A reflection on the human voice, breathing and health research, biblical praise, and worship that continues into eternity.
By Muchangke
By Muchangke
A few days ago, I watched a video about music.
It opened with a striking statement:
“Ninety-five percent of people do not know that music can actually connect us with the divine.”
The speaker then moved from traditional Chinese culture to the five tones—gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu—and their traditional associations with the five internal organs. He also discussed the old Chinese character 藥 (“medicine”), which contains 樂 (“music”), before turning to the possible effects of music on the body, emotions, and health.
Some of these claims require greater caution from the perspectives of modern medicine and Chinese etymology. We should not simply assume that a particular musical note can treat a particular organ. Nor can we conclude, merely because the traditional character 藥 contains 樂, that “music was originally medicine.”
Yet the video led me to a deeper question:
Why does almost every human civilization have music?
Why do people sing when they are joyful—and also when they are grieving?
Why is it that, in moments of profound pain, we may be unable to put our feelings into words, yet a single song can bring us to tears?
Why has the Church, throughout two thousand years of persecution, war, plague, and suffering, never stopped singing?
I increasingly believe that music is more than sound received by the ears. It is movement of the body, expression of emotion, and language of the soul. And when music is set apart for God, it becomes praise.
Praise is one of the most precious gifts human beings can offer to their Creator.
Traditional Chinese culture has always placed great importance on music.
There is an old saying:
“Silk is not as good as bamboo, and bamboo is not as good as flesh.”
“Silk” refers to stringed instruments.
“Bamboo” refers to wind instruments.
And “flesh” does not mean meat in the modern sense. It refers to the human voice.
The Qing-dynasty writer Li Yu explained the saying this way:
“In the way of sound, silk is not as good as bamboo, and bamboo is not as good as flesh, because each step comes closer to nature.”
Why?
A stringed instrument may be beautiful, but it still depends on an external object.
A bamboo flute may sound pure and clear, but it too requires an instrument.
The human voice, however, requires no external device.
The body itself is an instrument.
The lungs provide the breath. The diaphragm participates in breathing. The vocal folds vibrate. The mouth, nasal cavity, and chest contribute resonance. The tongue, teeth, and lips shape language.
So when a person sings, it is not merely “the mouth singing.”
The whole person participates.
This brings to mind a beautiful picture in Genesis.
God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul.
From a Christian perspective, therefore, our ability to sing is not merely an accidental biological phenomenon.
Our breath is a gift.
Our voice is a gift.
And our singing can become a response to the Lord who gives us life.
The video also discussed a fascinating Chinese character:
藥.
The traditional form of the Chinese word for medicine is 藥. It has the “grass” radical 艹 at the top, and beneath it is 樂, the character associated with music or joy.
It looks wonderfully poetic:
Herbs plus music seem to become medicine.
But if we follow historical Chinese etymology carefully, the Shuowen Jiezi explains 藥 as:
“A medicinal herb for treating illness. From 艸, with 樂 indicating the sound.”
In other words, 樂 functions primarily as the phonetic component of the character.
We therefore should not simply say:
“The ancient Chinese created the character for medicine this way because they knew that music could heal disease.”
It is a beautiful explanation, but it is not sufficiently rigorous.
That does not mean, however, that music has nothing to do with health.
On the contrary, modern medicine is discovering the connection from another direction:
Singing is a remarkably complex physical and psychological activity.
When we sing, we must learn to control inhalation and exhalation.
We must maintain posture.
We must coordinate the respiratory muscles.
We must control how long we exhale.
At the same time, the brain is processing melody, rhythm, lyrics, memory, and emotion.
Singing, therefore, is far more than entertainment.
In a sense, it is a gentle but complex form of whole-body activity.
This was one question I especially wanted to investigate.
There is now a field of research often described as:
Singing for Lung Health.
Researchers have found that, for some people with chronic respiratory conditions, structured singing programs can help participants learn breath control, improve posture, and use their respiratory muscles more effectively.
A systematic review of singing interventions for people with chronic respiratory disease reported that participants often described improvements in breath control, mood, social participation, and quality of life. At the same time, the researchers were appropriately cautious: many of the existing studies were small, and more long-term research is needed.
A later meta-analysis involving five randomized controlled trials and 333 patients with stable COPD found that singing training produced some improvement in physical aspects of quality of life and in maximal expiratory pressure. However, the same clear benefits were not demonstrated across general lung-function measures or exercise capacity.
