From hymn books to hashtags
Originating from 19th-century colonial missions, this music has undergone a metamorphosis, bearing the imprints of British religious structures, vernacular adaptations, and the advent of digital expression. In contemporary Pakistan, worship music transcends its traditional role of accompanying liturgy. It assumes the roles of theological witness, cultural repository, and political voice.
Drawing upon Homi K. Bhabha's concept of 'Third Space,' theories of cultural memory, liturgical inculturation, and the burgeoning field of sonic theology, this article delves into the ongoing renegotiation of identity and place by Punjabi church music. From the rendition of Psalms in ragas to the creation of Instagram worship videos, this music has consistently reimagined its boundaries and positioned itself within a broader cultural context.
Following the British annexation of 1849, missionaries from Presbyterian, Anglican, and Methodist denominations commenced arriving in Punjab. Initially, prominent centre's of mission activity were established in Ludhiana, Jalandhar, and Sialkot, where English hymnals and pipe organs were introduced into educational institutions and religious settings. By 1854, Ludhiana had emerged as a hub for Bible translation efforts, overseen by the American Presbyterian Mission. These missionaries introduced a European musical landscape characterised by rigid hymn structure, translated liturgy, and choral singing. Additionally, they introduced the harmonium, a portable reed organ manufactured in France, which became an integral component of worship.
The harmonium's entry into India was facilitated by military regiments and Christian missionaries, initially appearing in northern cities such as Jalandhar and Ludhiana. Over time, it gained widespread popularity within rural Christian congregations due to its portability, affordability, and harmonious compatibility with Indian musical traditions. By the early 20th century, it had become an indispensable instrument not only for churches but also for Sikh, Hindu, and Sufi musical practices, often supplanting more delicate stringed instruments such as the sarangi and dilruba. This indigenization constituted a subtle act of cultural negotiation: the European instrument that once symbolised colonial distinction became a shared devotional medium across religious affiliations.
In 1904, the establishment of the Sialkot Convention further accelerated vernacular expression in worship. Organised by a coalition of foreign missionaries and local Protestant leaders, the Convention quickly became the most significant revivalist Christian gathering in colonial Punjab. Held annually in Sialkot, it featured preaching, collective Psalm singing, and teaching sessions in both Urdu and Punjabi. The Convention served as a liturgical counterpoint to Western ecclesiastical formalism, empowering Christians to explore faith in familiar languages and sounds. After Partition, it continued to shape Pakistani Protestant identity, embedding musical memory into spiritual revival.
A pivotal moment in the creation of contextualised church music emerged from the work of Rev. Imam-ud-Din Shahbaz (1845–1921). A former Muslim convert and linguistic prodigy, Shahbaz rendered the entire Book of Psalms (Zaboor) into lyrical Punjabi verse between 1888 and 1905. These translations were composed in many ragas like kafi, pahari and bhairavi, melodic modes employed in Punjabi folk, Sufi, and classical traditions. Shahbaz's Psalms transcended the role of mere theological texts; they were poetry imbued with rhyme, rhythm, and call-and-response structure.
In the kafi tradition accompanied by a harmonium, these Psalms resonated not only with Christians but also with the broader village soundscape. According to mission records from that era, villagers, including Muslims and Sikhs, were drawn to Shahbaz's compositions. In Bhabha's terminology, Shahbaz had established a Third Space: he reinterpreted colonial Scripture by integrating it into the core of Punjabi musical culture.
Even after Punjabi became the dominant language in the liturgical sphere, Urdu retained its position as the primary language of worship, particularly in urban settings. As the lingua franca of colonial administration and post-partition national discourse, Urdu facilitated the gathering of worshippers from diverse regions and dialects in a unified liturgy. Its theological versatility also contributed to fostering interfaith familiarity. Words such as 'Allah' (God), 'Ruh-ul-Quddus' (Holy Spirit), and 'Masih' (Messiah) are shared across Islamic and Christian traditions, despite their divergent meanings.
