I knew something was up even before I reached my pew. The sanctuary was almost full, and the greeters were a little more chipper than usual.
It was “Super Star Sunday.” I had forgotten the weeks of in-house publicity coupled with a community-wide advertising blitz announcing that a somewhat famous professional baseball player would be giving his testimony in the AM worship service.
I relented to the idea that I would not be hearing my pastor preach. I would miss his shepherding-style delivery and his well-founded insights into the Scriptures. I also pushed out of my mind some lay leaders’ comments I had overheard two Sundays earlier suggesting the church was paying too much for the guest’s appearance, even if he was a champion.
And, he was a champion--maybe a future Hall of Famer. He had broken a record before his retirement from sports 2 years earlier. The pastor introduced him: “He has hit more left-handed homeruns with 2 men on base and less than two outs over a span of 12 years playing for 4 different teams,” or something like that.
When the introduction was over, the congregation stood and applauded for nearly 2 minutes. Everyone was smiling, especially the pastor. I knew why. I too as a pastor had invited super stars to my church. Some were well known jocks; others were political or denominational leaders. I had always felt affirmed for at least a day or two by the larger than usual crowd and by what might some consider to be the indirect endorsement of a celebrity. I could imagine the congregation thinking, “Wow, our pastor has connections. He knows some famous people!”
The sportsman told of his climb to baseball fame. It had been long and tedious, and it had taken its toll on his family. He admitted some on-the-road “indiscretions,” but despite his divorce, he had stayed committed to baseball and to his faith.
He mentioned how he had felt when he broke the record—God-blessed. Then and now he gives “all the glory to his Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.”
His 25 minute speech would have been briefer had he not been interrupted 3 times by the congregation’s applause.
After the service, elbow to elbow mostly with folks I didn’t recognize, I shuffled my way down the center aisle. It was only when I reached the last pew that I noticed Barbara and Earl. They were waiting for the aisle to clear; Earl uses a walker.
I sat down on the pew in front of my long-time friends and turned to face them.
“Barbara,” I said. “It is so good to see you. How are you?”
As she took a deep breath as though needing to find the energy to begin, I greeted Earl. He didn’t notice. His Alzheimer’s was much worse than when I had seen him only a month before.
“I am so tired,” Barbara began. “I just don’t know how I can go on. Earl isn’t eating, and he took a couple of swings at me last week. I had to lock up our scissors and the kitchen knives.”
“He sleeps much of the day, and then he roams the house at night,” she added. “I am so exhausted that I can’t stay awake. He recently has been messing his pants several times a day, so I am always cleaning him up.”
I suggested that maybe it was time to find a place where Earl could have around-the-clock care.
“Oh, no,” she said. “Earl stood by me for over 52 years, and I am going to stay by his side now. I love him. Larry and Marsha love their Dad, too. I know they feel guilty for not being able to help much, but they live so far away. They come home when they can, but I understand they have their own lives with careers and children.”
“Well, we need to go before Earl has an accident,” Barbara said.
I watched as Barbara rose to leave. She helped Earl stand, led him to the aisle and gave him his walker. As they exited the sanctuary, I thought of my own Mother’s destruction by Alzheimer’s and how it had affected Dad. I remembered his care-giving loyalty the last two years of their 58 year marriage and how he had always tried to preserve her dignity.
I then knew there was something I had to do. Standing, I began to clap. The few stragglers in the sanctuary looked at me puzzled. Barbara and Earl already were gone, and my applause echoed through the nearly empty sanctuary, but I clapped on and on, louder and louder. I had just talked to a super-star.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
There go those young people again!
I believe we should have a talk with our congregations’ youth before they ruin our church.
My wife and I continued an Easter tradition by attending church with our daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. They attend a nearby large independent Christian church. The church offers five services each Sunday, and I estimate that 2500 were in the service we attended.
I was nourished by the service. Congregational singing was followed by the serving of Communion and a solo beautifully sang by a teenage girl. The sermon was not spectacular, but it included the Gospel. The church made good use of technology, but nothing was glitzy.
The final worship event was the singing of a true classic. The worship leader invited all of us to accompany the choir in singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah. He then added that music would be provided if anyone wanted to join the choir on the platform.
There was a rush to the platform. Who were they? Teenagers and 20-somethings. Few of them needed the music, and they sang like they were in a heavenly choir.
The more they sang, the higher they lifted their heads.
Some soon did what I had never seen at that church. They raised their hands in praise.
