I've been reading this tiny book containing selections from Thomas Merton's writing. Here is a quote that I thought was rather appropriate for churches like mine who sometimes fail to turn a critical eye toward technology. It reads:
"This is no longer a time of systematic ethical speculation, for such speculation implies time to reason, and the power to bring social and individual action under the concerted control of reasoned principles upon which most men agree. There is no time to reason out, calmly and objectively, the moral implications of technical developments which are perhaps already superseded by the time one knows enough to reason about them."
"Action is not governed by moral reason but by political expediency and the demands of technology--translated into the simple abstract formulas of propoganda. These formulas have nothing to do with reasoned moral action, even though they may appeal to apparent moral values--they simply condition the mass of men to react in a desired way to certain stimuli."
I wonder how much of our worship services are just Christianized forms of manipulation--trying to get people to react in the desired way to certain stimuli. I wonder if many of us could articulate how the Spirit acts differently, much less articulate how we are to worship in light of the indwelling of the Spirit.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Face Your Death
One of my previous posts was entitled "Relax, Adam." In it, Adam is running and hiding from reality--all the while being whispered to by the enemy to keep running, to keep hiding, for only in his running and hiding would he find solace. The point of that post is that we run and hide behind busyness, and our busyness masks our true selves--our broken, messy, confused selves.
But some of us are not busybodies. We don't wear the mask of busyness. Maybe it's because we apprehend busyness as a mask, so we don't put it on. Maybe it's because our situation just plain does not allow for busyness. Or, maybe it's because we're just plain lazy... who knows.
I fall into that boat--busyness is not a mask for me. I apprehend it as a mask, I can see others wearing it, and therefore refuse to put it on. I think I'm also a bit lazy, too. But really, I just hate feeling rushed--I hate the person that I become when I feel like I'm being rushed, and more often than not refuse to submit to a fast pace in the name of "getting things done." For me, the reward of feeling like I "accomplished" a lot is cheap compared to the richness of being immersed in the process, of being fully aware in moments.
I have other masks, however. I have other ways in which I keep my true self hidden--things I put on so that when I look into the mirror, I don't have to face who I truly am. One of which I am becoming increasingly aware of is the mask of "hiding."
I run and hide a lot. In concrete terms, it looks like not checking my phone messages, not returning a phone call, or not returning an email. The phone stands in condemnation over me as it blinks red for the fifth day in a row without me picking it up. The post-it notes stuck to my desk stand in judgment over me, each containing scribbles of the messages that I did check, but that were a week old by the time I did. The emails in my inbox mock me as some of them fall under the heading "two weeks ago" or "over a month ago."
Really, it's very simple: I apprehended certain responsibilities or conversations as being messy, boring, trite, challenging, or awkward, and I chose to run from them instead of facing them. Then I find myself having to continue to run, lest those people overtake me and I am revealed for the failure that I am.
I would be much better served to turn and let them all overtake me by admitting that I fall short. Perhaps this is part of what it means to deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Christ. Perhaps I would fall--bruised, scraped, and cut, of course--right into his hands.
But some of us are not busybodies. We don't wear the mask of busyness. Maybe it's because we apprehend busyness as a mask, so we don't put it on. Maybe it's because our situation just plain does not allow for busyness. Or, maybe it's because we're just plain lazy... who knows.
I fall into that boat--busyness is not a mask for me. I apprehend it as a mask, I can see others wearing it, and therefore refuse to put it on. I think I'm also a bit lazy, too. But really, I just hate feeling rushed--I hate the person that I become when I feel like I'm being rushed, and more often than not refuse to submit to a fast pace in the name of "getting things done." For me, the reward of feeling like I "accomplished" a lot is cheap compared to the richness of being immersed in the process, of being fully aware in moments.
I have other masks, however. I have other ways in which I keep my true self hidden--things I put on so that when I look into the mirror, I don't have to face who I truly am. One of which I am becoming increasingly aware of is the mask of "hiding."
I run and hide a lot. In concrete terms, it looks like not checking my phone messages, not returning a phone call, or not returning an email. The phone stands in condemnation over me as it blinks red for the fifth day in a row without me picking it up. The post-it notes stuck to my desk stand in judgment over me, each containing scribbles of the messages that I did check, but that were a week old by the time I did. The emails in my inbox mock me as some of them fall under the heading "two weeks ago" or "over a month ago."
Really, it's very simple: I apprehended certain responsibilities or conversations as being messy, boring, trite, challenging, or awkward, and I chose to run from them instead of facing them. Then I find myself having to continue to run, lest those people overtake me and I am revealed for the failure that I am.
