I have a book that’s a good example of the way this case is usually argued these days. The first chapter is called “The Feminizing of Christianity,” and it begins like this:

(It must be the hair.)

The statement that the men in Christian countries take less interest in religion than the women requires neither argument nor proof. Not only have the statistics of church attendance been published, but also any one can easily verify the statement for himself in any congregation. The women in attendance always outnumber the men, often by several hundred percent.

Why do men stay away from church (assuming we accept that with “neither argument nor proof”)? The author explains:

There is one explanation so obvious that it seems to escape observation — the Feminizing of Christianity. When you stop to think of it, what is there in the personality of Christ, as usually presented, to attract the interest or inspire the enthusiasm of hard-headed, practical men? Of course men of emotional temperament or religious tendencies are likely to be attracted by the ideality of his character and doctrine, but the men who do the world’s rough work and have little idealism regard Christianity as all very well for women and children, but not “practical” for men.

Consider the conventional Christ, as presented by Christian art and Christian preaching. From lovely illuminated church windows and from Sunday school banners he looks down upon us, “meek and lowly”, with an expression of sweetness and resignation, eyes often down-cast, soft hands gently folded, long curling hair brushed smoothly from a central parting — all feminine, passive, negative. […]

The Feminizing of Christianity is the real reason why men are not interested. Christian art and Christian preaching need a strong tonic of Virility.

You can hear that same message, point for point, idea for idea, from most of those other preachers I mentioned. It’s like they’ve been exchanging notes: Men are staying away from church—check! That means the church has become “feminized”—check! By that we mean an excess of emotionalism and feminine traits in Christian art and preaching, which is bad—check! And down-to-earth working men today, unlike milquetoast intellectuals, aren’t interested in that—check! So the solution is to make our art, music, and preaching more virile, masculine, and manly—double check!

This is exactly the message they preach, exactly the way they preach it. The argument could have come word for word from any modern advocates of biblical manhood and womanhood.

But it didn’t. That book was published in 1904.

(It’s called The Manly Christ: A New View by Dr. R. W. Conant. Contemporary reviewers, though, remarked that Conant’s book was “not strictly a new view.” Much of the same ground was already covered in The Manliness of Christ by Thomas Hughes—in 1880. The origin of both was probably the “Muscular Christianity” fad of the late 1850s, but that’s getting a bit far afield.)

Every cultural criticism the detractors of “modern effeminate Christianity” trot out was there in 1904, not embryonically but as fully developed as today. They offer nothing new, no keeping up with cultural changes, no fleshing out concepts with fresh thoughts. It’s like reprinting an editorial on the Taft administration as a commentary on politics today. Old facts and truths and logic are wonderful things, but old editorializing on culture is used for lining birdcages.

Think about that. In its current form, this denunciation of “feminized Christianity” predates not only 1960s feminism but radio, movies, penicillin, and the Model T. They’re not offering a radical new cultural critique. They’re reanimating a musty old religious antique. It’s an outdated cultural meme masquerading as a timeless theological truth. We’re not just beating a dead horse; several generations of horses have come and gone while we’re still beating the spot where we think the first horse’s body decomposed a century ago.

The point is, when we’re talking about “masculine” and “feminine” especially in religion, the majority of our commonly held ideas don’t come from the Bible. Maybe a handful do, but not as many you think. Mostly, like this one, they’re an amalgam of cultural customs and hand-me-down moralizing, badly filtered through recent tradition.

Take another example. One of the articles I linked above lists what the author, Douglas Wilson, sarcastically identifies as signs that “Your worship service and church community might be effeminate.” One of them is, “…a clerical collar and a powder pink shirt.” To us, of course, pink is a color for little girls. But here’s another quote from the early 1900s, this one from a clothing magazine in 1914:

“The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.” (Source: Smithsonian Magazine)

In 1914, pink was the manly color and blue was “delicate and dainty.” A man who wore a pink shirt to church was “more decided and stronger.” Apparently, pink wasn’t even associated with femininity in the U.S. until the 1940s, mostly thanks to marketing by clothing manufacturers. Are we really promoting biblical masculinity or femininity here? Obviously not.

