Robin Mark is a don bryant fav. His “Days of Elijah” keeps me pumping on the stairmaster long after any other trick wouldn’t do it. Robin was in concert last night and eight or so of us Coasters went and enjoyed the music.
I felt like I was at one of those Peter, Paul and Mary concerts where the whole audience wept at the songs but preferred to remain seated – the arthritic hip, you know. My wife, who is no praise worship buff, leaned over and commented the virtual absence of any twentysomethings. I saw some grandmothers getting it on and some very overweight fiftysomething men taking up a chair and a half. But no younger people.
Some years ago I had a praise team member at our church get a little rough on me about singing this “irish crap,” referring to Robin Mark’s stuff, making a strong point that it was old. I was incensed and not a little mystified about the comment. I thought that our church was at least better than the “Paul Baloche-the Early Years” kind of music. Last night demonstrated that, though her comments were a bit tougher than needed, she was more right than me. Who came out to hear Robin Mark? People in their fifties.
I am one of those who can’t get the “music=worship” formula. It’s important. I tremendously enjoy it. And I can’t see myself ever going to a Gaither homecoming. But I have never given music that kind of weight, enough weight to beat up a church about the kind of music it sings. I am way too much a “sermon man.” I will always remain a “sermon man.” I can’t be a “eucharist man” or “music man” or “liturgy man” or any other variety. When a man stands in front of me with an open Bible and uses it to part the clouds and see heaven open, then I am satisfied.