More than Friday's meeting, more than Sunday's message, I have been dreading Monday morning's surgery for weeks. It's rather pathetic, I suppose. It's not like I had heart surgery or anything. It was really quite minimal. It was oral surgery. Yet, even the term "oral surgery" possibly makes it sound bigger than it is.
I had my four wisdom teeth extracted. It sounds like such a small thing. They're only teeth. As a child, your teeth just fall out. Others may be pulled for various reasons, but nonetheless... No one sweats over these.
Except me. I have never had a single surgery in my entire life. I've never had anesthesia or an IV shoved into my arm. These are all firsts. And I've been terrified over many a horror story about dry sockets, the condition that occurs by any number of actions that keep the blood clotting to take after the surgery. Dry sockets, I have heard, make you very ill for a up to a couple weeks. All this in addition to the typical dietary restrictions that follow the procedure.
I suppose it is the inconvenience of it all that has peaked the most anxiety in me. Though they say it takes a good four days to recover from the surgery (the second and third are supposed to be the worst in pain, stiffness, and swelling) and begin eating somewhat normally, I am planning on returning to work on Wednesday evening. I want and need to get back to work. On top of that, I have a ton of classwork that has been accumulating. If I got dry sockets and became ill for a couple weeks, this would be an even greater setback.
But now that I've covered all my fears leading up to the surgery, I can celebrate that it actually went very well. Though I could still lose my clotting and get dry sockets, the surgery itself was a breeze. Dr. Zak gestured to the bag of IV solution and said, "This is not the anaesthetic. It will only make you smile and feel good, but that's it for now." He walked away, and BOOM! I was out. The next thing I new, I was sitting on a couch in another room as my wife and daughters joined around me and I was apparently attempting to sign something to my wife.
Piece of cake. No nausea. My mouth didn't even hurt. By that afternoon, I really felt pretty good. And now on day two, I am amazed that this has gone as well as it has. I don't feel sick, yet I am forced to sit, reading and watching movies. These are pretty cool days.
I wonder why I am so prone to fear and worry. I mean, it's not like I am consumed with such things. But all of us: We get so needlessly worked up over things that are really pretty small. I wonder how my fear--be it of preaching on Sunday or of surgery on Monday--reflects my view of God. My perception of his power and his goodness. The problem with me isn't so much how I see his power. I believe he is all-mighty and sovereign and can accomplish anything he wills. My problem isn't even his goodness. I believe he is. At least generally speaking. I guess where I wrestle is in how his goodness manifests itself in my own life. How much his goodness is personal. How much it's for me.
So days like these are really good for my understanding of God's blessings. This weekend has had some pretty incredible and challenging events. And my nerves have peaked in a couple different ways. And yet on the other side of each of them, I have found myself quite thankful. I have found myself standing before a God who is full of both lively adventure and blessed calm.
At least until I get dry sockets.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
A Whirlwind Weekend, part two
Okay, I really have to watch myself here. I just don't have much time to write on this, but I know that I have to say something about it. Everyone keeps asking us how Sunday went, so here it is.
Sunday morning Justina and I went to West Hills Community Church in Westmont. I have been in contact with their elders and am being considered as a possible pastoral candidate. So this Sunday I was invited to come out and preach.
The morning before, everything was looking really good. I had my message prepared several days in advance and was just trying to wait on God and go into this thing prayed up with an open mind. However Saturday night as I was looking over my sermon, I realized something just didn't fit. Logically it wasn't working. This is in addition to the fact that I realized it was about 20 minutes longer than my given timeframe. This threw me all in a frenzy. And though it would seem easily fixed, I labored all evening and kept running into roadblocks.
Now you must understand, this is very difficult for me. I like everything ready and prepared. Especially for something really important, like when near-candidating for a church I would really like to pastor. This adds extra pressure to not mess this thing up by not being prepared. Though 24 hours earlier, I was calm, collected, and confident, I had become a bit of a wreck. I don't really get nervous about teaching and preaching, but here, all of a sudden, I was completely terrified. I had visions of blowing this thing. Of getting up there and this thing just exploding in my face. And, of course, of losing a chance at this opportunity to pastor that I would really like to have.
But then the unexpected: As I looked over my notes one last time in the parking lot, it all just snapped back together right in place. I entered the building and felt right at home. I joined the community in some really heart-felt worship (which is often times difficult for me). And as I walked up to the podium, I felt calm. As I spoke, it all just flowed out. And it seemed to flow well. As I prayed and rejoined the congregation, I just felt this overwhelming and divine presence surround me. I felt God's blessing. I felt his peace.
Now I don't' know if this means I will be the new pastor at West Hills. There is much more to the story than what is listed here. This is a church that has nearly run out of people. There are little resources, and the budget-to-income comparison may be in danger. But the people that are left are a great group of individuals dedicated to rolling up their sleeves and making this thing work. Before showing up I wasn't sure what to expect on a number of different levels ... because nearly all ministries have ceased due to lack of resources. I was expecting worship with 80s choruses to a single piano. And we left our girls with friends since I was unsure about children's programming. But to our surprise the worship was really good. Something almost as well put together at Bethel's Powerhouse band. And they did indeed have something for children, so next time (?) we will bring our girls. Anyway, I'm running into the potential of getting off track and making this more than you and I have time for.
