So we decided not to chant the communion liturgy this year during Lent, thinking it would be simple and a bit austere, and that, like "Alleluia", we might miss it and long for its return. It's not a total fast, as we still chant the "Kyrie", although that's usually the choir, not me or the senior pastor. And of course, at the second service, which is more contemporary, we have less liturgy, and we don't chant anything, although we've had some nice sung responses at the beginning of the service.
So, I'll confess: I do miss chanting. I miss chanting The Great Thanksgiving, with its back and forth echoes, but even more, I miss chanting the Preface, with its poetic words and phrases. I still speak the words, and there is something that makes me sort of pause, because I am speaking words I usually intone. For me, the chanter, the words sound richer, rounder, with layers underneath them, when I chant them.
I wonder, though, if anyone else is missing it the way I am. After all, chanting is sort of an unusual activity, something it's hard for us to relate to in our Ordinary Lives. You don't really have chanting in a worship service with a Praise Band, for example. For example, the Assemblies of God congregation, which meets in the middle school right behind our church, has a younger crowd at worship than we do, and no chanting, I'll bet.
I think though that a dislike (or at least puzzlement) for chanting is intergenerational. At least, one older member of our congregation once told me that though she prefers traditional worship, we could get rid of the chanting, and it wouldn't bother her one little bit.
Maybe we don't know what chanting is for; everything has to have a use, after all. I heard that priests began chanting the liturgy in the old cathedrals long ago because it was easier to understand a sung tone than a spoken one. But we don't need chanting for that reason any more.
Everything has to have a use, after all. Or does it?
On Easter morning, I will put on the gold chasuble, and I will chant the Great Thanksgiving, and the Easter Preface, and remind the congregation that when we sing God's great Alleluia, we will be singing with Peter and Mary Magdalene, with all the witnesses of the resurrection, with angels and archangels, and with the earth and all its creatures. And for me, it will be like indulging in a piece of expensive chocolate after a long fast, or like seeing a friend I love but haven't seen in a long time, or like looking into a package and discovering that there was another layer under the tissue paper, something you never saw was there before.
But, I wonder what everyone else will think. Will they be glad to welcome chanting back into worship?
Showing posts with label Sunday worship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sunday worship. Show all posts
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Monday, June 25, 2012
Printing the Bulletin, Hearing the Word
Bulletins and I go back a long way. When I was growing up, the church bulletins were much less elaborate than they are now; we were supposed to look up both the hymns and also find the correct liturgy (though there were only two options back then). We did both.
Nevertheless, the appointed readings were printed on the back of the bulletin (it was not called a "worship folder" back then.) I remember reading the lessons and thinking how cool it would be to cut them out and save them for a couple of years, because then I could cut and paste them together and make a whole Bible!
Lately, in the interests of being more hospitable, we've taken to printing more in our bulletins, now called "worship folders." Most of the liturgy is printed in the bulletin now, so that we don't have to look it up. We print the lessons, but not on the back page. We print them right there in the middle of the worship folder; you don't even have to turn the page. And, because some of our worship is more contemporary, we even print some of the songs now, because they aren't in the hymnal.
So in the past few weeks we have a new parish administrative assistant who is learning to put together worship folders. Though she is an extremely competent person, it's a pretty high learning curve, so we've been simplifying our worship.
For the past couple of weeks we have not been printing the scripture readings.
Some people have said that not printing the readings actually helps them listen better. One woman said that her adult son actually looked up the readings in his Bible when he got home from worship, which can't be a bad thing. It is also nice to have people looking at me or the reader instead of staring down at the page. It made me wonder about how hospitable it really is when everyone is staring down at their paper all the time instead of paying attention to the singing and the liturgy, and one another. Yeah, one another. Could those really helpful worship folders be isolating us from one another?
On the other hand, sometimes I think I have seen some eyes glaze over during readings, as if we should have some sort of visual aid, at least, if we're not having printed words. I also noticed at worship last weekend the man from Ethiopia seemed a little disappointed that the readings weren't printed. He is excellent at English, but I'll bet the printed word helps him.
