The Killing Power of Normality

Stephen's blog at Peaceable Zealot called "Holy Week" has given me reason for a good deal of reflection over the past few days. Nothing could be more expected or more spiritually deadening that the fact that I know, and have long known that Jesus Christ is the risenSon of the Living God. For me, the "aha!" of that truth came decades ago in the frigidly cold waters of a small Kentucky creek, when I willing buried my own life in order to be raised as the slave to a King.
Try as I might, I cannot live forever in the glow of that first touch of grace. The truth is I face the same reality with my marriage, my kids, and just about every other long term interrelationship in my life. The first overwhelming thrill of the new is eventually supplanted by the steady flow of the nice but normal.

I have come to believe that it is ultimately self-serving and destructive to want to live constantly in the breathless ecstasy of that first date. Thirty good years of marriage have not removed love from our relationship, but it has certainly tempered the giddy infatuation of a teenager's first crush. In the same way, I believe in our walk with God was never intended to be constantly on some mountaintop of celebration and joy. I am convinced that trying to design and structure Christian worship so that every weekly gathering "tops" the week before is less about honoring God and more about satisfying our own cravings for one God to provide us with yet another and even bigger high.

But Stephen's blog post forces me to admit that I still need to occasional return to those "first love" moments. That’s what I think Jesus meant when he spoke of “first love” to the church at Ephesus (Revelation 2). Just as, in my marriage, there are those days when I just can't wait to see Linda and have those moments alone that are even better than those giddy first days of marriage thirty years ago. No, not every day. That’s true. Maybe not even every week. But, still, they do happen. And when they do, all the years of mundane living seem to disappear and it is as if we are newlyweds again. To acknowledge that we should expect every week to be a mountaintop does not mean we are left with nothing but valleys in which to live. Everyone once and awhile we need to let God pull us back up to the heights, if no other reason than to remind us why we can endure the valleys with joy.

To experience, in the midst of the ongoing flow of numbing normality, the occasional renewed wonder of the resurrection, the surprise of grace, the thrilling sense of the inward presence of God the Holy Spirit with the excitement of a new convert is something I want to embrace. Not to seek the high of such moments, but to seek the "him" of those moments. As Paul says, "That I might know him, and the power of his resurrection, sharing in the fellowship of his suffering."

Our year by year walk with God, like a solid lifelong marriage, requires that we be open to miracle of falling in love again and again and again.

United We Stand, Divided We Worship

My earliest memories of Sunday worship are rooted in the simple Rawhide Primitive Baptist church just outside Keokee, Virginia. Most people today would find this tradition unfamiliar. No musical instruments were present. The men and women sat on different sides of the building. The singing was a slow wailing melody line (pretty much the same melody was used for all songs) with a "liner" cantillating the lyric phrases -- and all of this in the voicing used in Celtic and traditional Appalachian music.

One memory of those years that also seems to have gone the way of the dodo was the ongoing presence of children in worship. Look down any pew and you'd see adults, old people, teenagers, and children. Sure, some of children wiggled and there was a pretty steady stream of young ones pleading to take a trip to the outhouse (yep, when I said "primitive," I meant it).

Today, in American evangelical churches, families happily wave good-bye to one another as soon as they walk into the lobby, each group scurrying off to their own made-to-order education and worship experiences. We recognize that worship is just plain better when ages are separated. No wiggling kids. No grumpy geezers. The kids get Veggie Tales, the old timers get Gaither, and the younger adults get Matt Redman. We, and is there is no doubt of this, enjoy worship more and our churches can get bigger faster in age segregated experiences.

Now, in case you're unfamiliar with the work of Donald McGavran, this whole idea is called the "homogeneous unit principle." We like to be with people like us. Originally, McGavran was commenting on observations of the caste system in India, but the principle has broader applications. Don't try and get groups of people together if those groups aren't together in the broader culture. Absent these cultural barriers, the church will grow faster. Whites only. Republicans only. Vietnamese only. Teenagers only. It just plain works.

McGavran was an astute observer of human nature. Our made-to-order generational segregation has much to be said for it and very little to be said against it: except, of course, that it dramatically distorts the nature of the church as God intended. Ephesians 2:14-18; 4:14; Colossians 3:11-15; Galatians 3:26-27; et al.

