This week I took a January short course on worship with Jack Reese. The class was long, but the content was great! It really has me thinking more deeply about the way churches worship and how that worship impacts their formation into the image of Christ. I also found myself thinking about all the arguments, and sometimes church splits, we have over worship and worship styles. For a long time, I’ve thought that choices about worship styles were indifferent, but I’ve grown to believe that the way we settle “worship wars” has great significance for our lives as a community shaped by the Gospel.

It’s not about whether a church decides for contemporary songs or hymns or a mix of both (a compromise which may end up pleasing no one). One group prefers “the way we’ve always done it.” The other seeks “gospel” freedom to worship more expressively with upbeat contemporary songs. For both, the key factor in decisions about worship is personal preference: “Because I like ____.” Both have reasons to dislike the preference of the other.

But should the content of worship be decided in a similar manner to ordering a Big Mac? With pickles or without, depending on one’s preference or current appetite? So long as worship is oriented to please personal preference, we may use the name of Jesus all we want, but he will not be the one we are worshipping. We are then dancing to the tune of a consumerist culture with its focus on the wants of the individual “customer.”

Of course, Christians in every age have reflected the spirit of their times – it’s not surprising that we do too. But we come together to worship on Sunday to be reminded that we are supposed to be a people shaped by the ethic of the Kingdom of God. In this Kingdom, it’s not about me getting my way or you getting yours. There is no “us” and “them,” but all are one in Christ Jesus. The ethic of the Kingdom of God is that of renouncing privilege, not asserting it (Phil. 2). It may be immaterial whether a church chooses hymns or contemporary songs, but the way we treat one another in the process of making that choice matters a great deal. We have the opportunity to reconcile our differences in a way that demonstrates the unique story that we live by: one of love, mercy, sacrifice, resurrection.

At the same worship service as mentioned in my previous post, I got to spend a brief moment talking with Ike Reeser. Ike is the children's minister at Northlake, and he's played a special role in my spiritual formation, well beyond my years in the children's ministry. Worship had been, as I've mentioned, refreshing and discouraging all at once. Ike enhanced the refreshment.

Ike asked me the "What's next?" question. Now, sometimes this question functions as a glorified "How are you?" - a sort of polite greeting/conversation starter. But not with Ike. I responded the way I usually do - with uncertainty - and he offered some words that were blessedly reorienting. It was something like, "We worry a lot about discerning God's will for our lives, but maybe it's better to seek God's will for the world and find a way to fit into that."

This is not a landmark statement, of course. I've heard it before, from more than one person. I've repeated it to myself and even heard myself say it to others. But isn't that the way good news is sometimes? You've heard it before, maybe all your life, but somehow repetition is not wearisome, but rather it spurs you on, reaping the fruit of seeds sown long ago. Through the gentle words of a friend, you again hear the summons of God. That is a beautiful thing.

It's as if God gently whispered in my ear, "I love you, child, but you're not at the center of my plans for the world. You can be a participant in my plans - partnership is the way I like to work! But if you want to seek my will, you're going to have to get over yourself." An invitation to stop obsessing over myself: what liberating, welcome news!

Incidentally, that leads me to think about making some "A Few Days After New Year's" Resolutions involving ascetical disciplines...

God speaks? Really?!

On my way home from Abilene to Atlanta, I kept a tally of how many Christian billboards I saw. I don't have a final count (I'm too absent-minded to produce a good count anyway), but I do have a small complaint. I had several hours of lonely, mind-numbing driving to think about this. Mind if I vent?

Maybe you’ve seen these signs too: solid black with white messages signed “- God.” Some of them are kind of okay, but most of them make me cringe. They're as obnoxious as insulting t-shirts! (One of my biggest pet peeves.) The one on my way out of Abilene says, “If you must curse, use your own name.” Another quips, “They’re commandments, not suggestions.” Still another (my least favorite): “Don’t make me come down there.” (Sort of turns the spirit of Advent upside down, doesn't it?)

Um… what is the point of these?! At best, they make God sound like a condescending, even petulant, parent. They're a sort of heavenly “Don’t make me pull this car over.” At worst, they remind me of the retorts of a sassy teenage girl who’s being shunned by the in-crowd, struggling to pull herself out of the social margins. They're like bad bumper stickers on steroids.