Taken to its most extreme, this becomes obsessive nitpicking and worrying and scrutinizing that something a man does might be (horror of horrors!) feminine. It can get downright laughable. I have another book in which several scholars try to explain “biblical manhood and womanhood.” Discussing the handful of scattered Bible verses that address gender takes them 575 pages—longer than the New Testament. As C. S. Lewis said in another context, this is “the discovery of the mare’s nest by pursuit of the red herring.”

The absurdity perhaps reached its nadir when Douglas Wilson listed this sign that a church is “effeminate”:

The worship music rides particular chord changes hard, with special mention being given to the shift from E Minor to C Major;

Because nothing says femininity like a chord progression with root movement of a descending major third. As a classically trained composer, the technical term I’d use for that is, “What?” Maybe he thinks men ought to go from E minor to B⁷ instead, since that’s the Dominant. Or to D^#, which is the leading tone, because men should be leaders, and… Oh, forget it, I give up. It’s just sheer nonsense. It’s on a level with saying that men should avoid spelling words with W and F because they stand for Womanly and Feminine.

Once a debate has gotten into a state like this, it’s not only jumped the shark, it should be sent to sleep with the fishes.

What’s really behind this? It’s certainly not informed and reasonable concern for hymnology or music or liturgical content. Yet something is keeping this worn-out 110-year-old trope alive, shambling from the grave like a sermon zombie. There’s something more to it than our current culture conflict over gender roles.

Here’s where it gets ugly. In a follow-up piece, Wilson clarified his intentions, insisting that he didn’t see femininity as a bad thing; after all, the church is the bride of Christ and all that. Then he tipped his hand:

Our corporate identity is feminine. But if an individual man attempts to replicate that identity in his personal devotions, two bad things can happen. The first is that he finds he can step right into such role, no prob, and presto, we have ourselves a new worship leader.

Ha, ha! It’s funny because being feminine makes a man into a worship leader! Just like you! Get it? Pretty good, huh?

Those are the words of a bully.

This spiel about “feminized worship” is precisely tuned to please men’s instinct for self-gratification. Every guy knows it strokes our egos when someone says “You’re really manly!” And, conversely, it’s hard to think of a worse insult to a man than “You’re not a real man.”

So now, with this “effeminate worship” meme, not only do you get to say how much more masculine you are than those namby-pamby effeminate weaklings—well, you get to say those other guys are namby-pamby effeminate weaklings. You get to puff yourself up so you feel bigger, and you get to push other people down so you look bigger.

When a religious leader finds he can step into that role with no problem, then presto, we have ourselves a new case of spiritual abuse.

Someone might argue that “effeminate” is just a descriptive term for a man who’s acting like a woman, not an insult. Uh-huh. And “loser” is a descriptive word for someone who finishes last, and “fat” is a descriptive word someone who’s overweight, and “knucklehead” is a descriptive word for someone who thinks chord progressions have gender. A taunt doesn’t turn polite when someone says “But it’s true!”

No doubt Wilson would say he was only joking and we shouldn’t take his cheap shot so seriously. The Bible, meanwhile, would say this:

Like a madman who throws firebrands, arrows, and death
is the man who deceives his neighbor
and says, “I am only joking!”
(Proverbs 26:18-19)

Firebrands, arrows, and death in the hands of a madman. That’s the kind of damage this harmless “joking” can do. Cheap shots can be costly. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words may break my heart.

In fact, the Bible specifically denounces this combination of praising God and putting down people. In a diatribe on the destructive power of words, James writes:

Likewise the tongue is a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue also is a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body. It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell. […] It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be. (James 3:5-10)

From one side of our mouths we’re praising God—see, worship!—and from the other we’re tearing down our brothers. Praise the Lord with manly hymns, because God doesn’t want namby-pamby girly-men like you! Praise the Lord; you’re a pansy!

That’s built into that whole concept. Even if the bullying isn’t as blatant as Wilson’s, there’s no way around it. The inherent attitude in the terminology is mockery: “Heh heh, dude looks like a girl.” To say that to a man is to insult him, tear him down, dehumanize him, browbeat him into following your gender rules. To do that in the context of worshiping God? “My brothers, this should not be.”

If we want to know the reason men are staying away from church, maybe we just found it. Maybe they see church people as bullies. When somebody tells me I’m not a real man, I don’t want to hang out with them. I had enough of that in the locker room in sixth grade, thanks. If that’s what I’ll find in church, I’ll pass—and so will every other man who doesn’t meet that narrow, culture-blinded, anti-biblical ideal of masculinity.

