Tag Archives: Worship

by

4 Questions You Should Pose to Your Church

Over the last six months of my ministry job search, I’ve had to learn that, despite needing a job, and despite desperately wanting to begin participating within a new local church, the inconvenience of “fitting in” is an important caveat. Qualifications aside, not every person fits well with every community, and its up to the grace of God to reveal the right place for each minister seeking to serve.

In the meantime, as I do my best to submit to this lesson of patience and wisdom, I have come to consider four essential questions regarding the kind of faith community I hope to work for. Often, I can err on the side of idealism, so it is always important that the observations instigated by these questions be considered with the proverbial grain of salt. However, if and when I finally do hear from a pastor or rector or search committee interested in calling me on staff, these will be the four questions I will silently ask the church before I accept or reject the place as my new church home.

 #1 – Are you intentional?

I want to work for a church that is about something, that knows it is about something, and is clearly committed and focused on this “something,” whatever it may be. In other words, I want to serve in a church that maintains a clear sense of intentionality regarding its identity. A church that is intentional is one that puts purposiveness over approachability. They are careful not to water down their message and their focus so as to appeal to the lowest common denominator of congregants. Rather, they infuse everything they do – from worship to teaching to pastoral care to outreach – with steadfast determination to holiness, reverence and awareness for the sacred. They want to be relevant and bring people in, of course; however, they do this not by dumbing down or softening the truth, but by working diligently and prayerfully to make the truth compelling.

The intentional church strives to be a place of genuine renewal and authentic, lasting interaction. It is not a community center or a country club. It does not exist merely to exemplify moral living or uphold particular family values. It inspires an honest-to-God devotion to holiness rather than dictating the forced manifestation of “holy” activities. Above all, it spurns conformity in its members, and instead awakens true community.

Which bring us to the second question…

# 2 – Are you communal?

There is an old adage that much of the work of a local church defers to the “80/20 rule.” That is, roughly 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people. Whether it’s a mega-church that sees thousands in its auditorium on Sunday, or a tiny country church with an attendance in the mere double-digits, the same sad rule is, sadly, proven true all over the country. The question is, why is this the case in so many churches?

I submit that, like intentionality of purpose, the drive for authentic communal interaction can sometimes take a backseat to peaking the curiosity of visitors and charming its participants with powerful music and/or exciting opportunities. While excellence in what you do is certainly important, I want to be a part of a community of faith that puts interaction between its members – across age groups! – central. Small groups and dinner clubs and Bible classes and ministry teams are all good things, but they can sometimes be nothing more than the default attempt to forge connections and stimulate cooperation between church members. Often, it is the leaders of such groups that do most of the work to maintain the group, once again perpetuating the 80/20 rule.

The church I am seeking to work in is one that energizes all its members, rousing them to determined participation and providing as many opportunities as possible for each person to use his or her own gifts and talents to edify the congregation, not to mention the greater community.

And what about that greater community?…

#3 – Are you missional?

I would be hard-pressed to find a church that does not support mission, through either prayer, financial giving, or even sending out its own, both home and abroad. This is a fundamental tenet of the life of a Christian – representing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to a world in need. However, there is a difference between obligatory participation in particular mission opportunities, and infusing your purpose with the spirit of missionality. Often, ministers will divide up the responsibilities of the Christian life into categories like personal devotion, intercession, theological understanding, moral living and missional duty. On any given Sunday, most church services will contain a sermon focusing, usually, on only one of these aspects. The problem with this is that a church’s overall message can become compartmentalized, and, by extension, so can that church’s overall behavior. Without meaning to, a church’s drive toward missions becomes less about a deep sense of compassion existing in its people, and more about prescribed obedience to a mandate.

The church that I hope to serve in is one that recognizes that everything, including our sense of mission to the world, comes from the position of each person’s heart toward God and His kingdom. Therefore, a missions identity must be intricately woven into every aspect of the church, from worship to teaching to activity. Not only so, it must allow for response in a myriad of ways and always be ready to reevaluate its involvement in the world – to consider the fruit that it is bearing.

This is because a true community of faith is never stagnant. It is ever-changing and adapting to the world it is committed to serving…

#4 – Are you alterable?

I want to serve in a church that is self-aware – of their strengths as well as their limitations – and is dedicated to challenging themselves into deeper and more profound avenues of communion with the Holy. This last question may seem unnecessary and the answer a given. After all, we’re talking about a church, here. That’s what a church – any church – is about, right?