I realize that some churches may consider these billboards a part of their outreach and evangelism. I really wish they’d reconsider. None of these fiesty quotes actually has content that can properly be called Good News. Besides, are moralistic threats on highway billboards really the best way to go? That's a lot of money to throw away on signs that make non-Christians roll their eyes. Why would they want to be associated with a faith that casts judgment on the passengers of every car that drives down the highway? And do we really want to advertise Christianity in the same way that the used car lot down the street promotes their product? One of these things is not like the other! Following Christ is not and should not be a consumer product, so why stoop to using the methods of commercialism?

Let's be honest: these signs are more for the sake of self-expression than they are for evangelism. We are the ones who feel increasingly marginalized by our culture. (That might be true in parts of the country, but still smacks a bit of religious hypochondria in West Texas.) If God is concerned about us always being in the majority, then God's choice of people in the Bible is quite baffling! Cultural marginalization shouldn't be our greatest fear - it's nothing new for Christians across the globe and throughout the centuries. The New Testament presupposes that Christians are a (persecuted) minority. Instead of fighting marginalization, what if we focused on how to faithfully live out the Gospel regardless of what our social status is? That might just be the best evangelistic move we can make.

quick soap box: unity and diversity

As normally happens when I'm supposed to be writing a lengthy paper on some scholarly topic, my mind is wandering. So, I'll share my thoughts quickly:

Today I moderated a reflection group for some undergrad students who have been working on a spiritual covenant/service project together. The topics mentioned included the dynamics of diverse teams working with one another to serve Christ and others. Tonight at the Simpson-Clancy-Taylor abode, our rambling conversation stumbled again onto topics of diversity. Essentially, wonderful John the Noble noted that people always tend to gravitate to others who are just like them. When asked about who the best sorts of people are, folks tend to footnote people who look an awful lot like themselves.

And this, I think, is bad news for the church. That is, it's bad news if we fit the trend described by John. In fact, if our churches look like homogenous conglomerations of people (let's face it - too often they do!), I think we've probably missed the point of that whole Good News of Jesus Christ thing. We are not a body united by political affiliation, social class, mother tongue, marital status, educational level, skin color, or any other arbitrary boundary that human beings erect to distinguish the in-crowd from the outsiders. We are united by one thing: the confession that Jesus Christ is Lord. This makes radical communion with the other (the other who is different, perhaps, in nearly every other respect) possible in a way that every other human endeavor fails to accomplish. Democracy won't do it for us - we're currently striving to keep people out rather than welcome them in. Open-mindedness doesn't cut it - sometimes it becomes an excuse to exclude those who just aren't as philosophically flexible. Education, frankly, can be more of a deterent to acceptance and equality than we usually like to admit.

What we have in the catholic Christian faith is unique - an open door for unity of all peoples on the basis of faith in Christ. I know - there are complicated reasons for the ages-old fracture in Christian communion. We've all contributed to the problem, even those of us who seek to keep tests of fellowship minimal. I know - it's probably unfair for me to complain about how Sunday morning is the most segregated hour in America. It's complicated, I know. But I also know that it's not in sync with the Gospel. Let's live the message we proclaim. Just a thought.

Now, back to my Restoration History paper...

And hope does not disappoint us...

I don’t offer any profound thoughts here, just something I’ve been thinking about this morning. I’ve been thinking about how our present experience doesn’t always (or even often) match up with the portrayal of the world in the Gospel. Seeing the world that way takes some serious, even constant, re-envisioning. It’s an adventure of human imagination – not in the sense of being make-believe, but as a thoughtful and creative engagement of mind, faith, and hands-on experience (and sometimes doubt). It’s shot through with a crazy thing called “hope.”

Did anyone else see Lady in the Water this summer? I know – the critics really tore it up, and it’s not necessarily the best source of thrill and suspense. The plot line is a little obvious, too. However, my friend Erin and I found some of the ideas and themes in the story very engaging. Shyalaman brings up questions of human giftedness and role on the cosmic scene in spite of our inability to grasp what our gifts are and how to use them in conjunction with the gifts of others for the sake of the life of the world. But that’s another post for another time! Today I’m more interested in the idea of hope – a theme that emerges throughout the movie.

Strangely, it is in the midst of great danger and seemingly imminent peril that the light of hope shines most brightly. Perhaps it appears so bright because of its gloomy surroundings, like a diamond set against a piece of black velvet. At the moment when any chance of survival seems lost, the main characters of the film carry out their crazy scheme for salvation, clinging to that faint glimmer of hope like a lifeline. Maybe you could argue that they act more out of desperation than out of a sense of hope. Perhaps, but even an act of desperation implies a refusal to give in to fatalistic despair. That sounds a tiny bit hopeful to me.