I'm not sure what will happen with West Hills. As I said there are many issues to work though. Many questions on both their end and mine. They aren't even sure they are going to take on a new pastor. They may surrender everything to the denomination for a church restart or enter some sort of "merger" with a larger church. But if things keep progressing, you'll doubtlessly hear more. Though I'm sure from what I've told you so far, you are wondering what on earth I would want to take a spot like this. But I see almost innumerable opportunities in this community. And I'm not going to lie: the risk really excites me.
I'm getting off track again. I was supposed to end this thing.
So let me just say this. Sunday was brilliant. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was more than a little freaked out as it neared. But as I sat in God's presence, he blessed. I guess I just want to testify as to how great it is to be in his hand. And I pray that I will continually learn to yield myself to his care. I look forward to the ride ahead. This journey of faith can be really terrifying and discouraging at times. But it is also really refreshing. I love his freshness.
And then I had oral surgery the next day. Stay tuned for part three.
Sunday morning Justina and I went to West Hills Community Church in Westmont. I have been in contact with their elders and am being considered as a possible pastoral candidate. So this Sunday I was invited to come out and preach.
The morning before, everything was looking really good. I had my message prepared several days in advance and was just trying to wait on God and go into this thing prayed up with an open mind. However Saturday night as I was looking over my sermon, I realized something just didn't fit. Logically it wasn't working. This is in addition to the fact that I realized it was about 20 minutes longer than my given timeframe. This threw me all in a frenzy. And though it would seem easily fixed, I labored all evening and kept running into roadblocks.
Now you must understand, this is very difficult for me. I like everything ready and prepared. Especially for something really important, like when near-candidating for a church I would really like to pastor. This adds extra pressure to not mess this thing up by not being prepared. Though 24 hours earlier, I was calm, collected, and confident, I had become a bit of a wreck. I don't really get nervous about teaching and preaching, but here, all of a sudden, I was completely terrified. I had visions of blowing this thing. Of getting up there and this thing just exploding in my face. And, of course, of losing a chance at this opportunity to pastor that I would really like to have.
But then the unexpected: As I looked over my notes one last time in the parking lot, it all just snapped back together right in place. I entered the building and felt right at home. I joined the community in some really heart-felt worship (which is often times difficult for me). And as I walked up to the podium, I felt calm. As I spoke, it all just flowed out. And it seemed to flow well. As I prayed and rejoined the congregation, I just felt this overwhelming and divine presence surround me. I felt God's blessing. I felt his peace.
Now I don't' know if this means I will be the new pastor at West Hills. There is much more to the story than what is listed here. This is a church that has nearly run out of people. There are little resources, and the budget-to-income comparison may be in danger. But the people that are left are a great group of individuals dedicated to rolling up their sleeves and making this thing work. Before showing up I wasn't sure what to expect on a number of different levels ... because nearly all ministries have ceased due to lack of resources. I was expecting worship with 80s choruses to a single piano. And we left our girls with friends since I was unsure about children's programming. But to our surprise the worship was really good. Something almost as well put together at Bethel's Powerhouse band. And they did indeed have something for children, so next time (?) we will bring our girls. Anyway, I'm running into the potential of getting off track and making this more than you and I have time for.
I'm not sure what will happen with West Hills. As I said there are many issues to work though. Many questions on both their end and mine. They aren't even sure they are going to take on a new pastor. They may surrender everything to the denomination for a church restart or enter some sort of "merger" with a larger church. But if things keep progressing, you'll doubtlessly hear more. Though I'm sure from what I've told you so far, you are wondering what on earth I would want to take a spot like this. But I see almost innumerable opportunities in this community. And I'm not going to lie: the risk really excites me.
I'm getting off track again. I was supposed to end this thing.
So let me just say this. Sunday was brilliant. I wasn't sure what to expect, and I was more than a little freaked out as it neared. But as I sat in God's presence, he blessed. I guess I just want to testify as to how great it is to be in his hand. And I pray that I will continually learn to yield myself to his care. I look forward to the ride ahead. This journey of faith can be really terrifying and discouraging at times. But it is also really refreshing. I love his freshness.
And then I had oral surgery the next day. Stay tuned for part three.
A Whirlwind Weekend, part one
Wow, what a week this has been! This week has been so eventful, I think I could easily check out the rest of the season and still call it an eventful one. Now for some these events are nothing of anxiety or excitement. But for me, call me a rookie, they most definitely were.
On Friday morning I met to discuss theology with two leaders of Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, otherwise known as Jehovah's Witnesses (Knock! Knock!). On Sunday morning I spoke at a church that I may soon pastor. And on yesterday, on Monday, I had my wisdom teeth extracted, which just happened to be the first surgery in all the history of Drew. Each of these three events appeared quite significant in my mind. And in an ideal world, I would blog on each of them.
