Ducks Part 2

I hope you have had as wonderful a break for the holidays as I have had (and am still enjoying).  It’s been a great time to just be with family, get outdoors, catch up on musical interests, and to read and reflect a little.

In my previous post, I outlined some of the motivators for a significant change of path in my spiritual walk. I am going to spend some time dissecting them – again, largely because I am still sorting things out for myself (the ducks in my head are an unruly bunch and don’t line up easily at times), but also in case anyone else cares to listen in.

Two of them are fairly simple and I think I can dispense with them here. One has to do with attending church in one’s own community, or as close as you can get. My church for the past seven years has been right in my own backyard.  After spending the previous ten-or-so years at a church 40 minutes away, attending locally was a very refreshing change.  The Gospel is all about relationships, and you stand the best chance of building and enjoying those relationships when you see other church folk at the post office, the local high school ball games and other places. It’s easier to get together and be a part of one another’s lives.  If I was going to make a change, I wanted to make it while staying in the neighborhood.

The second reason I want to address here is the pull that liturgical worship has been having on me. This is very subjective, of course. It has to do with the way God wired me and has nudged me along the way. Where I once rejected liturgy out-of-hand as vain, meaningless repetition, it has come to mean a great deal to me.  

For one thing, it is beautiful and full of Scriptural truth. But there is something else. I think it has to do with my growing need to be a part of something that is much bigger than me and bigger than any local church – something that reaches over the centuries and connects way back, to the very earliest Christian church.  Something that has been a part of the lives of countless millions of believers over the past 2000 years or so. I have wanted to step into that stream of rich spiritual history and tradition, to belong to it and to identify with it.  In my private devotional life, I have been engaging in worship that puts me in touch with this - but not on Sunday mornings. That was the one missing piece of the puzzle that needed to be addressed.

Psalm 139 tells us that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, or “wonderfully complex” (NLT). We are each wired differently, and one of the lessons in this for me is to be willing to explore how God wired me and to not be afraid to follow that.  I would never try to persuade anyone that my path is the way to go. I only know that it is the way to go for me.

In future posts I will get into the weightier areas of church history and the contemplative tradition. But not tonight.  I’m still on holiday break, after all. I hope you are too.  Merry Christmas and a Happy and Blessed New Year!

Line Up Them Ducks - Part One

 As the saying goes: “There is more than one way to skin a cat. But no matter how you do it, the cat is still ticked off. “

“Getting my ducks is a row” is another expression. It’s more positive. And, no ducks are hurt in the process. The ducks in particular like this, or so I hear.

Tonight, I am not sure what to write or even where to begin. This will probably - hopefully - be the first of a series of blogs. I say “hopefully” because over the past year so much has flowed through my heart and my brain that, even though it has resulted in a positive outcome, I feel the need to put all the loudly-quacking ducks in my head into a row and lay things out in a somewhat orderly way - for others perhaps, but primarily for myself.   Writing, for me, seems to be the surest way to do that, whether journaling, songwriting or blogging (I actually have written a song about this that I will be performing in my acoustic duo in 2013).

So I will start in the moment, and move backwards from there. After nearly 38 years as a committed, seminary-trained Protestant, I am about to begin attending the church of my youth (which I formerly and vehemently rejected), the Catholic Church.

(Note: I avoided casting myself as leaving “Protestant Evangelicalism”, because I am still firmly evangelical.)

Why do this?  That’s what I hope to address in the coming weeks/months.  For sure, I have a lot of company here – folks much like me who have made this very same move. I am also aware that some people who I know and love are a bit confused by my decision. It’s exciting to me, so naturally I want to be able to share it and articulate it well, but not to proselytize, ever.  I have no interest in changing anyone’s mind on the matter – only to aid in understanding.

My decision has to do with several elements that I intend to lay out in greater detail. In no logical order whatsoever, they are:

ü  A deep tug on my heart toward liturgical worship

ü  The flow of church history

ü  The importance of doing church in one’s own community

ü  A love for the contemplative tradition that was born and grew in Catholicism, and the path it offers toward spiritual growth

ü  The knowledge that this is the church from which all others have sprung, (checkered as its history was at times – the church is both divine and human) and the sense of connection to believers on whose shoulders I stand.

It’s been the spiritual, emotional and intellectual equivalent of Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, but I like where it has brought me and am at peace with it, though leaving my current church is not something I do lightly. I have made friendships there that are important to me and that I want to see continue. It is a warm, wonderful church filled with great people and I have become close to many of them.

Yet, I still don’t know where I’ll begin with the next installment. Whichever duck is quacking the loudest, I guess.

Want To Hear A Story?