I would be much better served to turn and let them all overtake me by admitting that I fall short. Perhaps this is part of what it means to deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Christ. Perhaps I would fall--bruised, scraped, and cut, of course--right into his hands.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Being an Excellent Die-er
Excellence honors God. This is the premise upon which so much of our ministry is based.
Excellence honors God.
It sounds enticing and amazing--giving us something for which to strive, a standard by which to judge our efforts, a goal that is to be ever before us. Excellence.
If we're excellent at our ministries, we're being good pictures and reflections of the excellent life with God. If we're excellent in our programs, we'll be attractive enough to instill religious interest in those who aren't religious. If we're excellent in our music, if we're excellent in our childrens' ministry, if we're excellent in student ministries, if we're excellent in our small groups, if we're... well... just plain excellent all the way around, we'll be... excellent. And then we can breathe a big sigh of relief because we did our job to the best of our ability, and that's what God wants of us, and what he's charged us with doing.
There's even some scriptural support for this philosophy. Not much... but some. Probably one of the most referred to passages in support of the "excellence philosophy" is Colossians 3:23-24, which says, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, 24 since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." Of course, if you back up one verse to verse 22, you will see that Paul is writing to slaves--literal slaves--and talking to them about how they are to serve their masters. True, there are principles in this passage that are applicable to us, but at the very least, the different contexts should caution us as we interpret. Working with one's whole heart for absolutely no recognition and little if any reward only for the sake of the soul of one's master who may or may not be treating you as a person is a little different than trying to make a worship service "cool."
In actuality, this verse highlights the chink in the armor of the excellence philosophy, which has now become one of the core doctrines of almost any growing church in America. The chink in the armor of the excellence philosophy rests on this question concerning the slaves to whom Paul is writing: At what must the slave be excellent, first and foremost? One would be tempted to say, "Well, the slave must be excellent at whatever the master had assigned him or her. Perhaps it was a clean house, or a growing crop, or well-prepared meals. As the slave becomes more and more excellent at these tasks, he or she will build credibility with the master, and perhaps the master will see the reason for the slave's excellence." But while this is certainly descriptive of the first thing that can be seen by the eyes--namely, excellence at remedial tasks--it completely misses where the excellence of the slave rests, first and foremost.
Think about the slave's condition. You get no credit for what you do, because it is merely your obligation. That is your economy. What's your five year plan? Doing the same tasks you did today. What are your measurable goals that will tell you if you're getting to where you want to be? Well, if you didn't get beat today, or your wife didn't get raped, or your child only had to work 12 hours and not 16, then it was a pretty good day.
Perhaps the light is starting to flicker on for some of us. In a condition like that, we can start to see that the slave has to be excellent at something else first before he or she can even possibly be motivated to do the tasks with his or her "whole heart."
In what must the slave first and foremost be excellent? It seems to be that the slave must be truly excellent at dying to himself, taking up his cross, and following Christ before he can be motivated to be excellent at his duties (Matt. 20:21-28 & Mk. 10:35-45; Lk. 17:5-10). This is the "transferrable principle" for our ministries here and now.
If the slave was not first excellent at dying to himself, taking up the cross of Christ, and obediently following him into what is a difficult, harsh, and unjust circumstance, his work would be all for nothing, for it would have absolutely no eternal value--either for him, or for his master. If all he did was read Paul's words in Colossians and try hard to do well "for Jesus," he would last only for a short time, for he would soon remember that his master shouldn't treat him like he does, that his work is worth fare more than just subsistence, and that his situation is comparatively unjust to most of his contemporaries. He would soon discover that he was, yet again, unable to fulfill this new "law." And when he quit trying so hard to do well "for Jesus," he would feel like he not only failed his master, but failed his Savior as well.
But this is not the life of the Christian, and this is not the obligation that Paul seeks to level upon his readers. The life of the Christian is not one of merely striving for excellence--at least not at its truest, purest, and basest of levels. The life of the Christian continually flows from death--first from the death of Jesus as an atoning sacrifice for our sin and reconciliation with our Father, then from our death to ourselves as we repent of our striving apart from Christ and submit to living in and by him. In a very real and true sense, while we are living this life here on earth, we wake up to die every day, and in dying, we find life. We must become excellent "die-ers" before we even consider becoming excellent at anything else.
What would our minstries, our programs, our philosophies, our plans, and our goals look like if our standard for success and our measure for excellence was how well we are dying to ourselves and living in Christ?