A church continually subdivided by generations has some of the same advantages racially segregated churches might have had in the American south sixty or seventy years ago. But our enjoyment of separation and even its clear effectiveness in church growth must take a back seat to the mandate of God that the church of Jesus Christ is to demonstrate to this fallen world the unexpected unity of races, nations, tongues, and generations. Our culture is already full of organizations and groups divided by race, class, and age. The church is supposed to be startling precisely because it breaks down walls, instead of maintaining them.

The road back toward more intergenerational worship will take time, of course. Many will need to learn unfamiliar music. Children will need to be prepared to sit through an adult service, and adults will need to adjust to the constant background noise of wiggling and whispering as neither unnatural nor distracting to family worship.

Linda, who teaches children's ministry, and I have put together materials (with PowerPoint and music) and workshops to assist churches interested in creating intergenerational experiences in worship. We are realists. We understand children's worship is here to stay. Even with this fact, however, we can show how and why intergenerational experiences can reconnect the various age levels within the church.


If you are interested (and these materials would be helpful for any evangelical church) please contact us.

Iconic Faith

The earliest Christians seemed to have enjoyed representing their new faith in symbolic images (or "icons"). The earliest of these are hardly works of professionals. Instead, they represent the creativity of believers in finding images that represented, often clandestinely, their new identity in the unfolding Kingdom of God.

By the second century the well known "chi-rho" (looking like the English letters X and P written over each other) can be found. Chi-rho are the first two letters of "Christ" in Greek. Of course the fish, which many assume is related to its Greek word for fish, IXΘYΣ (ichthus), can be an acrostic for "Jesus Christ God's Son Savior." And, just as in several old hymns, the image of an anchor also appears as an early favorite of believers.

What is less common in this early era is the image of a cross. This is very likely because the image was still one weighted with negativity in wider Roman culture. A cross represented not simply a criminal execution, but one reserved for only the worst of criminals. In fact, the earliest drawing of a cross in a Christian context is part of some very antichristian graffiti scrawled on a wall in the Roman Palatine. It shows a rough image of a man being crucified who has the head of a donkey. Another man is standing in front of this cross with an arm raised in worship. The caption, which includes a school boy's misspelling, says, "Alexamenos worships his god."


This early derision over the image of a cross should not surprise anyone, since the Apostle Paul makes it clear his cross-centered message was a real obstacle to many Jews and Greeks (1 Corinthians 1:23). What Paul refused was to varnish over the offensiveness of the message with some attractive marketing psychobabel. He refused clever new names for the new communities, most often using the ordinary Greek word for a gathering or synagogue, ekklesia. Those embracing it were not merely joining an "Adventure" or a beginning a "Journey" or sharing in an uplifting "Hour of Victory Celebration." They were aligning themselves with a bizarre new faith whose founder preceded His own crucifixion by requiring His followers to take up their own personal crosses every day.

Of course, no officially selected and sanctified image or name appears on the pages of the New Testament. As in all living and growing things, there is variety and creativity. But the contemporary descendants of these distant voices would do well to consider the power of those ancient images: Chi-rho. Fish. Anchor. The Good Shepherd. The Loaf. And, of course, the Cross.

The symbols we use both proclaim our identity and, in time, change our identity. We symbolize what we are and then we are what we symbolize. Perhaps attractiveness and originality should be put away in a box called modernity and older and richer images be dusted off.

OK, So It's Been a Year . . .

OK, so it's been a year since my last entry. No excuses. Just got focused in other directions (world peace; the AIDS crisis; persecution of Christians in the Islamic world; anticipating the parousia at the end of the age; and the price of goat cheese in the Canadian marketplace).

In any case, I'm still living and still involved in both enjoying and reflecting on Christian worship.

But, since I haven't updated the site in so long, I doubt anyone will make note that I'm going to resume blogging (is that a verb?).

So, here's the profound thought for the day (week, month, epoch)... wouldn't the praise team find the sermon more spiritually enriching if they stood up all the way through it? I think it's at least worth a try.

tl

Completing the Atonement

Preaching the gospel is, in itself, a sacramental act. Through the mundane God acts. Through the understanding God moves among us in ways behind all understanding. In regard to preaching the gospel, this may be nowhere more astounding that the biblical assertion that, in proclaiming the gospel, we may complete what is lacking in the atonement of Christ.