OK, so here’s the thing:   I have been blessed with many opportunities to preach over the years. I take each one seriously and try to faithfully communicate the truth of Scripture and what God has laid on my heart.  I dig in and do my exegesis.  I then spend time on how I want to express my thoughts.  I used to get nervous about preaching but I rarely get nervous anymore. Excited for sure, but not nervous.

Until…

I was asked to give my testimony to our youth group recently. Initially, when asked, I thought “No problem. I know my own history. Not a big deal.”

But as the day got closer, I began to experience some unexpected anxiety.  It had nothing to do with nerves over speaking in front of a group. It was realizing that I had to make sure that the testimony of a 55-year-old coot would somehow resonate with our teens who were many decades removed from the 1970’s culture in which I embraced my faith.  I couldn’t spin it to make it somehow more relevant, because teens have a pretty well-developed  (I will be polite here) “phoniness”  detector.  And additionally, many of these teens were homeschooled, so we came from radically different worlds.

I could hear the crickets chirping already.  This was not going to be good.

My saving grace came when a friend said “Just be yourself. Tell your story.”  And to the best of my ability, that’s what I did. The reactions and comments afterwards were meaningful and helpful. They told me that my story meant something to them or touched them on some level.   I was reminded of two valuable truths from this experience.

First, we tend to de-value our own stories. Most of us consider ourselves to be regular folks, and therefore assume that our stories are nothing special. But God seems to have so designed things that He will make sure your path crosses with people who need to hear your story – precisely your story – told in the way only you can tell it.  It has meaning, and it needs to be told whenever you have the opportunity. It is a mini-version of the Incarnation that is completely unique to you (we need to explore that concept down the road).  It’s almost a sacrament.  As God has entered your own personal history, He wants to enter others’.  And your testimony may well be His chosen vehicle to make that happen.  Don’t be shy about it. Tell your story, or relevant aspects of it, whenever the opportunity is presented.

And second, our responsibility is ONLY to tell. We are not able to convict or convince. That is the job of the Holy Spirit. When we try to fill the Holy Spirit’s role, we only mess things up. Tell your story, then get out of the way and let God do what God does best (just remain available for Him to use you as He chooses).  He knows what He is up to.  

So - what's your story?

Grace Happens

Today I had the opportunity to deliver a mini-sermon on Communion Sunday – basically just a few thoughts about Paul’s instructions in 1 Corinthians 11.  I wanted to go a little further, but to say what I wanted might have created more questions than answers, and perhaps would have resulted in some doctrinal confusion, so I didn’t go there.   I don’t think sermons are the place to create controversy.

This is why God created blogs. Thank You, Lord.

In a nutshell, it rankles me a little when we evangelical Protestants say that the bread and the cup are only meant to be “symbolic”.   Maybe it’s my high-church upbringing, but I don’t believe that to be the case.  Something bigger, something more transformational is going on.  It is not merely lifeless symbol.

I believe this because the early church (Paul, the early fathers, etc.) had a very high view of Communion, based on Jesus’ words – not only in the Last Supper but in passages such as John 6:48-58. Down through the history of the church, a high view was held for the most part, even by Protestants after the Reformation!  It was not only symbolic to those believers. When the Lord’s Supper (or Eucharist) was celebrated, something mysterious, spiritual and impactful took place.

But somewhere along the way, we decided (in what I think is an overreaction to the Roman Catholic doctrine of transubstantiation) that we needed to strip the Lord’s Supper of anything that reeked of mystery and reduce the elements to their basic molecular structure. Nothing more.

I can’t buy it. The testimonies of Paul, the earliest church, the historical church and so many believers today speak against this lower view of Communion.

“OK smart guy, so what is your position?”  The fact is, I am not sure I can define it. I don’t think I can sign on to transubstantiation (the Catholic view that the bread and wine are substantially changed into the body and blood of Christ.  Many arguments for it are compelling, but I’m not there).    Maybe I could warm up to Luther’s idea of consubstantiation (Christ being present in the elements).

What I do believe and know is that it is a means of God’s grace. One Protestant theologian has referred to the bread and wine as “operative” symbols – meaning that they not only proclaim a truth, but that through them, God performs an act of grace which corresponds to that truth.  In other words, something divine actually happens.   It isn’t mere symbol.  God is acting somehow, some way, in and through the elements.

That is as close as I can come at the moment to describing it and perhaps I need to explore it further. But I am grateful every time we celebrate the Lord’s Supper because I know I am going to encounter Christ in a unique and powerful way.  At Jesus’ table, grace happens.