Not necessarily. I have known many churches that, if they are honest with themselves, are about little more than doing worship in their own comfortable way, teaching the Bible in their own non-confrontational way, and fellowshipping with one another in their own psuedo-personal way. They may draw visitors in by the busloads, they may have a dynamite children’s program, they may have a multiple Dove award-winning praise band, but when it comes to the question of meaning and direction, they’re fine right where they are. They have established themselves in what seems to be a quality manner, so there is no point in changing things. God forbid some people don’t like the new direction and abandon the community?

Some of the most “successful” churches in America today are actually captives to fear and they don’t even know it. Fear of change. Change means shaking up the standard way of doing things that has been proven (and may or may not be formulaic), and that fills people with anxiety. I’m not talking about change for the sake of change, but rather change because the Spirit is calling a community to be about something they are currently neglecting.

A church is a living thing. Remember the little rhyme – “open the door and see all the people.” It is people who make a church what it is, who define it and collaborate within it and administer God’s love through it. The only way it can do these things is if the people are ready to be whatever God wants them to be at whatever time He wants them to be it. This is called readiness. Awareness.

May more and more faith communities strive to be exactly what they were always meant to be.

by

“Dude, You’ve Got a Smudge on Your Forehead.”

Today is Ash Wednesday. It marks the beginning of the season of Lent in the Christian calendar; it marks a technical end to all the rousing debauchery of Carnival, Mardi Gras, and, here in Germany, Fastnacht. It marks the beginning of a day in which people wonder if I’m a Catholic; it marks a temporary end to sound, reflective understanding when it comes to Christian tradition and history. It marks the beginning of nervous eyes creeping up to my forehead and considering what kind of wayward, unbiblical act is being represented; it marks an unbeknownst end to the appreciation of symbolism in worship. It marks the beginning of a sacramental forty-day period of spiritual ascetism and followship of Christ; it marks the hopeful end of selfish indulgence and a life stunted by fear.

Carnival is over. Now what?

I began observing Ash Wednesday in 2005, when it was organized in the chapel of the small Baptist seminary where I went to school. I attended, but with certain reservations – mainly, I just wanted to see what this whole thing was about. What I discovered was a day of observance steeped in deep, powerful symbolism and authentic devotion, and I haven’t been absent from an Ash Wednesday service since. For a few years, I’ve even organized services myself when I’ve discovered there wouldn’t be one nearby.

In defense of what I feel to be a very important day in the Christian year, here are the top three questions I get asked most often about this day, and as comprehensive an answer as I can write without rambling too long on each:

#3 – “Aren’t you a Baptist? Isn’t Ash Wednesday a Catholic thing?”

First of all, it is important to remember that even if you cherish your particular denomination and its doctrines and preferences, Christians should never allow their denomination to define them or dictate the way in which they may express their devotion to God. If your denomination (or, more likely, your specific church community) is doing that, I suggest you make a break for it. Second of all, while the Catholic church does indeed observe Ash Wednesday, this feast day (as it is known in the Christian calendar) is in no way exclusive to Catholicism. There are many Protestant denominations that observe the day, including Anglicans, Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians, not to mention many “non-denominational” congregations; it was in a Baptist seminary where I first attended a service. There is a pervasive misunderstanding in the Church that if something is steeped in tradition or was first practiced centuries ago, then it must be Catholic. We are even more misguided when we assume that these things must be unfounded or extra-biblical, as if anything that is ancient in practice is corrupt, or as if Catholicism has nothing worthwhile to offer “real” Christians. This is illogical, unreasonable folkism. A Christian who maintains an open mind and carefully examines historical tradition will find that there is much that all denominations still hold in common, and that, from each other, we can learn wonderful truths about diversity.

#2 – “So, what’s with the ashes smudged on your forehead? Is it supposed to mean something?”