Excellence honors God.
It sounds enticing and amazing--giving us something for which to strive, a standard by which to judge our efforts, a goal that is to be ever before us. Excellence.
If we're excellent at our ministries, we're being good pictures and reflections of the excellent life with God. If we're excellent in our programs, we'll be attractive enough to instill religious interest in those who aren't religious. If we're excellent in our music, if we're excellent in our childrens' ministry, if we're excellent in student ministries, if we're excellent in our small groups, if we're... well... just plain excellent all the way around, we'll be... excellent. And then we can breathe a big sigh of relief because we did our job to the best of our ability, and that's what God wants of us, and what he's charged us with doing.
There's even some scriptural support for this philosophy. Not much... but some. Probably one of the most referred to passages in support of the "excellence philosophy" is Colossians 3:23-24, which says, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, 24 since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving." Of course, if you back up one verse to verse 22, you will see that Paul is writing to slaves--literal slaves--and talking to them about how they are to serve their masters. True, there are principles in this passage that are applicable to us, but at the very least, the different contexts should caution us as we interpret. Working with one's whole heart for absolutely no recognition and little if any reward only for the sake of the soul of one's master who may or may not be treating you as a person is a little different than trying to make a worship service "cool."
In actuality, this verse highlights the chink in the armor of the excellence philosophy, which has now become one of the core doctrines of almost any growing church in America. The chink in the armor of the excellence philosophy rests on this question concerning the slaves to whom Paul is writing: At what must the slave be excellent, first and foremost? One would be tempted to say, "Well, the slave must be excellent at whatever the master had assigned him or her. Perhaps it was a clean house, or a growing crop, or well-prepared meals. As the slave becomes more and more excellent at these tasks, he or she will build credibility with the master, and perhaps the master will see the reason for the slave's excellence." But while this is certainly descriptive of the first thing that can be seen by the eyes--namely, excellence at remedial tasks--it completely misses where the excellence of the slave rests, first and foremost.
Think about the slave's condition. You get no credit for what you do, because it is merely your obligation. That is your economy. What's your five year plan? Doing the same tasks you did today. What are your measurable goals that will tell you if you're getting to where you want to be? Well, if you didn't get beat today, or your wife didn't get raped, or your child only had to work 12 hours and not 16, then it was a pretty good day.
Perhaps the light is starting to flicker on for some of us. In a condition like that, we can start to see that the slave has to be excellent at something else first before he or she can even possibly be motivated to do the tasks with his or her "whole heart."
In what must the slave first and foremost be excellent? It seems to be that the slave must be truly excellent at dying to himself, taking up his cross, and following Christ before he can be motivated to be excellent at his duties (Matt. 20:21-28 & Mk. 10:35-45; Lk. 17:5-10). This is the "transferrable principle" for our ministries here and now.
If the slave was not first excellent at dying to himself, taking up the cross of Christ, and obediently following him into what is a difficult, harsh, and unjust circumstance, his work would be all for nothing, for it would have absolutely no eternal value--either for him, or for his master. If all he did was read Paul's words in Colossians and try hard to do well "for Jesus," he would last only for a short time, for he would soon remember that his master shouldn't treat him like he does, that his work is worth fare more than just subsistence, and that his situation is comparatively unjust to most of his contemporaries. He would soon discover that he was, yet again, unable to fulfill this new "law." And when he quit trying so hard to do well "for Jesus," he would feel like he not only failed his master, but failed his Savior as well.
But this is not the life of the Christian, and this is not the obligation that Paul seeks to level upon his readers. The life of the Christian is not one of merely striving for excellence--at least not at its truest, purest, and basest of levels. The life of the Christian continually flows from death--first from the death of Jesus as an atoning sacrifice for our sin and reconciliation with our Father, then from our death to ourselves as we repent of our striving apart from Christ and submit to living in and by him. In a very real and true sense, while we are living this life here on earth, we wake up to die every day, and in dying, we find life. We must become excellent "die-ers" before we even consider becoming excellent at anything else.
What would our minstries, our programs, our philosophies, our plans, and our goals look like if our standard for success and our measure for excellence was how well we are dying to ourselves and living in Christ?
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Daniel Boone and not Daniel Webster
Sometimes there's a fine line between summary and plagarism.
And other times, the line becomes the only thing you can see.
