After the institution of the Lord’s Supper, Jesus and his disciples sang a hymn (Matthew 26:30). But early church tradition tells us more. Peter was leading worship that night, with his brother Andrew was on piano. James and John trimmed the candles, as Matthew prepared the offering bags. Thaddeus slowly turned up the ambience on the pad, as Peter stepped up to the mic. Then, after inviting the Holy Spirit into their presence, Peter sang:

Even if I must die with you
I will not deny
Lord, I follow you now
I will lay down my life

Though they all fall
I will never fall away
Though they all fall
I will always say

Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death;
Jesus, I will worship you, to my very last breath.

Hands raised. Eyes shut. After Peter sings the chorus an eighth and last time he bows his head in prayer. Andrew keeps the melody going on the keyboard and ambient pad ensures the atmosphere is spiritually dense. Then the music soars again. Alone now, Peter prays: “If I must die with you, I will not deny you” (Mark 14:31). This moment feels especially significant. Peter seems Spirit-filled. Spirit-assured. Spirit-led. There’s a fire in his eyes. Surely Jesus is pleased? Praised? Glorified?

Jesus looks at Peter. He stares kindly into his eyes and glances around the room at the other disciples. “Will you lay down your life for me?” he asks Peter. “Yes,” Peter’s cries out. An audible murmur is heard from the other disciples. But Jesus; response silences them. “Truly, truly, I say to you, the rooster will not crow till you have denied me three times” (John 13:38).

Two Tenets of Contemporary Worship

Though I’ll stop short of saying this satire was Spirit-led, it was certainly inspired. I recently attended a large worship conference. Surrounded by genuine believers from various traditions and theological stables very different to my own, I’d put it out of my mind to be unnecessarily critical or polemical. Rather, it was my intention to praise God as we sang and fulfil my role in edifying those around me.

But four or five songs in it struck me. What we sang could be summarised with just two statements: (a) God is worthy of praise; and (b) we will praise God. In other words, the songs we sang majored exclusively in God’s worthiness and our desire to praise him. These two themes are almost perfectly summed up in a chorus from my heyday in Christian youth:

I will give you all my worship,
I will give you all my praise!
You alone I long to worship
You alone are worthy of my praise!

Despite singing in a variety of languages and tempos, the setlist didn’t cover anything other than our repeated commitment to worshipping God because he is praiseworthy.

Admittedly this summary is reductive. Somewhat. The choruses we sang did at the very least offer iterations of God’s greatness and our ambition to glorify him—but only iterations. We sang thunderously about God being mighty and majestic. We sang boldly about following God wherever he might lead us. But in the end, all we really sang was: (a) God is worthy of praise; and (b) we will praise God.

The apostle Peter on the night of Jesus’ arrest came to mind.

Sing of Grace, Not Your Great Commitment

It goes without saying, but then such things are worth saying: the first section of this article is satirical. All we read in the Gospels is that Jesus and his disciples sang a hymn. However, the lyrics to Peter’s satirical hymn are—if you’ll forgive me saying so—biblical. In fact, they’re little more than a paraphrase of Peter’s various promises to never abandon Jesus or fail him; they merely repackage him insisting that he’d faithfully persist, even if he was the last man standing from the twelve. Only Peter was wrong. His confidence was misplaced; his bravado little more than arrogance. Just hours later Peter swears: “I do not know the man” (Matthew 26:72). Just before that infamous denial, he slept as Jesus prayed (Matthew 26:40). An hour’s watch was too much despite those bold declarations. It’s no wonder departs the trial, weeping bitterly (Matthew 26:75).

Bringing my satire and recent worship experience together, what we sing in corporate worship matters tremendously. The person whose regular worship—and broader liturgy—never gets beyond God’s greatness and our ambition to glorify him will be ill-prepared for life. If all I ever sing about is how wonderful God is, what comfort do I have when my life does everything but honour him? What do I do with my sin? How do I cope with doubts, questions about whether he really is glorious or good? Where will I turn? What will I sing?

It is nothing but irresponsible—not to mention wildly at variance with our troubled and easily tempted hearts—to have people sing on repeat that God is praiseworthy and that we’ll praise him. Because we won’t. I mean, I don’t; I don’t always want to praise God. “I find it to be a law that when I want to do right, evil lies close at hand” (Romans 7:21). Singing repetitious songs might get people swaying and raising their hands, but it doesn’t prepare them to say with Paul: “Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” (Romans 7:24-25).

“Worthy Is the Lamb Who Was Slain”

In my writing I’ve tended to stay away from anything that might be construed as a harkening back to the worship wars. Rather what the Gospels report concerning Peter is a warning against shallow and ultimately graceless songs. We know from Revelation that glory will entail unceasing praise, as God’s people sing “day and night” with the heavenly choirs, “Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!” (Revelation 4:8). Oh, how we’ll sing of God’s worth (Revelation 4:11). Relentless rejoicing marks the pages of Revelation, only those songs are suffused with the suffering of the Lamb (Revelation 5:9, 12). Those choruses must be echoed in our own—making much of Christ’s work and little to nothing of my own weak, faulting and brittle commitment to him.