Yes, it absolutely is supposed to mean something. It’s called symbolism, and it is far more powerful than we often give it credit. I spend my days teaching my students how to recognize the deep significance of Gatsby’s green light, or what the rock wall really stands for in Frost’s poem, or what Laura’s collection of glass animals reveals about her character – in other words, how symbolism underscores the human experience. But the same device that infuses works of literature with power can do the same for our worship of God. Think about it – what are sacraments, really? Let’s take a specific one we’re all familiar with – the Lord’s Supper. Now, if you’re a Catholic, you may very well hold to transubstantiation, the belief that the bread and wine actually become Christ’s flesh and blood. However, if you are a Protestant that embraces this ritual (yes, it’s okay to use that word), then you are embracing symbolism – the bread and wine stand for Christ’s flesh and blood, and, if observed with reverence and humility, this symbol is extraordinarily powerful. The same is true for the ashes imposed on the forehead of the believer participating in an Ash Wednesday service. Specifically, they are meant to remind the believer that he or she is earthly (“Remember you are dust…”); eventually, the physical body returns to this substance (“and to dust you shall return.”) However, the ashes are imposed in the sign of the cross, reminding us each time we look in the mirror that while we are earthly, the cross of Christ, along with the Resurrection, has reconciled us to God, and we shall also be resurrected “on the last day.” There are realists littering the world – many of them are faithful churchgoers – who would spurn symbolism because it seems like a lot of mysticism and hocus pocus. The truth is, worship is dependent upon the power of symbolism. The next time you sit in a church service, consider how many symbols are incorporated into the service, or even to the room in which you’re sitting.

#1 – “Why do you observe Ash Wednesday? Is there even any biblical basis for it?”

"Remember who you are - remember Whose you are."

I do this because, before that service in 2005, my cup of Christianity had seemingly run dry. I was tired of all the artificial devotion I viewed in people, and was burnt out on the same old worship styles. I felt that if I sang one more repetitive verse of “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” I might never want to sing of His love ever again. I was fed up with what felt like a forced devotion and a stale faith. However, over the course of that year, I had several opportunities to experience different faith traditions – I attended liturgical services, was introduced to the Christian calander and Lectionary, participated in contemplative prayer at a local church, and even spent a week at a Benedictine monastery. In addition to experiencing the depth of symbolism in these things, I was intrigued by the connection some of these practices and viewpoints maintained with the Church throughout history; some traditions harked all the way back to the early Church of the first and second centuries. Ironically, I found incorporating many of these disciplines rejuvenated my faith and desire to worship God. While some people find ancient tradition old fashioned, I found it revitalizing. Of course, my first reservation was whether some of these things were even biblical. It is important that we always make a conscious effort to examine if something is true; what I learned, however, is that not everything the Church does or says comes straight from the Scriptures. Many of the ideas and practices woven into our denominational creeds do come by way of specific interpretations of the biblical text, but there are others that exist because the worshippers and leaders of the early Church continually sought to clarify just what exactly they believed. Thus, even something as fundamental as the Trinity (God the Father, God the Son, God the Spirit = One God) is never specifically outlined in Scripture. Rather, it was the ascertainment of the early Church fathers who posited this idea and then backed it up with specific biblical passages that seemed to point to this concept.

When it comes to Ash Wednesday, the most likely explanation of its purpose comes from a particular amount of time determined by early Church leaders in which new converts would first learn about the fundamental doctrines, disciplines and Church observances, culminating in mass new-member baptisms on Easter Sunday, which was originally the only day baptisms were held. Over time, this period was adapted to correspond to the traditional, numerological forty-day period of preparation (Moses on Mt. Sinai, forty years of desert wandering, Jesus’ temptation in the desert, or even the belief that the Savior lay in the tomb for forty hours). Since new members were expected to understand the extremely weighty truth that is Christ’s sacrifice, this time of preparation was marked by ascetic fasting and disciplined study of theological realities, very much like the disciplines that mark our modern day observance of Lent. And the ashes? Come on, you can’t throw a dart at a page of the Old Testament describing repentance that doesn’t include the use of ashes. As for the sackcloth, well, that’s harder to come by these days, I suppose.

Final Thoughts

So, I suppose the last thing to consider is whether or not I think all Christians should observe Ash Wednesday. While I believe it is a day of deep significance, and it resonates with me on a very personal level, I don’t think observing this particular feast day is for everyone. What I do beleive, though, is that, as Christians, we must – we absolutely must – be about the discipline of examining why we believe what we believe, and why we worship the way we worship, and why we do the things we do as Christians. Whether we like it or not, the world is watching us – our failures are public while our triumphs are private. All the more reason to live lives that are marked by open-minded examination, compassionate understanding, and a willingness to embrace the profound, exhaustive history of our Savior’s legacy.

by

Honesty is Boring

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to travel with the entire high school student body on a retreat to Lenk, Switzerland. It was hard to say good-bye to Leigh and Katy Jo, especially considering that I knew the time would not fly all that fast; because my foot is still broken, I could not join the kids in skiing, ice-skating or even simply walking around the town. I was pretty much confined to the youth hostel where we stayed, but at least the weather was nice. I had ample downtime in which to behold the grandeur of the Swiss Alps, read my book, relax under the winter sun, and even spend some considerable time working on my current writing project (I actually put down over 5200 words on Saturday!).