Sometimes Christians (myself included) talk about hope as if it’s some kind of future-tense, warm and fuzzy ideal. I’m not denying that hope is implicitly future-oriented, but I am questioning the value of a hope that leaves us content to sit smugly, preferring to dream of better days to come when the present reality is less than desirable. Hope is not simply a balm for the weary human soul, a draft of contentment and peace when our souls thirst for security. Marx's maxim that religion is the "opium of the masses" is naive. Hope has a fiery side, too. Hope – the daring impulse to dream that the world as it is can be different – kindles in us the courage to act boldly even when everything looks bleak and burnt-out. Hope beckons us to be an active part in the great story of God’s love for the world. The quintessence of faith, hope is the ability to look at the messy ambiguity of our world, to see instead new possibilities for its future and to act accordingly in the present.

But I can’t leave this out: speaking from my own convictions, I don’t think there’s much hope for us if God isn’t a part of this. The root of active hope is the belief that God is at work in this world in ways beyond our comprehension and perception and that we can participate in that work despite our limitations and propensity to screw things up. It seems that God prefers it that way, as inexplicable as that is! (Risky partnership over efficiency?! God doesn’t work according to American values – how refreshing is that?! Wow! This is GOOD NEWS for us! But I digress...) As Paul is fond of pointing in Ephesians, when God breaks into the world, mysterious things happen among us and through us. And, crazy as it may seem, that gives me bold, active hope for the present and future of the world.

(When I started this post, I was only going to write a few sentences. Grad school makes me wordy! ... Or maybe it's the caffeine.)

Today I’ve been reading The Preaching Life by Barbara Brown Taylor and loving it. In her chapter on calling she recounts her spiritual journey – and this passage about the impact of a minister who befriended her at the age of seven is particularly poignant. It made me think of all those people who taught me to seek and find God in the ins and outs of my every day life. (There are too many to name, but special thanks go to my parents, Shannon and the backpacking crew, Ike, Vann, Karen, Jay and Anita.)

The pastor was a kind young man with no family of his own, who soon became a regular guest at our supper table. I grew to adore him. He was vital and funny and could catch an airborne fly with one hand. He listened to me when I talked and let me lead him on tours of my projects around the house. He seemed able, when he looked at me, to see a person and not only a child, and I loved him for it.

One Sunday he asked me to sit up close to the pulpit. He wanted me to hear his sermon, he said, and as I listened to him talk about the beauty of God's creation and our duty to be awed by it, all of a sudden I heard him telling the congregation about a little girl who kept tadpoles in a birdbath so that she could watch over them as they turned into frogs, and how her care for those creatures was part of God's care for the whole world.

It was as if someone had turned on all the lights - not only to hear myself spoken of in church, but to hear that my life was part of God's life, and that something as ordinary as a tadpole connected the two. My friend's words changed everything for me. I could no longer see myself or the least detail of my life in the same way again. When the service was over that day I walked out of it into a God-enchanted world, where I could not wait to find further clues to heaven on earth. Every leaf, every ant, every shiny rock called out to me - begging to be watched, to be listened to, to be handled and examined. I became a detective of divinity, collecting evidence of God's genius and admiring the tracks left for me to follow: locusts shedding their hard bodies for soft, new, winged ones; prickly pods of milkweed spilling silky white hair; lightening spinning webs of cold fire in the sky, as intricate as the veins in my own wrist. My friend taught me to believe that these were all words in the language of God, hieroglyphs given to puzzle and delight me even if I never cracked the code.

But the story doesn't end there. He goes on to show that the way of Jesus can be as difficult and complicated as it is beautiful. It costs something, sometimes a great deal:

I was a willing student until the day I lost my teacher. At first all I knew was that something was wrong. Threat hung in the air as it had on those dark afternoons in Kansas, only this time it was not the weather. "Civil rights" had come to Ohio, a phrase that made adults talk loudly and lose their tempers. They chose sides and defended them; they wanted my friend to chose sides too, and he did. The doors of the church were open, he said. He would stand there to make sure they remained open, he said, so that is where they hung him - in effigy - a grotesque stuffed figure that bore no resemblance to my friend, swaying in the heat as he packed and left town.