I'll be honest, the bulletin seems a little bare to me now, after seeing the printed word on the page for so long.
On the other hand, what is it that makes our worship hospitable, that makes our congregation welcoming? What is it that draws people to engage in worship together? What is it that helps us hear and sing and pray as a body? And what is it that keeps us separate?
How about you? Do you print less in your worship folders these days? How do you hear the Word?
Nevertheless, the appointed readings were printed on the back of the bulletin (it was not called a "worship folder" back then.) I remember reading the lessons and thinking how cool it would be to cut them out and save them for a couple of years, because then I could cut and paste them together and make a whole Bible!
Lately, in the interests of being more hospitable, we've taken to printing more in our bulletins, now called "worship folders." Most of the liturgy is printed in the bulletin now, so that we don't have to look it up. We print the lessons, but not on the back page. We print them right there in the middle of the worship folder; you don't even have to turn the page. And, because some of our worship is more contemporary, we even print some of the songs now, because they aren't in the hymnal.
So in the past few weeks we have a new parish administrative assistant who is learning to put together worship folders. Though she is an extremely competent person, it's a pretty high learning curve, so we've been simplifying our worship.
For the past couple of weeks we have not been printing the scripture readings.
Some people have said that not printing the readings actually helps them listen better. One woman said that her adult son actually looked up the readings in his Bible when he got home from worship, which can't be a bad thing. It is also nice to have people looking at me or the reader instead of staring down at the page. It made me wonder about how hospitable it really is when everyone is staring down at their paper all the time instead of paying attention to the singing and the liturgy, and one another. Yeah, one another. Could those really helpful worship folders be isolating us from one another?
On the other hand, sometimes I think I have seen some eyes glaze over during readings, as if we should have some sort of visual aid, at least, if we're not having printed words. I also noticed at worship last weekend the man from Ethiopia seemed a little disappointed that the readings weren't printed. He is excellent at English, but I'll bet the printed word helps him.
I'll be honest, the bulletin seems a little bare to me now, after seeing the printed word on the page for so long.
On the other hand, what is it that makes our worship hospitable, that makes our congregation welcoming? What is it that draws people to engage in worship together? What is it that helps us hear and sing and pray as a body? And what is it that keeps us separate?
How about you? Do you print less in your worship folders these days? How do you hear the Word?
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Many Kinds of Grace
I preached this weekend again (two weekends in a row), but won't again for a month, which is an unusual arrangement. As well, I went down to the 9th grade confirmation retreat Friday night through Saturday morning, to help them prepare to write their faith statements, to lead an evening devotion, and to walk through the Rite of Affirmation of Baptism with them.
I drove back to church Saturday afternoon to meet a couple who is preparing for their wedding, and to get ready for the Saturday evening service.
There have been a large group of young adults staying in our church all weekend. They are training with an organization called YouthWorks, and will go all over the country, leading high school students on mission trips. I had brief conversations with a few of them (mostly consisting in "How are you doing?"), and ran into a couple of young women having a heartfelt conversation in the chapel Saturday afternoon.
This morning they all came to worship. They came to worship at our traditional, early service.
Our early service (may I say) sort of skews older. It is also the smaller of our two services. But it was twice as large this morning, with this large group of twenty-somethings and this large group of sixty and seventy-somethings, and some (of course) between.
My sermon had a sort-of good shepherd theme, lifting up the idea that perhaps we err in focusing so much on the deficiencies of the sheep, rather than the goodness of the shepherd. I shared about the messages we all get that highlight what we are lacking, and promise to give us what we need (There is even a perfume called "Amazing Grace." We can buy it and be more beautiful.)
Borrowing an idea from a popular preaching site, I closed the sermon by asking people to say to one another, "You are a beloved child of God, and you are enough."
After the service, I saw the young people and the older people talking to one another, making connections and sharing about their lives. Several of the young people thanked me for the opportunity to stay in our church this weekend.
But I was thanking them too.
There are many kinds of grace; there are many ways the shepherd helps us know that, though we are imperfect, we are beloved and beautiful and worthy.
He lays down his life for the sheep. And he takes it up again.
