Writer and theologian Saint Augustine wrote a profound anecdote in Book IX, Chapter 7 of his spiritual autobiography Confessions: In the face of persecution by the heretical empress Justina, Ambrose, the bishop of Milan, kept watch in the church to prevent Arian Christians from invading the space. In keeping that watch–“an anxious time of vigilance”–Ambrose introduced the practice of singing hymns and psalms. Later known as Ambrosian chant, the purpose was “to revive the flagging spirits of the people during their long and cheerless watch.” In this brief paragraph, Augustine describes an important milestone in the history of Western sacred music and points to an interesting fact about the context in which it was founded: The purpose of musical worship was to provide strength and endurance for battle against enemies that sought to bring division to the Body of Christ.

This vignette is reminiscent of a familiar story from Acts 16:16-40. Paul, on his second missionary journey, is unfairly imprisoned with Silas in Philippi for casting a demon out of an economically exploited servant girl. After being beaten, abused, and chained in an inner dungeon, Paul and Silas pray and sing hymns throughout the night until a massive earthquake shakes the foundations of the prison and releases the prisoners from their chains. The whole encounter leads to the salvation of the jailer’s entire household, and Paul and Silas leaving Philippi with an apology from the local government and an emboldened church. I suppose we’ll never know if Ambrose had this in mind as he led his congregation in steadfast perseverance for the true Gospel, though I wouldn’t be surprised if it was.

As a classically-trained musician, I’ve engaged frequently with the realm of sacred music from an academic perspective–to study the history of Western music at all requires some understanding of Church history, since many developments in music history first began in the church. I’ve done harmonic analysis of Bach’s four-part chorales, and sung those same hymns in church the next Sunday. I’ve studied sacred choral motets or large-scale sacred works like Bach’s Passions, then heard fellow musicians lament the “simplicity” of contemporary worship music that mainly utilizes just four chords (I-IV-V-I, anyone?).

And yet, in being a worship musician for the past two years, I’ve seen the ways that these academic analyses and standards both have little bearing on the practical usage of music written for worship contexts and the ways they so evidently play out. As co-leader of Catacombs, I’ve seen how intentionally integrating diverse worship styles can unite a room of believers in a powerful way, defying worldly standards of togetherness. I’ve seen how surrendering a time of worship to the Lord in the face of frustration, grief, exhaustion, and discouragement transforms it into a time of victory and declaring the truth of Who God is.

But our worship isn’t just about declaring the truth of Who God is–as we see in countless places across the New Testament, even the demons can acknowledge Who He is.

It’s about joining the Church victorious at the throne of God as described in Revelation 7–the “vast crowd, too great to count, from every nation and tribe and people and language… [who] sang ‘Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and strength belong to our God forever and ever!’” It’s about declaring His holiness and surrendering our lives to Him in response, just as Isaiah did when he saw the Lord seated on the throne.

The Church sings with one voice at the throne of God. That kind of unity is impossible to create from our own human ability–it’s a unity that can only come from dwelling together in the presence of God. That unity is what sets us apart as Christ’s Bride, separate from a world riddled with division, and it testifies to the goodness and love of the God we worship.

In the 12th century, German nun Hildegard of Bingen wrote a morality play called Ordo Virtutum, in which a wayward soul (Anima) is rescued from the clutches of the devil by 16 female personifications of virtues. Every character in the play sings their lines as composed by Hildegard, with one exception: The devil is incapable of singing and simply screams angrily for the entirety of the play. What point, exactly, was Hildegard trying to make about music?

As we, the Church militant, engage in battle with the rulers, authorities, and spiritual forces of evil in this present age, we have a weapon that our enemy does not have: Joining with the Church victorious in pouring out our praise to the “one God and Father of all, who is over all, in all, and living through all.”