That was when I began to understand that God's call was not only wonderful but also terrible, that the bright gleam I pursued through the woods and fields behind my house had another dimension I knew nothing about. It had sharp edges to it. It was capable of cutting deep, and those who reached out to grasp it has best be prepared to bleed.

starry night

Tonight, after bidding my roommate sweet dreams, I drag an old blanket and pillow out to the boat ramp and creat a little pallet for myself under the stars. A cool eastern wind blows full in my face, chasing and snuffing the final glimmers of light on the western horizon. My toes hang off the end of my blanket and meet the rough concrete, the warmth of the day's light still captured in its stony clutches. The contrast of the lingering warmth and the fresh, cool wind is delicious! The longer I lay there, the more stars appear, almost like a re-enactment of the day the Lord beckoned them into existence with his creative "let there be." I listen closely, almost expecting a faint "it is good" to rise with the next gentle breeze. I don't hear it in audible words, but the symphony of crickets, rustling of dry grasses, lapping of water, and my own inexplicable feeling of awe is enough to make it just as real. It's as if all creation gives a constant echoing cry, "It is good indeed!" And I'm all caught up in it, too! Right there, in that moment, I feel like the purest praise, the highest contemplation I could ever offer is to soak in, with all my senses, the goodness of God in that one instant.

As I lay under the stars, my mind eventually wanders to a brief conversation I had at lunch with a cousin of mine. We were discussing world religions, and how they all have something to offer to the bigger picture of reality. My cousin feels certain that if he studies each religion, he'll be able to select the parts that he thinks are closest to the truth. I'm not nearly as confident about my ability to recognize truth when I see it! I'm afraid my "end product" would end up looking very much like "the world the way Kelli wants it to be" rather than as it really is.

We didn't get very far into this discussion before the tide of conversation changed, but it really stuck with me. (One of my habits, for better or for worse, is continuing to hold conversations in my head long after they're concluded.) Eventually, this internal "conversation" merged with another one - one I've been having with the Gospel of John. In the first several chapters (in much of the book really, but I'm just to chapter 6 right now), John takes pains to drive home the special relationship between Jesus and the Father. Jesus is the creative Word present in the beginning, and he has been sent to dwell among humankind. The Word became flesh and pitched his tent among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as the One and Only from the Father, full of grace and truth. ... No one has ever seen God, but God the One and Only being in the bosom of the Father made [him] known (1:14, 18). Over and over, John emphasizes the unique role of the One and Only Son as the one who mediates what he has seen at the side of God to the rest of us who are bound by "earth-vision."

Tonight as I sat looking up at the night sky, I wondered what it would be like if that was it - if all I knew of God is what I could gather by staring open-eyed at the world around me. Even in the presence of other reflective folks, I'm not very sure that we could come up with a good idea of what this world is like or what it means to exist at all. Perhaps we could find a little insight into who God is - I think God put it out there in creation to be found by everyone - but it feels to me like trying to describe something that keeps sneaking past the corner of my eye. I know I've seen something, I may even be certain it's there, but it's too slippery to describe fully. Yet, if Jesus is who he says he is, who John clearly believed he is, then God is no longer this shadowy figure in our corner eye. God is revealed in some significant, radical way in the person of Jesus Christ! I know I'm biased, since I've already decided that the Way of Jesus is the only way for me, but I'm re-convinced about the uniqueness of Jesus Christ - worlds apart from the teachings of those who, like me, can only "speak from the earth."

More Bonhoeffer

Insights on humility, again from Life Together:

“Only he who lives by the forgiveness of his sin in Jesus Christ will rightly think little of himself. He will know that his own wisdom reached the end of its tether when Jesus forgave him. He remembers the ambition of the first man who wanted to know what is good and evil and perished in his wisdom. The first man who was born on this earth was Cain, the fratricide. His crime is the fruit of man’s wisdom. Because the Christian can no longer fancy that he is wise he will also have no high opinion of his own schemes and plans. He will know that it is good for his own will to be broken in the encounter with his neighbor. He will be ready to consider his neighbor’s will more important and urgent than his own. What does it matter if our own plans are frustrated? Is it not better to serve our neighbor than to have our own way?”

Wow - these words are good news to me today. I tend to have a pretty high opinion about my own schemes and plans. I hate to admit it, but I generally want the Lord to do it my way. That's crazy, really. I know how fickle my plans are: they change according to my whims on a pretty regular basis. My pride and self-importance is sin on two levels: it denies Jesus his place as Lord in my life and it assumes that I know better than everyone else who might will something different. So, it's rebellion toward God and maybe an attempt at tyranny over humankind.