God has redeemed men through the atoning work of Jesus Christ. Through his cross grace, justification and reconciliation can be offered to the world. Yet, what benefit is that work without the explanation of grace and the confrontation of discipleship? Reconciliation is accomplished through the work of Christ and through the proclamation of men. The communication of redemption is, in fact, part of the redemption process. Redemption cannot be left to simply "happen." Redemption must be shouted from the housetops.

Jesus came and died and rose again to provide salvation to the world. The sufferings of Christ, however, are insufficient to save the world. As Paul writes,

Now I rejoice in what was suffered for you, and I filled up in my flesh what is still lacking in regard to Christ's affliction, for the sake of his body, which is the church. I have become its servant by the commission God gave me to present to you the word of God in its fullness—the mystery that has been kept hidden for ages and generations but is now disclosed to the saints.

Preaching the gospel, seen in this light, becomes a part of God's great work of atonement through Christ. As such, it is a kind of sacrament: The physical as a channel for God's grace to enter the world.

Christ died, once for all, for the sins of men. Yet the work of the cross remains insufficient to save the world. The insufficiency of the death of Christ should be obvious. We know that God does not want any to perish. We know that Jesus died for the sins of the world. Yet, we also recognize that many (the majority!) of the world continues to live and die unsaved!
The gap between God's desire and earth's reality reveals the insufficiency of the death of the Christ.

Unquestionably, the cross is all sufficient to forgive sin. But the message of the offer and demands of that cross must be presented to the world. Without this proclamation, the world will remain unforgiven. On the most basic level, without the message proclaimed to John and Jane Doe, then John and Jane will live and die unforgiven. Christ's death will be of no value to them. For them, Christ will have died "in vain." For them, the all-sufficient sacrifice of Christ will be "lacking."

A biblical theology of preaching cannot be fully separated from a biblical theology of grace. Not only do we preach grace, but the work of preaching is, itself, a grace/gift of God. The core of the message preached concerns the grace of God through the cross. In addition, then, the act of the gracecalled preacher, who proclaims the gracecentered message is, in itself, a component of the grace of redemption. By grace we have been saved. By grace we have been granted the opportunity to preach.

As we hear the Word of God read and proclaimed in worship, Christ continues to speak to the church and through the church to the world. In this respect, preaching is grace: "I speak, yet not I; Christ speaks through me."

Reflections on a Cold in the Cold

OK. So, no new posts for a month. Nathan & Tessa were back in the states from Zimbabwe for a couple of weeks. Christmas/Epiphany was wonderful but time consuming. Classes started at OCC. And, now, on top of all that, I've got a cold.

I know strength is perfected in weakness - but all that stuff sounds really spiritual until you're sick. Being sick doesn't feel remotely spiritual. It just feels blah.

Of course, when Jesus wrote those seven pesky churches of Asia Minor (Rev 2-3); those that seemed to feel best about themselves were in the worst shape. Those that seemed to feel pretty weak and overwhelmed got the big cuddos.

And then there's the ice . . . and snow . . . and cold. Churches in the area are generally closed for meetings again tomorrow because of treacherous parking lots and sagging roofs (the local Baptist church here in Webb City had the whole roof cave in due to the weight of ice).

Germs and frozen water -- they can still bring all our clever post-modern techno-dazzling world to a grinding halt. I find myself musing on poor Trophimus. You know, the guy Paul left sick at Miletus (2 Timothy 4). I wonder if he sat there thinking, "Great. Heal Eutychus, guys bitten by snakes, and Lord knows who else but leave me here with this lousy head cold."

Went to Walgreens for some pseudoephedrine – after showing my driver’s license, another ID, signing a legal form, and probably having my picture taken by homeland security, I was given my tiny package of blister-sealed pills. I half wondered if the FBI was following me home – to find the latest meth-lab or something.

So, here’s my great spiritual insight – sometimes it’s better to have some medicine than to have a buddy who’s an apostle.

This, too, shall pass.

The Power of the Nods in Worship

I've seen it a hundred times. The preacher, in a high point in a sermon, quotes a well known scripture passage. The vast majority know it by heart. Most know the preacher is about to quote it even before the first words of it are spoken. And, so, as it is said, all over the church, you see heads nodding. Nodding in knowing approval. Yes. We know that verse. Yes. We know it is true. Yes. We feel the strengthening power of familiar truths restated again and again.