The remarkable thing about this weekend, however, was not the time for rest and relaxation, but what the chaplain’s office had planned and what the speaker and the musician both modeled: genuine honesty.

Anyone get the feeling that there are a lot more Pinnochios in pulpits these days?

These M.K.’s have heard it all before, and a good amount of them have grown cynical to these spiritual retreats in which they have watched others (and, at times, also participated) in pursuit of that gratifying ”camp high” or “worship buzz;” that kind of emotional self-manipulation that involves forcing a feeling of intimacy with such intention that one becomes swept away by his or her own design. Just as a scene in a movie can effect an emotional reaction when the soundtrack swells and the camera zooms in on the actor’s tear-streaked face, so worshippers can also allow the music and the crowd and the lifting of hands to overwhelm them and deliver them into a kind of euphoric contentment. The problem is, these moments are rarely genuine and almost always temporary. So, as the speaker put it this weekend, you’ve got your “posers” (the ones trying to force intimacy and relationship), and you’ve got your “cynics” (the ones embittered toward this kind of self-fakeout). Few are the ones who actually seize on a lasting, honest connection with God.

The night before we left for Lenk, I asked the guys in my small group what they were expecting or hoping for at this year’s retreat (being seniors, this would be their last one). The two things that came out most clearly was a hope for a captivating/entertaining speaker who had something new to say, but who also understood the importance of being real with the students. The following evening, as we sat down together in the corner of the youth hostel’s gym after the first session, I asked them what they thought so far about the quality of the retreat’s leaders. They seemed a little turned off to the music (it was in a style more common to my generation than there’s) and less than enthusiastic about the speaker. When I asked why, they said he didn’t speak with a lot of humor or engage them in an entertaining way. What they did admit, however, was their recognition that both of these men were surprisingly honest about who they were and what they desired for the students to understand about God.

As Christians, I think we often err in this way. We want to be captivated by truth in new and innovative ways – in a way that keeps our attention, in a way we haven’t heard before. The problem with this is that, sometimes, all we get is the garnish and none of the meat. Telling the truth doesn’t always come with bells and whistles, and, as songwriter Derek Webb has sung, “the truth is never sexy.” Honest-to-God truth cannot always be honestly expressed in show. Eventually, all the dazzling object sermons, complicated instrumentation, intricate presentation and overhyped emotion will fail us – we will lose our buzz.

May we learn to embrace spiritual leaders who value honesty over showmanship. And when we find ourselves less than entertained at a particular event, sermon or lesson, may we forget ourselves and our need to be wowed. As Richard Rohr writes in Everything Belongs, “Those who are totally converted come to every experience and ask not whether or not they liked it, but what does it have to teach them.” May it be so with us.

by

The Journey Lately – Part Three

I’m finally ready to finish this…

Last week, I was chatting with a student about deep spiritual things. The things we were talking about, in my opinion, were not necessarily “deep” by definition, but pointed to a realm of spiritual curiosity that, sadly, few people – and even fewer Christians, willfully enter.

In my last two posts, I realize that, despite my best efforts, I may have come across as one of the following: pompous, pious, elitist, judgmental or overly cerebral. Obviously, I do not mean for these posts to be taken in any of these ways, nor am I proposing that just because I am one of the few who enter the “realm of spiritual curiosity” as I have mentioned means that I am in some way or another a better Christian or a more grounded and realistic religious man. Far from the truth. There are days, in this journey, in which I feel more lost than I have ever been – in which I wonder if maybe I didn’t veer off the correct course back in my early twenties and am actually hiking on some version of the broad road rather than the narrow.

