Speaking of religion and fine arts, one is immediately confronted with two kinds of people: first, Christians in many varieties; secondly, the art lovers. Both kinds are rather tough to handle. The late professor Van der Leeuw (professor of theology and, after World War II, Dutch minister of education, arts, and sciences for a few years) pointed this out in the introduction to his essay on the relation between religion and art, “Ways and Boundaries.”

He writes in this vein: There are those Christians who decide rather smugly that a painting by Rembrandt may be very beautiful but that it is as perishable as the rest of the world. Their assessment of the arts is dictated by their resentment, aroused by half-religious regrets of their own transitoriness.

There are art lovers who, with just as much smugness, indulge in the wonderful assurance one may feel when enjoying beauty. They boast of their exclusive artistic expertness. To them, cultivating the arts means devotion, civilization, science, and all the other good things. They are the inspectors-general of beauty, who are not willing to be doomed with the rest but who are lifted up in and with their glorification of art. Their attitude, too, is dictated by resentment.

There are those Christians who appreciate or even love the arts, subjecting them immediately, however, to their “creed”; they will not accept the arts as they are, but they have to “sanctify” them first. They are so used to kneeling that they pull everything down to its knees with them. But they forgot how to get up again.

There are art lovers who consider that “sanctification” the worst idolatry; to them, there is nothing more sublime than beauty, in fact, there is nothing at all outside beauty. They are standing up, proudly and with high spirits, but they cannot kneel down anymore, in fact, they cannot even sit down.

But there are Christians and art lovers with other views. To them the problems are not so simple as to the former kinds; modern scientific approach to arts and religion taught them to reflect in modesty. Among those, perhaps, are some broadminded, humane Christians, who learned to love, in the phenomenon of their Lord, the entire world of phenomena; servants of beauty, who realize that their love is for Him who is beauty and more than beauty. Perhaps there are those, on one side and on the other, who did not kneel down before Baal, this Baal of homespun Christianity or homespun art. But who know how to kneel before God, everywhere and at all times. We hope to approach the latter group in dealing more specifically with our subject now.

Let me tell you at the very outset that the problems of religious music are gefundenes Fressen (as the Germans express it inelegantly) to a Christian broadcasting corporation. A general radio music program presents many more headaches than those inherent in the so-called religious music only.

Moreover, those who are dealing with religious music should bear in mind that religious music is not better than nonreligious music, just as praying is not more devout than working. The only real teaser to them is the question: what is religious music? Has sacred music a character of its own?

So, although religious music is not better than nonreligious music, Christian broadcasters have a very special task in this respect. Please allow me to tell you about some experiences we gathered in this field with the N. C. R. V. [Nederlandes Christeluke Radio-Vereniging] in Hilversum, Holland.

First of all, a few figures to give you a general idea. The Netherlands have about 12 million inhabitants. There are more than 2 1/2 million radio receivers, and half a million subscribers to the so-called “radio distribution” (a system of sound broadcasts of the regular stations, distributed locally by telephone cable, to which the public is free to subscribe). There are four main broadcasting corporations: a Roman Catholic one, a Protestant one, a Socialist one, and a neutral one; together, they have nearly two million members. The N. C. R. V., one of these four, has over 450,000 members; with the other organizations, it has two stations at its disposal (both AM and FM), so that each of them, after deducting the broadcasting time of several minor broadcasting clubs, has an average of three broadcasting days a week. I shall deal with the further subdivision of the programs later.

As to the N. C. R. V., the instructions for the head of the music department include a section directing—and rightly so—his special attention to the interest of religious music. In fact, preaching the Gospel is hardly imaginable without the assistance of music. By the way, I am not so sure that the word “assistance” is right in this context. There is so much talk about music as the assisting servant (serving the church, serving the liturgy, serving the ministry) that one is apt to believe in this subservient role.

