for The-
ological Education, Manchester (PTEM), multi-disciplinary Theologi-
cal Theme Weeks have been held for many years. Over the course of a
week a theological theme (e.g. God as Creator, Holy Spirit, Human
Sexuality) is explored from a variety of different angles. A feature of
these weeks has been the attempt to explore the themes not merely
through the traditional word-based disciplines, but also through the
arts, music, and art in particular. At many of these weeks I have
attempted to encourage participants to look deeper into the theme
and to interpret its mysteries for themselves through the use of music.
Since my own training and interest is in the classical field of music,
I have most often (though not exclusively) turned to that area for
musical resources. There is no reason to suppose that this is the only
way to approach things, and others will no doubt want to explore, for
example, the riches of jazz or contemporary popular music. Whatever
musical media you wish to employ, the important starting point is to
take the risk and allow your choice of music to stand before others as
an interpretation of the theme. This can be a very vulnerable place to
be, since the same piece of music will produce equal and opposite
reactions in others who hear it. I well remember on one particular
week on ‘Christology’ using what seemed to me to be a poignant sec-
tion of a Mahler symphony to explore the angle of ‘suffering’. One
participant was utterly alienated from this interpretation by what he
experienced as the ‘decadence’ of Mahler’s music. At such a time it
was important to remind ourselves in the group that the music was
there as a means to exploring the theme and not for determining it. This
particular participant’s intense and opposite reaction became a critical
catalyst for the whole group’s reflection on the theme itself, thus
perfectly illustrating the potentially intergrative function of music in

8. Kreitzer, Fiction and Film, p. 7.

9. Blackwell, The Sacred in Music, p. 210.
52 The British Journal of Theological Education 11.1 (2000)

the theological task. We were able to integrate into our group expe-
rience the divergent poles of interpretation, enriching for all our under-
standing of the theme.
Let us look in a little more detail at a programme I have used in
conjunction with another Christology Theme Week. On this particular
occasion we looked at four aspects of the theme (not sequentially
linked)—Birth; Kenotic Christology; Christology and Soteriology; Res-
urrection—and in each case tried to find musical interpretations that
were quite contrasting. Brief notes were available to the participants,
and a pause was made to receive comments at the end of each section.
To make real sense of this you need, where possible , to listen to the
music rather than merely reading the notes!

Exploring Christology Through Music

Birth
‘For Unto us a Child is Born’, from The Messiah, G.F. Handel (1685–1759)
A classic interpretation of the joy and celebration of the Nativity taken from the
first part of Handel’s best-known work. The setting is of Isa. 9.6, a prophecy taken
by the early church to point forward to the birth of the Christ. Handel wrote
numerous oratorios, grand choral works on religious themes, but The Messiah is the
only one that specifically deals with Christian themes. It was a ground-breaking
work, as the first major attempt to cover the whole story of Christ. The elaborate
and florid style of this section of the Oratorio (musically it is in the form of a
fugue), combined with the choice of a major key, gives the interpretation a sense of
uncontained celebration. It would be interesting to reflect on the reality of
childbirth, and especially the reported surroundings of Jesus’ birth in relation to
this version.

‘El Nacimiento’, from Navidad Nuestra, Ariel Ramirez (1921–)

Ramirez, composer of the well-known Misa Criolla,10 attempts to capture the spirit
of the Nativity through his own settings of native Argentinean folk-music. The
reflective beauty and simplicity of the melody is in contrast to the kitsch ‘heavenly
chorus’ in the background, which interrupts the central section. The Latin-
American character of the harmony is complemented by the use of indigenous
percussion lightly in the background. Although utterly different in character it is
as much a ‘contextual’ interpretation as is Handel’s from two centuries before.