According to liturgical scholars, Urdu provided a rich repository of poetic devices, drawing upon Arabic, Persian, and Turkic traditions. Hymns and Psalms composed in Urdu were frequently set to musaddas (six-line) or ghazal-style meters and accompanied by tabla-driven ragas. This fusion of scriptural depth and lyrical intimacy rendered Urdu hymns both accessible and spiritually resonant.
In the 1960s and 1970s, a second wave of vernacular creativity emerged, particularly within the Catholic Church. Inspired by the emphasis on liturgical inculturation outlined by Vatican II, missionaries in Pakistan embarked on the creation of Urdu-language hymnals that seamlessly integrated local musical traditions. Father Liberius Pieterse, a Dutch Franciscan stationed in Multan, published 'Hamd-Ullah' in 1955 and later co-edited 'Naya Geet Gao (Sing a New Song)' with poet Ghulam Masih Felix in 1972.
Parallelly, figures such as Father Exo-Pierre and Father Laborious Azad composed settings of the Kyrie and Gloria in Urdu, employing raag bhairavi phrasing and tabla rhythms. These hymns introduced melodic scales and rhythms that resonated deeply with the Pakistani audience, transforming the auditory experience of Mass and imbuing it with both sacredness and familiarity.
'Naya Geet Gao' swiftly transcended denominational boundaries, finding resonance with Protestant choirs as well. Its triumph underscored the transformative power of inculturated hymnody in uniting Pakistan's fragmented Christian communities and conferring musical and theological significance upon worship.
While church music shared many characteristics with Sufi qawwalis and Hindu bhajans, such as harmonium accompaniment, tabla rhythms, and poetic metaphors, it retained a distinct theological structure. Church hymns typically followed SATB (soprano, alto, tenor, bass) harmonies or unison singing with call-and-response sections. In contrast, qawwalis relied on solo improvisation, and bhajans on antiphonal chants. Terminologically, church hymns emphasised concepts like 'Yesu,' 'Najat,' and 'Salib,' while qawwalis focused on 'Nabi,' 'Wahdat,' and 'Ishq-e-Haqiqi.'
It is also noteworthy that the call-and-response form in Christian music carries deeper psychological implications. This participatory structure has historically empowered congregants, particularly in rural and marginalised communities, to engage with Scripture not as passive listeners but as co-creators of worship. This is one reason why even today, the performance of the Zaboor continues to play a central role in village churches and revival meetings. Music, in these settings, becomes both a method of instruction and a mode of emotional healing.
From 2010 onward, Pakistani church music entered the algorithmic era. YouTube channels such as Hallelujah Band and Zaboor Studios commenced producing professionally recorded Urdu and Punjabi worship videos. These were often structured in the musical language of Hillsong-style global worship: guitar-driven praise, layered harmonies, and emotionally charged choruses. However, unlike global megachurch music, these productions retained tabla, dholak, and folk instrumentation.
One of Hallelujah Band's most viewed tracks, 'Rab Janay,' commences with a bhangra beat and transitions into an English hook: 'You know my heart.' This musical code-switching reflects a broader diasporic sensibility: young Christians singing to both God and algorithm, to both local community and global audience.
Church music has long served as a form of spiritual resistance in Pakistan. Following the 2013 bombing at All Saints Church in Peshawar, mourners gathered amidst the rubble to sing Psalm 23 in Urdu. The footage, captured on mobile phones, gained widespread attention and became a symbol of national unity. In 2015, when suicide bombers targeted Catholic and Protestant churches in Lahore's Yohannaabad neighbourhood, youth choirs responded by singing through the streets, demonstrating their resilience and determination.
In response to the Joseph Colony arson in 2013, which resulted in the destruction of over 150 homes, churches held overnight Zaboor recitations using harmoniums and candles. Following the Jaranwala church burnings in 2023, where 26 churches were torched, worshippers returned to sing Psalm 91 amidst the ashes, invoking divine protection. In Sargodha in 2024, after a mob attack on a Christian household, survivors gathered in homes to chant Zaboor in whispers, resisting erasure through sacred sound.