Music, however, often appears to rise from the same source as the prophecies. Let me remind you of the Psalms: powerful pieces of prophecy in the shape of songs to string music. This music is not the servant but an element of the prophecy. In later times, this intimate relation between word and music, with its roots in a single layer of man’s religious life, has all but disappeared. Many of Luther’s congregation hymns still show this poet-composer oneness; Philipp Nicolai had it too; but in the days of Paul Gerhardt (1607–1676) the change had come to stay: the melodies were composed by other men than the poets—in fact, by many others: Johann Crüger, Nikolaus Selnecker, Matthias Greitter, Hans Leo Hassler, Johann Georg Ebeling, Johann Schopp, Bartholomäus Gesius, Jakob Hintze, Nikolaus Herman, Hans Kugelmann, and so forth.

Music is not an element any longer but a “facet,” an artificially polished face of the matter; it accentuates, decorates, comments on the text; at best, it adds its luster, allowing the congregation to lift their voices audibly in praise and prayer.

The musical treasury that may be called religious par excellence is that of the congregational hymn. In this respect the word “religion” is related to a word that means “to bring together again,” but in the sense of the Gospel (John 10:16): “and there shall be one fold and one shepherd.” Besides, religious music includes all the music that has been generated by the congregational hymn, directly or indirectly: the organ chorale, the chorale prelude, the chorale partita, the chorale fugue, the chorale motet, and the chorale cantata. And then there are all those other forms, such as the Epistle and the Gospel motet, liturgical pieces like Kyrie, Gloria, and Credo, the figurative choral music for all sorts of liturgical purposes, the larger forms such as complete masses, Passion music, birth and resurrection stories, oratorios, smaller forms such as the spiritual concerto, and—to mention something completely different—the repertory of spiritual wind music.

There may be differences of opinion, apparently, as to the question if all this is also church music. I attended Festgottesdienste (“festive religious services”) in Germany, the musical decoration of which blatantly outdid the sermon, which, for that matter, does not necessarily belittle the sermon or advocate church music.

But when broadcasters are dealing with the entire gamut I just mentioned, their main concern is not what the churches will or will not accept. There were times when church music grew far beyond the boundaries of the liturgy, in word and in music, but it is not up to us broadcasters to define those boundaries.

Now we should like to go into the matter of the place the total supply of religious music should occupy in broadcasting. The radio program consists of elements of various origins. There are, for instance, the relays, live broadcasts from a church, a concert hall, an opera house, or an open-air bandstand. Those broadcasts are, in fact, reports of musical events. Next, there are the corporations’ own productions, carried out in the studios or in areas used as studios and destined for transmission by microphone only.

With these two means: the relay and the corporations’ own productions, the musical staff has to work. Their job, by the way, shows some resemblance to that of the editors of a magazine. A musical program, just like a magazine, has to be edited. Editing consists of three phases: first, there has to be a fundamental idea as to the general course one wishes to steer; secondly, the possibilities have to be investigated and elaborated into a plan; thirdly, one has to find a concrete form, in which—within a certain unit of broadcasting time—the plans may be carried out.

The length of this unit of broadcasting time may be a controversial topic. In general, however, one day of broadcasting is not nearly enough to include the result of all the ideas. For many broadcasting stations, one week might be sufficiently representative; in Holland, with its four broadcasting corporations to two stations, it takes a fortnight. Now what does the N. C. R. V. do with religious music in such a unit of broadcasting time?

On Sundays, there is a program of community hymn singing, each season from one major church in our country, conducted by the cantor, Willem Mudde. The hymns to be sung are, of course, in keeping with various periods of the Christian year and with the Sunday of the particular broadcast.

The series “Church and Music” is introduced by experts on Fridays and provided with many musical illustrations on Sundays. This feature includes, for instance, the hymn of a particular Sunday set to music in many forms (for the 17th Sunday After Trinity “What God Ordains Is Always Good”); various forms of Kyrie, Gloria, Credo; organ partitas for Advent; Vespers of the Taizé Atonement Church; the use of a brass band in public worship (such as the local brass band in a small Dutch town, which plays the accompaniments excellently in the church that lacks an organ); examples of Bible texts sung as motets; new trends in the organ accompaniment of the congregational hymn singing; liturgical organ playing; modern Psalm compositions; and so on.