And then he gives us to one another, young and old, and everyone in between. And that is also grace. Amazing grace.
I drove back to church Saturday afternoon to meet a couple who is preparing for their wedding, and to get ready for the Saturday evening service.
There have been a large group of young adults staying in our church all weekend. They are training with an organization called YouthWorks, and will go all over the country, leading high school students on mission trips. I had brief conversations with a few of them (mostly consisting in "How are you doing?"), and ran into a couple of young women having a heartfelt conversation in the chapel Saturday afternoon.
This morning they all came to worship. They came to worship at our traditional, early service.
Our early service (may I say) sort of skews older. It is also the smaller of our two services. But it was twice as large this morning, with this large group of twenty-somethings and this large group of sixty and seventy-somethings, and some (of course) between.
My sermon had a sort-of good shepherd theme, lifting up the idea that perhaps we err in focusing so much on the deficiencies of the sheep, rather than the goodness of the shepherd. I shared about the messages we all get that highlight what we are lacking, and promise to give us what we need (There is even a perfume called "Amazing Grace." We can buy it and be more beautiful.)
Borrowing an idea from a popular preaching site, I closed the sermon by asking people to say to one another, "You are a beloved child of God, and you are enough."
After the service, I saw the young people and the older people talking to one another, making connections and sharing about their lives. Several of the young people thanked me for the opportunity to stay in our church this weekend.
But I was thanking them too.
There are many kinds of grace; there are many ways the shepherd helps us know that, though we are imperfect, we are beloved and beautiful and worthy.
He lays down his life for the sheep. And he takes it up again.
And then he gives us to one another, young and old, and everyone in between. And that is also grace. Amazing grace.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Liturgy Is Not The Problem
At least, I don't think so.
In some circles, it seems like the word "liturgy" has a connotation somewhat like the word "liberal". "Liturgy" is a code word for everything that is wrong with the church: ritual and repetition without meaning, doing the same thing over and over again. Liturgy is boring and not spontaneous. It is right up there with organ music and hymns written before 1980. In many many church growth books out there these days, at least one of the steps is something on the order of "get rid of liturgy".
But, is this really the problem? All worship has to have an order to it, just like most of us, when we travel, travel on roads. Sometimes it is exciting to travel on rough terrain in a jeep, and at other times, the most important thing is simply to get there. Absolutely, the journey is important, but I am not with those who say that the destination doesn't matter. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that I arrive at home, and not somewhere else. In the same way, I have been moved and fed by many different kinds of worship services, from high liturgies to Pentecostal praise services. Liturgy is not rote repetition to me; it contains the richness of art and poetry and beauty.
One of the problems with liturgy, I think, is that those of us who are used to it take it for granted. We travel this particular road from week to week; we're used to it. Some of us are aware of why we take this road and the specific scenery to watch out for; others don't know why, and we have never taught them. We may hold to liturgy too rigidly, using it to keep the presence of God away instead of to draw near. We may hold to liturgy too loosely, not recognizing the beauty of the structures in the same way we don't always recognize the beauty in a sonnet.
Not everyone has grown up with liturgy, it may be argued. But not everyone has grown up speaking in tongues, either, and I don't see Pentecostals casting that element of their faith aside, believing it to be odd and a stumbling block.
Last week, I presided at several funerals. The first one, on Monday, was for a dear man who had grown quite deaf. Yet he came to church every Sunday, even though he could not hear one word of the sermon or the music of the songs.
He was fed by the words of the liturgy, which he recited week after week. He was fed by the words of the Creed, and by participating in the Lord's Supper with his community of faith.
Liturgy may be a barrier for some, but for others, it is a door to the presence of God. Some day, it may even be so for you.
In some circles, it seems like the word "liturgy" has a connotation somewhat like the word "liberal". "Liturgy" is a code word for everything that is wrong with the church: ritual and repetition without meaning, doing the same thing over and over again. Liturgy is boring and not spontaneous. It is right up there with organ music and hymns written before 1980. In many many church growth books out there these days, at least one of the steps is something on the order of "get rid of liturgy".