My indictment of today’s church youth was tongue-in-cheek. Actually, I pray they will soon become pastors and lay leaders. They just might become living reminders of the ancient truth of the Lordship of Jesus Christ.
My wife and I continued an Easter tradition by attending church with our daughter, son-in-law and grandchildren. They attend a nearby large independent Christian church. The church offers five services each Sunday, and I estimate that 2500 were in the service we attended.
I was nourished by the service. Congregational singing was followed by the serving of Communion and a solo beautifully sang by a teenage girl. The sermon was not spectacular, but it included the Gospel. The church made good use of technology, but nothing was glitzy.
The final worship event was the singing of a true classic. The worship leader invited all of us to accompany the choir in singing the “Hallelujah Chorus” from Handel’s Messiah. He then added that music would be provided if anyone wanted to join the choir on the platform.
There was a rush to the platform. Who were they? Teenagers and 20-somethings. Few of them needed the music, and they sang like they were in a heavenly choir.
“The kingdom of this world is become
the Kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ and of His Christ.
And He shall reign for ever and ever.”
And He shall reign for ever and ever.”
“King of Kings, and Lord of Lords.”
“King of Kings and Lord of Lords;
King of Kings and Lord of Lords;
and He shall reign for ever and ever.”
King of Kings and Lord of Lords;
and He shall reign for ever and ever.”
My indictment of today’s church youth was tongue-in-cheek. Actually, I pray they will soon become pastors and lay leaders. They just might become living reminders of the ancient truth of the Lordship of Jesus Christ.
“King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!”
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Those post-modern kids and the church
I recently attended a chapel service at Anderson University
Tony was good. The students listened. He talked to them about finding meaning in life--through faith, not success or money. I listened.
What impacted me most, though, was what happened before the coach was introduced and seemed to be humbled by a standing ovation. I had not attended a Christian university chapel service for over 30 years. I had read, however, about those post-modernists who were beginning to make their impact on the church. I also knew that many of AU’s freshmen in my critical thinking classes were a unique breed in their understanding of God and religion. I was not prepared, however, for what I saw and heard.
Surprisingly, the students didn’t seem too interested in a consumer based performance. They appeared willing to abandon a focus on the contemporariness of worship and to ignore some of the popular generic expressions of faith.
The stage had been transformed into a worship platform. The Cross was the dominant symbol in a 10-foot stained-glass pictogram suspended from the curtain tracks. The dais evolved into the role of a pulpit—a place from which to publicly pray and read the Scriptures.
Songs made reference to an ancient faith founded in theJerusalem
As we sang together and as we listened to a student choir, the beat of the accompanying drums became the rhythm of the history of God's loving kindness. I was hearing a life-giving narrative that had its source in what happened 2000 years ago, not last week or even last century.
I touched something during that hour, or maybe something touched me. I am not sure what it was, but it felt like connection. I was reminded that I was part of something shared by all of God’s people.
After Tony spoke about regretting his failure to nurture his faith while in college, I drove home wondering if I should allow myself to feel the excitement. I want to, but I am afraid I am seeing a mirage, that I am so thirsty that anything different takes on the form of an oasis.
Tony was good. The students listened. He talked to them about finding meaning in life--through faith, not success or money. I listened.
What impacted me most, though, was what happened before the coach was introduced and seemed to be humbled by a standing ovation. I had not attended a Christian university chapel service for over 30 years. I had read, however, about those post-modernists who were beginning to make their impact on the church. I also knew that many of AU’s freshmen in my critical thinking classes were a unique breed in their understanding of God and religion. I was not prepared, however, for what I saw and heard.
Surprisingly, the students didn’t seem too interested in a consumer based performance. They appeared willing to abandon a focus on the contemporariness of worship and to ignore some of the popular generic expressions of faith.
The stage had been transformed into a worship platform. The Cross was the dominant symbol in a 10-foot stained-glass pictogram suspended from the curtain tracks. The dais evolved into the role of a pulpit—a place from which to publicly pray and read the Scriptures.
Songs made reference to an ancient faith founded in the
As we sang together and as we listened to a student choir, the beat of the accompanying drums became the rhythm of the history of God's loving kindness. I was hearing a life-giving narrative that had its source in what happened 2000 years ago, not last week or even last century.
I touched something during that hour, or maybe something touched me. I am not sure what it was, but it felt like connection. I was reminded that I was part of something shared by all of God’s people.