In fact, the line is sometimes so glaringly obvious, it is annoying. For example: you are taught as a student writer to follow an idea that is not your own with an appropriate parenthetical note. It is only right, we are told, to give credit where credit is due. So we employ various parentheses, dates, numbers, semicolons, italicized phrases, underlined words, quotation marks, and foreign names that shock a reader out of his or her rhythm of comprehension, drawing their attention away to the fact that we're saying something that somebody else has already said (and probably said better that we did!).
The more parenthetical documentation in a paper, the more obvious it becomes that the author is simply gathering information and vomiting it (neatly and sanitarily organized, of course) for your reading (dis)pleasure. By the end of the paper, the author gets an "A" for proper form, but an "F" for originality. All that the author is really saying is that he or she is really good at being a proper copycat.
Like Daniel Webster, the author has simply surveyed what people were saying, determined what it meant, and organized it onto paper. And there it is, accurate as a rifle, but sterile as a hospital room.
I think that's what we do as a church sometimes. We become really good copycats of other churches. We get their sermon series, we employ their fonts in our slides, we take from their websites, we use their philosophies, we adopt their missions, we go to their conferences, and we join their alliances.
Of course, we're not "proper" copycats, because most of the time our congregants, deacons, and elders (or even our staff members!) do not know that we are copying when we are copying. But copycats we are, nonetheless.
And now I must answer the obvious challenge: What is so wrong with being a copycat?
If something at another church is working "for the kingdom," why not "make it our own" in our own context? I mean, don't we have a responsibilty as leaders to keep ourselves familiar with the current trends, so as to stay relevant, keep moving, and keep growing like other churches are growing? We don't want to have to suffer the same setbacks that other churches have, so why not go to their conferences, listen to what they've tried, find out about what has failed, and do at our church what is working for theirs?
Because it just plain is not that easy.
Oh... and those churches didn't copy their way to "the top."
Those churches were Daniel Boones... not Daniel Websters.
Instead of finding out what God is doing there, let's find out what God is uniquely doing here. Let's start asking God, his word, ourselves, and each other:
What is the kingdom of God?
How has God uniquely extended his kingdom in and through our church in the past?
How is God extending his kingdom uniquely in each of our lives?
How is God wanting to use each of us to extend his kingdom over the lives of each other?
How does God seem to be extending his kingdom already in our midst, apart from our initiative?
Where in our community is God leading us? To whom? Would our city even know if we no longer were here? Would our presence be missed?
Once we have answered (and commit ourselves to continuing to answer) these questions, then and only then should we go looking at what God is doing somewhere else. If we don't first answer the questions about our own home, then our home will simply become a hodge podge of what everyone else's home looks like--neatly organized, of course... but sterile.
Let's be Daniel Boones before we are Daniel Websters. Let's recover the excitement and adventure of blazing a trail with God where he has us, lest we simply become articulators of where others have gone.
And other times, the line becomes the only thing you can see.
In fact, the line is sometimes so glaringly obvious, it is annoying. For example: you are taught as a student writer to follow an idea that is not your own with an appropriate parenthetical note. It is only right, we are told, to give credit where credit is due. So we employ various parentheses, dates, numbers, semicolons, italicized phrases, underlined words, quotation marks, and foreign names that shock a reader out of his or her rhythm of comprehension, drawing their attention away to the fact that we're saying something that somebody else has already said (and probably said better that we did!).
The more parenthetical documentation in a paper, the more obvious it becomes that the author is simply gathering information and vomiting it (neatly and sanitarily organized, of course) for your reading (dis)pleasure. By the end of the paper, the author gets an "A" for proper form, but an "F" for originality. All that the author is really saying is that he or she is really good at being a proper copycat.
Like Daniel Webster, the author has simply surveyed what people were saying, determined what it meant, and organized it onto paper. And there it is, accurate as a rifle, but sterile as a hospital room.
I think that's what we do as a church sometimes. We become really good copycats of other churches. We get their sermon series, we employ their fonts in our slides, we take from their websites, we use their philosophies, we adopt their missions, we go to their conferences, and we join their alliances.
Of course, we're not "proper" copycats, because most of the time our congregants, deacons, and elders (or even our staff members!) do not know that we are copying when we are copying. But copycats we are, nonetheless.
And now I must answer the obvious challenge: What is so wrong with being a copycat?
If something at another church is working "for the kingdom," why not "make it our own" in our own context? I mean, don't we have a responsibilty as leaders to keep ourselves familiar with the current trends, so as to stay relevant, keep moving, and keep growing like other churches are growing? We don't want to have to suffer the same setbacks that other churches have, so why not go to their conferences, listen to what they've tried, find out about what has failed, and do at our church what is working for theirs?