Popcorn And Priests

I used to love going to movies.  The older and crabbier I get, the more jaded I’ve become about Hollywood’s ability to fascinate me. But every once and a while something comes along that seems like it might be worth seeing, so I do what so many of us do – head into the darkened theater, look around for the best possible seat (legroom is a must, and no chatty neighbors lest things get ugly) park my beverage in the cup-holder and settle in.  Dim the lights, start the show – and please pass the popcorn. I’m ready to set everything else aside for a couple of hours and to be entertained.  Bring it, Spielberg.

The problem is – I recognize the times when I have approached a church service in a similar way.  And it is a problem, because when I allow myself to slip into that mindset (it’s so easy, isn’t it?) I am at odds with what Scripture says my role should be.  In particular, there is an interesting word to describe my role that appears a couple of times in 1 Peter.

Priest.  For evangelical Protestants, this is a term with little weight for us because it applies to two things most of us don’t have a strong personal connection to: the Old Testament sacrificial system and higher-church clergy. But there it is, in the New Testament of all places, and it’s pointing at me.  Priest, it calls me.  Huh. I’d better find some understanding of what this means.

In a broad sense, it can mean what Luther took it to mean – that there is no spiritual hierarchy. If I have embraced the Good News I am just as qualified as anyone else, ordained or not, to proclaim it. In fact I have just as much responsibility to do so. No one can lord any authority over me as a minister of God because I am (in theory at least) every inch the minister they are. It is part of my birthright as a believer, and is a role I am called to fulfill.

But there are other meanings as well.  This brings me back to my local church and how I can apply them in a practical way.

First, priests offer worship.  They don’t watch others do it. They don’t grade others’ behavior in worship. They are there to actively offer worship and engage heart, mind and body in ascribing glory to God.  It is easy for me to forget that when I am preoccupied with wondering who that is sitting in the seventh row, or how ugly the pastor’s tie is (for the record, my pastor does not wear ties), or even my own shortcomings and unworthiness. I am there to offer the sacrifice of worship. It’s what priests do. Other things are meant to be put aside.

Second, priests stand in the gap for others. They minister and intercede. They serve the people of God.  If Scripture labels me as a priest then it seems like I ought to be involved in God’s work in some tangible way that demands my time and energies.

While every church is a little different, it’s fair to say that in most, the 80/20 rule still applies: 80% of the work is being done by 20% of the available people (some now refer to this as the 90/10 rule - even worse).  Where are the rest of our priests?  Robes are not required, so I'm thinking it's not a fashion issue.  What are the rest of our priests doing if they are not actively ministering somehow? Is there a priestly on-deck circle? A cocktail lounge serving sacramental wine?

If I claim to take the Bible seriously then I have to wear one of the names that it gives me – priest. The word may not be part of my tradition, but the concepts of worship and service are – very much so.  I am writing this as a gut-check for my own attitude that so easily slides into passivity and the desire to be ministered-to, even entertained. I have to fight that, and to look for ways to wear that name and act out what it means.  That’s my hope for all of us.

No ring-kissing though, OK?  Please. It’s embarrassing.

Get Back To Where You Once Belonged

Make ready with the handcuffs. Grab the butterfly net.  You should know that I take a size 48 straightjacket but would prefer a 50 (it’s roomier). I am about to suggest something that  A.) will sound like a grand waste of time, B.) is dangerously unorthodox, C.) is frighteningly out of my comfort zone, or  D.) all of the above.

We modern-day believers need to become better acquainted with church history.  All of church history. There. I said it, and I can hear the sirens now.  Those nice men in the white coats will be here momentarily.   

Why do I suggest this?  There are probably several good reasons that I haven’t even thought about, but I want to mention three that are most top-of-mind for me.

One is historical/theological.  We 21^st century evangelicals often operate as if Jesus came, the New Testament was written, the church was born and then, BOOM -  we arrived on the scene (with maybe a nod given to the Reformation and some other cool events and people in between).  It doesn’t help matters that our faith is also laced with a strong note of American we-can-do-it-ourselves individualism.  So, although we may have an awareness of church history, in a practical sense we almost completely ignore some 1500 years of it, at least.  Granted, some of it is not pretty to be sure – even shameful.  But, as is true of our own families, it is where we came from and much is to be learned about who we are, what we believe and why, and where we are headed.  Our roots go far deeper than the birth of the modern evangelical movement and exploring them can be very rewarding experience.

Another is devotional.  Over the centuries reams of valuable insights have been written about Christian spirituality. Ignoring these works (as I did for many years) only impoverishes us. It may come as a shock to some that current writers like Max Lucado, Rick Warren and Donald Miller (good as they are) do not have it all figured out.  In fact it is safe to say that consciously or not, most modern devotional writers draw from their ancient counterparts. There is a wealth of rich spiritual literature available from Tertullian, Augustine, Bernard of Clairvaux, Teresa of Avila and scores of others. Their lives and writings offer experience and wisdom that can speak directly to my growth in Christ today.