Another randomized controlled study involving 270 people with COPD compared Singing for Lung Health with conventional exercise training. After ten weeks, both groups improved in six-minute walking distance and quality of life, and singing training was not inferior to conventional exercise on the primary exercise-capacity outcome.
So, if we want to speak accurately, we should not say:
“Singing can cure disease.”
A better statement would be:
“Structured singing can train breath control and respiratory muscles and may provide positive benefits for pulmonary rehabilitation, quality of life, and psychological well-being in some people.”
That alone is remarkable.
When we open our mouths to sing, it is not only sound that is moving.
Our respiratory system is working.
Our muscles are working.
Our brain is working.
Our emotions are engaged.
Our memory is engaged.
And our relationships with other people can be engaged as well.
Singing is an activity in which body, emotion, mind, and relationship participate together.
Traditional Chinese music speaks of five tones:
gong, shang, jue, zhi, and yu.
Ancient Chinese thought often associated these five tones with the Five Elements and the five internal organs, forming an elaborate system of correspondences between humanity and the natural world.
These ideas are worth understanding as part of traditional Chinese culture.
But as Christians, we also need discernment.
We do not need to mechanically assign every musical tone to a particular organ, nor should we turn music into mysticism.
The deeper question is not:
“Which organ does this sound reach?”
The deeper question is:
“To whom does my voice ultimately belong?”
Scripture gives us a clear answer:
The highest purpose of music is to glorify God.
The Bible never treats praise as merely the “warm-up” before worship.
Praise itself is worship.
Second Chronicles 20 records an extraordinary battle.
King Jehoshaphat was facing powerful enemies, and from a human perspective Judah was in grave danger.
But when they went out to battle, something almost unimaginable happened.
The king did not place his finest soldiers at the front.
Instead, he appointed singers, clothed in holy attire, to go before the army praising the LORD.
They sang:
“Praise the LORD; for his mercy endureth for ever.”
Then Scripture tells us that as they began to sing and praise, the LORD acted.
This does not mean that in every future war people need only sing.
It reveals a much deeper spiritual principle:
Praise is a declaration of faith.
Before their circumstances changed, they praised.
While the enemy was still before them, they praised.
Before the answer came, they praised.
True praise, therefore, is not:
“Lord, solve my problem first, and then I will praise You.”
True praise says:
“Lord, even while the problem remains, You are still God. Even when I cannot yet see the way forward, You are still worthy of praise.”
I also love the scene in Acts 16.
Paul and Silas were beaten because they had been preaching the gospel.
They were not merely struck a few times.
They were beaten, thrown into the inner prison, and their feet were fastened in the stocks.
If it had been us, perhaps we would have asked:
“Lord, I am serving You. Why are You allowing this to happen to me?”
But at midnight, a sound suddenly rose from the prison.
It was not complaining.
It was not cursing.
It was not despair.
It was—
prayer and singing.
Scripture says:
“And at midnight Paul and Silas prayed, and sang praises unto God: and the prisoners heard them.”
Then the earth shook.
The foundations of the prison moved.
The doors opened.
The prisoners’ bonds were loosed.
Yet what moves me most about this passage is not even the earthquake.
It is this:
They began singing before the chains fell off.
So often we say to God:
“Lord, open the chains first, and then I will praise You.”
Paul and Silas, however, demonstrate another way:
“Even while the chains remain, I will praise You.”
This is the power of praise.
Praise does not always change our circumstances first.
Praise first changes our position within those circumstances.
It turns our eyes from the chains to God,
from the prison to the throne,
from our limitations to God’s infinity,
from “What am I going through?” to “Who is my God?”
This is perhaps what moves me most deeply when I think about music.
Why do we pray today?
Because we do not yet see the Lord face to face.
Prayer is, in one sense, like conversation across a distance.
But one day, when we truly see the Lord face to face, we will no longer pray across that distance in the way we do today.
Why do we need preaching today?
Because someone needs to open Scripture, explain God’s Word, and teach us to know the truth.
But in eternity, we will stand before the Word who became flesh.
Why do we evangelize today?
Because there are still people who do not know Christ.
But in the new heaven and the new earth, the work of redemption will have reached its fulfillment.
Many spiritual activities that are vitally important today therefore belong particularly to this present age.
But one thing will not end:
Praise.
Read Revelation and you find that heavenly worship is filled with song.
The twenty-four elders worship.
The angels worship.
The redeemed from every kindred, tongue, people, and nation worship.
They sing a new song.