Because it just plain is not that easy.
Oh... and those churches didn't copy their way to "the top."
Those churches were Daniel Boones... not Daniel Websters.
Instead of finding out what God is doing there, let's find out what God is uniquely doing here. Let's start asking God, his word, ourselves, and each other:
What is the kingdom of God?
How has God uniquely extended his kingdom in and through our church in the past?
How is God extending his kingdom uniquely in each of our lives?
How is God wanting to use each of us to extend his kingdom over the lives of each other?
How does God seem to be extending his kingdom already in our midst, apart from our initiative?
Where in our community is God leading us? To whom? Would our city even know if we no longer were here? Would our presence be missed?
Once we have answered (and commit ourselves to continuing to answer) these questions, then and only then should we go looking at what God is doing somewhere else. If we don't first answer the questions about our own home, then our home will simply become a hodge podge of what everyone else's home looks like--neatly organized, of course... but sterile.
Let's be Daniel Boones before we are Daniel Websters. Let's recover the excitement and adventure of blazing a trail with God where he has us, lest we simply become articulators of where others have gone.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Why Good Friday is So Good
I love this time of year--Lent. I love it because it leads up to Good Friday. Yes, Good Friday... not Easter. Well, it does lead up to Easter, but that's not why I like it. I like it because it prepares us for Good Friday, which prepares us for Easter.
Truth be told, I usually cringe when it comes to celebrating Easter, especially as it concerns worship services. On the other hand, I relish the opportunity to commemorate Good Friday. It's easier for me to authentically participate in a Good Friday service than it is for me to participate in an Easter "Celebration" service.
I'm not trying to pit one service against the other, nor am I trying to establish that one is more significant than the other. I'm just saying that I more readily enter into the mood of the Good Friday service than the mood of an Easter "Celebration" service.
Here's why. I think that we celebrate too much as it is in church services. In fact, I think that we celebrate so much that our celebration has lost its connection with the Reason for celebrating.
Here's what I mean by that. On any given Sunday, we want services that are what? Positive. Uplifting. Upbeat. Energetic. We want our greeters to be what? Smiling. Happy. Inviting. Positive. Upbeat. We want people to feel what? Comfortable. Welcome. At ease. Jovial. We want to "change their minds" about church--church is "fun," not "boring." We want our pastors to be what? Funny. Engaging. Encouraging. Inspiring.
My gosh. It's no wonder that people sometimes get the idea that being a Christian means being disconnected from reality--as though all of the garbage going on in the world and in our lives can be (and even needs to be) all forgotten with a grin.
It's this growing disconnection that, in my experience, comes to full term on Easter Sunday. We had better "wow" all of those two-times-per-year-church-attenders with just how happy we are to be Christians. Our greeters' faces better be sore from grinning so widely for so long. Our music better be so joyful that a starving kid from India would forget about his plight. The message better be so evangelistic and positive that an atheist would feel "on the outside looking in." Never mind that most of us couldn't articulate what Jesus' bodily resurrection has to do with our lives here and now. Jesus rose, and that's supposed to make us all happy. So smile, dammit.
I'm jaded... I know. I've seen too many Easter productions for my own good. But man, if I feel like our celebration services are disconnected from reality, how is a one- or two-times-a-year visitor going to feel? Won't this Jesus, this cross, and this tomb, which normally mean little to nothing to him or her to begin with, mean even less if all we're doing is singing more loudly, grinning more widely, shaking their hands more violently, and dusting off the "He is risen/He is risen indeed" phrase for its one-time appearance?
It just doesn't seem very connected to my life. In my life, there is a raging in my soul. There is unrest. In my life, I struggle with how I am living vs. how I am supposed to be living. In my life, I am confronted with my weaknesses, my failures, and my sin. In my life, I see a popular culture who is becoming ever more aware and ever more adept at depicting just how disconnected the Jesus of the American church is with the American life. And I don't think we're going a long way to convince them otherwise in most of our Easter services.
On the other hand, a Good Friday service makes a great deal of sense to me and my life. I can feel the reality of a living Jesus as his Spirit reminds me of his sacrifice. I can feel the peace that is married to the sorrow of an innocent, holy, and powerful God-man dead on a cross. I can feel reconciled to God, because I am reminded that everything that gets in the way of Him and me was put on the back of Jesus, God in the flesh. I can genuinely mourn for all that I've done and for all that's been done to me as the result of sin, and can genuinely find life in the death of the One who has already begun to right all the wrongs.