Finally there is the communal aspect of this. Examining the history of the Christian church reminds us that we are part of a 2000-year stream of pilgrims who have gone before us.  Since the letter to the Hebrews has been written, that great cloud of witnesses mentioned in chapter 12 has seen a population explosion.  It is powerful to realize how strongly we are connected to them and they to us.

I am part of the evangelical tradition and I love my local church. But every now and then I have to disappear into a “high church” service (Catholic, Episcopal), in large part to join up with those who have gone ahead of me.  I need to step into that stream of history and connect, to offer worship in the very same way they did. To repeat the very words my ancient brothers and sisters repeated. To hear the very same Scripture readings that believers around the world heard on that given Sunday in the church year.  Entering the structure of the historical Christian church strengthens my faith by linking it to the centuries, and linking me to my spiritual ancestors on whose shoulders I stand (as well as my Christian family around the world). It reminds me of my true place before God and in history.

I will probably have more to write about this in future posts, but for now the best way I can sum this up is with section from the liturgy: Therefore with the angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven we laud and magnify Thy glorious name; ever more praising Thee and saying, Holy holy holy, Lord God of hosts, heaven and earth are full of Thy glory: Glory be to Thee O Lord most high.

All together now.....

What - No Hot Dog?

I have a great childhood memory of my dad taking me to Yankee Stadium to watch Mickey Mantle play. I remember that Mantle hit some towering shots, but I remember so much more – the sights, the sounds, the smells. The hugeness of the stadium.   Even the taste of the ballpark hot dog. Though I cannot recall who we played or who won, as we were leaving I remember saying “Wow – what a great game!”

Over the years, I have heard Christians (including myself) leaving church services or praise and worship gatherings evaluating those events in almost the same way. “What a powerful worship experience!” etc. Or, sometimes the opposite.  

We live in an age dominated by branding and marketing, and so we look for ways for our faith to operate in a consumer culture. Even the Gospel has been packaged and pedaled, boiled down to a few verses (usually of the “turn-or-burn” variety) or some pithy summary.   Yet when Jesus preached the Gospel, he had a lot to say about a lot of things. Salvation, certainly but also prayer, compassion, the nature of the world, how we are to interact with one another and a host of other topics. The fact that God physically entered human history turned everything on its ear, and as a result, these issues and more all became part of the Gospel Jesus preached. It was too far-reaching and radical to be condensed down to a slogan. Yet, we often respond to the inward or outward pressure to simplify, package and brand our message - both to ourselves and to our community and world.

One area where we often see this in action is in the idea that we have to provide people with a “positive worship experience” at our church.  In our consumer culture, we are aware that people will rate a church service like they might rate a concert or a play.  It affected me, or it didn’t.  I got something out of it, or not.  And whether we recognize it or not, the need to please consumers has crept into our thinking and planning to a huge degree.  

When someone approaches worship expecting to be entertained, then they can feel justified in judging the experience. “It was a great service”; “That church really knows how to worship”, etc. Or, “What a stiff, boring service”; “They really don’t understand what true worship is about.” As a result, they feel like can now assess that church’s spirituality. 

I am pretty sure this is not what Jesus had in mind when He said “God is spirit, and his worshipers must worship in spirit and in truth” (Jn. 4:24).  Maybe a particular flavor of worship at a specific local church doesn’t suit me. That’s perfectly natural and legitimate.  But it doesn’t give me the right to judge.

I play on a worship team.  I can fall into this kind of thinking as easily as anyone, and often do. Now and then I can feel some subtle pressure (totally self-inflicted) to make sure our singing time is powerful and Spirit-led – or at least to make sure it looks that way.

The truth is, worship is not an experience I can create for someone else.  I can’t market it.  Nor should I try. In stark contrast to the spectator mindset, the biblical picture of worship has to do with an act that is initiated by God and that we engage in. It is a responsive offering that we make. We give worship. And corporate worship is simply the act of two or more believers coming together to offer glory and honor to almighty God.   It has absolutely nothing to do with soaking in an experience created by someone else for our enjoyment. That is foreign to Scripture and would seem completely backward to most of our brothers and sisters who have gone before us over the past 2000 years or so.

If you are a church leader or teacher, try to keep a biblical definition of worship in front of your people.  Worship is not to be evaluated or absorbed. It is to be given.  Each of us is to offer it to God freely from our heart, without reservation.  And God who sees our heart will meet us there.

And, if you attend a church but are not “getting anything” out of your church’s worship experience, here’s an idea – try worshipping.