Something like that happens each year during the Advent season. We hear songs we've known since childhood. Words so familiar we could literally sing them in our sleep (something not recommended if you are married). Yes. We know this song. Yes. We know it is true. Yes. We feel the strengthening power of familiar truths restated again and again.

However, in our obsessive commitment to center our worship on music written in the last four or five years, and often by the worship leader, we increasingly relegate familiar Christmas hymns and carols to a few minutes of nostalgia at the beginning of the service. I recently went to a really wonderful Christmas musical. The music was spectacular. Choir. Orchestra. Solid, biblical narration - wonderful except that only five of the twelve numbers had anything directly to do with Christmas -- and only three of those used songs already widely known. The rest were the generic praise music that has come to dominate Sunday worship. Same styles. Same tempo. Same same.

Mind you, the musical was great. It was just, not particularly "Christmasy." Of course, I know everybody expects to hear "Happy Birthday" sung at a birthday party - but that's no reason not to sing it. Sometimes the expected and familiar has its own ministry to our frazzled minds and hardened hearts.

Nativity scene on stage -- wise men dressed up in outrageous (and probably not remotely authentic) outfits -- kids as shepherds -- and even, heaven forbid, a Christmas tree. Sure, none of those things is central to the gospel of Christ - but they are pretty much at the core of whatever smattering of Christmas memories we carry inside us.

Like I said, a wonderful evening of great music. But, where were the nods?

When will we finally understand that sometimes the nods in worship are its most powerful moments?

"Ah yes. I know that. I knew that before I came in here. And, because I already knew it, I feel the strengthening power of familiar truths restated. "

When will it dawn on us that our unbroken obsession with the new and fresh carries its own kind of predictable numbing deadness?

Excuse me now while I tune my XM to station 104 so, at least from a secular corporation concerned only with what (we pitifully unmusically astute) people want to hear, I can listen to the familiar sounds of Christmas. Listen and nod.

[My thanks to my 25 year old son, TJ, for his ideas and insights regarding the "nods" of worship and their importance to the life of the church]

The Passing of an Unprofitable Servant

Largely unrecognized outside the fellowship of Christian Churches, and even then known mostly by those associated with Ozark Christian College, the passing of Seth Wilson will, I am sure, go generally unnoticed.

For those of us who knew him, there is both tragedy and triumph in that observation. Seth Wilson remains to this day the single most towering intellect I have ever met. The breadth of his knowledge in everything from Koiné Greek to archaeology to chemistry to physics to music to auto-mechanics (the man overhauled his own automatic transmission when he was in his late fifties) was absolutely overwhelming. That he knew the Bible by memory was something he was rightly famous for. That he knew it most of it in more than one English translation and, particularly in the New Testament, also knew it in its original language moved it from the realm of remarkable to the realm of I-can’t-believe-that’s-possible. But it was.

I remember walking between classes in the fall of 1970. I hardly noticed Seth Wilson as I walked past him, until I heard him casually say, “Good morning, Tom.” Keep in mind, I was a lowly freshman. Seth Wilson, at that time, taught no freshman classes. I had never had so much as a brief conversation with him. But, within the first few weeks of each semester, he had used enrollment photographs and had memorized all the student’s names on campus. That’s nearly 800 names. And he did this every year as a matter of course.

The great paradox, of course, was that this intimidating scholar was stronglycritical of the elitism of academia. He disdained cynical fuzzy thinking cloaked in high-sounding vocabulary. He rejected the idea that doubt should be more admired than faith. Above all, he disliked the pride and arrogance so prevelevant even in so-called Christian higher education.

In spite of a huge number of graduate hours, Seth Wilson refused to apply for even a single advanced degree. Such a measure of academic ability seemed to him so wholly unreliable (ever know any idiots with Masters degrees?) that he simply declined to buy into it. If the fact that he had completed more graduate hours than required for a doctorate, and had read more and knew more in most areas of biblical scholarship than most PhDs in those areas, was dismissed because he didn’t have the proper credentials, well that was just too bad. Jesus hadn't exactly fulfilled the expectations of the academic elite of His era, either.