I guess for me it all comes down to this: the messiness captured in a Good Friday service lines up better with my messy life, and therefore the message of the Good Friday service becomes powerful in my life.
I'd like to see an Easter service that captures this bittersweetness. We're still in the bittersweet right now. We're still people living in the tension of the "already" and "not yet." Christ's reign has begun, but has not yet been fully realized. And although this truth in and of itself does not permit us to celebrate and live as fully as we will be able one day, it does permit us to live to the fullest in the here and now. It connects with life here and now.
Celebrating cantankerously forces me to forsake my life as I know it will be lived immediately after the Easter service is over. I'd much rather exhale in relief after crying at the cross.
Truth be told, I usually cringe when it comes to celebrating Easter, especially as it concerns worship services. On the other hand, I relish the opportunity to commemorate Good Friday. It's easier for me to authentically participate in a Good Friday service than it is for me to participate in an Easter "Celebration" service.
I'm not trying to pit one service against the other, nor am I trying to establish that one is more significant than the other. I'm just saying that I more readily enter into the mood of the Good Friday service than the mood of an Easter "Celebration" service.
Here's why. I think that we celebrate too much as it is in church services. In fact, I think that we celebrate so much that our celebration has lost its connection with the Reason for celebrating.
Here's what I mean by that. On any given Sunday, we want services that are what? Positive. Uplifting. Upbeat. Energetic. We want our greeters to be what? Smiling. Happy. Inviting. Positive. Upbeat. We want people to feel what? Comfortable. Welcome. At ease. Jovial. We want to "change their minds" about church--church is "fun," not "boring." We want our pastors to be what? Funny. Engaging. Encouraging. Inspiring.
My gosh. It's no wonder that people sometimes get the idea that being a Christian means being disconnected from reality--as though all of the garbage going on in the world and in our lives can be (and even needs to be) all forgotten with a grin.
It's this growing disconnection that, in my experience, comes to full term on Easter Sunday. We had better "wow" all of those two-times-per-year-church-attenders with just how happy we are to be Christians. Our greeters' faces better be sore from grinning so widely for so long. Our music better be so joyful that a starving kid from India would forget about his plight. The message better be so evangelistic and positive that an atheist would feel "on the outside looking in." Never mind that most of us couldn't articulate what Jesus' bodily resurrection has to do with our lives here and now. Jesus rose, and that's supposed to make us all happy. So smile, dammit.
I'm jaded... I know. I've seen too many Easter productions for my own good. But man, if I feel like our celebration services are disconnected from reality, how is a one- or two-times-a-year visitor going to feel? Won't this Jesus, this cross, and this tomb, which normally mean little to nothing to him or her to begin with, mean even less if all we're doing is singing more loudly, grinning more widely, shaking their hands more violently, and dusting off the "He is risen/He is risen indeed" phrase for its one-time appearance?
It just doesn't seem very connected to my life. In my life, there is a raging in my soul. There is unrest. In my life, I struggle with how I am living vs. how I am supposed to be living. In my life, I am confronted with my weaknesses, my failures, and my sin. In my life, I see a popular culture who is becoming ever more aware and ever more adept at depicting just how disconnected the Jesus of the American church is with the American life. And I don't think we're going a long way to convince them otherwise in most of our Easter services.
On the other hand, a Good Friday service makes a great deal of sense to me and my life. I can feel the reality of a living Jesus as his Spirit reminds me of his sacrifice. I can feel the peace that is married to the sorrow of an innocent, holy, and powerful God-man dead on a cross. I can feel reconciled to God, because I am reminded that everything that gets in the way of Him and me was put on the back of Jesus, God in the flesh. I can genuinely mourn for all that I've done and for all that's been done to me as the result of sin, and can genuinely find life in the death of the One who has already begun to right all the wrongs.
I guess for me it all comes down to this: the messiness captured in a Good Friday service lines up better with my messy life, and therefore the message of the Good Friday service becomes powerful in my life.
I'd like to see an Easter service that captures this bittersweetness. We're still in the bittersweet right now. We're still people living in the tension of the "already" and "not yet." Christ's reign has begun, but has not yet been fully realized. And although this truth in and of itself does not permit us to celebrate and live as fully as we will be able one day, it does permit us to live to the fullest in the here and now. It connects with life here and now.
Celebrating cantankerously forces me to forsake my life as I know it will be lived immediately after the Easter service is over. I'd much rather exhale in relief after crying at the cross.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Music is Art
I don't pretend to know a lot about music, or about art. I do know, however, that I have some artistic tendencies. I don't paint or sketch. I don't write short fictional stories or wear thick-rimmed glasses and tight jeans. But I can sing and kinda play a few instruments, at least well enough to get me into trouble. And I think a lot about things and try to put them into words that capture their essence. In prose, that is.