Then again, in an ideal world, I would also love to write (1) on Pennsylvania's long awaited primary today (I'm the kind of guy that would love to write on politics, but it wouldn't contribute much), (2) on a couple mind-altering, philosophy-of-ministry-assaulting articles I read yesterday out of the new Leadership journal, and (3) on my virtually unbearable case of "senioritis" as I finish my MDiv. But this is not an ideal world, so I will not write on any of these latter items and only briefly on former.
Friday's meeting was actually part of a project for a class I'm taking. I had to choose a non-mainstream religious group to study and interview. It was to focus on theological points of soteriology, drawing comparisons between an Evangelical understanding and theirs. The primary point of the meeting was to serve as an opportunity to share the Gospel with leaders of the group. This is a different context than what most of us are used to. I'm not Ronald Paul Danatus. I am not much of an apologist or evangelist. But this was a good exercise. I met with an elder (basically their pastor) of the Kingdom Hall (like a local church) where two of my co-workers attend. And, though I wasn't expecting it, I should have: This elder invited his regional higher up to come and "lend assistance." So it was two on one. And while I just had my Bible, they had a library of books that they were constantly flipping back and forth through. Yet I think I held my own. And I challenged them on a few things, which they said they would research, that I am almost certain they will not.
My purpose here is not to give a detailed account of our time together. But what struck me most is their conviction that they know the truth. Their absolute resilience to their beliefs. I have no doubt that they are sincere in their presentations. I see no reason to believe that they are purposefully conniving or manipulative. They really believe this stuff. That this is from God. That it is what the Bible teaches.
And yet they are not allowed to consult any religious or biblical material that is not approved by Watchtower. So when I challenge them to look at some resources for their Bible study, I know they won't ... unless they are willing to "sin" by consulting works blazed in rebellion. They are not allowed to think on their own. And this is evident in the limitations placed on their reasoning.
I admit that sometimes the messiness of church structure turns me off. Part of me longs for one united Church where every congregation agrees on one set of doctrine. It would indeed make it seem more "straight from God." More undeniable and absolute. But after meeting with these two Jehovah's Witnesses, I realize that the cost of such stability is the surrender of free thinking. And Watchtower isn't the first "Christian" movement to seek such stability at all costs. Come to think of it, I think free thinking is more the exception than the norm.
The apostle Paul was definitely one who demanded unity in doctrine. Just one example is seen in the way he writes First Timothy: "Teach and urge these things. If anyone teaches a different doctrine and does not agree with the sound words ... he is puffed up with conceit and understands nothing" (6:2-4). Indeed he even writes, "By rejecting this, some have made shipwreck of their faith, among whom are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I have handed over to Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme" (1:19-20). Yet at the same time, even Peter acknowledges the difficulty of understanding some of the teaching in Paul's writings (2Pe 3:15-16). And on top of Peter's vulnerable observation, today we have almost 2000 years of cultural, historical, and grammatical fog to make things a little more difficult, not just with Paul but also with Peter, as well as the rest of the Bible. We may all agree that there is need for correct doctrine, it's just not always obvious what that correct way of understanding the Bible is.
Thus the need for free thinking. Thus the need for each individual leader and group and follower to be able to examine the evidence and the Scriptures for themselves. And for this reason, any movement that forbids its congregants of reading anything un-official is indeed a dangerous one. In so doing they make their "official" interpretive materials on par with the Bible itself. They pronounce their minds (any less flawed than the rest of ours?) inspired by God.
So three and a half hours after our meeting began, I walked away grieving a little. Saddened by the thought that these two men are not allowed to think outside the fence. And there they will remain unless the Spirit of God should motivate them to dare think outside of it.
Yet as I walked back to my van, I was also thankful. Thankful for our sometimes messy faith, which allows me to wrestle with it and therefore take all that much more assurance of it. Believe me, I have had my wrestling match with faith. Nearly two years of wrestling with the existence of God and the validity of the Bible. All while in seminary. I have had my battles, but it is within these battles and their aftermath that my faith has come out all that much more sure and strong. Will these two men ever know that confidence? I pray so.
In case you haven't yet guessed it, I rambled way too long and am forced to write about the rest of my whirlwind weekend later.
On Friday morning I met to discuss theology with two leaders of Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, otherwise known as Jehovah's Witnesses (Knock! Knock!). On Sunday morning I spoke at a church that I may soon pastor. And on yesterday, on Monday, I had my wisdom teeth extracted, which just happened to be the first surgery in all the history of Drew. Each of these three events appeared quite significant in my mind. And in an ideal world, I would blog on each of them.
Then again, in an ideal world, I would also love to write (1) on Pennsylvania's long awaited primary today (I'm the kind of guy that would love to write on politics, but it wouldn't contribute much), (2) on a couple mind-altering, philosophy-of-ministry-assaulting articles I read yesterday out of the new Leadership journal, and (3) on my virtually unbearable case of "senioritis" as I finish my MDiv. But this is not an ideal world, so I will not write on any of these latter items and only briefly on former.