After Tony spoke about regretting his failure to nurture his faith while in college, I drove home wondering if I should allow myself to feel the excitement. I want to, but I am afraid I am seeing a mirage, that I am so thirsty that anything different takes on the form of an oasis.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Tell me to come to you
Peter’s reaction to Jesus’ appeal for courage and peace in Matthew 14 seems in contrast with many of the prayers heard in today’s churches. Peter and others were trapped in an un-navigable boat pushed far from shore by a surprise storm. The impact of the wind and waves was accentuated by the pre-dawn darkness.
Peter’s fear of drowning was not alleviated by the surprise appearance of Jesus. The early church’s account of the event notes that Jesus’ walking-on-the-water approach signaled Peter and the other disciples that a ghost was nearing. They cried out in fear.
Jesus announced himself and assured the men they should not be frightened. “Be brave,” he told them. “It is I.”
Peter was so moved by it all that he shouted above the noises of nature a most unnatural request. “Lord, is it you? If so, tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Tell me to come to you.”
That is an uncommon prayer, seldom heard then or now. Most prayers of the church center on a longing that Christ will come to us. “Come and bless us,” we plead. “Come and heal us; come and meet our needs.”
Petitioning Christ to come to us takes little faith. In fact, such a prayer might be triggered more by fear than trust. It even can be a self-centered prayer resulting from a hope that God will bless our mere human initiatives.
We continue to miss the significance of Peter’s prayer even though we have an advantage he did not have. We know where Christ is found.
He is in the gathered people of God, and he is in the sacraments.
He is in the “least” of folks—the abused and the forgotten. He is in prison and under cities’ highway overpasses. He appears in “ghostly” fashion in food lines, nursing homes and hospitals.
He waits for his people in dark and dangerous places, but we persist with our prayers of invoking his presence. Should we not pray that we will come to him?
Peter’s fear of drowning was not alleviated by the surprise appearance of Jesus. The early church’s account of the event notes that Jesus’ walking-on-the-water approach signaled Peter and the other disciples that a ghost was nearing. They cried out in fear.
Jesus announced himself and assured the men they should not be frightened. “Be brave,” he told them. “It is I.”
Peter was so moved by it all that he shouted above the noises of nature a most unnatural request. “Lord, is it you? If so, tell me to come to you on the water.”
“Tell me to come to you.”
That is an uncommon prayer, seldom heard then or now. Most prayers of the church center on a longing that Christ will come to us. “Come and bless us,” we plead. “Come and heal us; come and meet our needs.”
Petitioning Christ to come to us takes little faith. In fact, such a prayer might be triggered more by fear than trust. It even can be a self-centered prayer resulting from a hope that God will bless our mere human initiatives.
We continue to miss the significance of Peter’s prayer even though we have an advantage he did not have. We know where Christ is found.
He is in the gathered people of God, and he is in the sacraments.
He is in the “least” of folks—the abused and the forgotten. He is in prison and under cities’ highway overpasses. He appears in “ghostly” fashion in food lines, nursing homes and hospitals.
He waits for his people in dark and dangerous places, but we persist with our prayers of invoking his presence. Should we not pray that we will come to him?
Monday, December 12, 2005
Christmas is offensive
Numerous people recently have raised the issues of courtesy and inclusiveness concerning particularly the celebration of Christmas in the culture at-large. First, let me say that this essay has nothing to do with whether the clerk at Wal-Mart should be allowed to wish us all a Merry Christmas rather than a Happy Holiday. Nor are these comments in reference to public displays of religious symbols or the use of bell-ringers by department stores.
These musings are about being offensive. Many have noted that Christians should not offend people of other faiths. I agree! Jesus' followers should be civil and kind. Christ never stooped to being obnoxious or demeaning. Neither should we.
But, isn't the Gospel offensive? Isn't it offensive that the Creator of all became fully human, born of a virgin teenage girl? Isn't it offensive that the Son of God was delivered in a dung-filled stable and that the child himself had his own soiled diapers? Isn't it offensive that God's Son taught that his body would be ingested by the church through the eating of the bread and the drinking of the cup? Isn't it offensive that he was crucified between common criminals by those who insisted that religion should be a marketplace phenomenon? Isn't it offensive that the crucified man of Galilee was raised from the dead and lives forevermore? Isn’t it offensive to live a faith that claims that Christ somehow represented us all in his death and resurrection? Isn’t it offensive to embrace a hope that all of history will someday be declared “his-story” and that peace will come to us all?
Do we really want Christmas to be a mainstream holiday? Do we want a Christmas endorsed by corporations that pay their execs millions while their $14,000-a-year workers can afford to buy gifts only by using their employee discounts? Do we want Christmas promoted so that most will find it palatable? Do we want Christmas promoted at all?