Enough is enough. This whole tired clichéd pointless insulting emasculating graceless sanctimonious frippery of bellicose machismo should have been laid to rest a hundred years ago.

As with most worship wars, the problem isn’t worship. The problem is lack of worship. We’re looking at culture, not at Christ. We’re preoccupied with effeminacy, not having faith. We’re teaching gender, not the Gospel. We’re talking about manliness, not the Son of Man.

What would happen if we made our standard of “biblical masculinity” the Bible’s main character, the Son of Man himself? Let’s make a few things absolutely clear:

Showing your emotions and crying in public doesn’t make you effeminate. “Jesus wept” (John 11:35).

Finding beauty in nature doesn’t make you effeminate. Jesus told us to “consider the lilies” (Matthew 6:27).

Being gentle, quiet, kind, and humble doesn’t make you effeminate. Jesus was “gentle and humble in heart” (Matthew 11:29).

Having an intimate, emotional friendship with Jesus doesn’t make you effeminate. “There was reclining on Jesus’ bosom one of His disciples, whom Jesus loved” (John 13:23). (That was John, the rugged blue-collar fisherman, by the way.)

Liking beautiful music and poetry doesn’t make you effeminate. Jesus sang hymns (Matthew 26:30).

Even being a victim of bullying doesn’t make you effeminate. “Herod and his soldiers ridiculed him and mocked him” (Luke 23:11).

Sure, Jesus was a strong man, a tough guy with a beard who worked with his hands for a living, called out Pharisees to their faces, stared down a mob, and overturned tables. But Jesus was also a man who wasn’t ashamed of being emotional, enjoying beauty, liking music, being humble, getting bullied, crying, expressing love, hanging out with women and children.

Brothers, anybody who told you that doing those things makes you “effeminate” didn’t understand Jesus.

And if me saying that makes someone think less of Jesus, then they’re the one with the gender problem. If your doctrine of masculinity or femininity gets in the way of your love for Jesus, you’re an idolater.

The Bible doesn’t mention masculine worship or feminine worship or effeminate worship or tomboy worship. It mentions true worship. That comes from the true worshipers, who worship the Father in spirit and truth.

Being a true worshiper doesn’t mean following a list of biblical rules that will make you into someone who’s stereotypically masculine or feminine by cultural standards. It means following Jesus, and letting the Holy Spirit make you into someone who’s like Him by His grace.

For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers. (Romans 8:29)

Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. (1 John 3:2)

And we, who with unveiled faces all reflect the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit. (2 Corinthians 2:18)

Not the likeness of gender roles. The likeness of God’s Son.

Be free in who God made you to be. Let God make you more like Jesus. When you worship, don’t look at cultural rules—look at Christ. That’s all worship is.

——–

There’s a lot more that can be said on this subject, and fortunately, a lot more people are saying it. Here are a few more posts for recommended reading:

“Esau” Christianity? by Chaplain Mike

Complementarian Teachings Hurt Men Too by Darcy

“Effeminate”: Christianity and Gender Shaming by OutOfTheAshes

Mano-a-Mano: A Letter to Mark Driscoll by Tyler Clark

The Church Impotent: The Feminization of Christianity review, by Daniel P. Moloney (a devastating critique of Leon Podles’ book that Douglas Wilson claims as a source)

Muscular Christianity by Clifford Putney (a fascinating little bit of history)

Muscular Christianity by Michael Horton (See, complementarian theologians critique this meme too)

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The Truth about “Effeminate Worship” is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!

As you may have heard, April is National Poetry Month, and as T. S. Eliot pointed out, it’s also the cruelest month. (Really? Well, April does have Tax Day, April Fool’s Day, chronic rainstorms… so, arguably yes, but on the other hand it’s not February.) Browning laments, “Oh to be in England now that April’s there,” while the resilient and versatile A. Nonymous informs us, “April showers / bring May flowers.” So there you are.

Now, I love poetry just as much as the next pathologically literate guy. And I’ve been happy to see a few blogs on my subscription list featuring favorite poets and poems this month—Coleridge, Tennyson, Yeats, Shakespeare, Robert Frost, X. J. Kennedy, Ogden Nash—in short, the works.

