I am playing an arrangement of “Fairest Lord Jesus” for my prelude tomorrow. It’s lovely, but it wasn’t my original plan. The piece I previously selected just wasn’t coming together, so I pivoted midweek. This new prelude will suit the service well, but it is not nearly as impressive as my first choice. While I believe that simple and tasteful is often preferable to flashy and ambitious when it comes to musical worship, I admit I felt a bit glum throughout the week as I practiced.
But then I remembered a similar situation from earlier this year. If I recall correctly, I had planned a certain prelude but changed it later in the week to another arrangement of “Fairest Lord Jesus.” It went well. Even so, I could not shake the feeling that I ought to have prepared something more virtuosic.
I don’t believe this feeling came from the Lord—as though he were disappointed in me for playing a simple hymn to his glory in place of a showy piece for my own. What happened after service confirmed that, ambition and pride and regret aside, choosing that arrangement of “Fairest Lord Jesus” was absolutely the right choice. I selected it reluctantly and out of necessity, but the Lord was at work.
As I was packing up my music after playing for service all those months ago, an elderly man climbed into the choir loft. I tensed, expecting him to complain about how the organ was too loud or too soft, or that the hymns were too long or too short, for his liking. Instead, he thanked me for my prelude and shared with me the most wonderful memory.
As a young man, he had been part of an all-male choir. On one tour, he and his ensemble received special permission to go behind the Iron Curtain into Soviet-controlled East Berlin. There, they sang “Fairest Lord Jesus” in a church, its slow-moving harmonies and magnificent text echoing throughout the stone sanctuary. The final verse, given the context in which they were singing, was especially profound:
“Beautiful Savior! Lord of the nations!
Son of God and Son of Man!
Glory and honor, praise, adoration,
now and for evermore be thine.”
It gives me chills just thinking about it: proclaiming Christ as “Lord of the nations” in East Berlin during a period of intense international conflict.
Having shared his story, the man thanked me again for my prelude. He was just in town for the weekend and enjoyed hearing that familiar melody and remembering that long-ago choir tour. My prelude ministered to his heart, and his story ministered to mine. This brief interaction reminded me of a truth I am quick to tell others and slow to recall myself: the Holy Spirit plans, directs, and enacts our worship. Faithful worship leaders work diligently to select and prepare music to serve their congregations, but we are not ultimately the ones in control. Sometimes a reluctant change of plans is the Spirit at work, preparing something special for those gathered.
Remembering this, I was encouraged as I practiced today. I will play my second-choice prelude for my people tomorrow, trusting that it was the Lord’s first choice all along. And who knows how he may use this little offering of praise?