Friday's meeting was actually part of a project for a class I'm taking. I had to choose a non-mainstream religious group to study and interview. It was to focus on theological points of soteriology, drawing comparisons between an Evangelical understanding and theirs. The primary point of the meeting was to serve as an opportunity to share the Gospel with leaders of the group. This is a different context than what most of us are used to. I'm not Ronald Paul Danatus. I am not much of an apologist or evangelist. But this was a good exercise. I met with an elder (basically their pastor) of the Kingdom Hall (like a local church) where two of my co-workers attend. And, though I wasn't expecting it, I should have: This elder invited his regional higher up to come and "lend assistance." So it was two on one. And while I just had my Bible, they had a library of books that they were constantly flipping back and forth through. Yet I think I held my own. And I challenged them on a few things, which they said they would research, that I am almost certain they will not.
My purpose here is not to give a detailed account of our time together. But what struck me most is their conviction that they know the truth. Their absolute resilience to their beliefs. I have no doubt that they are sincere in their presentations. I see no reason to believe that they are purposefully conniving or manipulative. They really believe this stuff. That this is from God. That it is what the Bible teaches.
And yet they are not allowed to consult any religious or biblical material that is not approved by Watchtower. So when I challenge them to look at some resources for their Bible study, I know they won't ... unless they are willing to "sin" by consulting works blazed in rebellion. They are not allowed to think on their own. And this is evident in the limitations placed on their reasoning.
I admit that sometimes the messiness of church structure turns me off. Part of me longs for one united Church where every congregation agrees on one set of doctrine. It would indeed make it seem more "straight from God." More undeniable and absolute. But after meeting with these two Jehovah's Witnesses, I realize that the cost of such stability is the surrender of free thinking. And Watchtower isn't the first "Christian" movement to seek such stability at all costs. Come to think of it, I think free thinking is more the exception than the norm.
The apostle Paul was definitely one who demanded unity in doctrine. Just one example is seen in the way he writes First Timothy: "Teach and urge these things. If anyone teaches a different doctrine and does not agree with the sound words ... he is puffed up with conceit and understands nothing" (6:2-4). Indeed he even writes, "By rejecting this, some have made shipwreck of their faith, among whom are Hymenaeus and Alexander, whom I have handed over to Satan that they may learn not to blaspheme" (1:19-20). Yet at the same time, even Peter acknowledges the difficulty of understanding some of the teaching in Paul's writings (2Pe 3:15-16). And on top of Peter's vulnerable observation, today we have almost 2000 years of cultural, historical, and grammatical fog to make things a little more difficult, not just with Paul but also with Peter, as well as the rest of the Bible. We may all agree that there is need for correct doctrine, it's just not always obvious what that correct way of understanding the Bible is.
Thus the need for free thinking. Thus the need for each individual leader and group and follower to be able to examine the evidence and the Scriptures for themselves. And for this reason, any movement that forbids its congregants of reading anything un-official is indeed a dangerous one. In so doing they make their "official" interpretive materials on par with the Bible itself. They pronounce their minds (any less flawed than the rest of ours?) inspired by God.
So three and a half hours after our meeting began, I walked away grieving a little. Saddened by the thought that these two men are not allowed to think outside the fence. And there they will remain unless the Spirit of God should motivate them to dare think outside of it.
Yet as I walked back to my van, I was also thankful. Thankful for our sometimes messy faith, which allows me to wrestle with it and therefore take all that much more assurance of it. Believe me, I have had my wrestling match with faith. Nearly two years of wrestling with the existence of God and the validity of the Bible. All while in seminary. I have had my battles, but it is within these battles and their aftermath that my faith has come out all that much more sure and strong. Will these two men ever know that confidence? I pray so.
In case you haven't yet guessed it, I rambled way too long and am forced to write about the rest of my whirlwind weekend later.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
A Legendary Experience
Tonight I made good on an adventure I've been planning for some time now. There are a good deal of those whom I associate with that would not be nearly so daring. I accepted an invitation to venture out to the suburb of Arlington Heights for a special event.
A hymn sing. A real hymn sing. Not just an old Gospel favorite or two placed in the midst of a worship service, but a full 100+ minutes of singing the classics and near classics handed down through the annals of time. Or at least over the last hundred years or so. I have heard of such events. The stories of such momentous occasions have fluttered upon my eardrums more times than my memory can account for.
Over the course of three years spent overseeing our senior adults ministry, I have heard many glowing reports on the hymn sings found in past decades and even today ... in other churches. However at our church, we have chosen to use our Sunday evenings (officially the most appropriate time for such activities) for other things. For something we call an Encounter Gathering. Indeed even on Sunday mornings when we hold our primary services, they resemble nothing close to a hymn sing. Now I will readily admit that those of the matured generation have been very supportive of our more "youthful" approach to community worship. But on occasion, our seniors hear of other larger and more "traditional" congregations putting on such singing extravaganzas, and, in such cases, follow their preferences to the host of their worshiping ideals. It is not my intention to ever present this as a bad thing. I'm sure I would do the same if I found myself in a church culture where my music-and-singing-choice and all-that-I-had-known-for-most-of-my-life had become increasingly obsolete. I would readily join them in an evening oasis of heartfelt worship. On top of all this, our senior adults are, as I said, very supportive of everything our church does and the decisions our leadership has made.