Yes, we should be aware that we live in diverse communities, and we would be wise to show a respect that is founded on a confidence that God reveals himself in ways beyond the traditions of the Christian Church. But, rather than demand equal time or majority-rules, why don’t we simply gather at the intersections of cultural values and sing “Emmanuel?” And, let's sing it a cappella.
These musings are about being offensive. Many have noted that Christians should not offend people of other faiths. I agree! Jesus' followers should be civil and kind. Christ never stooped to being obnoxious or demeaning. Neither should we.
But, isn't the Gospel offensive? Isn't it offensive that the Creator of all became fully human, born of a virgin teenage girl? Isn't it offensive that the Son of God was delivered in a dung-filled stable and that the child himself had his own soiled diapers? Isn't it offensive that God's Son taught that his body would be ingested by the church through the eating of the bread and the drinking of the cup? Isn't it offensive that he was crucified between common criminals by those who insisted that religion should be a marketplace phenomenon? Isn't it offensive that the crucified man of Galilee was raised from the dead and lives forevermore? Isn’t it offensive to live a faith that claims that Christ somehow represented us all in his death and resurrection? Isn’t it offensive to embrace a hope that all of history will someday be declared “his-story” and that peace will come to us all?
Do we really want Christmas to be a mainstream holiday? Do we want a Christmas endorsed by corporations that pay their execs millions while their $14,000-a-year workers can afford to buy gifts only by using their employee discounts? Do we want Christmas promoted so that most will find it palatable? Do we want Christmas promoted at all?
Yes, we should be aware that we live in diverse communities, and we would be wise to show a respect that is founded on a confidence that God reveals himself in ways beyond the traditions of the Christian Church. But, rather than demand equal time or majority-rules, why don’t we simply gather at the intersections of cultural values and sing “Emmanuel?” And, let's sing it a cappella.
Friday, November 18, 2005
Normal people
A student in a Washington DC boarding school recently visited by Prince Charles and his wife, Camilla, commented how impressed he was with the royal couple. “I didn’t know what to expect,” said the junior high boy, “but it was like talking to normal people.”
The young student’s comments telecast on the national news reminded me of the remarks of numerous adult students in the religion class I teach at the University. Many of them have told of leaving the church, no longer seeing its value or relevance. I have heard their musings so many times that I know the song by heart—all the verses and the refrain. “I want a church where the people are authentic,” they say. “Authentic.”
I was never sure what they meant until I heard the student’s reflection on his encounter with the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall. I now believe that what many congregational dropouts are seeking when they continue their church-search is normal people.
I am not overlooking that some who find the church are hoping to discover salvation and deliverance. They deliberately enter the terrain of the people of God hoping to find someone who lives on a higher level who can lend a hand and give a boost to help them climb out of their despair.
For each one who is looking for a way out, however, there are a hundred who are looking for a way in. They long for connectedness, to belong to a community where there is no pretense or hierarchies. They are looking for….well, normal people.
I am not sure how normal the church seems these days. Despite our efforts to be relational, we often project a surreal image of community. We have our own vocabulary that has been honed by centuries of religion-ese. We sit in rows while singing praises absent of human context. We smother many attempts of others to express pain and failure. We saddle leaders with unrealistic expectations of supra-humanness. We refuse to discuss the nature of things that are causing long time members to finally leave the church.
I know many who are looking for a church where the ethos is regular folks who find grace in normalcy and who share a motto of “we are in this together.”
It seems only a few years ago people chose a church because it was above and beyond the usual. I now hear them say they look for a community where they can talk to normal people.
The young student’s comments telecast on the national news reminded me of the remarks of numerous adult students in the religion class I teach at the University. Many of them have told of leaving the church, no longer seeing its value or relevance. I have heard their musings so many times that I know the song by heart—all the verses and the refrain. “I want a church where the people are authentic,” they say. “Authentic.”
I was never sure what they meant until I heard the student’s reflection on his encounter with the Prince of Wales and the Duchess of Cornwall. I now believe that what many congregational dropouts are seeking when they continue their church-search is normal people.
I am not overlooking that some who find the church are hoping to discover salvation and deliverance. They deliberately enter the terrain of the people of God hoping to find someone who lives on a higher level who can lend a hand and give a boost to help them climb out of their despair.
For each one who is looking for a way out, however, there are a hundred who are looking for a way in. They long for connectedness, to belong to a community where there is no pretense or hierarchies. They are looking for….well, normal people.