Kenotic Christology
‘Grosser Herr und starker König’, from Christmas Oratorio, J.S. Bach (1685-1750)
Bach was a direct contemporary of Handel, but his music is very different—the
pinnacle of baroque splendour in church music. This setting is a good example of

10. This piece is less well known than some others. A recording by Jose Car-
reras can be found on the same CD as the Misa Criolla (Philips 420 955-2).
 Scott Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education 53

an instance where musical interest can take over the words and perhaps work
counter to the spirit. Here self-emptying is the theme, but Bach’s jaunty and tri-
umphant setting of the text is difficult to square with setting aside ‘earthly
splendour’. The dramatic trumpet solo, which interweaves cleverly with the bass
voice, plays up the ‘kingly splendour’ of the theme, leaving the listener to reflect
on what has been given up.

Großer Herr und starker König,
Liebster Heiland, o wie wenig achtest du
der Erden Pracht.
Der die ganze Welt erhält, ihre Pracht und
Zier erschaffen,
Muß in harten Krippen schlafen
Great Lord and mighty King,
Beloved Saviour, oh how little you regard
earthly Splendour.
He who sustains the whole world, who
created its splendour and beauty,
must sleep in an austere crib.11

‘The Servant King’, Graham Kendrick (1950–)

A modern hymn from the evangelical tradition that tries to pick up some of the
contradictory images of the New Testament concerning Jesus—Servant and at the
same time King. The words use the self-emptying motif of Phil 2.5-11 as a starting
point, before pulling in a wider range of gospel imagery, ending with application
for contemporary Christian discipleship. The music starts in the minor key in the
verses, which each express in different ways the lowliness of Jesus’ earthly status
and emphasize his suffering. It then moves to the more joyful major key for the
chorus, which celebrates Jesus’ ‘true’ station as Servant King and issues a sum-
mons to follow. In many respects the music is more carefully crafted to the words
than in Bach’s setting, even if the overall effect is less impressive as a musical event.

Christology and Soteriology

‘Agnus Dei’, from Berliner Messe, Arvo Pärt (1935–)
Estonian composer Arvo Pärt has been much influenced by the music of the Rus-
sian Orthodox Church, and indeed he composes for it. His setting of the Agnus
Dei is the final section of his Berliner Messe, composed between 1990 and 1992. It is
brief, but conveys much of the pathos of the words through its ethereal quality and
through the use of constantly falling intervals in the vocal parts.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi: Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world:
miserere nobis Have mercy on us.

‘Agnus Dei’, from Missa Luba (Congo), arr. Guido Haazen

This Agnus Dei is taken from an African setting of the Mass. The whole setting of
the Mass is a fascinating mixture of European and African traditions. The melody
line of the Agnus Dei has a quality similar to the ancient plainsong style at the
opening, but it is sustained by male voices over a thoroughly African percussion
accompaniment using indigenous instruments and rhythms. This provides move-
ment and colour to what might otherwise be a very plain sound. The African char-
acter is enhanced by the use of a ‘call and response’ (cantor and congregation) style
in the second half of the movement.

11. Translation mine.

54 The British Journal of Theological Education 11.1 (2000)

Resurrection
‘Resurrection’ from The Protecting Veil, John Tavener (1944–)
Like Arvo Pärt, the British composer John Tavener has been deeply influenced by
the music of the Eastern Church (he converted to Russian Orthodoxy in 1977). In
common with that tradition, his music seeks to pick up on the transcendent. In this
setting of ‘Resurrection’ (part of a larger work celebrating the story of the Blessed
Virgin’s covering of the people of Constantinople with her ‘Protecting Veil’ during
a Saracen siege) the strings offer more of a wave of sound than any discernible
‘melody’. It is notable how the celebratory opening gives way to a phoenix-like
single string voice emerging from the ‘chaos’ of sound.

‘Resurrection’ from Symphony No. 2, Gustav Mahler (1860–1911)

Mahler’s massive Second Symphony is entitled ‘Resurrection’. This closing section
reflects his common practice of placing in close conjunction poetic and biblical
materials (Mahler’s text here contains several allusions to 1 Cor. 15). In many ways
his final flourish here encapsulates Mahler’s whole life struggle to rise from the
pain of human existence into the glorious hope of final vindication in the presence
of God. For Mahler, God was known through a mixture of his Jewish roots, his
politically motivated conversion to Catholicism (in order to conduct the Vienna
State Opera) and his reaction to Nietzsche’s nihilism.