Theologians and musicians argue that these acts exemplify monumental memory: the preservation of suffering and hope through sound. Church music not only commemorates trauma but also reclaims space. In a sonic-theological perspective, lament transforms into protest through praise.
Simultaneously, in the diaspora, from Toronto and Dubai to Birmingham and Melbourne, Punjabi Christians continue to practice their faith in three languages, spanning across four time zones. Diaspora churches harmoniously blend Shahbaz's Punjabi Psalms with Hillsong choruses, disseminate Sunday services on platforms such as Facebook and Instagram, and creatively remix Naya Geet Gao classics into electronic dance music (EDM) sets for youth conferences. This transnational musical fusion transcends geographical boundaries, fostering a vibrant and postcolonial liturgical community that is both multilingual and distinctly alive.
Numerous Pakistani renowned musicians, including S.B. John, Saleem Raza, and A. Nayyar, initially received training in church choirs. Their contributions to Lollywood film music incorporated elements of gospel phrasing, harmonic layering, and spiritual lyricism. Presently, programmes like Coke Studio Pakistan continue this crossover legacy. For instance, Hadia Hashmi's rendition of 'Bol Hu' draws upon Christian vocal stylings and melodic structures prevalent in Urdu worship.
In Pakistani Punjab, church music serves not merely as a liturgical embellishment. It constitutes a space where colonial form intersects with local expression, where Scripture is sung in folk metre, and where faith persists despite adversity. Whether through kirtan-like harmonium chants or digital mashups incorporating English refrains, this music embodies a theology that undergoes constant reimagination through resistance, sound, and community.
Church music plays a pivotal role in interfaith dialogue and public memory. In various regions of Punjab, Christian worship groups are invited to perform at civic festivals or university gatherings, particularly during Christmas or interfaith harmony week. These performances, often delivered in Punjabi and Urdu, underscore the shared aesthetic and emotional language of religious music across Pakistan's diverse communities. When Zaboor is performed in a setting that also includes Sufi qawwalis or Sikh shabads, it not only demonstrates musical convergence but also fosters mutual respect. In such moments, sacred sound becomes a connecting bridge between traditions through emotion, narrative, and reverence.
Another aspect worthy of note is the role of female voices in church music, which is often underrepresented in formal liturgical settings. Over the past decade, more Christian women have emerged as soloists, worship leaders, and composers. In choirs from Youhanabad to Gujranwala, female vocalists now lead Psalms in congregations and livestream performances. Their presence adds novel textures to sacred music and challenges traditional gender hierarchies within ecclesial spaces.
Furthermore, youth-led worship collectives such as The Worship Project Pakistan and Rising Faith Ministries have commenced organising open-air concerts and praise nights, particularly during Easter and Christmas. These gatherings often combine classical Zaboor settings with contemporary genres such as pop-rock, acoustic folk, and even spoken word poetry. By merging tradition with experimentation, young Christians ensure that church music remains a pertinent and evolving expression of faith.
Lastly, education initiatives surrounding music literacy are gaining traction. Institutions like Forman Christian College in Lahore and St. Thomas Seminary in Karachi now provide formal training in church music, composition, and theology. Through workshops, certificate programs, and performance ensembles, a new generation of trained liturgists and composers emerges equipped not only with musical proficiency but also with a profound understanding of their heritage.
Church music in Pakistani Punjab encapsulates the intricate and multifaceted identity of a post-colonial nation: multilingual, devotional, politically aware, and profoundly resilient. Drawing inspiration from Bhabha's concept of hybridity, it seamlessly integrates Western liturgical practices with Punjabi emotional expressions. Through cultural memory, it effectively resists the erosion of historical recollections; through inculturation, it maintains its strong connection to its cultural roots; and through sonic theology, it effectively communicates without the need for verbal articulation. As Christian communities persistently face marginalisation, their music continues to serve as a poignant soundtrack of survival, embodying a theology not merely spoken but also manifested through the act of singing.
