A New York church had many stained glass windows dedicated in memory of deceased parishioners. The names were mostly Irish; it had always been an Irish parish. But over the years, the demographics had shifted, and the formerly Irish parish became primarily Hispanic.

Similar shifts occur all the time in this country, often fairly swiftly. After the Vietnam War, many areas became home to Vietnamese communities, not only in port cities but in the heartland. Liturgists in Los Angeles who were planning for one papal visit had to recognize and deal with 47 different language communities.

This kind of macro-change brings up the same anxieties—and resistance—as the more personal changes within a ministry or parish. Sometimes language itself becomes a dividing line between “us” and “them.” Unfortunately, Americans have never been very good about learning other languages, even when they might benefit from such knowledge.

Music can help bridge some of that gap—it can help, but it has to be part of a concerted effort to listen and understand one another. In all too many situations, there’s an attitude of, “Okay, we’ll do one of ours, and then one of theirs, and the rest is ours.” That’s tokenism, and it flat out doesn’t work to build the relationships the community needs.

As the psalmist says, “I turn to you, Lord, in time of trouble, and you fill me with the joy of salvation.” That joy is a shared joy. If our communal relationships are out of balance, then our “vertical” relationship with God will also be seriously skewed. We are all in this together—as were our immigrant ancestors.