Category: Worship

I was annoyed with the worship wars back in the 90s. All too often they boiled down to younger people demanding that church be done in a language they understood and older people demanding that since they tithed the most church should cater to their whims (and yes I heard the arguments stated that crassly numerous times). These days a theological veneer is imposed on the same arguments (generally by those who accuse those who desire the church to embrace only the cultural idioms of 100 or 300 years ago instead of those of the past fifty years). The arguments typically accuse people of rejecting the forms of church that are the “proper” way of encountering God for the siren call of individualism and novelty. Same wars based on personal preference, just new ways of accusing the other side of being wrong.

As I repeatedly encounter these spats in the church, it forces me to ask the question as to what the purpose of corporate worship is anyway. I fully believe that worship can never be limited to just the rituals of church but involves the actions of serving God in the world. Yet I still see a place for corporate worship. What I hear most often is that the purpose of that event is to unveil God – to make God present and known to those gathered in a particular space. The rituals, the prayers, the songs, the sermon, the well-rehearsed actions of the leaders all work together to bring the congregation into an encounter with God.

But this is where I get uneasy. I keep asking myself – is the point of worship simply to encounter God?

The longer I am part of the Christian faith the more uneasy I get with churches that enact a well-planned performance intended to help people have this encounter with God. Whether it is a timed-to-the-minute contemporary stadium show with a recording-level-quality praise band or a highly orchestrated liturgy with a recording-level-quality choir and organist, I find myself increasingly uncomfortable with the affected voice of the church. The manipulative nature of the fact that the religious professionals are staging a show intended for me to consume (as I read or sing as prompted) under the guise of enacting the proper form for how God is to be revealed grates on my nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard.

For a long time I thought this was just my preferences regarding worship and was reluctant to jump in the fray of the worship wars culture. But the question kept returning to me – is worship simply about encountering God or should it also involve participating in God? Watching a show and being moved to see God seems like a mere shadow of worship compared to making of ourselves living sacrifices and being caught up in the work of God’s kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven. Rehearsing or timing a performance can make for a beautiful experience in the moment, but it leaves me hollow. Maybe it’s because after so many years in the church world I’ve seen too much of the machinations of the men behind the curtain to even be able to see God in such polished performances.

Perhaps that is my failing.

But I’ve reached the point where it is only in the messy and faltering attempts to be the body of Christ -to give of ourselves as we are instead of in a role someone expects of us – that I not only experience God but feel that I am participating in God’s work in the world. It’s often elusive and frequently difficult and uncomfortable to live into worship instead of merely consume it, but it is where I can actually see God at work as of late. But as I am discovering, desiring to worship in such ways makes it very hard to continue to exist in the church world that has formed different habits.

In my ethics class in seminary we’ve been discussing the problems of race and racism and the challenge of respecting the dignity of the other. As part of that discussion, my professor mentioned that the diversity task force had discovered that most of the minority students who attended the seminary over the past decade felt like they never truly belong at the seminary – that the culture of the seminary never welcomed them for who they were. I didn’t find this surprising in the least, but one of my classmates seemed rather taken aback by the report. She asked if specific examples of how the seminary was unwelcoming could be shared.

It was one of those really uncomfortable moments for me as just minutes before I had sat there feeling like a completely unwelcome outsider as my fellow classmates joined in on mocking the church tradition I come out of. The banter had been meant in fun, more as a way to make fun of themselves than others, but it had still been an awkward exchange. Per new seminary policy, all the ordination track students had to participate in the seminary’s Triduum services over Easter – a very old-school high-liturgy that consumed their whole weekend. The purpose, as they explained to me, was so that they could be trained in the right way of doing vigils since the parishes they serve will rarely know the correct forms for such things. So as they came off of the Easter frenzy exhausted as classes started again, the joke that morning was that next year they should petition to do the whole thing low-church style. This started everyone in on joking what sorts of appalling low-church stuff they could do – from spending the whole service doing announcements to giving into the congregation’s consumer demands to sing hymns people actually know. It was all meant in fun so I just sat and listened to them mock the cultural church traditions I am used to, but as the only non-Episcopalian in the class it was hard not to feel like an outsider.