Brian Bassanio Paul is a music enthusiast whose expertise lies at the intersection of music business, artist development, music appreciation, and cultural studies. He can be reached at brian.bassanio@gmail.com and on LinkedIn @brianbassanio
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Express Tribune
19 hours ago
- Express Tribune
Soan River's legacy now a monsoon nightmare
The Soan River rages with swollen waters following heavy monsoon rains. An archival view of a train crossing the Soan River near Rawalpindi. A rare 138-year-old photograph from 1887 captures the historic Soan River bridge. PHOTOS: EXPRESS Once a witness to some of the oldest extinct civilisations, the crystal-clear stream that became today's Soan River has turned into a deadly torrent. Each year during the monsoon, it claims lives and livestock. The river originates as a network of small water trails from Murree and its history predates the establishment of Rawalpindi. According to a 1905 map printed on cloth, the river once spanned 600 feet in width — today, it is reduced to just 200 feet, with the remaining 400 feet consumed by encroachments. This measurement was reaffirmed by a 2021 Survey of Pakistan report, which also declared the palatial homes and commercial plazas along its banks as illegal. Despite notices being issued, the matter was quietly buried. Stretching over 250 kilometres, the river traverses Murree, Islamabad, Rawalpindi, Chakwal, Attock and Mianwali before merging into the Indus at Kalabagh. A historic railway track still crosses the river, with remnants visible today. During the regimes of Ayub Khan and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto, proposals were floated to build a dam at Soan Camp, claiming it to be 60pc naturally complete. These proposals were shelved following the fall of Bhutto's government. Archaeological evidence near the riverbanks, including tools dating back 2.2 million years believed to be made by Homo erectus, was discovered in caves. The Attock District Gazetteer notes tools like hunting knives, scrapers, and axes found in the ancient village of Dhoke Pathan. Thick forests and abundant wildlife once surrounded the area, where locals fished, drank from the river, and women washed clothes. Some of these ancient caves still exist near the Fauji Foundation Hospital. Fossils of giraffes, crocodiles, rhinos, and deerbelieved to have been discovered along Soanare preserved at the Museum of Natural History in Islamabad. In British colonial times, the water was so clear that licenses were issued to extract gold from its sands. Today, however, the Soan River is polluted, its flow has been reduced, and it poses significant environmental threats. Rawalpindi and Islamabad's sewage, hospital waste, industrial effluents, and stormwater from 15 drains all pour into it. When Rawal Dam's spillways open, thousands of fish are swept into the river and die upon contact with its toxic waters. Transporters at the nearby Soan Bus Terminal now wash hundreds of vehicles in the river daily. Each monsoon, its floods wreak havoc on settlements and farmland. This year, upscale housing societies also fell victim to the deluge. Longtime residents like Asghar Kayani and Raja Zaryab, who've witnessed over five decades of flooding, say that the river's original width once allowed floodwaters to pass harmlessly. Now, with 400 feet lost, destruction is inevitable. They demand the removal of illegal structures and restoration of the river's original breadth. Locals believe that if the government builds a dam here, it could surpass even Tarbela in storage capacity, thanks to a 200-kilometer catchment area.