But, is this really the problem? All worship has to have an order to it, just like most of us, when we travel, travel on roads. Sometimes it is exciting to travel on rough terrain in a jeep, and at other times, the most important thing is simply to get there. Absolutely, the journey is important, but I am not with those who say that the destination doesn't matter. At the end of the day, the most important thing is that I arrive at home, and not somewhere else. In the same way, I have been moved and fed by many different kinds of worship services, from high liturgies to Pentecostal praise services. Liturgy is not rote repetition to me; it contains the richness of art and poetry and beauty.
One of the problems with liturgy, I think, is that those of us who are used to it take it for granted. We travel this particular road from week to week; we're used to it. Some of us are aware of why we take this road and the specific scenery to watch out for; others don't know why, and we have never taught them. We may hold to liturgy too rigidly, using it to keep the presence of God away instead of to draw near. We may hold to liturgy too loosely, not recognizing the beauty of the structures in the same way we don't always recognize the beauty in a sonnet.
Not everyone has grown up with liturgy, it may be argued. But not everyone has grown up speaking in tongues, either, and I don't see Pentecostals casting that element of their faith aside, believing it to be odd and a stumbling block.
Last week, I presided at several funerals. The first one, on Monday, was for a dear man who had grown quite deaf. Yet he came to church every Sunday, even though he could not hear one word of the sermon or the music of the songs.
He was fed by the words of the liturgy, which he recited week after week. He was fed by the words of the Creed, and by participating in the Lord's Supper with his community of faith.
Liturgy may be a barrier for some, but for others, it is a door to the presence of God. Some day, it may even be so for you.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Shining in the Company of the Saints
I very rarely preach on the Book of Revelation, with its scary, strange images, its shades of "Left Behind," all the connotations of end-time persecution. Ok, I'll be honest: I never preach on the Book of Revelation. Martin Luther carefully situated it at the end of the Bible, and it so rarely comes up in the lectionary, except, once in awhile, during the Easter season, and on All Saints Sunday.
All Saints Sunday.
We move All Saints Day to the nearest Sunday, kind of like those Monday holidays, because we don't really go to church except on Sunday any more (with the one exception of Christmas Eve.) So tomorrow we are celebrating All Saints Sunday, in the company of all the saints, the ones who show up to worship, the ones we will remember in our prayers, the ones we will not remember, but who are singing and praying at the throne of the Lamb, whether we remember them or not.
One of the readings tomorrow is from the book of Revelation, the strange book of Revelation. Interspersed between those apocalyptic visions of war and persecution are visions of the saints, worshiping at the throne of the Lamb. They are singing, "Blessing and glory and honor be to our Lord, and to the Lamb." They are gathered at the river that runs through the City of God, with the leaves of the trees, which are for the healing of the nations. The vision John imagines is a vision of the saints shining: worshiping God with their lives.
There will be lots of candles tomorrow, more than usual at a Lutheran service, but appropriate for a service which remembers the saints shining. It is the light of Christ which shines through our saints, the saints we remember, the saints we are. It is the light of Christ which shines as they worship God with their lives.
"Blessing, honor and glory be to God and the Lamb" we will sing tomorrow, with our voices.
Blessing, honor and glory be to God, we will sing the rest of the days of the week, with our lives.
Tomorrow, when we light the candles, I will remember Harold and Evelyn, baby Thor and Gladys, Richard and Gail. I'll remember my grandma Emma, who prayed for us every day, who worried too much, and my grandma Judy, who took me to the Salvation Army meetings once, and my grandpa Lee, who had a hard time trusting God's grace, and my grandpa Folke, who didn't talk about it much. I'll remember the people whose voices sounded like angels and those who sang out of key, the ones who worshipped in lives of service and justice, and the ones who worshipped God by acts of compassion, the the ones who worshipped God by their heart-felt prayers.
Blessing and honor and glory be to God, to the Light which vanquishes the darkness, to the light that shines through ordinary lives, through ordinary saints.
I pray there are a lot of candles lit tomorrow. Not so much in honor of the saints, but in honor of their God.
They are shining.