Anyways, I've been lucky or unlucky enough (depends on how you look at it) to be tapped as the interim musical worship leader (long story) at church. Here's what I've come to realize about why music is such a hot button in churches.
An aside before I continue: I firmly believe that the terms "music" and "worship" are not at all interchangeable, and must be kept distinct from each other in order to retain their respective meanings. Worship is living life sacrificially because of Christ's sacrifice (Rom. 12:1); music is an artistic form that churches use to depict that life. Of course, I can worship through music... but I can not allow myself to use the verb "worship" to simply mean "sing" or "play an instrument." I could go on and on and on about this, but I do not wish to focus this particular entry on the subject. Nevertheless, this distinction is relevant to the rest of the entry. Aside completed. Now back to where I was initially headed...
Music is such a hot button in churches because it is an art form, and art is not meant to hide things. It is meant to reveal or depict. It brings to light what is hidden, and draws attention to what our eyes have trained themselves to filter out or pass over as insignificant. Consequently, the music that is selected and sung at a particular church reveals... well, it reveals everything about us musicians that we desire to keep hidden, and reveals all of what is hidden about us to everyone in attendance. It does this whether we realize it or not, and it does this whether we want it to or not. It does this by its very nature, apart from our will, our crafting, or our intentions.
If worshiping means living life sacrificially because of Jesus' sacrifice, then we should expect our music to reveal whether or not we are really worshiping in our lives. That's what art does, remember? It reveals. In other words, by participating on stage in musical worship in front of hundreds of people, we should anticipate being laid bare for who we really are--either as people living sacrificially because of Jesus and with Jesus... or as people who are not.
And this is shaky, scary territory, isn't it? I mean, where I am going to go with this? Am I about to state that I always know if someone is a true worshiper by simply looking at them while they sing or play? Am I going to try and establish that one musical style is a better depiction of a sacrificial life than another style? Should I make a push for the theological content of hymns as a better depiction than those blasted repetitive praise choruses? Am I about to open the Pandora's box of guitar vs. piano? I mean, the guitar kinda looks a little more like a "cross" than a piano, and what's more sacrificial than a cross, right? (I trust that you are picking up on the increased level of sarcasm in the preceding paragraph.)
But these avenues, as well as the fears, insecurities, and often selfish agendas associated with them simply illustrate my point. All of these and anything else competing with Christ for control over a musical worshiper's life will be revealed for all to see when the aspiring musical worshiper goes to sing or to play. The most flawless and grandest of performances can not hide someone's heart. I would even go as far as to say that such performances move only those seeking to consume or to be entertained... and move them somewhere that is not toward the cross. Sure, talent and technical excellence can misdirect for a time, maybe. But for those who are living sacrificially, very little remains hidden from sight. And nothing remains hidden from the One Who Sees All, the Light Himself.
And just to be clear: talent and technical excellence are necessary, but only to the degree that they allow for a faithful depiction of God, his sacrifice in Jesus, and what life is like with him. The point where our talent and excellence either fail to depict these ends (because we don't have enough of them!) or compete with these ends (because we are controlled by them!) is the point where we become depicted through our music as the frauds we really are.
Musical worship sets are not performed; they are created and set on display, just like God did the earth and its inhabitants. Likewise, musical worshippers do not perform; they willingly set themselves on display as a depiction of a sacrificed life. Musical worshipers should therefore be both excited and warned.
Anyways, I've been lucky or unlucky enough (depends on how you look at it) to be tapped as the interim musical worship leader (long story) at church. Here's what I've come to realize about why music is such a hot button in churches.
An aside before I continue: I firmly believe that the terms "music" and "worship" are not at all interchangeable, and must be kept distinct from each other in order to retain their respective meanings. Worship is living life sacrificially because of Christ's sacrifice (Rom. 12:1); music is an artistic form that churches use to depict that life. Of course, I can worship through music... but I can not allow myself to use the verb "worship" to simply mean "sing" or "play an instrument." I could go on and on and on about this, but I do not wish to focus this particular entry on the subject. Nevertheless, this distinction is relevant to the rest of the entry. Aside completed. Now back to where I was initially headed...