For those who find such disdain for graduate and post-graduate credentials appalling, it is good to remember we stand today far removed from the cataclysmic issues that decimated Christian Church colleges and institutions (as well as a number of other Protestant denominations) in the first half of the twentieth century. Liberalism, largely originated in European universities of the era, swept across American Protestants dividing churches and filling college classrooms and administrations with apostates. It is easy to pontificate from one era on the absurd sensitivities or fears of another. But, these are inevitably criticisms voiced, at least in part, out of the ignorance of those who were not there and did not experience those tumultuous decades.

With all of that said, Seth Wilson’s greatest impact was not his genuinely frightening intellect. That would certainly have made him a memorable teacher, but not a life-changing one. That came from his unquenchable passion to know and follow and teach Jesus Christ. It was the Christ-centered and cross-centered drive that permeated every conversation that is most remembered. He taught, even with his Einstein-level IQ, in ways that gave students with various levels of ability (none of them matching his) confidence that they could understand scripture, follow Jesus, and preach the Word to a lost and dying world.

He would, on a regular basis, throw out statements that were so stunning most of us hurriedly wrote them in our class notes or a book margin. To this day, these statements, immersed as they are in the memory of his presence, continue to prod and move me.

“Blessed is the man smart enough not to believe his own lies.”

“Every minister decides every day whether he will carry out his work standing in front of the cross, or behind it.”

“After you’ve been here four years, what we have taught you to love is far more important that what we’ve taught you to know.”

“Never trust a legalist alone with your wife.” (think about it)

And the list could go on and on and on.

One other of Seth Wilson’s central passions is almost as rare as his IQ and breadth of knowledge – he refused to give much loyalty or affection to human institutions. Mind you, this includes the college he founded and served, in various capacities, since the early 1940s. On this earth, he believed, nothing deserved our central loyalty but the church of the Lord Jesus Christ. Anything else, be it college or publishing house or parachurch ministry would come and go. These were mere tools whose value is measured in the degree they serve and enhance the mission of the church. Once that value had passed, as it inevitably would given enough time, then lay these aside without so much as a tear. To this day, Ozark Christian College has no alma mater. When students graduated each year, they’d stand and sing together, “Wherever He leads, I’ll go.”

One of his memorable quotes was:

“Our task is not to be clever or original or even remembered. It is to tell the old, old story and to tell it well.”

That is why, in all likelihood, Seth Wilson would not care a whit whether his passing was widely noted or noticed. It is Jesus Chrst and the ongoing Kingdom of God that matters -- not some mere servant who is here today, like the flower of the field, and tomorrow withers and is discarded and forgotten.

And, although I’ve never met his equal, Seth Wilson would still say, in the end, he was nothing more than an unprofitable servant (Luke 17:10) of the Master.

Would to God one day I could raise to such a level of "unprofitability."

Seth – you will be missed. See you soon.

No More "Put Christ back in Christmas" Complaints

“Put Christ back in Christmas” has become a repeated refrain heard every year at this time. To this I simply shrug my shoulders and say, "Oh well."

The truth is that Christ has only periodically been a central element in Christmas. Most people already know that Christmas was not celebrated until, at least the third century. It wasn't widely observed until a couple centuries later. Origin, reflecting widely held assumptions, objected to celebrating Christ's "birth day," since those kinds of celebrations were associated mostly with pagan religions or the cult of the emperors.

Even when widely celebrated, Christmas was so associated with heavy drinking and feasting (and a host of other less than desirable behaviors) that many pious individuals simply refused to observe it. The pilgrims, like many Protestants of that era, not only refused to observe it but made working on December 25th mandatory.

Still, I see value in family gatherings and traditions. I'm not eager to see the church down on one of the few things in the broader culture that still seems to focus on families and holds up as admirable the ideals of giving and caring. Trees and gifts, although having nothing to do with the nativity, do have positive values and are not offensive to any of my Christian sensitivities.

The Feast of Epiphany, January 6th, long overshadowed Christmas in importance in the ancient church. It was associated with the visit of the Magi and, often, with the beginning of Jesus' public ministry at His baptism in the Jordan River by the Prophet John. In fact, the twelve-days of Christmas was the time period between December 25th and Epiphany. Orthodox Christmas, one day later, is also closely associated with the history of Epiphany.

And so, in our family we have trees and stockings and Christmas cookies and play lots of Bing Crosby Christmas songs. We get giddy at snow and sit up late watching It's a Wonderful Life (in the proper original black and white, of course) for the umpteenth time. We laugh at Ralphie's BB gun (he did almost shoot his eye out, after all) and watch at least one of the several Little House or Waldens Christmas episodes.