All Saints Sunday.
We move All Saints Day to the nearest Sunday, kind of like those Monday holidays, because we don't really go to church except on Sunday any more (with the one exception of Christmas Eve.) So tomorrow we are celebrating All Saints Sunday, in the company of all the saints, the ones who show up to worship, the ones we will remember in our prayers, the ones we will not remember, but who are singing and praying at the throne of the Lamb, whether we remember them or not.
One of the readings tomorrow is from the book of Revelation, the strange book of Revelation. Interspersed between those apocalyptic visions of war and persecution are visions of the saints, worshiping at the throne of the Lamb. They are singing, "Blessing and glory and honor be to our Lord, and to the Lamb." They are gathered at the river that runs through the City of God, with the leaves of the trees, which are for the healing of the nations. The vision John imagines is a vision of the saints shining: worshiping God with their lives.
There will be lots of candles tomorrow, more than usual at a Lutheran service, but appropriate for a service which remembers the saints shining. It is the light of Christ which shines through our saints, the saints we remember, the saints we are. It is the light of Christ which shines as they worship God with their lives.
"Blessing, honor and glory be to God and the Lamb" we will sing tomorrow, with our voices.
Blessing, honor and glory be to God, we will sing the rest of the days of the week, with our lives.
Tomorrow, when we light the candles, I will remember Harold and Evelyn, baby Thor and Gladys, Richard and Gail. I'll remember my grandma Emma, who prayed for us every day, who worried too much, and my grandma Judy, who took me to the Salvation Army meetings once, and my grandpa Lee, who had a hard time trusting God's grace, and my grandpa Folke, who didn't talk about it much. I'll remember the people whose voices sounded like angels and those who sang out of key, the ones who worshipped in lives of service and justice, and the ones who worshipped God by acts of compassion, the the ones who worshipped God by their heart-felt prayers.
Blessing and honor and glory be to God, to the Light which vanquishes the darkness, to the light that shines through ordinary lives, through ordinary saints.
I pray there are a lot of candles lit tomorrow. Not so much in honor of the saints, but in honor of their God.
They are shining.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
My Sunday
I begin, as is traditional, on Saturday evening, and not just because we have a Saturday evening service. But, we have a small traditional service on Saturday evening, in our chapel. The chapel has a small pipe organ, which is out for repair all summer. So, we had traditional worship with piano instead of organ this week. A few of the people at church were worshipping on Saturday because they were going to be working for our Pot Luck Dinner today (lots of food and bring a dollar for World Hunger). They wanted to hear the sermon, I guess, which makes me smile.
Someone wanted me to mention the Dinner and invite people to give a dollar, even if they couldn't come today. So they did.
After church we were invited to a graduation open house, a family who had moved out a way from our community, but still somehow makes it in to worship more often than not. I had never been out to their house, out in the country, but we got directions from Mapquest and set out. We drove and drove and drove and did not find their house, so gave up and went home.
This morning I got up early even though we had decided only to have one service at 10:00 (in honor of the pot luck). I made tuna pasta with pesto, so that nobody could say, "the pastor never brings anything to the pot luck.") (By the way, nobody has ever said that.) I got to church pretty early, so that I could make sure the mikes were set up for the people reading in different languages, tie a couple more ribbons to the fan I was using for the children's message, practice my sermon. oh, and I wanted to make sure that someone I invited to church didn't come at 8:00 today -- the only time all summer we're not having church on the lawn!
The organist began the service with Spirit of God, Descend Upon my Heart. The band then continued with Ev'ry Time I Feel the Spirit. Six people read John 3:16 in different languages during a break in the Acts reading. The children left during the sermon to make colorful streamers, which they brought in later in the service. We processed around the church with the streamers, singing 'We are Marching in the Light of God.'
I have to say, those streamers were SO COOL.
Afterwards, I prayed for a woman who is having surgery this week. Prayed for the food before the pot luck. Ate the pot luck. Saw the 5th grade graduation paper of one of our students (I think he's proud). Saw directions taped to my door if I ever want to try to get to this family's house again.