I am not sure how normal the church seems these days. Despite our efforts to be relational, we often project a surreal image of community. We have our own vocabulary that has been honed by centuries of religion-ese. We sit in rows while singing praises absent of human context. We smother many attempts of others to express pain and failure. We saddle leaders with unrealistic expectations of supra-humanness. We refuse to discuss the nature of things that are causing long time members to finally leave the church.
I know many who are looking for a church where the ethos is regular folks who find grace in normalcy and who share a motto of “we are in this together.”
It seems only a few years ago people chose a church because it was above and beyond the usual. I now hear them say they look for a community where they can talk to normal people.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
Songs that make you look
I did something in a chapel service this morning I had not done in years.
It happened while we were singing a hymn, "I Am a Child of God." The song was upbeat and easy to sing even though I was not familiar with it. It is an old song (1907) by Barney Warren, an Anderson Church of God hymn writer. We were singing the third verse followed by a refrain:
I suddenly realized that I was singing a song that could not be sung alone. Maybe it was the words, "Let the saints rejoice," or maybe it was the tune or the atmosphere, but I felt I had to sing to someone AND have someone sing to me. I needed to connect with other folks who were traveling my journey.
So, while singing, I turned my head and looked at others, most of whom I did not know. I glanced across the aisle and over my shoulder. Strangely, others seemed to be scanning the congregants hoping to link with something beyond the immediate and the obvious. Several of us, while still singing, made eye contact and smiled; a few of us nodded like long-time friends who shared an inside joke.
I turned to face the pulpit, and I noticed leaders on the platform had turned from their altar-facing seats and were singing to the congregation. Everyone's head and hymnal seemed to be lifted.
Then it was over, but not too soon. In fact, its value was partly in its appearing unexpectedly and its vanishing suddenly.
But, what was it? What happened? I don't know. I do believe it had something to do with being part of the church--you know, that body of Christ thing. It reminded me of days when I was more part of a congregation than I am now. As we finished the hymn, I thought, "It has been a long time since I sang a song that made me look."
I suspect many of us often do not feel the need to look. Maybe it is the songs we sing, or possibly we do not understand our being part of a redeemed and being-redeemed community. I wonder if we are overlooking our call to encourage and to be encouraged by one another. Maybe we aren't grasping how important a look can be.
I am going to be more aware of a God-whisper urging me to look and smile (and sometimes nod) while we all sing songs of the Kingdom. I need to sing to others and have others sing to me. I suspect they need it, too.
It happened while we were singing a hymn, "I Am a Child of God." The song was upbeat and easy to sing even though I was not familiar with it. It is an old song (1907) by Barney Warren, an Anderson Church of God hymn writer. We were singing the third verse followed by a refrain:
3. "Let the saints rejoice with my raptured spirit. I am a child of God; I will testify that the world may hear it. I am a child of God."
Refrain: "I am a child of God; I am a child of God. I have washed my robes in the cleansing fountain. I am a child of God."
I suddenly realized that I was singing a song that could not be sung alone. Maybe it was the words, "Let the saints rejoice," or maybe it was the tune or the atmosphere, but I felt I had to sing to someone AND have someone sing to me. I needed to connect with other folks who were traveling my journey.
So, while singing, I turned my head and looked at others, most of whom I did not know. I glanced across the aisle and over my shoulder. Strangely, others seemed to be scanning the congregants hoping to link with something beyond the immediate and the obvious. Several of us, while still singing, made eye contact and smiled; a few of us nodded like long-time friends who shared an inside joke.
I turned to face the pulpit, and I noticed leaders on the platform had turned from their altar-facing seats and were singing to the congregation. Everyone's head and hymnal seemed to be lifted.
Then it was over, but not too soon. In fact, its value was partly in its appearing unexpectedly and its vanishing suddenly.
But, what was it? What happened? I don't know. I do believe it had something to do with being part of the church--you know, that body of Christ thing. It reminded me of days when I was more part of a congregation than I am now. As we finished the hymn, I thought, "It has been a long time since I sang a song that made me look."
I suspect many of us often do not feel the need to look. Maybe it is the songs we sing, or possibly we do not understand our being part of a redeemed and being-redeemed community. I wonder if we are overlooking our call to encourage and to be encouraged by one another. Maybe we aren't grasping how important a look can be.
I am going to be more aware of a God-whisper urging me to look and smile (and sometimes nod) while we all sing songs of the Kingdom. I need to sing to others and have others sing to me. I suspect they need it, too.
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