But at the same time, their hearts are for the hymns. And so it seemed that the very week I began pastoring this group of roughly a hundred grey haired saints, that the reports began streaming in concerning the rather glorious nature of such gatherings. And as each report came in, I picked up somewhat of an almost legendary status that was attributed to each hymn sing. Eyes opened wide. Smiles so shining they overcame the entire face. Eagerly, the storyteller would recite the name of the guest soloist, the time period reserved for piano prelude, the overwhelming number of hymns that were sang. Stories of ensembles and choirs. Of respect and reverence. Of tradition and that which is familiar. Of lyrics supplied by a book rather than a powerpoint. And of a setting where every line of every song is known by heart. These reports note the absence of the ominous "7-11 choruses" popularized in the '80s. And they almost inevitably lament the days when every church service knew only hymns.
So I finally went. I've been planning on it for three years now, looking for a free Sunday evening in which to go and taste the glory. I love my seniors, and despite the vast cultural differences between myself and them, I have genuinely looked forward to finding the opportunity and taking it. I have even found myself excited. Excited by the thought of going and spending nearly two hours in song. And also excited to learn. To experience the legend first hand.
I found a maximized auditorium that I would guess sat around five to seven hundred people. And despite all expectations, when I walked in I was taken aback by the endless sea of grey and white hair. Somehow I expected that at least ... maybe ten percent of the congregants would be under 60. But this was definitely not the case. When I arrived (ten minutes early) only the back corner was still available for seating, and there were about five families that eventually slid in after me. The parents were in their 40s, and the children were young. But as I walked around and studied the rest of the auditorium, the remainder was all on Social Security.
The hymns and "special music" numbers were all about what I expected. Though I did think that the reported time-frame was one of the legendary and exaggerated elements: of 1 1/2 to 2 hours of nothing but singing and listening to others sing. I was surprised to find it not the case. The sing really did go for 105 minutes. And I must admit that closing on about 85 minutes, I was sick of singing. Yes, even though I was singing to God. I began checking my watch every two or three minutes. But that said, I was glad I went and am thankful for the experience.
I left with two primary impressions. To begin, I feel like I had experienced a prized component of this generation's spirituality. As a pastor I feel like this is valuable experience that will inform how I understand their needs as I lead them in following Jesus. I feel like it is my responsibility as a pastor of a generationally diverse group to create a venue for them to fully express their hearts in worship. According to their natural and heartfelt culture.
Secondly, I see more than ever the difficulty of worship in a setting that is not your own. As I sat there, I felt more and more frustrated with this style of celebration. I longed more and more for that which is natural to me. And I realize that this is the case for seniors as they are forced to sit in worship gatherings that are fully oriented toward younger people. Maybe to an even greater degree. I see all over again, in a whole new light, the difficulty this generation faces in trying to worship alongside those that consider them irrelevant.
I am trying to wrestle anew with how I as a pastor am held responsible to create venues for all elements of the congregation, where each person has a place to turn to express the fullness of their hearts in worship. I've thought on this in the past, and I'm thinking about this more again now. I don't claim to have any answers. I'm not bold or enlightened enough for that. But I do have ambition enough to try. And I certainly feel at least a little responsibility.
I would love to hear back from any who have a thought or two along this line. I heartily welcome your comments. Would love for you to post your feedback.
What does worship look like in the local church where a diverse group of people meet together? How do old and young, black and white, rich and poor come together and worship with their hearts and in a way that is culturally relevant? What does this look like? Is it a blend of ancient hymns and '80s choruses? Of Gaither and Crowder? Of urban Gospel and Reformation marches? In Spanish and English and Korean languages? I've kind of looked to such a blend as the ideal.
I'm just not sure that ideal is realistic.
A hymn sing. A real hymn sing. Not just an old Gospel favorite or two placed in the midst of a worship service, but a full 100+ minutes of singing the classics and near classics handed down through the annals of time. Or at least over the last hundred years or so. I have heard of such events. The stories of such momentous occasions have fluttered upon my eardrums more times than my memory can account for.
Over the course of three years spent overseeing our senior adults ministry, I have heard many glowing reports on the hymn sings found in past decades and even today ... in other churches. However at our church, we have chosen to use our Sunday evenings (officially the most appropriate time for such activities) for other things. For something we call an Encounter Gathering. Indeed even on Sunday mornings when we hold our primary services, they resemble nothing close to a hymn sing. Now I will readily admit that those of the matured generation have been very supportive of our more "youthful" approach to community worship. But on occasion, our seniors hear of other larger and more "traditional" congregations putting on such singing extravaganzas, and, in such cases, follow their preferences to the host of their worshiping ideals. It is not my intention to ever present this as a bad thing. I'm sure I would do the same if I found myself in a church culture where my music-and-singing-choice and all-that-I-had-known-for-most-of-my-life had become increasingly obsolete. I would readily join them in an evening oasis of heartfelt worship. On top of all this, our senior adults are, as I said, very supportive of everything our church does and the decisions our leadership has made.