Then I went home, with just a little bit of tuna pasta with pesto left, which my family ate. I took a nap.
We had salad for supper, and watched Laurel and Hardy try to carry that piano up the stairs.
Oh yeah, and I do think my sermon turned out pretty good.
Someone wanted me to mention the Dinner and invite people to give a dollar, even if they couldn't come today. So they did.
After church we were invited to a graduation open house, a family who had moved out a way from our community, but still somehow makes it in to worship more often than not. I had never been out to their house, out in the country, but we got directions from Mapquest and set out. We drove and drove and drove and did not find their house, so gave up and went home.
This morning I got up early even though we had decided only to have one service at 10:00 (in honor of the pot luck). I made tuna pasta with pesto, so that nobody could say, "the pastor never brings anything to the pot luck.") (By the way, nobody has ever said that.) I got to church pretty early, so that I could make sure the mikes were set up for the people reading in different languages, tie a couple more ribbons to the fan I was using for the children's message, practice my sermon. oh, and I wanted to make sure that someone I invited to church didn't come at 8:00 today -- the only time all summer we're not having church on the lawn!
The organist began the service with Spirit of God, Descend Upon my Heart. The band then continued with Ev'ry Time I Feel the Spirit. Six people read John 3:16 in different languages during a break in the Acts reading. The children left during the sermon to make colorful streamers, which they brought in later in the service. We processed around the church with the streamers, singing 'We are Marching in the Light of God.'
I have to say, those streamers were SO COOL.
Afterwards, I prayed for a woman who is having surgery this week. Prayed for the food before the pot luck. Ate the pot luck. Saw the 5th grade graduation paper of one of our students (I think he's proud). Saw directions taped to my door if I ever want to try to get to this family's house again.
Then I went home, with just a little bit of tuna pasta with pesto left, which my family ate. I took a nap.
We had salad for supper, and watched Laurel and Hardy try to carry that piano up the stairs.
Oh yeah, and I do think my sermon turned out pretty good.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Consumers or Producers
My husband, a musician, likes to talk about different ways people love music. Most people love music of some sort or another, but they love it mostly as consumers. In other words, they are listeners. They turn on a radio, or pop in a CD or love sorting the tunes on their ipods by genre, or creating a nice "mix" of music to listen to.
There's another way to love music, though, and that is as someone who makes music. You can write songs, or you can play music, but in either case you are choosing not just to consume but to produce. You can use your voice or piano keys or a rhythm instrument, you can play a flute or a kazoo, you can be a professional or a rank amateur, but if you play, you are producing something rather than just consuming it.
Both consuming and producing are normal activities. We do both of them in our lives, although it seems to me that we are beginning to skew more and more toward the consuming side. If you buy, cook and eat your supper, you're both a producer and a consumer -- producing a nice meal and then eating it. If you put something in the microwave or go out to eat (and we do this more often than I care to admit) you're just a consumer.
My mom sewed a lot of our clothes. Now I mostly go shopping, reserving my limited sewing skills and patience for hems and mending. I do find a strange attraction to knitting, partly because, I think, I can produce something for someone else (or me!) to wear. We used to get most of our books out of the public library, reading the book being the most important thing at the time. I wrote reams and reams of short stories and poems and one acts plays on lined notebook paper. A friend and I would read our work to one another. Now for some reason it seems important to own the book, whether I get around to actually reading it or not.
Then I turn to worship. It seems to me that the idea has developed that the clergy and other professionals are the producers of worship, and that the congregation are consumers of worship. Some people critique congregation members for this, but I think that clergy and other worship leaders can be as much to blame. If it is true that we are all worshipping, with our voices, with our hearts, with our lips, we are all producers of worship, and we're all consumers as well. If we "get a lot out of worship," it may be just because we put our hearts, souls and minds into worship.
It's true that we consume the Word which is given to us, something we did not produce ourselves. But as we chew and swallow and ponder what we freely receive, we do go out to produce, to create, to produce fruit, to create community, to do justice and to love kindness. We are not simply collectors or appreciators of fine Bible verses, putting them in order by genre.
