Silencing the Voice of the People:

Part 3: Changing Dynamics Within Our Worshipping Communities of Faith, by J. Evan Kreider.

Unfortunately, too many of our modern Mennonite church designs seem to have been constructed without the understanding that our sanctuaries' shapes, fully carpeted floors and fully covered pews absorb congregational singing. What is also unfortunate, is that in these deadened spaces, each participant hears considerably less of the total sound being produced by the 'voice of the people'. In sanctuaries suffering from truly dry acoustics, individuals sense that they are alone, that they are not being supported by others in their singing, they feel as though their individual voices are 'sticking out' and they consequently respond by singing more quietly. This has a cumulative effect. For example, when my voice is not carrying all that well in the acoustically-dampened sanctuary, other people sense that I am not supporting them as they sing; we all then tend to sing more timidly, regardless of the nature of the song's music, style or text. In sanctuaries such as these, I have felt as though I was singing virtually by myself (or in an ensemble of those immediately surrounding me) even though over 400 other people were surely singing at the same time. Experiences such as these help me understand why, when I am in a resonant sanctuary, surrounded by other enthusiastic singers, I am far less self-conscious, and why I then tend to sing more joyfully, my spirit being filled with the assurance that I can unabashedly praise God through my joining in congregational singing. I sense that I am being supported by everyone in my community of faith, even during my singing and responsive readings. This musical support assures me that my friends will also pull together when times get difficult for me.

As musical styles and repertoires have undergone significant transformation during the past twenty years, so too has the audibility of those leading our congregational singing. In the 'Old Mennonite' churches which formerly sang without the help of any musical instruments, our song leaders led by the sheer carrying power of their voices. Although the leader's voice could be heard for the initial two measures, by the time the first musical phrase was being completed, the leader's voice was submerged into the totality of sound produced by the voices from the rest of the community of faith. What this said about us as a people was that we were more or less equal before God within our community of faith. We, the congregation, heard ourselves worshipping our God collectively, as a community, through song.

In the high liturgical traditions, one of the symbols of ecclesiastical power has been the bishop's staff, a visible sign of his special office, a sign encouraging people to listen carefully as he speaks. In modern times, evangelicals worshipping in their increasingly deadened sanctuaries now have their own way of showing who has been given authority--the microphone. Whosoever has access to the microphone can be heard and is therefore the person with the power at that particular moment. (In semi-progressive but acoustically 'dead' congregations, the leader carries a mike around for others, sharing his power with selected individuals who must first gain his approval before being granted the right to speak to other believers.) In our acoustically deadened sanctuaries, those of us without mikes are relatively powerless. The changes in our sanctuary acoustics have now created an acoustical gulf between those whose every whisper can thunder to the farthest carpet thread and those who would have to speak quite loudly indeed even to be noticed by the people four pews away. Strangely, in some of our new churches, expensive microphones are required for a professional speaker to be heard by as few as 70 people (Bethel Mennonite; I lecture to 110 without a mike at UBC, and do not have to raise my voice all that much).

With the advent of the 'worship teams', congregations have installed impressive amplification systems which enable each musician to have a separate microphone.

"[One] reason churches are building dead sanctuaries is because of a particular philosophy of church growth. If you want to be "contemporary", the thought is you need high tech sound systems for amplification. For a system to operate at its maximum (implying sound coming from the stage), you need a dead room. While this is great for events which are miked on the stage, it sounds the death knell for active congregational participation. The belief is that this kind of sanctuary (an ironic term, for I often want to flee from these places) coupled with the sound system, will then provide the optimum arena for producing contemporary worship (meaning that of the worship team [drum, guitars, synthesiser, miked vocals])...."

"I believe there is an illusion occurring, whereby people believe that the more volume coming from the front means a greater amount of participation occurs. In fact, it appears to be the opposite. We have lots of sound coming from the front, but many mouths are not moving. Two factors contribute to this: the sound from the front defeats any sound a participant can produce; and the songs are generally too high for men to sing." ⁽²⁾

Private communication from Tony Funk, music professor at Columbia Bible College in Abbotsford, B.C.

In some of our newer and truly deadened sanctuaries (e.g., Kilarney Park MB), two microphones are required if the congregation is to hear their grand piano properly--the grand piano--an instrument which can be heard when competing against a full orchestra in our concert halls without any amplification whatsoever. I also find that, as Tony Funk stated above, the increased amplification of 'worship teams' essentially overpowers the congregation's combined (unamplified) efforts. This means that we are now on the verge of drowning out the 'voice of the people' during congregational singing, much as in commercial pop concerts. Where will this lead? Will the time ever come when our churches will resort to giving each member in the pews a microphone so that congregational singing can once again ring out as in the days of old?

Suggestions

If your congregation is about to embark upon a remodeling or rebuilding campaign, why not have your congregation (as a group of people, not just its committee) collectively evaluate the designs used in other churches? To do this, I suggest that your congregation schedule your own worship services in the various sanctuaries you wish to inspect and experience. During your visit, listen to the speaking of your ministers (voices to which you are accustomed), have your 'worship team' and song leaders lead you in an extended period of singing songs with which you are familiar, read aloud responsively from the pews, have some sharing and prayers be given from the pews. See if your congregation (and your architect) can experience a wide range of architectural designs before even thinking of expending money on something which might prove unsatisfactory to everybody.

Once the walls, floor, and ceiling of your new sanctuary have been closed in, meet within them for corporate worship and try out the sanctuary for sound just as you had done when visiting other churches. Initially you will have to cope with acoustics that are far more lively than when all of the furniture will be installed, but if you keep listening to the room as it undergoes construction, you may be able to make changes in furnishings while it is still possible to do so without financial penalty. Some congregations have followed this procedure, bringing in rugs, blankets (imitating aisle carpets), and chairs from home (imitating types of pews they might order) as they have sought to make final decisions about flooring and seating. Few Mennonites buy their cars without a test drive, but our approach to buying sanctuaries is often carried out more in good faith than with solid assurance of success.

If you now attend a church which has its wall-to-wall carpets and sound-absorbing pews, my heart goes out to you. I have friends who have either changed congregations so that they can once again enjoy singing in church or have become resigned to knowing that their sanctuary will not improve during their lifetime. To such people I can only say: Spread the word, invite people to your church, explain that you want them to hear how truly dead congregational singing can become, and then warn them not to follow your congregation's example. (In order to rectify your acoustical problems, you may have to spend serious money.)

I also suggest that your church select a design that promises to be more resonant rather than less. (Can you get by without a microphone? Preachers used to be heard by hundreds, over the crying of babies!) It is simple enough to add beautiful banners, quilts, a few lovely rugs in order to absorb sound, but it is truly expensive to increase the sanctuary's resonance by replacing your new pews or changing your floor covering or ceiling.

When building a church and thinking about its costs, ask how long you expect the new structure to serve God's people: Is this to be a one-generation church building (if so, try to save lots of money, cut costs), or is this building to last for 500 years? If you intend to pass your new sanctuary on for several generations, invest in it properly. Once the sanctuary is built, there is little most congregations can afford to do to change it significantly (to paraphrase Moses, the decisions of the fathers will be visited upon their children and their children's children--people will be stuck with the building and its acoustical properties for years to come.)

If we unthinkingly continue constructing sanctuaries whose acoustical properties discourage the 'voice of the people', we will quickly become denominations populated by spectators expecting to be entertained, people whose main acts of participation will be those of listening and financial giving, but hardly that of continuing to build upon our love of congregational singing and sharing. Our music will increasingly be generated from the front stage with soft singing from the pews--the singing being drowned out by the amplified thunder of the worship teams.