As I choose songs for worship, I find there are way too many restrictions (familiarity, available musicians, language, culture, season, tempo, etc.). I feel as if my creativity is stifled because of how many hoops I have to jump through. What limitations are reasonable, and when should I push back?
Some of the students I mentor at Calvin University echo your lament. They feel limitations like walls closing in around them. I recall once shouting at my office wall in frustration over the restrictions placed on me by my congregation and pastoral leadership. Why can’t I introduce a new song this week? I wondered. Do I have to avoid this song because the range is too wide for some? Why can’t my musicians play this groove? Why must I choose songs thematically? Does it really matter that all the songs refer to God as Father? Why does the congregation only want to sing praise and worship songs?
The complexity of choosing songs for a congregation can be frustrating. Some of us long for the simplicity of choosing songs for friends to sing at youth group or for an adult Bible study. But even in these simple moments there are limitations.
I remember the first time I chose songs for my church’s college and career group. Our repertoire was kept in a large binder, which initially limited my choices to a few hundred songs. As I sifted through the binder, three questions restricted my selections further: Did I know the song? Could I play the song? And would my friends like the song? As a young worship leader still learning to play the guitar and with a homogenous group of friends, my choices were limited to about thirty songs.
As we grow in knowledge, skill, maturity, and responsibility, limitations naturally become more complex. We submit to theological principles. We embrace liturgical norms. We respect cultural values. We restrict our personal preferences for the good of the community.
Liturgical Limitations
Choosing songs means working within boundaries. From one angle, we can view these boundaries negatively: Thou shall not use patriarchal language for God. Thou shall not sing more than two praise songs. Thou shall not use gender-exclusive language. Thou shall not use songs not found in the pew hymnal.
These “rules” for choosing songs have their place. Many emerge from past excesses—maybe a previous song leader only chose “happy clappy” songs. Others arise out of past hurt—a female staff member expressed feeling excluded by male-only pronouns in songs. Some result from fears—a loss of denominational identity, if the existing hymnal is set aside.
Over time, however, the reasons for the rules can be forgotten or may no longer apply. New perspectives may emerge that render a rule obsolete. Learning and cultural sensitivity may reveal that certain rules are exclusive or narrow-minded. Rules that were instituted to guide faithful practice or safeguard the community become a straitjacket. These limitations are rightly questioned. Sensitive and careful pushback may be in order.
But let’s not be too quick to throw off all restraints. As the apostle Paul says, “‘Everything is permissible,’ but not everything is beneficial”
(1 Corinthians 10:23, CSB). There is a second angle from which to view boundaries for choosing songs. If considered positively, limitations give us freedom to define our choices, to create and innovate, and to care for the congregation.
In this way, limitations are like a fence around a playground. At a local middle school, the playground sits just ten feet from a busy road I daily drive to work. As cars race by, a fence safeguards the children so they can play freely. Similarly, limitations in song choice free us to choose songs with assurance, joy, and faithfulness.
Defining One Thing and Not Another
Boundaries define our work and set us free to practice faithfully. A century ago, the journalist and theologian G. K. Chesterton critiqued theological ambiguity that crippled faithful discipleship. He pointed to artists who, despite popular notions, embraced limitations rather than threw off all constraints. In his book Orthodoxy, Chesterton wrote: “The artist loves his limitations. They define the thing he is doing.” Definition provides direction and assurance, whereas ambiguity leads to uncertainty and stasis. Therefore, as we choose songs, limits empower us and assure us that we are doing one thing and not another.
Here are some examples: I choose a song to celebrate God’s actions in history, not to entertain the congregation. I choose a song to help the congregation to lament, not to praise. I choose a song to help the congregation pray for God’s illuminating Spirit, not to “warm us up” for the sermon.
Historical and theological norms for public worship define our work. I teach my students that worship is biblical, dialogical, covenantal, trinitarian, and participatory. These principles distinguish public worship from a concert, a lecture, devotions, fellowship, or an evangelistic rally. They help bring clarity to muddled motivations and expectations for Christian gatherings.
Restrain to Create
Limits also lead to creativity and innovation. Artists routinely introduce arbitrary restraints to push themselves to explore new territories and innovate. Novelists, for example, may introduce narrative constraints such as a fixed timeline, a single location, or a limited number of characters. They may limit their characters’ abilities, knowledge, or behavior. They may even choose to write without using certain letters or punctuation marks.
I am not suggesting that we limit our choices to songs that use only the pentatonic scale or that omit all three-syllable words in lyrics (though such experiments may lead to delightful surprises). But introducing arbitrary restraints may lead to deeper insight and faithfulness. Consider the following examples:
- Omitting songs that use the first-person singular leads to greater expression of the communal nature of public worship.
- Restricting patriarchal language for God results in an expanded use of names, images, and metaphors for God.
- Limiting a service to include just one or two contemporary songs opens the door to a broader repertoire of song genres.
- Deciding to regularly sing the prescribed psalm in the lectionary invites a wider range of human emotions.
- Refraining from singing the newest songs challenges us to mine the treasures of the past and select what is tried and true.
When introduced joyfully and with curiosity, such limitations can breathe new life and vitality into our song selections. Rather than restricting creativity, these limitations inspire learning, imagination, and innovation.
Limit to Love
Limitations also set us free to love the congregation. The apostle Paul writes, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others” (Philippians 2:3–4).
When we choose songs for worship, we “play” near an interstate highway of our own interests. We receive praise when we choose the latest and most popular songs. We shine when we choose a key that suits our voice. We save time when we choose again and again from the same repertoire. We believe we feel the Spirit when we choose songs that match our personal emotions. We avoid discomfort when we choose styles we know.
Limitations, however, fence us from our selfish impulses. They safeguard the congregation from our pride. Consequently, they free us to put the needs of others above our own.
A limiting practice at Calvin University is what we call the Calvin 50. This is a list of fifty songs curated every year to reflect the diversity of the community, the breadth of congregational song, and the range of liturgical actions. The Calvin 50 incorporates songs of gathering, praise, confession, lament, dedication, faith, and sending. It includes classical hymnody, praise and worship, liturgical folk, gospel, and global genres. It features songs that are congregationally friendly in range, rhythm, and melody.
I challenge my students to make 50 percent of their song choices come from the Calvin 50. While giving them a measure of autonomy to choose songs they personally love, it instructs them on healthy boundaries and encourages them to plan not just for themselves and their closest friends, but for the good of the whole Calvin community.
I recently learned that the Latin root of the word “decide” means “to cut off.” When we make a choice—when we decide—we cut off one option for the sake of another. Limitations, when viewed negatively, cut off options. This loss can feel frustrating or stifling. But viewed positively, limitations are an act of pruning in preparation for growth. We embrace limitations not merely to avoid, but to liberate us for greater faithfulness, assurance, creativity, and love.