Another thing attracts me to Bonhoeffer's words. Humility is not passive, it's active. It doesn't imply willing nothing - as if being the constant doormat of the world were a virtue. (Lack of will - this seems to be cowardice more than anything else.) No, it's the willing sacrifice of my will, however good it seems to me, for the sake of my brother or sister. And humility is sacramental. Here the passion of Jesus, his great acting out of "not my will but Yours" merges into the gritty reality of my life. Who knew that disappointment of my own dreams and desires might actually be participation with Jesus Christ in a very real sense? It's hard to believe in our "may your dreams come true" world. But to meet Jesus in the dark corners of life where all other hope is extinguished by a broken will and discarded dreams - this is good news.

Sabbathizers

One of my classes last semester experimented with practicing Christian disciplines as a way to better communicate the Gospel of Jesus Christ. We split into groups and our final project was to create a one-hour evangelistic presentation about our project and how it illuminates salvation in Jesus. My group chose the discipline of keeping the Sabbath. Tonight we had the opportunity to present our project again for a Lectureship crowd in a sort of "coffeehouse" setting. After we shared about our own experiences of Sabbath, I got to wrap it up. I thought I'd share the final speech with all of you out there in Blogland (especially you, Mom - I vote you "Most likely to make it to the end of this rather lengthy post!"):

"We’ve told you some about the experiences we’ve had with Sabbath. We’ve mentioned how Sabbath gives work meaning without making it the meaning of our lives. I don’t think that you need further convincing about the need for a period of rest – just feeling the tension in your back and shoulders and thinking about your lengthy to-do list is probably plenty.

"What we’re speaking about is vastly different from the kind of rest you might read about in a self-help book or O magazine. There’s more to this than fragrant bubble baths or a steamy mug of chamomile tea. Quite frankly, Sabbath is more about self-sacrifice than self-service; it’s more about recognizing my humble state than getting something that I deserve. Sabbath, in some ways, is a form of death to self. It is essentially self-denying.

"Dying to self: it sounds harsh, even masochistic. But our central claim as Christians is that this is actually Good News! Our hope is anchored in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and that event has dramatically transformed our world, in a way that we can’t totally fathom or express! In the practice of Sabbath, we’ve caught a little glimpse of what his death and resurrection means – this isn’t all of the story, but it provides some insight into what we mean when we say that Jesus saves us in this counter-intuitive way. We want to share that tiny glimmer of insight with you.

"Our society tells us that our worth as human beings is measured by the things that we do, by what we produce. And so, we rush around, we fill our schedules, we manage our time. When we consider how our day's been, we often enumerate the items we’ve checked off our to-do lists (or cringe over things left undone). We boast about our accomplishments to anyone who will listen at our high school reunions, special receptions,... or lectureships. Quite frankly, we’re led to believe that we are nothing more than the things we do, the job we hold down, and the prestige we acquire.

"In the death of Jesus, we hear a dramatically different message about human life. Dying is the exact opposite of productivity, and yet it is through dying that Jesus brings salvation to the entire universe. Instead of exalting himself, Jesus submitted to death and trusted God to do the exalting. We believe that God did indeed exalt his humble servant – to the highest place as Lord over all creation!

"When we turn our lives over to Jesus, we identify ourselves with his way of life, his death, and his resurrection. We have tasted a morsel of his kingdom, and we await the fullness of his reign in the world. We have also learned that it is not easy – it is a major shift to orient life around such radical hopes, and letting go of controlling life is always difficult. But we’re here to tell you that we think it might just be the best story to live by that a person can find in this world.

"Imagine what the world might be like with a Master like Jesus! Suddenly we’re able to honestly acknowledge our smallness in the universe, yet with a sense of hope instead of despair. After all, God thought enough of our smallness to take on human flesh himself. Instead of working our fingers to the bone in vain, we find joy in recognizing that we are a part of creation and not the Creator. We realize that we're receivers of life instead of feeling the need to make a life for ourselves. The poor, the sick, the outcast – all these are no longer pushed to the margins of society, but become those who are blessed. Those who rule the world in tyranny find their power to oppress stripped from them, and their captives find freedom. People stop merely seeking to get what is best for themselves and start caring about the welfare of others. God, who once felt so distant and out of reach, now lives in close communion with us. What an appealing alternative to the empty busy-ness of the life we see in our Mad World!

"Well, it’s clear to see that this new kingdom hasn’t completely emerged yet. Even the church, which is supposed to be a community that reflects the reign of God, continues to experience hardship, division, sin, and failure. Yet in participating together in the death and resurrection of Jesus, even in small things like keeping Sabbath, we think we’ve caught a glimpse of a hope that's worth holding onto, whatever the cost. And if you’re interested in talking to us about it, we’d love to continue the conversation. For now, we invite you to join us in a few minutes of silence, rest, Sabbath. Thanks for lending us some of your time."