Rank amateurs we may be, but somehow we start playing those verses with ours lives, producing melodies and harmonies based on "Love one another as I haved loved you," or "The Lord is my shepherd", or "The Lord has risen."
Tomorrow the bread is broken, the songs are sung, the word comes into our ears, into our hearts. We take and eat. We go and live.
There's another way to love music, though, and that is as someone who makes music. You can write songs, or you can play music, but in either case you are choosing not just to consume but to produce. You can use your voice or piano keys or a rhythm instrument, you can play a flute or a kazoo, you can be a professional or a rank amateur, but if you play, you are producing something rather than just consuming it.
Both consuming and producing are normal activities. We do both of them in our lives, although it seems to me that we are beginning to skew more and more toward the consuming side. If you buy, cook and eat your supper, you're both a producer and a consumer -- producing a nice meal and then eating it. If you put something in the microwave or go out to eat (and we do this more often than I care to admit) you're just a consumer.
My mom sewed a lot of our clothes. Now I mostly go shopping, reserving my limited sewing skills and patience for hems and mending. I do find a strange attraction to knitting, partly because, I think, I can produce something for someone else (or me!) to wear. We used to get most of our books out of the public library, reading the book being the most important thing at the time. I wrote reams and reams of short stories and poems and one acts plays on lined notebook paper. A friend and I would read our work to one another. Now for some reason it seems important to own the book, whether I get around to actually reading it or not.
Then I turn to worship. It seems to me that the idea has developed that the clergy and other professionals are the producers of worship, and that the congregation are consumers of worship. Some people critique congregation members for this, but I think that clergy and other worship leaders can be as much to blame. If it is true that we are all worshipping, with our voices, with our hearts, with our lips, we are all producers of worship, and we're all consumers as well. If we "get a lot out of worship," it may be just because we put our hearts, souls and minds into worship.
It's true that we consume the Word which is given to us, something we did not produce ourselves. But as we chew and swallow and ponder what we freely receive, we do go out to produce, to create, to produce fruit, to create community, to do justice and to love kindness. We are not simply collectors or appreciators of fine Bible verses, putting them in order by genre.
Rank amateurs we may be, but somehow we start playing those verses with ours lives, producing melodies and harmonies based on "Love one another as I haved loved you," or "The Lord is my shepherd", or "The Lord has risen."
Tomorrow the bread is broken, the songs are sung, the word comes into our ears, into our hearts. We take and eat. We go and live.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Low Sunday: Before I Forget
So, again I preached on what is known as "low Sunday" in some circles (although never in ours). To be fair, I did get the opportunity to preach on Easter twice here, for the large crowds that come on Easter Sunday. This is not an opportunity that your average Senior Pastor shares lightly.
We do not call the 2nd Sunday in Easter "low Sunday" although we do give the choir the Sunday off, and some of the people also seem to take the Sunday off as well. So, the congregation was not quite as full on Sunday.
It wasn't so low for me, though.
There was no choir, but there was a wonderful soloist at our first service, singing Handel's "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth." At the second service we recognized the Sunday School teachers, and all of their students gave them flowers. Also, the cherubs sang, and jumped around, and they made us jump around too.
We had our first annual Mother/Daughter Brunch after church (four kinds of quiche, salad, fruit, rosemary potatoes...). I invited my mom to come to worship and to the brunch with me. When I saw her sitting in the church, I approached her. She said to me, mysteriously, I thought, "Someone from your past is here today."
I raced back out to the narthex, looking for the mysterious visitor. No one. I raced back into the sanctuary (thirty seconds after the worship service should have started) and whispered to my mom, "I didn't see anyone." She said, "They said they were staying for the church service."
So I had the congregation stand and we began to sing the opening songs.
Then I spotted them: two old friends from college. They had gotten married and moved to Idaho, then to Washington State. I hadn't seen them for I don't know how many years. I had roomed with her in college, and, since we both lived in the Twin Cities, we ended up getting together during the summers as well. We went to prayer meetings together. We sang together (special music) at my church.
I did my heart good to see them.
I now have their email address.