The fact is, I spent twenty years of my life scraping and striving to be a “better” Christian. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I realized that there is no such thing. There are Christians and there are non-Christians. There are no good Christians and bad Christians no matter how many people choose to turn the word “Christian” exclusively into an adjective. In reality, there are good people and bad people. There are disciplined people and confused people. There are joyful people and angry people. In each category, you will find Christians. Of such, oddly enough, is the kingdom of God.

As I was talking to this student, I was saying essentially the same thing. I was trying to explain that becoming a Christian is not about seeking to fit into a particular mold. If anything, salvation in Christ is about the realization that there is no set mold. Rather, there is freedom. Why else would there be countless denominations from which to choose (all full of the good, bad, disciplined, confused, joyful, angry, etc.)? As the conversation turned to the dilemma of navigating a plethora of denominational choices – of philosophy and polity and practice – I tried my best to explain my view of denominationalism, and, to a greater extent, religious identity. What I have come up with is a metaphor that borders on the ridiculous, but I ask that you graciously bear with me.

I explained to this student that, in my opinion, denominations are like clothing. As far as my particular journey of faith is concerned, the way I have dressed throughout my life is quite similar to the way I have interacted with various denominations and their doctrines. For instance, when I was a little baby, I didn’t wear a lot of clothes, but once I did, it was not I that chose this apparel, but my parents. Equally, it was not I that chose to be christened in a Methodist church, but my parents. The same goes for my childhood in a Southern Baptist church. My parents made the call, so I wore what I was given to wear and I accompanied them to the churches they chose to attend.

Eventually, however, I became more concerned about my appearance, because, socially speaking, it was no longer my parents’ responsibility, but my own.Interestingly enough, around the same time clothes became important, so did my faith. Luckily for me, I had parents willing to buy me most of the threads I selected, and I had a genuine, intentional youth minister who encouraged me to seek truth and follow Christ.

For the majority of my adolescence and a considerable portion of my twenties, I dressed the way I saw others dress. I strived to remain in fashion. I think many will agree that this is stressful. But I did everything I could to look as close to the norm as possible, lest I be shunned as a spazz, dork, nerd (or some other derisive 90′s slang). I still remember begging my mother to buy me a pair of Girbaud jeans in eighth grade so that I seemingly wouldn’t be the only one without. Subsequently, at the eighth grade dance, I wasn’t by myself the entire night. I’m not sure if it was the jeans that got me on the dance floor, but I know it wasn’t my self-confidence either.

Ultimately, some of us reach a point where we quit trying to impress with our clothing. That’s why movies like The Devil Wears Prada and Mean Girls fill me with anxiety. There but for the grace of God… In my case, by the time I reached college, I was still interested in looking fashionable, but I also became concerned with being comfortable. I wore sandals when I felt like wearing sandals, plain T-shirts when it worked for me, and I chose jeans that fit well over those that sported an impressive brand stitch. As time passed, comfortability won out over fashion. I even started copping an attitude in department stores (“Thirty-five bucks for a pair of pants!”). Today, if I succeed in being fashionable, it is only after I have ensured that I’m comfortable. That what I’m wearing fits and fits well.

I told my student that the same has been true of my journey of faith, especially in regards to denominations, or at least the particular theological theories and worship practices inherent in many of them. In my late teens and early twenties, I was concerned with matching the emotional and spiritual intensity of the people around me. So I listened to the same praise music, raised my hands like the rest of them and considered secular culture the way most of them considered it. Basically, I tried to force a “look” that simply was not me. And I was never comfortable. I was always worried it wasn’t enough. I could not shake the concern that those around me, if they really took a good look, would realize that my Girbaud’s were bought at Service Merchandise, and it was the only pair I owned. Sooner or later, I would wear them out.

I have stated that the third aspect that drew me to things like the liturgical church, ritual, and contemplative prayer (and other things like Anglicanism, solemn worship, monastic principles and The Book of Common Prayer) was religious symbolism. Truthfully, I don’t see the term to be as intellectual as it may sound. I could write a whole new series of blog posts on the various symbolic elements in many of these things, from the progression of the worship service, to the Eucharist, to chiming the hours of prayer, to chanting canticles, to the Christian calendar, to icons and candles and incense. The list goes on and on. But, in general, religious symbolism simply means that everything points to the reality of God. Everything. For me, the emotional impact of a worship service is not found in a sudden, passionate key change in “Shout to the Lord” or “The Stand,” but in a long string of words and images and sounds that consistently direct my attention back to God. Religious symbolism is the rituals, the archetypes and the writings that work together as one to bring me into full communion with God – a communion of the heart, soul, strength and mind.