And then we started class and the question was raised as to how minorities at the seminary might not feel welcome. It was difficult to not speak up about the discussion before class – . Or to mention that every time I hear my classmates discuss things like Enriching Our Worship (liturgies that include prayers and hymns from other cultures) it is only to mock it. Or the incredulous gossip-like statements of “have you heard, there are some churches that actually use grape juice and crackers for Eucharist?” Or the arguments I’ve heard that only 17th century high-liturgy done with the finest of serviceware available is proper worship. Or that what feminists and blacks do is not true theology, but merely an expression of Christian spirituality. When one form of culture is upheld as the God-ordained norm and everything else mocked, then of course those who differ from that norm are not going to feel welcome.

The seminary is very white and reflects one segment of cultural worship practices of white middle class Americans. I knew as a post-evangelical I was an outsider going into seminary yet even as an outsider I respect the culture forms of worship practice that most of my classmates find meaningful and beautiful. But I struggle when such forms of worship get in the way (even unintentionally) of respecting the dignity of others. It is one thing to choose to participate in a particular cultural form of worship, but quite another to mock the forms of others or expect them to convert to your ways in order to be a proper Christian. This goes far deeper than silly worship wars, but gets at the very core of what it even means to worship God at all.

As I’ve come to understand it, to commit oneself to ascribing worth-ship to God one must embrace the patterns of life that God deems worthy. As the biblical prophets repeatedly assert, rituals of worship that seek to draw us close to God or that proclaim God’s worth are meaningless if we are not actually living in the ways of God. The purpose of worship is this pursuit of righteousness – being in right relation with God and in relation to all that God has created. As Isaiah declares, this involves more than just fasting or participating in convocations, but engaging in actions that work to right those relationships. We might be strengthened, or shaped, or comforted by our community’s rituals, but those are forms that should never be mistaken for the deeper function of worship. More significantly such forms should never prevent us from engaging in the ways of life God deems worthy. Ritual should never stand in the way of our caring for those in need, of respecting the dignity of others, or loving our neighbors.

It is difficult to see the pain of my classmates who do feel unwelcome at my seminary especially when it is it cultures of worship creating the division. Yet as an outsider myself it is similarly difficult to know how to work to help resolve this tension.

 

as written for the Christian Century Blog –

I grew up attending Bible and Baptist churches; now I generally identify with the emerging church. So I’ve had quite a learning curve at the Episcopal seminary where I’m studying. Between balancing prayer books and hymnals and crash courses in chanting, I’ve frequently felt like a stranger in a strange land.

I am open to learning this new rhythm of worship, however foreign it feels at times. But I am discovering that I struggle with the observance of the Eucharist. My issue isn’t theology but method: as I pray the same words each time I partake, I feel constrained and long for something more. I’m not bored or looking to be entertained, I just feel the need for our remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice to reflect the infinite diversity of the body of Christ.

I didn’t grow up with diversity in eucharistic practice. On the first Sunday of the month we were instructed to search our hearts, confess our sins and then grab an oyster cracker and a plastic shot glass full of juice (always juice). Only in the last few years has the act of taking the bread and cup moved me to accept the call to live eucharistically in the world. This happened only when I saw the Eucharist set free from its traditional rituals.

In the house church I helped lead for a time, we closed with the Eucharist every week. In that small setting, the way we transitioned into sharing the bread and juice (yes, still juice) depended on the day’s lesson. If we had explored the stories of Jesus’ healings, our breaking of the bread would point us to how we could share our resources to help heal the body of Christ. In weeks where we talked about community, we would sit at a table and together mix the dough to bake our own bread.