But at the same time, their hearts are for the hymns. And so it seemed that the very week I began pastoring this group of roughly a hundred grey haired saints, that the reports began streaming in concerning the rather glorious nature of such gatherings. And as each report came in, I picked up somewhat of an almost legendary status that was attributed to each hymn sing. Eyes opened wide. Smiles so shining they overcame the entire face. Eagerly, the storyteller would recite the name of the guest soloist, the time period reserved for piano prelude, the overwhelming number of hymns that were sang. Stories of ensembles and choirs. Of respect and reverence. Of tradition and that which is familiar. Of lyrics supplied by a book rather than a powerpoint. And of a setting where every line of every song is known by heart. These reports note the absence of the ominous "7-11 choruses" popularized in the '80s. And they almost inevitably lament the days when every church service knew only hymns.
So I finally went. I've been planning on it for three years now, looking for a free Sunday evening in which to go and taste the glory. I love my seniors, and despite the vast cultural differences between myself and them, I have genuinely looked forward to finding the opportunity and taking it. I have even found myself excited. Excited by the thought of going and spending nearly two hours in song. And also excited to learn. To experience the legend first hand.
I found a maximized auditorium that I would guess sat around five to seven hundred people. And despite all expectations, when I walked in I was taken aback by the endless sea of grey and white hair. Somehow I expected that at least ... maybe ten percent of the congregants would be under 60. But this was definitely not the case. When I arrived (ten minutes early) only the back corner was still available for seating, and there were about five families that eventually slid in after me. The parents were in their 40s, and the children were young. But as I walked around and studied the rest of the auditorium, the remainder was all on Social Security.
The hymns and "special music" numbers were all about what I expected. Though I did think that the reported time-frame was one of the legendary and exaggerated elements: of 1 1/2 to 2 hours of nothing but singing and listening to others sing. I was surprised to find it not the case. The sing really did go for 105 minutes. And I must admit that closing on about 85 minutes, I was sick of singing. Yes, even though I was singing to God. I began checking my watch every two or three minutes. But that said, I was glad I went and am thankful for the experience.
I left with two primary impressions. To begin, I feel like I had experienced a prized component of this generation's spirituality. As a pastor I feel like this is valuable experience that will inform how I understand their needs as I lead them in following Jesus. I feel like it is my responsibility as a pastor of a generationally diverse group to create a venue for them to fully express their hearts in worship. According to their natural and heartfelt culture.
Secondly, I see more than ever the difficulty of worship in a setting that is not your own. As I sat there, I felt more and more frustrated with this style of celebration. I longed more and more for that which is natural to me. And I realize that this is the case for seniors as they are forced to sit in worship gatherings that are fully oriented toward younger people. Maybe to an even greater degree. I see all over again, in a whole new light, the difficulty this generation faces in trying to worship alongside those that consider them irrelevant.
I am trying to wrestle anew with how I as a pastor am held responsible to create venues for all elements of the congregation, where each person has a place to turn to express the fullness of their hearts in worship. I've thought on this in the past, and I'm thinking about this more again now. I don't claim to have any answers. I'm not bold or enlightened enough for that. But I do have ambition enough to try. And I certainly feel at least a little responsibility.
I would love to hear back from any who have a thought or two along this line. I heartily welcome your comments. Would love for you to post your feedback.
What does worship look like in the local church where a diverse group of people meet together? How do old and young, black and white, rich and poor come together and worship with their hearts and in a way that is culturally relevant? What does this look like? Is it a blend of ancient hymns and '80s choruses? Of Gaither and Crowder? Of urban Gospel and Reformation marches? In Spanish and English and Korean languages? I've kind of looked to such a blend as the ideal.
I'm just not sure that ideal is realistic.
Friday, April 4, 2008
From 06/21/2006: Monday, O Monday of Jubilee
I really didn't write much or often when I had a Xanga. I think I only posted maybe six or eight times and only three of those posts were anything that could even represent an attempt at substance. But my blog on Jocelyn's healing has an unbelievable degree of significance in my heart. It is a celebration of health and God's goodness for today, written on June 21, 2006. So to keep from losing it and so that I can continue to keep coming back to read it, it is reposted below. Some of you who know us very well maybe have no idea what Jocelyn has gone through physically. May you join in our celebration. Enjoy...
These are good days. Not that all days aren't good in a sense. At least they are all good to some degree, for someone. Somewhere. But then there comes along a really good day. Something extra special. One of jubilee. A day when God reminds you that he not only intends to eventually bring us goodness and glory in eternity, but that he also seeks to show us his kindness in this life. Even in the muck and mire of this world.
