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I’ve been working as a “worship leader” for seven years now, and this weekend I looked at some numbers. Let’s see, for the first 4 years or so, I was doing an average of around 4 services a week, and in the past 3 years, it has narrowed down to 1-2 a week. You figure an average of 4-5 songs per set. You figure in some extra gigs here and there, and in those collective seven years, I’ve done around 5,820 praise songs.

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired.

I’m just going to throw this out there as well, since we’re being honest here. I am tired of songs. They exhaust me with their predictable formats and their trite, emotionally charged, selfish responses (and as an author of such, I’m pointing the finger at myself). I’m tired of coming up with new, top-40 intros to praise songs to catch people’s attention, and I’m tired of the same 5 songs in the key of D that I can string together as one gigantic big finish.

Psalm 33:3 says to “Sing to Him a new song,” but I mean, really, is that even possible? We only have so many chords, we only have so many words to throw around down here. After decades and generations of music evolution, it seems we’ve turned over every stone only to find the words of Ecclesiastes ringing in our ears – there is nothing new under the sun.

But you see, if I’m tired, it’s my fault. If a song is old and tattered, it is because I have withheld the one, unique, precious thing I can bring to that song – my life.

When I hear Bob Dylan sing “I Shall Be Released,” I can hear his life bleeding through every lyric. There’s no doubt he’s searching, struggling, finding, and it’s right there in his voice. When Damien Rice sings “Elephant,” you can tell he’s lived every line of heartbreak, and that he would give anything to forget her. When I hear Fiona Apple’s “Sleep To Dream,” you don’t have to convince me that she’s been burned. Why? because her life has been infused into the song.

When you were in high school, you would sing “I Could Sing Of Your Love Forever,” and it was what it was – a song. When you were in college, striking out on your own, battling loneliness, you would sing the same song, and it was…different. Life had changed. The song had changed. And after you graduated college and your parents divorced, you sang the same song, seeing it shift just a little in the light. Different. And that one night you were on the floor, grabbing at the carpet, tears streaming down your face, the next morning you sang the song in church, and it was – different. Life had changed. The song had changed.

Worshiping through song is a complete farce if you don’t bring all of yourself to the experience. Songs will always ring hollow if they aren’t fueled by your story. Songs are a beautiful tool of release for the human soul, but if we don’t allow ourselves to exhale through them, we won’t experience the beauty of praise. Before we know it, they become old, tired, lifeless structures that are desperate for the very breath we deny them.

Take the one song you are tired of the most. Yes, that one. Take the lyrics, and think about the last year of your life. Take those lyrics, hold them up, and allow them to catch light. Hear the echoes of your story through the halls of each space between the lines. Take every ounce of courage you have, and let it go. Let your story run rampant through every phrase, and sing. Sing a new song unto the Lord Your God, because He is good, His love endures, and behold – He is doing a new thing.