But, for us, the real celebration of the incarnation of our Lord Jesus occurs on January 6th at Epiphany. Sure, the television networks and school systems are completely unaware of our momentous date change, and that's just fine with us. After all, how could we expect those who do not know Him as Lord to care about Him as an infant? How can those who've never said, "Have thine own way" give a second thought to a young lady who says, "Behold, I am the handmaiden of the Lord."

Also, although I don't want to break the spirituality of my thoughts above, I'd also note that waiting until after the first of the year to shop for any gifts we'd like to give has its own obvious benefits in reduced costs and no long lines (they’re all standing at the exchange desks). Another benefit, for those with adult children serving in the ministry, is that it is much easier to gather the family on Epiphany than on December 25th -- with its surrounding plethora of special church activities.

So, this season once again, on Epiphany we'll have roasted lamb (our own tradition to remind us of the connection between Bethlehem and Passover) and a big birthday cake for Jesus. We'll read through the first chapters of John, Luke, and Matthew. We'll sing (poorly but with gusto). We're quite content to let December 25th be that incongruent mixture of a lot of secular tradition and a smattering of Christianity. We’re not even mad at the fat guy in the red suit. Nope. No more complaining and whining about any of it.

But, while the rest of pagan America is busily involved in already breaking their New Year's resolutions, we'll gather and take time to remember, as a family, that once upon a time, not so very long ago, an extra-terrestrial came to earth and, since then, the world has never been quite the same.

Thanksgiving according to the Liturgy of the Liberally Enlightened

The desire to worship is inherent and universal. Where that worship is directed, of course, is the question. The first commandment is not a statement defending the truth of monotheism, but the demand for sole and primary allegiance: you shall have no other gods before me.

The emerging world, which bears striking resemblance to a resurgent Dark Ages, holds high the ideals of tolerance and spirituality to lead humanity to break the shackles of Euro-American modernity and embrace a kinder, gentler new world order.

With tongue planted firmly in cheek, we offer the following Thanksgiving Prayer according to the Liturgy of the Liberally Enlightened.

Dear heavenly and earthly all embracing Spirit -

We thank thee, Whomever or Whatever thou might be, at this season of thanksgiving.

We recall those pilgrim settlers of old who, having oppressed, raped, and pillaged the peace-loving native Americans who were here living environmentally friendly lives, nevertheless lifted up prayers of thanksgiving to their Anglo-Saxon Judeo-Christian deity. And for these things, we are grieved.

We think of the bounty of our land, aware that our wealth is produced through the unbridled greed of white-male dominated corporations operating sweat shops for preschoolers in third world countries. We think of these things and we are grieved.

We think of the missionaries abroad imposing their own imperialistic religious ideas on the rich diversity of tree-worshipping and earth-loving natives -- and we are grieved.

We drive past Wal-Mart and we are sorely and greatly grieved.

Indeed, Eternally Heavenly Whatever, we are so wrapped in self-loathing that it is only our unbridled disdain for middle class conservatives and homophobic bigots that exceeds it. And we thank thee that we, unlike them, are loving and tolerant of all views. Except, of course, theirs.

At this season, we lift up a steaming slice of tofu, a $5 cup of Starbucks, and an organic salad, thanking thee that we are not like those narrow minded intolerant rednecks who spend the day eating the roasted flesh of innocent fowl.

Grant, one day soon, that all would be like us. Or, if not, then send forth a plague to wipe them from the face of the earth. And, thus, Great Mother, shall there be peace on earth and good will toward men, women, and other transgender sentient beings.

Amen.

Epitaph for Hymnals

I to the hills lift up mine eyes,
from whence shall come mine aid.
Mine help doth from Jehovah come,
which heav’n & earth hath made.

These words, adapted from Psalm 121, and written in common meter, are part of the first English book printed in North America. The “Bay Psalm Book.” And yes, it was a hymnal.

The “hymnal” was more than a collection of songs and words and musical notation. For nearly three thousand years, since the days of Solomon’s temple, the people of God have embodied their greatest hopes and deepest sorrows into the music of worship. The Hebrews sang of their joy in triumph even as they sang of their sorrow by the rivers of Babylon. The book of Psalm was, of course, the hymnal they produced.