Express Tribune
a day ago
- Express Tribune
From hymn books to hashtags
In the region of Pakistani Punjab, particularly in urban centre's such as Lahore, Sialkot, Sheikhupura, and Faisalabad, Christian hymnody has undergone a transformative process, emerging as a hybrid and multilingual artistic expression. This music serves as a mediator of memory, power, and resistance, reflecting the interplay of historical, linguistic, and technological shifts. Originating from 19th-century colonial missions, this music has undergone a metamorphosis, bearing the imprints of British religious structures, vernacular adaptations, and the advent of digital expression. In contemporary Pakistan, worship music transcends its traditional role of accompanying liturgy. It assumes the roles of theological witness, cultural repository, and political voice. Drawing upon Homi K. Bhabha's concept of 'Third Space,' theories of cultural memory, liturgical inculturation, and the burgeoning field of sonic theology, this article delves into the ongoing renegotiation of identity and place by Punjabi church music. From the rendition of Psalms in ragas to the creation of Instagram worship videos, this music has consistently reimagined its boundaries and positioned itself within a broader cultural context. Following the British annexation of 1849, missionaries from Presbyterian, Anglican, and Methodist denominations commenced arriving in Punjab. Initially, prominent centre's of mission activity were established in Ludhiana, Jalandhar, and Sialkot, where English hymnals and pipe organs were introduced into educational institutions and religious settings. By 1854, Ludhiana had emerged as a hub for Bible translation efforts, overseen by the American Presbyterian Mission. These missionaries introduced a European musical landscape characterised by rigid hymn structure, translated liturgy, and choral singing. Additionally, they introduced the harmonium, a portable reed organ manufactured in France, which became an integral component of worship. The harmonium's entry into India was facilitated by military regiments and Christian missionaries, initially appearing in northern cities such as Jalandhar and Ludhiana. Over time, it gained widespread popularity within rural Christian congregations due to its portability, affordability, and harmonious compatibility with Indian musical traditions. By the early 20th century, it had become an indispensable instrument not only for churches but also for Sikh, Hindu, and Sufi musical practices, often supplanting more delicate stringed instruments such as the sarangi and dilruba. This indigenization constituted a subtle act of cultural negotiation: the European instrument that once symbolised colonial distinction became a shared devotional medium across religious affiliations. In 1904, the establishment of the Sialkot Convention further accelerated vernacular expression in worship. Organised by a coalition of foreign missionaries and local Protestant leaders, the Convention quickly became the most significant revivalist Christian gathering in colonial Punjab. Held annually in Sialkot, it featured preaching, collective Psalm singing, and teaching sessions in both Urdu and Punjabi. The Convention served as a liturgical counterpoint to Western ecclesiastical formalism, empowering Christians to explore faith in familiar languages and sounds. After Partition, it continued to shape Pakistani Protestant identity, embedding musical memory into spiritual revival. A pivotal moment in the creation of contextualised church music emerged from the work of Rev. Imam-ud-Din Shahbaz (1845–1921). A former Muslim convert and linguistic prodigy, Shahbaz rendered the entire Book of Psalms (Zaboor) into lyrical Punjabi verse between 1888 and 1905. These translations were composed in many ragas like kafi, pahari and bhairavi, melodic modes employed in Punjabi folk, Sufi, and classical traditions. Shahbaz's Psalms transcended the role of mere theological texts; they were poetry imbued with rhyme, rhythm, and call-and-response structure. In the kafi tradition accompanied by a harmonium, these Psalms resonated not only with Christians but also with the broader village soundscape. According to mission records from that era, villagers, including Muslims and Sikhs, were drawn to Shahbaz's compositions. In Bhabha's terminology, Shahbaz had established a Third Space: he reinterpreted colonial Scripture by integrating it into the core of Punjabi musical culture. Even after Punjabi became the dominant language in the liturgical sphere, Urdu retained its position as the primary language of worship, particularly in urban settings. As the lingua franca of colonial administration and post-partition national discourse, Urdu facilitated the gathering of worshippers from diverse regions and dialects in a unified liturgy. Its theological versatility also contributed to fostering interfaith