Monday my youngest daughter Jocelyn had the latest in a series of regular appointments with her specialist. The latest of checkups in response to a mysterious and undiagnosed illness that began surfacing in April of last year. In her brief 18 months of life, she has spent more than 40 nights in the hospital, met weekly with two different therapists, faced countless tests like MRIs, CT scans, spinal taps, sweat tests, x-rays, etc., and has endured two months on a feeding tube that had to be reinserted through the nose almost daily by my wife and me. We have been told at various times that she may have cystic fibrosis, or a brain tumor, or any of many other less common but more terrifying diseases. And they've made it clear at least a couple times that her life was never guaranteed. We have prayed. And countless tears bear testimony to our fears. To the faith that was forced to grow in the mud of life.
I could write about that demand for faith. But instead I have something much more exciting to proclaim...
In February, Joci's health began to strengthen. Over the next couple months, it seemed we could possibly witness a turn around. We began to wean her of her checkups and close medical supervision. And on Monday, Dr. Lysternick said there is no need to schedule another appointment. Just go home and stay home. Enjoy her health... Enjoy her health...
Though her health has been steadily increasing for the past few months, complete mystery still clouds the darkness of the past year. We still have no answers. Probably never will. I suppose I'm still not guaranteed her health. None of us ever are. But Monday stands as a testimony of God's goodness for today. Just yesterday we were preparing for cystic fibrosis and a lifetime of pain and illness. Today we rejoice. God has taken the almost lifeless body of my little one and renewed it in a naturally unexplainable way. He healed the sick. Gave life to the dead. Joy to the broken. He provided a glimpse of eternity right here on earth. And reminded me of the freshness of his care. He really is good, isn't he.
"Search me, O God, and know my heart/ Test me and know my anxious thoughts/ See if there is any offensive way in me/ And lead me in the way everlasting" (Ps. 139:23-24)
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Once Upon a Unisex In-Class Restroom
Well, it's started already.
My five-year-old daughter Janett came home from pre-kindergarten on Monday afternoon with a bit of a story to tell. So when I called my wife, Janett got on the phone, spilling the details. Earlier that day she had been punched. By a good friend. I'm sure it is needless to say this, but she was a little upset. Yet her love for a good story moved her to tell me about her adventure with such excitement, her frustrations were nearly lost.
Apparently her friend invited Janett into the unisex in-class restroom to share something she wanted to tell her. After closing the door behind them, this friend turned and punched Janett square in the head. Startled by this joke, she began to laugh, but after the other girl landed two more fists across the side of her head, the comedy began to sting. And it's somewhere around this point that the joke faded. Confused and more than a bit perturbed, Janett excused herself, saying that she was going to go tell the teacher. At this, her fighting friend blocked the door and, with fist clinched and held to Janett's face, asked her what she's "gonna do about it." Janett, not knowing what to say or do next, just stood there and in a still-quite-confused-sort-of-way mildly muttered that she didn't know. Somehow around this point both of the girls made it out of the restroom alive.
After telling me all this, Janett admitted that it really hurt her feelings that her friend would punch her like that. But then she paused on the phone and explained that her friend was doing this because she was really sad. Her uncle had died. Earlier in the afternoon it turns out, as both girls arrived at school, her friend stuck her tongue out at my daughter. A few minutes later she apologized and mentioned her family tragedy. So when Janett was later punched by this friend, she said she knew why her friend did it. She was sad.
When my wife called the teacher later that day, the facts had been confirmed. In actuality, the death was a cousin, but an increase in abusive behavior had been observed of the student in the wake of the tragedy. Janett's teacher was great, apologizing for the incident and explaining what would be done in the future. She was truly great and supporting of us and our daughter.
Over the past couple days, I've been thinking a lot about everything. Some whom we've talked about this with have jumped on reasons for not sending our children to Chicago schools (yes, Janett goes to public pre-school). This is just the pre-K version of what is sure to follow as she gets older. That may be true. I'm sure that it is to at least some degree. But I guess this was not my primary concern. Maybe it should have been, but it wasn't.
What I was struck by was Janett's response in all of this. Though she was confused, frustrated, and I think a little humiliated in all of this, her primary concern seemed to honestly be over her friend's well-being. "She was sad. It was because her uncle died." She told me she wanted be a good friend for her, and that evening she prayed for her friend. She prayed that she wouldn't be sad anymore. And that she wouldn't punch her again.
Maybe I'm easily amazed. But I am taken aback by her other-centered attitude as a five-year-old. Now I'm not trying to portray this other-centeredness as necessarily characteristic behavior. But nonetheless I am moved by Janett's clear concern for her friend despite her own expense. I wonder what my concern would be in a similar situation. If a good friend of mine attacked me physically while in a state of grief--or better yet, took my credit card on a spending spree, how concerned would I be with their welfare? In my mix of frustration and pain with compassion and concern, which would dominate? Would my anger overwhelm my empathy? Would I be able to put myself in his shoes? And how much would my days be lined with prayers for my friend?