But one thing’s been missing. Everyone seems to be discussing good poets, which is fine, but that’s only part of the picture. If we are to consider poetry as a total art form, what about the bad ones? Discussing poets without mentioning bad ones is like discussing history without mentioning war, or discussing theology without mentioning heresy, or discussing gourmet cooking without mentioning e. coli… Hmm. I may have a point there.

Nevertheless. By “bad poets,” I don’t mean we should pick on beginners whose work may need improving. Let the writer whose wastebasket is without embarrassing early efforts cast the first copybook. (Ow! Watch it, Coleridge.) Nor do I mean good poets who weren’t always successful, although the classic anthology The Stuffed Owl is full of fantastic howlers from many top-notch poets who really should have known better. (“Spade! With which Wilkinson hath till’d his lands…”—Wordsworth. “Will you oftly / murmur softly?”—Elizabeth Browning. And Tupper, but nobody counts him anymore.)

No, no. By “bad poets,” I mean people who put their work before the world as serious, respectable art, yet for the entire length of their careers, they managed to uniformly produce nothing but the quality of poetry that, when you read it, your jaw drops down and you say “Ubagobba—magubba—gug gug phoo gib—” and you still just made a better poem than what you read.

The authorities on such matters—yes, I checked, there are authorities—tend to mutter darkly about Vogons. But when you finally get them around to Earthlings, they mention three names as the most monumental and enduring examples of this art. Before we go on, I should provide a disclaimer:

Warning: The Poet Laureate has determined that the following poems are not for the faint of heart or the faint of stomach, though they may suit the faint of brain. If you have a history of literary criticism, copy editing, or other forms of psychiatric illness, please consult with your mental health care professional before beginning this or any other course of bad poetry. If you should find yourself screaming, bleeding from your eyes, or banging your head repeatedly on your desk, discontinue use of bad poetry immediately and seek medical assistance. These bad poems may contain rhyme schemes and scansion known in the state of California to be totally far out, dude.

Still with me? Here are our three contenders, with representative samples of their *ahem* “work”…

1. Julia A. Moore (1847-1920)

Julia A. Moore wrote and published best-selling volumes of sentimental poetry on heartwarming topics such as the natural disasters, the deaths of children, and Temperance Reform, earning her the nickname “The Sweet Singer of Michigan” from someone who was clearly tone-deaf. She is said to have inspired the character of dismal young poetess Emmeline Grangerford from Huckleberry Finn, who wrote so many funereal odes that she eventually died of a broken heart. (“But I reckon, with her disposition, she was having a better time in the graveyard,” Huck observes.) Here is Moore’s reflection on a typically cheery subject, “The Great Chicago Fire”:

“The Great Chicago Fire” by Julia A. Moore

The great Chicago Fire, friends,
Will never be forgot;
In the history of Chicago
It will remain a darken spot.
It was a dreadful horrid sight
To see that City in flames;
But no human aid could save it,
For all skill was tried in vain.

In the year of 1871,
In October on the 8th,
The people in that City, then
Was full of life, and great.
Less than four days it lay in ruins,
That garden City, so great
Lay smouldering in ashes,
In a sad and pitiful state.

It was a sad, sad scene indeed,
To see the fire arise,
And hear the crackling of the flames
As it almost reached the skies,
And sadder still, to hear the moans,
Of people in the flames
Cry for help, and none could get,
Ah, die where they remained.

.           .           .           .           .           .           .

Neighboring Cities sent comfort,
To the poor lone helpless ones,
And God will not forget them
In all the years to come.
Now the City of Chicago
Is built up anew once more,
And may it never be visited
With such a great fire no more.

If you are actually interested in finding out more about Moore, you can click here at your own risk.

2. William Topaz McGonagall (1825-1902)

Every country needs a poet of great skill and art, who can create epic works that stir the national spirit to new heights and inspire a civilization to greatness. In 19^th-century Scotland, William Topaz McGonagall was not that man. But he sure thought he was: “A flame, as Lord Byron has said,” he recalled, “seemed to kindle up my entire frame, along with a strong desire to write poetry.” After his first bout of “divine inspiration” (his phrase), he produced many volumes of poems and even aspired to the laureateship. One friend, on hearing McGonagall’s poetic tribute to him, expressed what everyone was thinking with admirable diplomacy: “Shakespeare never wrote anything like that.”

[from] “The Tay Bridge Disaster” by William McGonnagall

Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

‘Twas about seven o’clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem’d to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem’d to say-
“I’ll blow down the Bridge of Tay.”