We also have a series called: De Platenbijbel (a Dutch play on words, for platen means “illustrations” as well as “recordings”). It is an hour with highlights from Biblical oratorios, compositions illustrating the events related in the Scripture. During the past season, there were broadcasts—with explanations—on “the Apostle of the Heathen,” illustrated by Mendelssohn’s St. Paul; on the glorious career from shepherd boy to king, illustrated by Honegger’s Le Roi David; on the childhood of Christ (L'Enfance du Christ by Berlioz); on the Creation cycle (Die Schöpfung by Haydn); scenes from Israel’s suppression and miraculous rescue from slavery in Egypt (Israel in Egypt by Handel); on the Beatitudes (Les Béatitudes by César Franck); on the story of Naomi and Ruth (Ruth by Franck); on “Things to come soon” (oratorio Apocalyps by Henk Badings); on King Solomon (Solomon by Handel); and on Christ pictured before our eyes when He was crucified (La Passion by Migot).

There have been many serials on Sundays: works for organ and choir by Matthias Weckmann, by Samuel Scheidt, Psalms by Sweelinck, and too many more to enumerate.

On weekdays, too, there are many regular and one-time broadcasts of religious music. The N. C. R. V. Vocal Ensemble and the N. C. R. V. Children’s Choir perform many programs of spiritual songs, motets, and cantatas. In a series called “The Spiritual Book of Songs Opened,” we offered hymn arrangements for vocal quartet, instrumental quartet, and organ.

There are weekly organ concerts, sometimes in a cycle context. Last month, for instance, we made quite a number of recordings of South German and Austrian organs, after our experts had investigated the possibilities on the spot and obtained the cooperation of various church and secular authorities. Regular broadcasts of English cantata and anthems are performed by a double quartet with organ accompaniment. There are regular programs of religious music on records and on our own tape recordings. Fifteen minutes of Salvation Army music is a regular feature. Religious music plays its part, too, in our educational broadcasts on house, school, and folk music. The highlights of the church year are marked by special series and one-time broadcasts.

Then there are the major works: oratorios, histories, Passion music, masses from Schütz to Pepping, from Purcell to Britten. It is a remarkable fact that nearly all contemporary composers chose religious subjects in composing their major works. It is much easier to ask, which modern composer did not write a major composition to a religious text; the simple answer is: Béla Bartók.

A rule that is applicable to radio music programs in general and to religious music in particular: the dosage should be rather small. There are listeners who set their hearts—or rather, their emotions—on the religious song to such an extent that, when turning on their radio any moment of the day, they expect at least a psalm of the N. C. R. V. It is hard to make them understand that too much religious music would have a devaluating effect, and that, as we said already, praying is not more devout than working, so that the lighter vein in broadcasts like “Music while you work” is indispensable. A Christian broadcasting corporation should not present as much religious music as possible but select it with insight and moderation and broadcast it at the right hours. I can mention a few figures concerning the place of religious music; those figures, compiled by the N. C. R. V., are based on 40 years of experience, so we may take it that they represent a satisfactory arrangement.

More than 65 percent of the total program consists of music. Eight years ago, the musical programs were subdivided as follows: 50 percent classical music, 30 percent light music, and 20 percent religious music. Later, the classical and light music came a little closer together, narrowing the gap to 45 and 35 percent respectively, but religious music remained constant, at about 20 percent. It is of importance, however, that religious music is broadcast, almost exclusively, at peak hours and that these figures do not include the many hymns sung at the studio services, to the tune of about a thousand psalms, anthems, and spiritual songs per annum.

In this connection, it should be pointed out that the conditions determining such a place for religious music depend largely on the general structure of the national broadcasting system. In his detailed sociological essay entitled “La musique, la radio et l’auditeur,” Alphons Silbermann gave proof of a severe lack of understanding in this matter. He even says that it never made any difference to him whether broadcasting was run by the state or by private enterprise. Independent broadcasting, says he, conforms itself to the listeners’ preference, whereas state broadcasting conforms itself to the government’s preference. Which means clearly that it does not matter to him whether he is bitten by the dog or by the cat.