familiarity. Words such as 'Allah' (God), 'Ruh-ul-Quddus' (Holy Spirit), and 'Masih' (Messiah) are shared across Islamic and Christian traditions, despite their divergent meanings. According to liturgical scholars, Urdu provided a rich repository of poetic devices, drawing upon Arabic, Persian, and Turkic traditions. Hymns and Psalms composed in Urdu were frequently set to musaddas (six-line) or ghazal-style meters and accompanied by tabla-driven ragas. This fusion of scriptural depth and lyrical intimacy rendered Urdu hymns both accessible and spiritually resonant. In the 1960s and 1970s, a second wave of vernacular creativity emerged, particularly within the Catholic Church. Inspired by the emphasis on liturgical inculturation outlined by Vatican II, missionaries in Pakistan embarked on the creation of Urdu-language hymnals that seamlessly integrated local musical traditions. Father Liberius Pieterse, a Dutch Franciscan stationed in Multan, published 'Hamd-Ullah' in 1955 and later co-edited 'Naya Geet Gao (Sing a New Song)' with poet Ghulam Masih Felix in 1972. Parallelly, figures such as Father Exo-Pierre and Father Laborious Azad composed settings of the Kyrie and Gloria in Urdu, employing raag bhairavi phrasing and tabla rhythms. These hymns introduced melodic scales and rhythms that resonated deeply with the Pakistani audience, transforming the auditory experience of Mass and imbuing it with both sacredness and familiarity. 'Naya Geet Gao' swiftly transcended denominational boundaries, finding resonance with Protestant choirs as well. Its triumph underscored the transformative power of inculturated hymnody in uniting Pakistan's fragmented Christian communities and conferring musical and theological significance upon worship. While church music shared many characteristics with Sufi qawwalis and Hindu bhajans, such as harmonium accompaniment, tabla rhythms, and poetic metaphors, it retained a distinct theological structure. Church hymns typically followed SATB (soprano, alto, tenor, bass) harmonies or unison singing with call-and-response sections. In contrast, qawwalis relied on solo improvisation, and bhajans on antiphonal chants. Terminologically, church hymns emphasised concepts like 'Yesu,' 'Najat,' and 'Salib,' while qawwalis focused on 'Nabi,' 'Wahdat,' and 'Ishq-e-Haqiqi.' It is also noteworthy that the call-and-response form in Christian music carries deeper psychological implications. This participatory structure has historically empowered congregants, particularly in rural and marginalised communities, to engage with Scripture not as passive listeners but as co-creators of worship. This is one reason why even today, the performance of the Zaboor continues to play a central role in village churches and revival meetings. Music, in these settings, becomes both a method of instruction and a mode of emotional healing. From 2010 onward, Pakistani church music entered the algorithmic era. YouTube channels such as Hallelujah Band and Zaboor Studios commenced producing professionally recorded Urdu and Punjabi worship videos. These were often structured in the musical language of Hillsong-style global worship: guitar-driven praise, layered harmonies, and emotionally charged choruses. However, unlike global megachurch music, these productions retained tabla, dholak, and folk instrumentation. One of Hallelujah Band's most viewed tracks, 'Rab Janay,' commences with a bhangra beat and transitions into an English hook: 'You know my heart.' This musical code-switching reflects a broader diasporic sensibility: young Christians singing to both God and algorithm, to both local community and global audience. Church music has long served as a form of spiritual resistance in Pakistan. Following the 2013 bombing at All Saints Church in Peshawar, mourners gathered amidst the rubble to sing Psalm 23 in Urdu. The footage, captured on mobile phones, gained widespread attention and became a symbol of national unity. In 2015, when suicide bombers targeted Catholic and Protestant churches in Lahore's Yohannaabad neighbourhood, youth choirs responded by singing through the streets, demonstrating their resilience and determination. In response to the Joseph Colony arson in 2013, which resulted in the destruction of over 150 homes, churches held overnight Zaboor recitations using harmoniums and candles. Following the Jaranwala church burnings in 2023, where 26 churches were torched, worshippers returned to sing Psalm 91 amidst the ashes, invoking divine protection. In Sargodha in 2024, after a mob attack on a Christian household, survivors gathered in homes to chant Zaboor in whispers, resisting erasure through sacred sound. Theologians and musicians argue that these acts exemplify monumental memory: the preservation of suffering and hope through sound. Church music not only commemorates trauma but also reclaims space. In a sonic-theological perspective, lament