Is Music A Form Of Prayer?

People struggle with individual prayer for all sorts of reasons. For some, it’s finding enough time. For others, the words never seem to come. For me, the reason is tinnitus. For anyone unsure what exactly tinnitus is, WebMD defines it as ‘ringing in the ears’; ‘the sensation of hearing ringing, buzzing, hissing, chirping, whistling, or other sounds’. When I came down with tinnitus (hard times, as Paramore would say), quiet prayer became a relic from a distant past.

It would be nice, in this article, if I were able to say: ‘Christians with tinnitus, hear ye! Restore your prayer-life in three simple steps!’ Alas, this isn’t such an article because I don’t have a ready-made answer. What I’d like to ponder, instead, is whether something that doesn’t involve silence (namely, music) is an alternative to traditional prayer for those who suffer from tinnitus. After all, it’s literally not possible for people with tinnitus to partake in ‘silent prayer’.

But what is prayer? Hans Urs von Balthasar, a Swiss Catholic (yes, they do exist!) wrote about prayer as contemplation. Got Questions, an evangelical website, offers ‘talking to God’ as a ‘basic definition of prayer’. Emphasizing, as he did, the contemplative nature of prayer, Balthasar would certainly take issue with what follows: ‘Prayer is not meditation or passive reflection; it is direct address to God. It is the communication of the human soul with the Lord who created the soul’.

It goes on to say, ‘Prayer is the primary way for the believer in Jesus Christ to communicate his emotions and desires with God and to [have] fellowship with God’.

On the face of it, music should fit into the Got Questions definition fairly comfortably. Perhaps the biggest challenge comes in the first sentence: the idea of “talking to God”, which would seem to require words (which not all music has). There are depths of our being, however, which are better conveyed with melodic and harmonic language. Indeed, St. Paul acknowledges in the Letter to the Romans that, when we try to pray, words often fail us ‘in our weakness’ (8.26). In those moments, it’s always more intuitive to take to the keyboard, and express things in that way, than to sit and rack my brains until coherent sentences come.

It’s possible, with regards ‘direct address’, to dedicate a composition or a performance to God. J. S. Bach wrote the letters ‘S. D. G.’ (Soli Deo Gloria, ‘glory to God alone’) in key works. Fans of Leonard Cohen will remember the lyric, ‘I’ve heard there was a secret chord / That David played, and it pleased the Lord’ (“Hallelujah”). Closer to home, I remember my late Grandad saying to me that he would sit at his piano, the Yamaha digital that’s now mine, and serenade the Lord with “Morning Has Broken” while the sun rose over Belfast. What’s that if not prayer?

Communication is mentioned twice in the Got Questions definition of prayer; and we learn in Psalm 98 that instrumental music is a valid way to communicate with God: ‘With trumpets and the sound of the horn [other instruments are available] make a joyful noise before the King, the Lord!’ (v. 6). Consider a hymn written in direct address to God, e.g. “Take My Life, and Let It Be”. Such a text is a prayer, I think we can agree; when someone sings this hymn, they have prayed. Surely, how and ever, the flautist who plays a descant above the singing congregation, crafting each note as an offering to the Lord, has also been engaged in prayer?

If our definition of prayer is too narrow – twenty minutes of alone-time a day with God, outside of which nothing else counts – then we become less attuned to God’s presence; whereas everyday tasks, when done as prayer, are no longer just everyday tasks. Besides, when we construe prayer as an exclusively verbal activity, we devalue the prayers of all those whose communication style is non-verbal. If a person with autism joyfully flaps their hands in church, is that any less valid a prayer than when their neurotypical brethren say, ‘Hallelujah’?

Now, to my central thought on the subject: your prayer-life, no matter how many spiritual pervs try to come and ogle it, is nobody’s damn business but your own (unless and until you choose to discuss it with a person you trust). If prayer, for you, means tapping ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ on a glockenspiel while you ponder the Ten Commandments, then that’s what prayer bloody well is. Don’t let anyone – be they deacon, priest, or bishop – tell you differently.

People connect with God in different ways. Individual prayer in a quiet room, à la Daniel from the Book of… Daniel, is a popular option. There is nourishment for the soul to be found in this practice. For a person with tinnitus, however, that soundless environment is a nightmare without some sort of ambience: like a Chinese bamboo flute, which I have no doubt some pastor, in some obscure corner of Christendom, would slander as too Buddhist.

You can’t win!

Then there’s the fiction that God always communicates exactly today how he did in the Bible. Famously, the prophet Elijah, whom we read about in 1 Kings, hears God speak ‘not in the wind’, ‘not in the earthquake’, ‘not in the fire’, but in ‘a still small voice’ (19.11-12), which isn’t on-brand at all, given all the times that God reached out via natural disaster up to this point (see Genesis). Typically, when someone preaches on 1 Kings 19, they stress that when we “get quiet before God”, or something to that effect, we’re more likely to hear his voice. Before my hearing went cattywampus, this is precisely what I believed. I’m afraid, though, that as a person with tinnitus nowadays, I would need this list (‘wind’, ‘earthquake’, ‘fire’, ‘still small voice’) in reverse; God would only be met with voicemail if he tried a still small voice with me.

So, then, to summarize… Individual silent prayer doesn’t work for everyone (people with tinnitus, for instance, to saying nothing of ADHD). This is where music, as a communicative art form, can be helpful. Prayer makes itself manifest as music in the Book of Psalms, and so commands respect as a means to communicate with God. Ultimately, prayer is an intensely personal experience and looks different for each believer; it’s very much between oneself and God. Accordingly, we must always be tolerant of those whose prayer lives differ from our own. 

Then there’s the fiction that God always communicates exactly today how he did in the Bible. Famously, the prophet Elijah, whom we read about in 1 Kings, hears God speak ‘not in the wind’, ‘not in the earthquake’, ‘not in the fire’, but in ‘a still small voice’ (19.11-12), which isn’t on-brand at all, given all the times that God reached out via natural disaster up to this point (see Genesis). Typically, when someone preaches on 1 Kings 19, they stress that when we “get quiet before God”, or something to that effect, we’re more likely to hear his voice. Before my hearing went cattywampus, this is precisely what I believed. I’m afraid, though, that as a person with tinnitus nowadays, I would need this list (‘wind’, ‘earthquake’, ‘fire’, ‘still small voice’) in reverse; God would only be met with voicemail if he tried a still small voice with me.

So, then, to summarize… Individual silent prayer doesn’t work for everyone (people with tinnitus, for instance, to saying nothing of ADHD). This is where music, as a communicative art form, can be helpful. Prayer makes itself manifest as music in the Book of Psalms, and so commands respect as a means to communicate with God. Ultimately, prayer is an intensely personal experience and looks different for each believer; it’s very much between oneself and God. Accordingly, we must always be tolerant of those whose prayer lives differ from our own.