We were the body of Christ, and the act of Eucharist became the vehicle through which we understood our role in that body. Breaking the bread and sharing the cup changed week to week–it assumed the role of shaping us into who we were called to be.

The church I attend now similarly re-imagines what it means to take and eat in remembrance of Jesus. In discussing Jesus’ encounter with the disciples on the beach before the ascension, we partook of a communion of fish tacos–pushing us to reflect on the disciples’ experience. In a recent new leaders’ meeting, we were charged to humbly accept our call to serve the church through an invitation to partake in a humble communion of pretzel snack packs and juice boxes.

A recent worship gathering focused on us all being members of the body who have something to give. We were invited to an empty table. There the story of Jesus feeding the 5,000 was told, with the interpretation that the miracle was that after seeing the boy’s gift of bread and fish, the people shared what they had brought until they all had resources in abundance. So we were asked to share whatever we had with us–gum, granola bars, soft drinks, Goldfish, Altoids. The table overflowed with abundance, which we served to each other.

Eucharist pulls me into these moments of remembering what it means to be a disciple. It is ever evolving as it speaks to a church that is always advancing the kingdom of God. I know the stories I’ve told here may be offensive to some, and I respect the traditions that find meaning in engaging Eucharist in one set way. But I’ve seen a world of meaning open up when the Eucharist is allowed to be as dynamic and diverse as our creative and infinite God–the God I respond to in remembrance when I take and eat.

Can we have fun in church?  Like, really have a good time and take pleasure in God’s world in church?  I’m not asking if it is possible, or if that is the purpose of church, but if we are even capable of allowing ourselves to have fun in church.

A couple of weeks ago in church the topic was having faith like a child.  The teaching time ended with our pastor throwing bouncy balls around the room instigating an all-church ball fight followed by finger-painting and blowing bubbles.  Yes, my church is a tad quirky.  But what I took away from that morning was not so much the childlikeness of these acts, but how odd it was for people to allow themselves to have fun in church.  We were tearing down our barriers, abandoning church propriety, and simply allowing ourselves to be in the moment enjoying life.  It felt good.

Now I am one of the first to argue that the point of church shouldn’t be to attract and entertain the masses.  Coming to church to hear what we want to hear and sing our favorite songs has very little to do with following Jesus.  But neither does checking our personalities at the door and assuming a generic “churchgoer” persona every time we gather at church.  For some churches that involves pretending that monotone recitation and droning songs are actually soul-inspiring and their preferred way to express their spirituality.  For others it’s dressing up in the church costume (never been in fashion anywhere anytime dowdy skirts, ugly floral shirts, dark hose, and unstylish yet still uncomfortable shoes), clutching that oversized study-Bible, taking sermon notes you will never read again, and mindlessly singing lyrics you don’t really believe while hoping no one finds out that you really enjoy Lady Gaga and had a couple of beers with friends the night before.  For most churches personality and pleasure are so denigrated that the idea of allowing oneself to have fun in church (or even admit that you have fun outside of church) is beyond comprehension.

But if we can’t enjoy God’s diverse creation and express our true selves when we gather as the body of Christ, where can we?  I know life shouldn’t be dichotomized into sacred and secular, but it seems like we’ve divided it in truth into church and then all the places we really experience God.  Why is spiritual joy constrained to uncomfortable pews when just about every person in those pews would admit that they experience far more joy at a day at the lake with friends or playing a game of catch with their kids?  Why do we have to turn to TV and dinner clubs to connect with others who can express with us the intense pleasures to be found in good food?  For that matter, why are our blog conversations about theology far more meaningful that what we get at church?  Sure, I get that all of life can be called “church,” but so why is real life kept away from the place where we gather as the church?  God created us to experience pleasure, to take joy in the wonders of creation and the church has decided to blatantly ignore that part of ourselves within its walls.