transforms into protest through praise. Simultaneously, in the diaspora, from Toronto and Dubai to Birmingham and Melbourne, Punjabi Christians continue to practice their faith in three languages, spanning across four time zones. Diaspora churches harmoniously blend Shahbaz's Punjabi Psalms with Hillsong choruses, disseminate Sunday services on platforms such as Facebook and Instagram, and creatively remix Naya Geet Gao classics into electronic dance music (EDM) sets for youth conferences. This transnational musical fusion transcends geographical boundaries, fostering a vibrant and postcolonial liturgical community that is both multilingual and distinctly alive. Numerous Pakistani renowned musicians, including S.B. John, Saleem Raza, and A. Nayyar, initially received training in church choirs. Their contributions to Lollywood film music incorporated elements of gospel phrasing, harmonic layering, and spiritual lyricism. Presently, programmes like Coke Studio Pakistan continue this crossover legacy. For instance, Hadia Hashmi's rendition of 'Bol Hu' draws upon Christian vocal stylings and melodic structures prevalent in Urdu worship. In Pakistani Punjab, church music serves not merely as a liturgical embellishment. It constitutes a space where colonial form intersects with local expression, where Scripture is sung in folk metre, and where faith persists despite adversity. Whether through kirtan-like harmonium chants or digital mashups incorporating English refrains, this music embodies a theology that undergoes constant reimagination through resistance, sound, and community. Church music plays a pivotal role in interfaith dialogue and public memory. In various regions of Punjab, Christian worship groups are invited to perform at civic festivals or university gatherings, particularly during Christmas or interfaith harmony week. These performances, often delivered in Punjabi and Urdu, underscore the shared aesthetic and emotional language of religious music across Pakistan's diverse communities. When Zaboor is performed in a setting that also includes Sufi qawwalis or Sikh shabads, it not only demonstrates musical convergence but also fosters mutual respect. In such moments, sacred sound becomes a connecting bridge between traditions through emotion, narrative, and reverence. Another aspect worthy of note is the role of female voices in church music, which is often underrepresented in formal liturgical settings. Over the past decade, more Christian women have emerged as soloists, worship leaders, and composers. In choirs from Youhanabad to Gujranwala, female vocalists now lead Psalms in congregations and livestream performances. Their presence adds novel textures to sacred music and challenges traditional gender hierarchies within ecclesial spaces. Furthermore, youth-led worship collectives such as The Worship Project Pakistan and Rising Faith Ministries have commenced organising open-air concerts and praise nights, particularly during Easter and Christmas. These gatherings often combine classical Zaboor settings with contemporary genres such as pop-rock, acoustic folk, and even spoken word poetry. By merging tradition with experimentation, young Christians ensure that church music remains a pertinent and evolving expression of faith. Lastly, education initiatives surrounding music literacy are gaining traction. Institutions like Forman Christian College in Lahore and St. Thomas Seminary in Karachi now provide formal training in church music, composition, and theology. Through workshops, certificate programs, and performance ensembles, a new generation of trained liturgists and composers emerges equipped not only with musical proficiency but also with a profound understanding of their heritage. Church music in Pakistani Punjab encapsulates the intricate and multifaceted identity of a post-colonial nation: multilingual, devotional, politically aware, and profoundly resilient. Drawing inspiration from Bhabha's concept of hybridity, it seamlessly integrates Western liturgical practices with Punjabi emotional expressions. Through cultural memory, it effectively resists the erosion of historical recollections; through inculturation, it maintains its strong connection to its cultural roots; and through sonic theology, it effectively communicates without the need for verbal articulation. As Christian communities persistently face marginalisation, their music continues to serve as a poignant soundtrack of survival, embodying a theology not merely spoken but also manifested through the act of singing. Brian Bassanio Paul is a music enthusiast whose expertise lies at the intersection of music business, artist development, music appreciation, and cultural studies. He can be reached at and on LinkedIn @brianbassanio All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the author
Express Tribune
7 days ago
- Express Tribune
The language dilemma!