Music is such a hot button in churches because it is an art form, and art is not meant to hide things. It is meant to reveal or depict. It brings to light what is hidden, and draws attention to what our eyes have trained themselves to filter out or pass over as insignificant. Consequently, the music that is selected and sung at a particular church reveals... well, it reveals everything about us musicians that we desire to keep hidden, and reveals all of what is hidden about us to everyone in attendance. It does this whether we realize it or not, and it does this whether we want it to or not. It does this by its very nature, apart from our will, our crafting, or our intentions.
If worshiping means living life sacrificially because of Jesus' sacrifice, then we should expect our music to reveal whether or not we are really worshiping in our lives. That's what art does, remember? It reveals. In other words, by participating on stage in musical worship in front of hundreds of people, we should anticipate being laid bare for who we really are--either as people living sacrificially because of Jesus and with Jesus... or as people who are not.
And this is shaky, scary territory, isn't it? I mean, where I am going to go with this? Am I about to state that I always know if someone is a true worshiper by simply looking at them while they sing or play? Am I going to try and establish that one musical style is a better depiction of a sacrificial life than another style? Should I make a push for the theological content of hymns as a better depiction than those blasted repetitive praise choruses? Am I about to open the Pandora's box of guitar vs. piano? I mean, the guitar kinda looks a little more like a "cross" than a piano, and what's more sacrificial than a cross, right? (I trust that you are picking up on the increased level of sarcasm in the preceding paragraph.)
But these avenues, as well as the fears, insecurities, and often selfish agendas associated with them simply illustrate my point. All of these and anything else competing with Christ for control over a musical worshiper's life will be revealed for all to see when the aspiring musical worshiper goes to sing or to play. The most flawless and grandest of performances can not hide someone's heart. I would even go as far as to say that such performances move only those seeking to consume or to be entertained... and move them somewhere that is not toward the cross. Sure, talent and technical excellence can misdirect for a time, maybe. But for those who are living sacrificially, very little remains hidden from sight. And nothing remains hidden from the One Who Sees All, the Light Himself.
And just to be clear: talent and technical excellence are necessary, but only to the degree that they allow for a faithful depiction of God, his sacrifice in Jesus, and what life is like with him. The point where our talent and excellence either fail to depict these ends (because we don't have enough of them!) or compete with these ends (because we are controlled by them!) is the point where we become depicted through our music as the frauds we really are.
Musical worship sets are not performed; they are created and set on display, just like God did the earth and its inhabitants. Likewise, musical worshippers do not perform; they willingly set themselves on display as a depiction of a sacrificed life. Musical worshipers should therefore be both excited and warned.
Spare the Rod
So here's another thing that kinda sucks about being a young pastor: confronting laypeople who are significantly older than you are about something that they are doing.
It's like seeing a sign that says "BEWARE: MINE FIELD AHEAD" and deciding to just keep on walking. You know that you are going to get blown up.
You're gonna get blown up because you've never walked in this field before. You don't know where to step. And, because you are young, you easily get fed up with getting sniped at while you are trying to carefully step, or getting pushed while you feel your way, or whatever. Then you decide to hell with it--I'm gonna charge right through this, life and limb be damned.
Discipline has its place. In fact, it has more of a place than we normally give it... at least, that's what I observe. It's much better to courageously have a hard conversation with someone than it is to try to manage them, or blow smoke, or just flat out lie to their face. Trouble is, how do you temper a hard conversation with gentleness and respect? Especially when you're getting anything but?
So, Holy Spirit, give me the courage to have the hard conversations, the wisdom to be honest and clear, the desire to be gentle and respectful, and the willingness to die Christ's death.
Oh... and if it's in your plan, just move those people to a different state or something.
It's like seeing a sign that says "BEWARE: MINE FIELD AHEAD" and deciding to just keep on walking. You know that you are going to get blown up.
You're gonna get blown up because you've never walked in this field before. You don't know where to step. And, because you are young, you easily get fed up with getting sniped at while you are trying to carefully step, or getting pushed while you feel your way, or whatever. Then you decide to hell with it--I'm gonna charge right through this, life and limb be damned.
Discipline has its place. In fact, it has more of a place than we normally give it... at least, that's what I observe. It's much better to courageously have a hard conversation with someone than it is to try to manage them, or blow smoke, or just flat out lie to their face. Trouble is, how do you temper a hard conversation with gentleness and respect? Especially when you're getting anything but?
So, Holy Spirit, give me the courage to have the hard conversations, the wisdom to be honest and clear, the desire to be gentle and respectful, and the willingness to die Christ's death.
Oh... and if it's in your plan, just move those people to a different state or something.
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