Paul describes the New Testament church as lifting up psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs. The pagan governor Pliny, would describe Christians early in the second century as those who met before dawn to “sing to Christ as to a god.”

In the pages of a hymnal we uncover the music of worship from high church to low church, African to Latino, and ancient to contemporary. Here they are preserved so that one generation, one culture, one era can proclaim His praise to another. The hymnal is the inescapable witness that the church is much bigger than our one congregation, greater than our one tradition in our little corner of the world, and much older than the brief moment of our whole remembered lifespan. Within its pages we catch a small glimpse of the fulfillment of Christ’s great prayer in John 17. In its hymns and songs Catholic and Protestant, Irish and English, African and European, rich and poor, the living and the long dead all join together in words and melodies lifted to the throne of the Almighty.

In the emerging church, raised with dazzling technology and the world wide web, it may seem hopelessly archaic to say good words for something abandoned by cutting edge churches. But, it seems to me that the combination of praise team and generated lyrics-on-a-screen have all served to foster the meta-message that we are invited to sing their music. They pick it. They (alone) see the musical notations (or, at least, chord charts). They select. I stand. They start. I wait for the words. They sing. I sing, or at least try to sing. I only see what they have selected for me to see and only when they decide that I should see it. In that sense, it’s not too far from a kind of participatory television (like the old “Sing Along with Mitch” from back in the sixties).

Hymnal also provided those marvelous serendipities when you’d thumb through the pages and find a long-forgotten song you remember your grandmother singing, or come upon a song you’ve never heard but discover to be powerful. In its pages were often preserved not just the popular, but also some songs less well known but judged worth preserving by those, nearly always church musicians, who worked through the long process of selection.

Ah, well, I suppose I may as well long for the quiet clip-clop of the horse and buggy as to extol the value of hymnals. There are many benefits to using generated words projected on to screens. They are much easier to read. We are generally looking up as we sing, instead of downward. They allow the newest music to be done in worship as easily as well known music. When combined with pictures and animation, they can be visually attractive and give added meaning to the words. But, as with all things bright and new, we do not always know what we’ve lost until it is already long gone.

And so, let’s all turn to number 487…

Stripped Bare Naked Worship

Having waited now for 3 1/2 years for a church in the Joplin area to make moves toward what Webber would call "convergence worship," I bit the bullet and invited a few friends for a gathering Sunday evening. I have to make it clear that this is not, and cannot be, a church. Linda and I are not only pleased, we are generally amazed at the depth and spiritual vitality of the College Heights Christian Church. It is only the same-o same-o "happy clappy" worship each week that has lost some of its luster for us. I love the unrehearsed movement of people to the tables for communion at College Heights. We often gather to have a prayer together before taking. There are still frustrations. This past Sunday, the music during communion was so loud that Stephen had to lean forward and all but shout out the prayer for Linda and I to hear him.

So, Sunday evening, we invited a few people over to experienced worship that stripped bare of all but the basics. Worship with many of the glittering extras removed. No praise band. No visual media. Just gathering for the Word and the Table.

We followed the ancient stages long since abandoned by Protestants eager to distance themselves as far as possible from popes and popery.

We began by singing a psalm (148). We used Graham Kendrick's musical setting. His stuff (check him out - http://www.grahamkendrick.co.uk/) is living proof music can be both dynamic and theologically rich.

We shared a time of confession, ending by repeating the ancient refrain, "Lord, have mercy"

Then we had extended scripture readings. Four separate readings, each all or most of a chapter. Since the ancient church would not have had their own Bibles, we did our best to enter into the same experience by hearing the word read aloud -- imagining God Himself was speaking to us by way of revelation (which, of course, He was).

We sang some of the haunting chants of the Taize Movement -- simple melodies that move from Latin to English and into a host of other languages.

As God had spoken to us, we now responded to him. We sang Kendrick's "Let Us Gather" and approached the Eucharist with prayer and petition. We counted the Last Supper, recalling His words, "This is my body" (hoc est corpus meum). A single loaf was present, and we shared the ancient prayer found in the Didache - recalling that the one loaf was made of grain that had been scattered across hills and fields. May God so gather us, His church, unto Himself.

The gathering was simple. No background music. No hurry. Nothing else waiting to happen in the service. This was why we gathered. We approached God, confessed our sins, and heard His Word to prepare us for these moments.