People of Pakistan has a love-hate relationship with the English language, more like a 'can't live with it, can't live without it' scenario. From making fun of cricketers' broken English to mothers restricting their kids to only speak in English, we as a society are obsessed with the language. The reason can be traced to our colonial past, but the language's importance cannot be denied. It serves as lingua franca in today's globalised world. Maybe that is the reason it is the medium of instruction in a majority of Pakistani schools. But in a country where over 70 languages are spoken, it gets hard for the kids to navigate their semantics when they speak in their mother tongues at home, converse in Urdu with their teachers, and read their textbooks in English. That is why, the narrative of instruction in vernacular languages is catching on in the policy discourse. There is a growing strand of evidence in the form of studies and interventions to support the premise. There have been multiple studies in Africa and India where instruction in native languages have resulted in enhanced understanding among learners. Hence, it is safe to state here that this approach isn't just theory. Research by Unesco and renowned education experts supports the idea that when kids understand what's being taught, they're more likely to retain that information, develop critical thinking, and perform better academically. Moreover, it's not just about academics. Teaching kids in their own language boosts their self-esteem and helps them feel more connected to their culture. And we know how powerful that sense of belonging is when it comes to motivation and engagement in school. After all, the primary objective of sending children off to schools is learning. It is more important to learn the concepts of Math well than to learn it in English. But introducing native languages as medium of instruction also comes with challenges. First and foremost, it's not a silver bullet. A small yet prevalent strand of literature also provides evidence that teacher's training, administrative issues, and quality of learning materials (primarily textbooks) plays a bigger role in effective inculcation of knowledge. An even bigger catch is many areas of Pakistan are a melting pot of languages. Several schools are catering to students with different ethnic backgrounds and migrant families. A student in Mirkot may come from a Punjabi or Baloch family and another one in Bahawalpur may hail from Sindh. Urdu may work as a bridge in such scenarios but local languages may not cut it. So, the primary focus while shifting to vernaculars should be inclusivity. Then comes a major concern: preparing these students for the market. Many students would enter a job market that doesn't cater to native languages. Even before that, these students would be entering universities and studying courses developed in English. At this stage, they should be prepared well to undergo such major transition. Besides, we are heading to gig economy where jobs would be transcending the national boundaries. Even currently, this model is prevailing in Pakistan where freelancers are working for international clients. Effective communication is an integral requirement of this ecosystem, which would obviously occur in lingua franca. Therefore, the importance of learning English cannot be denied. We need to find the balance between imparting knowledge effectively to young learners and ensuring they are ready for the market when they graduate. And that balance is effective transition from vernacular at elementary level to English at higher education. However, it wouldn't be that simple to implement. The schools will need skilled teachers to make this transition effective. Moreover, the curriculum has to be designed while keeping in view the needs of the students who have studied English only as a subject before. The transition has to be gradual rather than swift to give learners time to acclimate. All this is possible only with skilled teachers and quality learning materials. To ensure that the teachers are adequately skilled, proper trainings and ensuring higher degree criteria for higher education levels is crucial. Instead of a sudden, dramatic switch to English in the classroom, we should think of education as a journey. A gradual shift from vernacular languages at the elementary level to English in the later years of schooling is the smartest way to approach this. This isn't a new idea. Countries like Finland and Singapore have done it. In Finland, students are taught in both Finnish and Swedish from an early age, ensuring they are comfortable in multiple languages. Similarly, in Singapore, students are taught in their mother tongue while also learning English, which has helped the country's youth thrive in a bilingual world. The key to this approach is ensuring that students become proficient in both languages. English, as a subject, should be integrated early on so that by the time students reach high school, they are not only familiar with the language but comfortable using it to learn complex subjects. In the end, it's not about choosing one language over the other. It's about finding a balance, giving children a strong foundation in their mother tongue while also preparing them for a future where English is a critical skill. The solution lies in a gradual transition, starting with vernacular languages at the elementary level, then slowly incorporating English as a subject. By the time students reach higher education, they'll be ready to thrive in an English-medium environment, equipped with skills. Let's start this journey now.