In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul urges, "Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus" (2:3-5). An even more penetrating question asks me how concerned I am for others when they do NOTHING to harm me. On a normal day, when it costs me nothing, how much do I love those around me? And as Paul writes here, how much do I count others as "more significant than myself"? Do I EVER count others more significant than myself?
So this is what I've been thinking about lately. I find in my daughter an example to imitate. She stands as a challenge for me to more fully live in light of the Gospel. Her concern calls me to be more aware to the needs around me. She invites me to care more. And yet in all of this, she sits completely unaware that she has challenged me so. She's too busy playing and learning than to transform friends into bullies or to think much on her father's ramblings. May I learn this kind of humility and true concern for others. And may each of us in the church learn such community. May we learn to not only get along, but to truly love and care for one another in a way that puts the other first--regardless of how the other acts. And especially when the other is facing a particularly tough time. May we learn the depths of such friendship.
I didn't realize I have so much to learn from a five-year-old.
My five-year-old daughter Janett came home from pre-kindergarten on Monday afternoon with a bit of a story to tell. So when I called my wife, Janett got on the phone, spilling the details. Earlier that day she had been punched. By a good friend. I'm sure it is needless to say this, but she was a little upset. Yet her love for a good story moved her to tell me about her adventure with such excitement, her frustrations were nearly lost.
Apparently her friend invited Janett into the unisex in-class restroom to share something she wanted to tell her. After closing the door behind them, this friend turned and punched Janett square in the head. Startled by this joke, she began to laugh, but after the other girl landed two more fists across the side of her head, the comedy began to sting. And it's somewhere around this point that the joke faded. Confused and more than a bit perturbed, Janett excused herself, saying that she was going to go tell the teacher. At this, her fighting friend blocked the door and, with fist clinched and held to Janett's face, asked her what she's "gonna do about it." Janett, not knowing what to say or do next, just stood there and in a still-quite-confused-sort-of-way mildly muttered that she didn't know. Somehow around this point both of the girls made it out of the restroom alive.
After telling me all this, Janett admitted that it really hurt her feelings that her friend would punch her like that. But then she paused on the phone and explained that her friend was doing this because she was really sad. Her uncle had died. Earlier in the afternoon it turns out, as both girls arrived at school, her friend stuck her tongue out at my daughter. A few minutes later she apologized and mentioned her family tragedy. So when Janett was later punched by this friend, she said she knew why her friend did it. She was sad.
When my wife called the teacher later that day, the facts had been confirmed. In actuality, the death was a cousin, but an increase in abusive behavior had been observed of the student in the wake of the tragedy. Janett's teacher was great, apologizing for the incident and explaining what would be done in the future. She was truly great and supporting of us and our daughter.
Over the past couple days, I've been thinking a lot about everything. Some whom we've talked about this with have jumped on reasons for not sending our children to Chicago schools (yes, Janett goes to public pre-school). This is just the pre-K version of what is sure to follow as she gets older. That may be true. I'm sure that it is to at least some degree. But I guess this was not my primary concern. Maybe it should have been, but it wasn't.
What I was struck by was Janett's response in all of this. Though she was confused, frustrated, and I think a little humiliated in all of this, her primary concern seemed to honestly be over her friend's well-being. "She was sad. It was because her uncle died." She told me she wanted be a good friend for her, and that evening she prayed for her friend. She prayed that she wouldn't be sad anymore. And that she wouldn't punch her again.
Maybe I'm easily amazed. But I am taken aback by her other-centered attitude as a five-year-old. Now I'm not trying to portray this other-centeredness as necessarily characteristic behavior. But nonetheless I am moved by Janett's clear concern for her friend despite her own expense. I wonder what my concern would be in a similar situation. If a good friend of mine attacked me physically while in a state of grief--or better yet, took my credit card on a spending spree, how concerned would I be with their welfare? In my mix of frustration and pain with compassion and concern, which would dominate? Would my anger overwhelm my empathy? Would I be able to put myself in his shoes? And how much would my days be lined with prayers for my friend?
In his letter to the Philippians, the apostle Paul urges, "Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus" (2:3-5). An even more penetrating question asks me how concerned I am for others when they do NOTHING to harm me. On a normal day, when it costs me nothing, how much do I love those around me? And as Paul writes here, how much do I count others as "more significant than myself"? Do I EVER count others more significant than myself?
So this is what I've been thinking about lately. I find in my daughter an example to imitate. She stands as a challenge for me to more fully live in light of the Gospel. Her concern calls me to be more aware to the needs around me. She invites me to care more. And yet in all of this, she sits completely unaware that she has challenged me so. She's too busy playing and learning than to transform friends into bullies or to think much on her father's ramblings. May I learn this kind of humility and true concern for others. And may each of us in the church learn such community. May we learn to not only get along, but to truly love and care for one another in a way that puts the other first--regardless of how the other acts. And especially when the other is facing a particularly tough time. May we learn the depths of such friendship.
I didn't realize I have so much to learn from a five-year-old.
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