Fragmented worship makes me uneasy. A worship service that is segmented (first, we’ll have our worship set, and then we’ll do announcements, and then we’ll sing some more songs, and then we’ll pray, and then we’ll sing one more song, and then we’ll have someone come and bring a message, and then we’ll do one more set of songs, and maybe have an altar call if the Spirit is moving) is typically a worship service that is not working together but is merely a buffet of different forms of expression. In seminary, my mentoring pastor once told me that planning a worship service is not unlike writing a short story or composing a poem. Every image, every word, matters. As a pastor or worship leader, it is imperative that you carefully lead the congregation through the whole of it, and when you come to the end, they have received a glimpse into something much deeper, much fuller, than anything they experience in their day-to-day lives.

The clothes I wear today are ones that make me comfortable. They do not constrict. They do not distract. And, perhaps most importantly, they do not define me. At most, they can offer pieces of evidence regarding the person I am inside. This is even more true of the specific worship practices and doctrines to which I hold. I am no more an Anglican convert than I am an ordained Baptist minister, no more a contemplative or a new monastic than I am a Christian hipster. What is true is that I am a seeker of God and a follower of Jesus. Any doctrinal, denominational, theological philosophical, political or ideological stigma placed upon that is as trivial and vain as the clothes on my back.

My journey lately is about being honest when honesty has become unpopular. It is about being genuine when genuineness can no longer be clearly identified. It is about being reflective when the majority of Christians, whether consciously or unconsciously, spurn incisive examination of their own faith. It is about learning what it really means to love God with all of my heart, soul, strength and mind. Why the liturgical Church? Why ritual? Why contemplative prayer? It has nothing to do with being in or out of fashion.

It’s because they fit me, and fit me well.

by

The Journey Lately – Part One

In the last few weeks, I have been asked about my interest in Anglicanism and the liturgical church three times, I have sat down with two colleagues to discuss what draws me to liturgy and ritual in worship, and I even had a singer/songwriter of “liturgical rock” recommended to me by a friend familiar with my journey. I have fielded questions about this particular aspect of my spiritual life before, but never with this much frequency. It’s coincidence, to be sure, but while I believe in coincidences, I also believe that sometimes there is a connection to the Holy within them, even if such a connection is forged when we simply stop to consider the why of it all.

To clarify, all this takes place after the events described in the “Faith Journey” piece I wrote in 2005, which can be read by clicking on the Faith Journey page at the top right of this blog, or by clicking here.

The first thing that must be understood before one sits down to write about his or her faith journey is that everything matters. There are thousands of moments that I can point to – some obviously more significant than others – that came together to form the person I am today, physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually… Therefore, I cannot begin with the typical “It all started when…” line, because the reality is that everyone has a backstory and what affects a person at different points along his or her journey ultimately propel us in certain directions, with certain preferences and inclinations effecting changes in our particular interests. In other words, I count myself part-Anglican now due largely to a particular seminary class trip to a Benedictine monastery, but, in the same way, my experiences at Christ in the Desert were influenced by the specific Southern Baptist tradition and subculture in which I came of age. As Richard Rohr reminds us, “Everything belongs.”

My Anglican leanings are simply a manifestation of something much deeper that has been going on inside me for some time. I am not drawn to Anglicanism as much as I am moved by three specific aspects of worship that happens to drive much of Anglican-style observance. Those three things are liturgy, contemplation and religious symbolism. I will examine the first one in this post, and the next two in subsequent posts.

Rich Mullins once said in an interview that liturgy is something that you “give yourself over to.” It is a thing that “you voluntarily participate in in order to identify yourself with a certain group of people.” He went on to explain that when he visits with a certain group of friends, they must play a particular card game. Why? Because, if they don’t, it does not feel as if they have really met together. In other words, liturgy is the traditions – some obvious, some subtle – that are automatically manifested within an activity or event. In this way, liturgy is not exclusive to older church traditions, or even any religious tradition at all. Families that come together for Christmas or Independence Day participate in liturgy.

However, liturgy as an aspect of religious observance has become very important to me. These days, I am drawn to a specific liturgy because the traditions inherent within it resonate in my heart and mind in ways that nothing else can emulate.