In our opinion, however, propagation of the Christian creed, with the power of religious music as one expedient, should be carried out by Christian organizations, with experts of their own, who are free to shape the Christian ideas. It is not for us to decide here and now the nature and the limits of the church’s task in this matter. It is clear, though, that the problems of religious music reach far beyond the competence of the church. On the other hand, we should not forget that we owe much of the present revival and rejuvenation of religious music to a renaissance in and about the Evangelical Lutheran Church.

But we are dealing with religious music in radio; so, apart from this ecclesiastic trend, which stimulated the revival and rejuvenation of religious music, it is only fair to point out quite another aspect: namely, the new horizons disclosed by radio engineering. We think, in particular, of the radiophonic oratorio Job by the Dutch composer Ton de Leeuw, which was awarded the Prix Italia in 1956.

These and similar works are perhaps not extremely important in themselves but rather because they proved the workability of the specific possibilities of radio as a means of communication. After all, one thing is certain: the character of music broadcast is widely different from that of music made at home or relayed from concert halls or elsewhere. And this brings us to a distinction that should be borne in mind perpetually in broadcasting: one has to do with three kinds of music—music fit for broadcasting; music adapted to broadcasting; and music made and destined for broadcasting only. Each of these kinds deserves a place in musical radio programs, and religious music has its function in all three of them.

The first kind is the music preeminently suitable for broadcasting to homes. I might mention just one of countless examples, the Kleine geistliche Konzerte by Schütz. The second kind is music written for, or adapted to, broadcasting, the composer using the orthodox forms and instruments but taking the practical radio experience and demands into account. According to this principle, the N. C. R. V. commissioned psalm arrangements for small chamber orchestra. The third kind requires technical expedients which only the microphone can reproduce to their full advantage. An example of this kind of music is Ton de Leeuw’s oratorio, which I just mentioned.

Now there remains the important matter of the further development of what we might call radiophonic dramaturgy. In broadcasting, one is not through with the problems after planning the programs and just transmitting them “according to plan.” Neither the program material nor the practical presentation are the real problem. They should not, on the whole, be too difficult to cope with. Walter Michael Berten once said, Die Not des Rundfunks ist nicht eine Stoffnot, sondern eine Gestaltungsnot (“The trouble with broadcasting is not a lack of material but a matter of presentation”).

It is of primary importance to realize that radio is not in the first place an institution of art, like the theater and the concert hall, but something vastly different. Radio reproduction develops the sociological idea of “consumption by microphone.” It is wrong simply to let the music sound; one should cultivate active listening whenever possible, bearing in mind that the artistic pretensions of the actual form we seek should be modest. Not every radio program, in fact, is meant to produce unique, fierce emotions in the listener but to give a variable (and agreeable) shape to daily life.

By involving the public in the making of certain programs, one may test the viability of some forms of broadcasting. Instructive radio programs of house music, school music, amateur choir singing, etc. may also stimulate the interest and build up knowledge of the literature and standards of appreciation. In such broadcasts, religious music comes into its own imperceptibly if the musical directors, besides planning the programs at their desks, will engage a staff to whom music is not just entertainment or beauty but actually a form of worship.

In addition to all this, the presentation by the announcer plays an important part. In the particular case of religious music, he can make himself useful by reading the original text from the Bible or the hymnbook to introduce a song or motet. During an unexpected interval, when the announcer has to improvise, it is important for him to demonstrate the basic principle of his organization. In this respect, I remember an extra news item about a serious plane crash; the announcer made a very unfortunate decision when he continued with Debussy’s comical prelude Minstrels. After such an alarming piece of news, a Christian broadcasting corporation would have every reason to raise thoughts to heaven by playing, for instance, an organ chorale on Vater unser im Himmelreich.

But the real radiophonic form is not determined by the simple announcement nor by instructiveness or appropriate presentation. If one thing is becoming clear today, it is that one cannot stick to the traditional forms of radio program presentation. Of course, there will always be the broadcasts of church music, concerts, operas, light music, etc., as well as the talks and the news. But apart from these constant values, there is a trend towards new horizons of a purely radiophonic character. We already discussed radiophonic music. In a wider sense, we can speak of a new radio language, the structure of which, by the way, is still far from established.