They proclaim that the Lamb is worthy of glory, honor, and power.
So I often think:
When we sing in church today, we are rehearsing for eternity.
Sunday worship is not a performance by a few people who happen to sing well.
The choir is not the church’s performing-arts club.
Praise and worship are not there merely to make the service “feel better.”
We are doing something now that we will still be doing when we enter eternity.
We are learning the language of heaven.
Christians often talk about “bearing fruit.”
The fruit of the Spirit.
The fruit of repentance.
The fruit of righteousness.
The fruit of the gospel.
But there is another kind of fruit we can easily overlook.
Hebrews 13:15 says:
“By him therefore let us offer the sacrifice of praise to God continually, that is, the fruit of our lips giving thanks to his name.”
I especially love the expression “the fruit of our lips.”
A living apple tree bears apples.
A healthy grapevine bears grapes.
So what should come from the lips of a person who truly knows God and has experienced His grace?
Praise.
Not because life is always easy.
But because, in prosperity and adversity alike, God is still God.
Not because every day brings good news.
But because the gospel itself is the greatest good news.
Not because our bodies will always remain healthy.
But because even if these bodies one day grow weak, we still have the hope of resurrection.
Praise, therefore, is not merely an emotion.
Praise is an expression of faith.
At this point, I also want to offer Christians an important reminder.
Music is powerful.
Music can influence emotion.
Music can awaken memory.
Singing can support breathing.
Singing together can create companionship and connection.
A familiar hymn may even bring forgotten truth back to our hearts in our darkest moments.
But—
music is not God.
We must not move from one extreme to another.
Because music can benefit the body and mind, we should not begin mystifying particular frequencies or notes, claiming that one frequency can “open the spiritual realm” or that one musical note can heal a particular organ.
Christians do not ultimately believe that “sound itself contains mysterious power.”
We believe that the God who created sound has power.
Melody does not save us.
Christ saves us.
A particular frequency does not heal our souls.
The grace of God heals us.
Music is a vessel.
God is the source.
We do not need music to “connect us with the divine.”
For in Jesus Christ, we may already come boldly unto the throne of grace.
Thinking about all this makes me believe that Christians really should sing more.
Sing when you get up in the morning.
Sing while driving.
Sing while cooking.
Sing when you are happy.
And when you are unhappy, perhaps sing even more.
Sing at family gatherings.
Sing in church worship.
Sing when you are alone.
You do not have to sing perfectly in tune.
You do not need a beautiful voice.
You do not need to understand music theory.
What God desires first is not a professional voice,
but a heart that worships Him.
Perhaps your singing does not sound impressive.
But to our heavenly Father,
the gratitude that rises from the heart of someone who has experienced grace
is more precious than the most magnificent performance in the world.
The ancient Chinese said:
“Silk is not as good as bamboo, and bamboo is not as good as flesh.”
I would add one more line:
Flesh is not as good as the heart.
However beautiful the strings may be, bamboo comes closer to nature.
However beautiful the bamboo flute may be, the human voice comes closer still.
But however beautiful the human voice may be,
without a heart that truly worships God, it remains only sound.
When a heart has been touched by grace,
when a life has experienced redemption,
when the lips begin to confess the Lord’s name,
then even an untrained song
can become a sacrifice offered to God.
Life will pass.
Youth will pass.
Health will pass.
The houses, careers, wealth, and achievements we possess will pass.
Even many important ministries in the church today will one day complete their historical purpose.
But there is one thing we begin doing now that we will continue to do:
Praise.
Today, we sing on earth.
One day, we will sing before the throne.
Today, we sing by faith.
One day, we will sing face to face.
Today, sometimes we sing through tears.
One day, God will wipe away all our tears—and still we will sing.
Today, our voices become hoarse, drift out of tune, and grow tired.
One day, in resurrected bodies, we will join the redeemed saints of every generation and sing the new song that never ends.
So do not underestimate a hymn.
And do not underestimate your own voice.
The fact that your lungs can still draw breath,
your vocal folds can still vibrate,
and your lips can still sing
is itself a sign that life remains within you.
Where there is breath, there is reason to praise.
As the final verse of the Psalms declares:
“Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.”
If you still have breath today,
do not use it only to sigh,
only to complain,
or only to speak about how difficult life is.
Let that breath become a song as well.
For one day,
prayer as we know it will cease,
preaching will cease,
tears will cease,
suffering will cease,
and death itself will cease.
But praise will never cease.
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