O Schmerz! Du Alldurchdringer! O Pain! You that pierce all things,

Dir bin ich entrungen. I am torn away from you!
O Tod! Du Allbezwinger! O Death! You that conquer all things,
Nun bist du bezwungen! now you are conquered!

Mit Flügeln, die ich mir errungen,
In heissem Liebesstreben
Werd ich entschweben
Zum Licht, zu dem kein Aug gedrungen!
Sterben werd ich, um zu leben!
Auferstehn, ja auferstehn wirdst du,
Mein Herz, in einem Nu!
Was du geschlagen,
Zu Gott wird es dich tragen!
With the wings I have won
I shall soar above,
in love’s earnest endeavour,
to the light which no eye has penetrated!
I shall die to live!
Rise again, yes you shall rise again, my heart,
in the twinkling of an eye!
All that you have struggled for
will lead you to God! 12

While the notes for this particular session are reasonably extensive
and directive, their purpose is not to tie the participants down to a
particular interpretation of the words and the theology behind them.
Rather they are there to act as a guide, where many of the participants
would be quite unfamiliar with the music and might have spent time
concentrating on trying to make out the words. This programme was
unusual also in utilizing pieces of music that were all settings of texts
of one kind or another. It is worth noting that this can be extremely
distracting from the effort to ‘free’ the mind to reflect without words,

12. Translation mine.

 Scott Playing in Tune: Music and Theological Education 55

even if the words are not in a language that the participants largely
understand.
My second example is different in this last respect: with one excep-
tion the music chosen is not a setting of text. This is much more the
style of ‘reversing the flow’, since music is utilized which by no stretch
of the imagination has any ‘authorial intention’ of connecting with the
themes. This comes from the context of a Theme Week on God, and I
have made my own connections between the pieces of music named
and the particular biblical texts chosen. Participants were not given a
printed sheet with the full text written out until after the event had
finished. I have used this in two ways on different occasions: (1) inter-
spersing the playing of the different pieces of music only by saying
aloud the title—Beginning, etc.; (2) punctuating the music with the
reading aloud of both the title and the text. Both worked well—but
responses were quite different, due to the more explicit interpretation
attached to the second approach.

Exploring God through Music

Creating
In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was
God. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has
been made (John 1.1-3)

Music—Opening of the first movement of Symphony No. 2 in D major,

Jean Sibelius

Living and Moving

The God who made the world and everything in it is the God of heaven and does
not live in temples built by human hands. And he is not served by human hands
as if he needed anything, because he gives all people life and breath and
everything else. In God we live and move and have our being (Acts 17.24-25, 28a).

Music—Scherzo from Symphony No. 3 in A minor, Felix Mendelssohn

Suffering
At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at
the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani—which
means, My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? (Mark 15.33-34).

Music—Adagio for Strings, Samuel Barber

Liberating
Then God told Moses to go into Pharaoh’s presence and say to him: These are
Gods words—Let my people go in order to worship me (Exodus 8.1).
56 The British Journal of Theological Education 11.1 (2000)

Music—Gloria from Missa Luba (Congolese folk Mass), arr. Guido Haazen

Peacemaking
Jesus came and stood among them and said, Peace be with you! After he said this
he showed them him hands and his side. The disciples were overjoyed when they
saw the Lord (Jn 20.19-20).

Music—Third movement of Symphony No. 6, Gustav Mahler

This programme was not followed immediately by any kind of dis-

cussion, but participants were encouraged to note down any thoughts
that they were able to express in words as a response later in the
evening. A verbal theological reflection session was held the follow-
ing day, in which participants shared some of the images evoked, expe-
riences remembered and emotions raised to consciousness by the inter-
face of the music and the theological themes. They also reflected on
what difference this made to their reading of the texts. This proved an
extremely fruitful and stimulating session.
This has been a very brief outline of one aspect of my experience of
using music as a integrative element in theological education. I offer it
not as any kind of blueprint, but perhaps as a stimulus for you to think
for yourself how to use music more creatively in doing theology. I
hope that you find yourself able to ‘play in tune’, and in doing so are
enriched in your theological understanding and experience.