.           .           .           .           .           .           .

As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o’er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill’d all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav’d to tell the tale
How the disaster happen’d on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember’d for a very long time.

It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.

McGonagall is actually quite popular in some circles—astute readers will have noticed homages to his name in characters from the likes of Terry Pratchett and J. K. Rowling—so I’ve provided a link to his fan site here. You’re welcome.

3. Theophile Marzials (1850-1920)

Many an unknown poet dreams of being a neglected genius, someone whose art is rediscovered years after their death and lauded as the masterpieces they know they surely are. That can happen, especially if you’re Emily Dickinson. On the other hand, if you’re British pre-Raphaelite wunderkind Theophile Marzials, your art will be published but overlooked in your lifetime, rediscovered years after your death, and immediately labeled the worst poem ever in the English language. Though opinions remain divided (McGonagall still has a strong following), I’d say he’s given us a pretty solid contender in…

“A Tragedy” by Theophile Marzials

Death! Plop.
The barges down in the river flop.
Flop, plop.
Above, beneath.
From the slimy branches the grey drips drop,
As they scraggle black on the thin grey sky,
Where the black cloud rack-hackles drizzle and fly
To the oozy waters, that lounge and flop
On the black scrag piles, where the loose cords plop,
As the raw wind whines in the thin tree-top.
Plop, plop.
And scudding by
The boatmen call out hoy! and hey!
All is running water and sky,
And my head shrieks – “Stop,”
And my heart shrieks – “Die.”

My thought is running out of my head;
My love is running out of my heart,
My soul runs after, and leaves me as dead,
For my life runs after to catch them – and fled
They all are every one! — and I stand, and start,
At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.
And the shrill wind whines in the thin tree-top
Flop, plop.

A curse on him.
Ugh! yet I knew — I knew –
If a woman is false can a friend be true?
It was only a lie from beginning to end –
My Devil — My “Friend”
I had trusted the whole of my living to!
Ugh; and I knew!
Ugh!
So what do I care,
And my head is empty as air –
I can do,
I can dare,
(Plop, plop
The barges flop
Drip drop.)
I can dare! I can dare!
And let myself all run away with my head
And stop.
Drop.
Dead.
Plop, flop.
Plop.

The newspaper that broke the story of this tragedy appears here.

So, there you have it. If you’re still capable of coherent speech—come to think of it, most things sound coherent after that—you can weigh in below as to which of these three monumentally bad poets gets your vote as the worst of all, or make nominations of your own. Who do you think is the worst poet?

Perhaps it’s best to let the bad poets themselves have the last word. Here is the conclusion of another stanza by Julia A. Moore:

And now, kind friends, what I have wrote,
I hope you will pass o’er,
And not criticise as some have done
Hitherto herebefore.

And my head shrieks – “Stop,”
And my heart shrieks – “Die.”

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1. Poetry: Harry Potter and the Evocative Epitaphs

National Poetry is the Cruelest Month is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!

Here’s an excerpt:

…Anita has used her storytelling as a way to create common ground by spreading a message of love that transcends racial lines and conquers hatred. “You have a story to tell,” she says, “and I want you to know that your story is just as important as my story. So you can choose to be bitter and fester and fertilize the seed of hatred. Or we can use it and say, ‘Yeah, it was horrible, but look, we survived.’

“So I try to focus more on the strength of those that came out of Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade. I try to let people know that even when you victimize people, you become a victim. With slavery, everybody became a victim, even the masters themselves.

“When I am through, people know that a message of love has been left. I always conclude with, ‘I love you, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’ Love is not contingent on what you receive back.”

Go read the full thing here: Heritage Focus: An Interview with Anita Singleton-Prather.

Thanks, Anita!

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Interview: Anita Singleton-Prather on the Power of Storytelling is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!

I was really pleased with the way everything turned out, so now you get to see it. Here’s a video recording of each movement:

1. Antiphon

2. Lament

3. Exaltation

From the program notes:

The piece begins with an “Antiphon,” a term drawn from early church music where separate groups of musicians traded alternating musical phrases, often as part of an invocation or a responsive prayer. Here, a stately melody is exchanged among the three instruments with overlapping meters allowing each instrument to display its distinctive tonal color. The second movement, “Lament,” shows the melancholy side of the clarinet, with a lyrical, slightly Chopinesque solo evoking a wordless prayer of sorrow. Finally, “Exaltation” transforms the musical ideas of the first two movements into an outpouring of joy. Bright sixteenth-note arpeggios and a soaring melodic line combine to create a feeling of flight, concluding the piece with an uplifting moment of praise.