A few moments of open sharing at the end and the gathering transitioned to an informal time of sharing snacks, soft drinks, stories, and laughter.

I was surprised at the power evident in simplicity. There were tears. There were some so intensely moved they seemed unable to speak. For believers raised on amplified celebrative stand-up-and-clap worship, this bare naked worship was a dramatic and welcomed wind of change.

I believe we may want to continues these simple stripped bare naked worship gatherings from time to time. Unplugged unamplifed unorchestrated gatherings with long moments spent in hearing scripture and breaking bread that would likely seem baffling, or at least dull, to an unbeliever. These do not replace a genuine church, with its multiple generations, its various efforts in ministry, missions, and spiritual formation. But, at least for a few of us, they meet a deep longing for worship that is more a whisper than a shout -- but a whisper that pierces the deepest corners of our hearts and bathes us in those "seasons of refreshing" mentioned by the Apostle Peter.

Costly Worship

It was a Friday evening in Mbale, Uganda. As is true of many evenings, a steady rain pelted the ground, carrying with it a slight chill from the nearby mountains. Since there was no electricity this particular night (true every other day in Uganda), the scene was a throwback to the nineteenth century. The darkness of the night was deeper than most Americans, so used to ambient light from nearby towns and cities, are used to seeing. The people waiting in the room, about twenty or thirty of them, used two or three old kerosene lanterns for light. The Americans present, of course, brought flashlights - so it was not entirely nineteenth century.

As we moved to the nearby church building, I certain did not know what to expect. Sure, what was happening was to fulfill a project I had assigned in a class on worship I was teaching that week at Messiah Theological Institute, but I was pretty uncertain how it would be actually carried out. A worship through procession, singing, and planned times of repentance, confession, and sacrifice. My students, many of them experienced preachers from Uganda, Kenya, or other nearby African nations, brought great spiritual depth to the project.

As we started singing, I sensed something extraordinary was happening. The songs, some in English, some in Swahili, and some in Ganda, lifted up praise to God. One of the preachers shared scripture and another exhorted the group, now grown to more nearly fifty, to lift our hearts toward God.

Then we walked, through the still pouring rain, to another "station." Here we were led in thoughts of confession for our past sins. We heard the words of David from Psalm 51, where he pleaded with God for a clean heart and a renewed spirit. We sang songs of brokenness to God, and then people began confessing. Prayers went up, in a sweet murmuring that gradually grew louder and louder with the rising intensity of anguish and heartache.

Then we walked on, the rain now beginning to slacken, singing of the joy of forgiveness. At this third station, we were led to consider our present and future. We were exhorting with powerful words how Paul had counted all things as rubbish for the sake of knowing Christ. Then we sang and prayed about giving God our tomorrows.

The final station, and the climactic point of the whole experience, was at a great stone altar several of the men had built. Wood on top of it had been kept dry and was now light. In the darkness one of the preachers began exhorting, this time with the help of an English interpreter, for us to decide to give something of great value to God. Paper was distributed, and all those present, some already in tears, began to write down something of great value that they would now and forevermore give to God. After several minutes, the singing started again, and people, one after another, walked forward and placed their promised gift into the flames.

I've been through services like this, at least like the last part, before. It's been done at church camps and retreats for years. But never before had I been standing in the midst of men and women who lived day by day without the endless list of comforts that surround us as Americans. A civil war was in progress in the northern part of the country. Others were returning to areas where either local shamans (witch doctors) or militant Muslims saw them with growing hostility. Here the gifts were surely meager by American standards. A few extra shillings. Or some small trinkets that may have had value only to them. But the depth of the giving was astounding, as was the depth of the worship.

One of the last scriptures shared, just before we began laying our gifts on the altar, was that great passages from Second Samuel chapter twenty-four. Here King David refuses to accept the gift of a threshing floor from a grateful citizen. He refused the gift because on that spot David wanted the temple, with its great stone altar of burnt sacrifice, to one day stand. He told the surprised owner, "I will not offer to the Lord my God burnt offerings that cost me nothing."

Wherever, whenever, however you find life changing worship you inevitably find an unseen altar where hearts and lives and dreams and treasures have been laid upon the flames to be given away into the hands of God.

Work and Worship

Si laborare est colere, homines colent laborem
If work is worship, man will worship his work