I know it goes against our cultural conditioning to allow ourselves to be who God created us to be as we gather as a church, but I wish having fun in church wasn’t so taboo.  Throwing bouncy balls around in church felt weird because it was weird.  We let down our guard and enjoyed the moment.  We let the lines between the church façade and the enjoyment of life blur for a moment and something magical happened.  I’m not saying here that we should get rid of structured church, or teaching, or songs and liturgy, just allow God to be bigger than all those things.  God gave us so much in this world to take pleasure and find joy in, why do we pretend to ignore that in church as if we are ashamed of God’s gifts?  Let’s have fun in church, or at least stop hiding and start embracing and celebrating the holiness of how created us to experience and enjoy pleasure.  We all already admit such things are from God, why do we act otherwise when we gather as the body of Christ?

Recently a conversation has developed in a post from last fall, Vespers at the Orthodox Church, on the purpose of liturgy and worship. I know very little about liturgy and barely understand what I do know. So I want to ask some questions and relate a bit of my experience. These questions aren’t meant to condemn, just to relate my confusion. I would love to hear from those who do participate in and love liturgy. Here’s part of the recent conversation –

“I understand in theory how liturgy is meant to feed and fill worshipers”

But that’s just it — liturgy isn’t meant to do that. Expecting to be fed and filled is part of the consumerist mentality.

Liturgy is “the work of the people”. It’s not directed towards the people; it is done by the people, and directed towards God.

And that is the chief difference between liturgical worship and other kinds. Non-liturgical worship may directed towards the people, to instruct them, to edify them, or to entertain them. But liturgical worship is done by the people, and directed towards God. So it’s definitely not “seeker sensitive”.

Now I’ve confessed here before that I am a very low church mutt. I grew up not only thinking denominations were bad, but that Catholics and Orthodox weren’t really Christians. I didn’t even start attending “big church” until I was in 6th grade and instead spent the worship hour hearing stories told by puppets and singing songs with motions. My first liturgical experience was at a Vespers service at Westminster Abbey when I was 12. And, I kid you not, I spent the whole time thinking I was participating in idolatry because of all the kneeling.

At the same time I seriously can’t stand singing songs in church for worship. I liked it back in youth group days when that involved upbeat rhythms that prompted a somewhat uninhibited letting go of the self. But honestly there is much more a sense of that in pagany drum circles than in any church. And while in theory singing songs is a way to worship, thank, or praise God – I generally hear people mention how singing connects them with God. It is a personal relationship issue, using things they like to help them feel close to God.

So it is with this low church “worship as personal experience” lens that I look at liturgy. I know it’s technically the “work of the people” and like low-church worship theoretically directed to God, but I have a hard time really understanding that. In one sense I’m uncomfortable with the system having never participated long enough to become accustomed. Recitation, repetition, kneeling, standing, crossing oneself, putting to the same flat music any number of different hymns or verses – none of it seems done by me. Instead I feel directed to perform and scorned for not knowing the right steps.  How exactly is it “my work”?  Is it a ritual meant to be done by me but in spite of me?

But beyond my unfamiliarity, my underlying questions are what is the purpose of this work and why do those who abide by various forms of liturgy insist that theirs is the best (or only) way of doing church? I don’t understand how some 17th or 18th century program represents the highest calling of the people. How exactly does chanting verses fulfill our call to serve others? If it’s not meant to “feed” those doing it, how can it be for the benefit of others? Similarly I’ve had Catholics, Orthodox, and Presbyterians quite forcefully tell me how their formulation of the liturgy is the only real way to worship. To an outsider if often seems like they are insisting that the correct incantation and sequence of pew calisthenics is the magical formula that (abracadabra) creates worship. Or that God is too small to be found outside of whatever century’s chosen formulation they happen to settle upon.

So all that to say I’m confused about liturgy. I’m not one of those who want to push some crappy low church model instead, to me insisting on the rightness of any form seems culturally imperialistic and a far cry from worship. So I’m honestly asking those that participate in liturgy why. Why do you do it? How is it the work of the people? What is it’s purpose? Is it the only or best way?