*  *  *  *  *  *

“Antiphon, Lament, and Exaltation”
(for violin, clarinet, and piano)
Composed by Eric M. Pazdziora
Performed by Sycamore Trio
Violin: Katie Mattix
Clarinet: Luke Lusk
Piano: Dan Mattix
Premiered March 25, 2012, at Western Springs Christian Reformed Church, Western Springs, IL.
For more information, contact the composer.

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1. New Composition Premiering This Month!

Antiphon, Lament, and Exaltation is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!

The piece was commissioned by Dan Mattix, Katie Mattix, and Luke Lusk, who will also be performing the premiere. I’ve worked with them a bit in the past, and I’m confident we can expect a great performance. It’s been rather a while since I wrote a straight-up instrumental piece (I’ve done mostly choral and vocal stuff lately, for some reason), so I appreciated the chance to try my hand at some idiomatic melodies.

The premiere will be Sunday, March 25 at 6 PM. Here’s the address:

Western Springs Christian Reformed Church
5140 Wolf Rd.
Western Springs, IL 60558

I believe they will be making a video and/or audio recording, so those who can’t make it to the concert may still get to hear it. I’ll keep you posted.

Also! For those who’d like some good jazz that weekend as well, Carrie will be singing a solo or two at Jazz and Java on Friday, March 23. More information is at the link, and the proceeds will benefit a worthy cause.

Hope to see you at either concert or both! Thanks for your support.

Blog posts are always served well with some sort of picture, so here’s some truth in advertising via Criggo:

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New Composition Premiering This Month! is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!

The Song

Behind the Song

This was one of the first songs that my wife Carrie and I wrote together after we were married. The words are based on several passages from the Old Testament, notably Psalm 32 and Isaiah 1:18. Both of these Scriptures reveal that the forgiveness of sins was not a New Testament invention but something God wanted to do all along. “I said, ‘I will confess my transgressions to the LORD.’ And you forgave the guilt of my sin” (Psalm 32:5).

We were particularly struck with the idea found in Psalm 32 that, when a repentant sinner seeks God’s forgiveness, God will “surround me with songs of deliverance.” Whether or not those songs sound anything like this one, they are probably concerned with the same idea: “Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow” (Isaiah 1:18).

For more of Carrie’s excellent music, check out her website, her blog, or our band Thornfield.

The Lyrics

Song of Deliverance
Music and lyrics by Eric and Carrie Pazdziora

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow
Though they be as crimson, they shall be pure as wool
How blessed is he whose sin is covered by the blood
Not counted against him but washed in the cleansing flood

Forever, O Lord, my sin was before You,
You’ve known every thought, every scheme;
But now I confess, and ask for Your mercy
To pour on my heart, make it clean.
You say:

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow
Though they be as crimson, they shall be pure as wool
How blessed is he whose sin is covered by the blood
Not counted against him but washed in the cleansing flood

You shelter me, Lord, in Your lovingkindness,
I rest in the peace that You bring;
Whenever my heart is filled with affliction,
This song of deliverance You sing.
You say:

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow
Though they be as crimson, they shall be pure as wool
How blessed is he whose sin is covered by the blood
Not counted against him but washed in the cleansing flood.
Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.

Get the Song

Buy the album on CDbaby:

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Buy the MP3 on iTunes:

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(If you can’t see the download link above, try visiting this page at its original location.)

If you would like this song in another arrangement, feel free to contact the composer. I’m always open to new commissions, projects, and ideas.

If you use this song in your worship or other performance and make a recording, I’d love to see a copy!

Related Posts

1. New Creation: You can start getting excited!
2. New Creation #5: Nailed to the Cross
3. New Creation #1: “Come, Christians One and All, Rejoice” (Martin Luther)
4. New Creation #4: Alas, And Did My Savior Bleed?
5. New Creation #3: Kyrie (With Broken Heart and Contrite Sigh)

New Creation #6: Song of Deliverance is a post from Eric Pazdziora. Buy Eric's CD New Creation from CDbaby or iTunes!