Open Writing

Everyone is familiar with the Barry Manilow song of the seventies, "I write the songs that make the whole world sing". It caught my imagination because, at the time, I was learning to play the guitar and had recently begun to collaborate with a friend in some amateur song-writing. Actually, to tell the truth, it didn't feel amateur to us, but those were the early days of song-writing, when my belief in my creativity was earnest and naive.

About fifteen years after my first flush of lyricism, I found myself serving in a worship team at a Pentecostal-style church which placed a strong emphasis on the ministry of the Holy Spirit. On hearing a teaching about singing a new song to the Lord, I felt released to begin writing again. One night, as I was preparing to lead Sunday worship, looking for a song that would say just what I wanted to say, I suddenly felt inspired to write down the lyrics in my head. They came swiftly, like a stream of poetry, and the melody followed soon afterward. When I played the song through for our pastor, he was impressed and urged me to teach it to the congregation.

However, his words perplexed me. He said, "That's a beautiful song the Lord has given you, Leanne." I wondered, had the Lord given me the song? It hadn't felt like it. I was an artist, accustomed to writing poetry and prose, and it felt just the same - as if the words had come up out of my imagination. At once, guilt assailed me. Was this pride, thinking that I was the originator of new material? Should I pray for forgiveness and acknowledge the Holy Spirit's authorship? My sense of uncertainty won over and I deferred to my pastor's greater knowledge in the matter.

This seemed to free me up to write more. I felt that, if the songs I was penning weren't my songs but songs which the Lord wanted to give to His people, I should be open to transmitting them. Moreover, people were being blessed by the content of the songs, and other members of the worship team were even beginning to write songs of their own.

Ten years later, I was in a different city, a different church, and a different frame of mind. Without a platform from which to sing my new songs, I questioned the Lord's purpose. Did He no longer want to use me? New songs were coming thick and fast through other song-writers, so did it mean I was no longer a worthy vessel? This didn't seem likely, making me suppose that I must be in a season of rest.

The songs that emerged at that point were desert songs. The lyrics all hankered back to a time when life was more exciting, or forward to a time when I could be useful again. Because I was miserable much of the time, I knew for a fact that the lyrics that poured forth weren't God's message for the church. They didn't even sound as if they came from God, since many of them were expressions of frustration and grief. Wile it occurred to me that many of the psalms were in the same vein, the fact only confused me more. Why allow someone as influential as David to complain and rage against the Lord for all the world to see? It didn't seem proper - and yet, what on earth was proper when you were hurting so badly?

Eventually, we moved again and I attended church as a much quieter, much more worldly-wise member. Songs were still pushing their way into my consciousness, but now they were too borderline to share. I feared that, if I sang them to believers, they would think I was being heretical. I was deeply torn between the faith I professed outwardly and the pressure of my inward being to express different - even alarming - claims about God's place in my life.

It was about this time that an old hit was revived by John Miles called "Music was my first love, and it will be my last." The song comprises mostly powerful instrumental movements that resonated with a song which I'd penned years earlier. No longer in a Pentecostal-style church, I was inclined to be much more honest about my inspiration, and admit that my so-called "song of the Lord" was nothing more than an echo of a well-loved melody from my youth. And yet, the notion of being connected to a spiritual source still beckoned to me on a deep level.

Thus, my questioning continued. Who wrote the songs that made the whole world sing? I decided to be bold. I said, I write the songs. I write them, although in doing so, I am speaking a universal language. That language is the language of love, and of God, and of music itself. Whether a song makes you want to get up and dance or weep for what is no more, its power is in its truth.

Truth. That's what writes the songs. Truth simply demands to be expressed, and it doesn't care who expresses it. Truth just wants to be what it is. The inside coming out.

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Do visit Leanne's thoughtful and entertaining Web site http://diamondpanes.blogspot.com/