Growing up, I attended a small Southern Baptist church in a small town. The sanctuary was small, the classrooms were small and the youth group was small. The church participated in a specific liturgy in its gatherings. There was always the singing of hymns, the gravely-throated muttering of a deacon’s prayer, a worship service that built up to the sermon, the sounds of a piano and an organ, and, at least a few times each month, the invitational strains of “Just as I Am.” Additionally, there were potlucks in the “Fellowship Hall,” felt-board lessons in Vacation Bible School, and annual gatherings on the church lawn to celebrate the new Sunday School year (which followed the local schools’ year, beginning in late August and closing in early June). This was our liturgy and, as far as the whole community of faith was concerned, there was nothing lacking.

During my teenage years, my youth group became interested in praise and worship music, beginning with songs like “His Strength is Perfect,” “From the Rising of the Sun,” and “Lord, I Lift Your Name on High,” but following the movement close enough to adopt anthems like “Shout to the Lord” and “Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble?” into our repertoire. Some of the kids learned to play guitar. Sunday School-like Bible studies became “praise and worship services,” or sometimes we would call them “concerts of prayer.” You didn’t always have to bring your Bible because eventually PowerPoint provided a way to project not only lyrics but Scripture texts as well. During the lengthy stretches of music, you could stand, your could lift up your hands and sway, or you could curl up in a fetal position and weep if the emotion of “The Heart of Worship” affected you in just the right way.

I encountered and engaged in this outpouring of emotion and devotion in college as well. College group gatherings had formed their own liturgy, or, perhaps, it had formed them. Music, music, music, announcements and welcome, music, music, music, prayer, slower music, speaker or group discussion, soft music while emotional speaker intoned a convicting challenge or prayer, music a little bit faster now, a little bit faster now, a little bit faster now…

Go to any evangelical church today, especially one known for its high numbers of twenty- and thirty-something attendees, and odds are that you will encounter a liturgy similar to this. Lately, hymns have been making their way back into worship – albeit with a little P&W funk rubbed on them (thanks, David Crowder and friends) – so you may hear the singing of “Come, Thou Fount of Ev’ry Blessing,” “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” or even the “Phos Hilaron,” which some credit the Passion movement for bringing back.

So, what is wrong with this?

Nothing, really. For some people, the emotional kick of the music (be it three songs or thirty songs in a row) is what they’re craving. Combine that with a challenging message (the word “sermon” is out, and don’t even think about using the word “homily”) and the satisfaction of worshipping together with other people close to your age who also dig the music and the look of the place, and you’ve got yourself the makings of a genuine community of believers. Whether you do it up big (Lakewood, Prestonwood, North Point, Mars Hill) or on a smaller scale, the liturgy found in the majority of evangelical churches is not phony. It may very well begin to feel stereotypical, but the thing about liturgy is that what makes the guided experience of it genuine is the person who participates in it. Sure, there are plenty of folks who simply show up and go through the motions of the liturgy they follow, but there are also others who, as Rich Mullins says, give themselves over to it. They allow it to move them.

So, why have I rejected the liturgy described and illustrated above?

Because I spent years participating in it and found that, over time, I was struggling more and more to genuinely connect to God and to the other worshippers in my various communities of faith. While some people were having amazing experiences singing “We Fall Down” and “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever,” I felt as if I was colliding with walls, not communing with the Almighty. I felt that I might actually have to sing of His love forever if the “worship leader” didn’t wrap it up. For a while, new praise anthems captured me, but eventually, it did not matter if the song was new or old, chorus or hymn – I felt empty. I was not moved emotionally. I was not drawn in spiritually. I was even beginning to have theological hang-ups with some of the lyrics. I did not feel connected to other Christians despite the closeness that my fellow worshippers seemed to be experiencing in the same service.

Simply put, I could find no depth to this brand of liturgy. I was tired of it, and I knew that I would have to find something different if I was going to maintain any sense of devotion to God.

It was at this point that several providential events occurred. At first, I did not see the connection in them, but in the last few years I have begun to recognize their relationship to one another as if it was all some grand conspiracy with me as the pawn. I found another form of liturgy that I could embrace in ways I was never able to assimilate the praise and worship service brand of my youth. It is a liturgy similar to that which is observed in many Anglican, Episcopal and Catholic churches today. It is driven by contemplation and religious symbolism. It is a kind of worshipful magnetism that I will expound on more in my next post…