The urgency of such a specific radio language is not seen and realized by everybody. Here we are reminded of Henri Barraud’s essay on “Musique et Radiodiffusion,” in Cahiers d’Etudes de Radio-Télévison, in which he begins by remarking that the big problem in our day is not that of the musical language, the tonal system, or dodecaphonics, not even that of the contact with the listeners, but . . . that of financing the programs. He then permits himself the little joke that, next to the cannon, music is the most expensive noise, an idea that has not yet occurred, however, to those who compose and those who listen to music.

We have no wish to belittle the fact that the making of radio programs presents enormous financial problems, but those who stopped seeing one of their main tasks in the approach to the listeners are quite worthless as broadcasters. At the N. C. R. V. in Hilversum, a new radio language is experimented with in the so-called “Akoustikon,” a program in which poet, composer, and sound engineer work together. One of the fascinating things about this new radio language is the carefully balanced combination of sound elements. This language is no longer a written language or a language for reading, but its primary function is sound; it is a sonorous symbol. Although words determine the meaning of the program and indicate the theme, the words and sentences in the “Akoustikon” are conceived acoustically in the first place. Words and combinations of words are placed in a highly associative context.

In addition to language as an element of sound, we distinguish:

Material Sound (sounds of stone, wood, iron and glass, put in rhythmical sequences, so that the so-called concrete music is produced)

Instrumental Sound (all the sounds that can be produced by means of old and new musical instruments)

Natural Sound (wind, water, birds, etc.)

Electronic Sound (sounds produced by means of electrotechnical instruments)

Now two or more of those elements of sounds are combined in such a way or brought into such an acoustic relation that a certain suggestive and associative tension, precalculated at will, is produced. This is the real heart of the matter: finding the right combinations, so that the listener, willingly or unwillingly, consciously or unconsciously, but inescapably, associates and communicates with what he hears.

This new, radio-language production has something to do with the psychology of conveyance and hearing, receiving the sounds conveyed. In the Akoustikon, for example, things are not always called by their names; they are suggested, hinted at; the operation takes place just beside natural reality. It depends on the subject how far we can keep at a distance of sensorially perceptible reality. Each distance has its own tension value.

The listener who is used to the orthodox talk, the conventional buildup of the text, the platitudes, the overfamiliar musical “frame” and “illustrative” sounds, knows exactly what the traditional broadcast has in store for him; more often than not, there is nothing in it to surprise him. But in radiophonic broadcasts, everything the listener hears should be new, unheard and full of surprises, so that he simply has to listen with all his attention. His heart is touched, his imagination is given new impulses by the unexpected turns, the associations that are unknown and new to him.

The radiophonic combinations are built up in such a way that the listener, even if he fails to understand or appreciate part of it, will find new points of contact. In the radiophonic language, repetition, for example, is very important. This new language, of course, is not for reading; it is purely auditive, it can be heard and understood only in connection with sound-constructions made for that specific purpose.

In view of the enormous possibilities of the radiophonic language, we are justified in expecting that before long it will be applied in all sorts of fields: in the spreading of the Word, the ministry of the Gospel, in broadcasting oratorios, special reports, operas, as well as in programs of a certain propagandistic or political nature.

We of the N. C. R. V. have made a few modest attempts in this respect, but there is a great deal more to do. It might be an interesting venture for a workshop group of theologians, men of letters, poets, sociologists, and composers to investigate the practical possibilities of radiophonics.

It should be evident by now that the Akoustikon has nothing to do with religious music in the traditional sense. But in the Akoustikon the musical means are being integrated into a new language, which may contribute—in an absolutely radiophonic way—to the spread of the Gospel.

From The Musical Heritage of the Church, Volume VII (St. Louis, Mo.: Concordia Publishing House, 1970). Copyright Concordia Publishing House. Printed by permission. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of Concordia Publishing House.