Oh, and another thing, before I forget: the day before 'low Sunday', I was at the 9th grade confirmation retreat. I was going through the promises that the confirmands make, helping them to know what promises they are making. I remember backing up a bit when they promise to 'proclaim the gospel,' to ask them, 'what is the gospel, anyway? What are we proclaiming?
And I told them that they were part of the body of Christ, and that they had gifts to share, and that we needed their gifts in our congregation, we needed their voices, their ideas, their thoughts. One of the girls turned to me and said, "Thank you."
That's the other thing that made my day.
We do not call the 2nd Sunday in Easter "low Sunday" although we do give the choir the Sunday off, and some of the people also seem to take the Sunday off as well. So, the congregation was not quite as full on Sunday.
It wasn't so low for me, though.
There was no choir, but there was a wonderful soloist at our first service, singing Handel's "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth." At the second service we recognized the Sunday School teachers, and all of their students gave them flowers. Also, the cherubs sang, and jumped around, and they made us jump around too.
We had our first annual Mother/Daughter Brunch after church (four kinds of quiche, salad, fruit, rosemary potatoes...). I invited my mom to come to worship and to the brunch with me. When I saw her sitting in the church, I approached her. She said to me, mysteriously, I thought, "Someone from your past is here today."
I raced back out to the narthex, looking for the mysterious visitor. No one. I raced back into the sanctuary (thirty seconds after the worship service should have started) and whispered to my mom, "I didn't see anyone." She said, "They said they were staying for the church service."
So I had the congregation stand and we began to sing the opening songs.
Then I spotted them: two old friends from college. They had gotten married and moved to Idaho, then to Washington State. I hadn't seen them for I don't know how many years. I had roomed with her in college, and, since we both lived in the Twin Cities, we ended up getting together during the summers as well. We went to prayer meetings together. We sang together (special music) at my church.
I did my heart good to see them.
I now have their email address.
Oh, and another thing, before I forget: the day before 'low Sunday', I was at the 9th grade confirmation retreat. I was going through the promises that the confirmands make, helping them to know what promises they are making. I remember backing up a bit when they promise to 'proclaim the gospel,' to ask them, 'what is the gospel, anyway? What are we proclaiming?
And I told them that they were part of the body of Christ, and that they had gifts to share, and that we needed their gifts in our congregation, we needed their voices, their ideas, their thoughts. One of the girls turned to me and said, "Thank you."
That's the other thing that made my day.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
How to Get Young People Into Church (reprint plus one)
This article is reprinted from the Episcopal Diocese of Arizona. I thought it excellent.
One of the most frequently asked questions I face as I visit parishes is, "How do we get young people to come to church?" I thought this week I would allow a genuine young person to answer that question. Tamie Fields Harkins served for four years as our chaplain to NAU Episcopal Canterbury Fellowship. Last week she had this to say about that question on her blog, which I share with you here.
+Kirk
Here is a step-by-step plan for how to get more young people into the church:
1. Be genuine. Do not under any circumstances try to be trendy or hip, if you are not already intrinsically trendy or hip. If you are a 90-year-old woman who enjoys crocheting and listens to Beethoven, by God be proud of it.
2. Stop pretending you have a rock band.
3. Stop arguing about whether gay people are okay, fully human, or whatever else. Seriously. Stop it.
4. Stop arguing about whether women are okay, fully human, or are capable of being in a position of leadership.
5. Stop looking for the "objective truth" in Scripture.
6. Start looking for the beautiful truth in Scripture.
7. Actually read the Scriptures. If you are Episcopalian, go buy a Bible and read it. Start in Genesis, it's pretty cool. You can skip some of the other boring parts in the Bible. Remember though that almost every book of the Bible has some really funky stuff in it. Remember to keep #5 and #6 in mind though. If you are evangelical, you may need to stop reading the Bible for about 10 years. Don't worry: during those 10 years you can work on putting these other steps into practice.
8. Start worrying about extreme poverty, violence against women, racism, consumerism, and the rate at which children are dying worldwide of preventable, treatable diseases. Put all the energy you formerly spent worrying about the legit-ness of gay people into figuring out ways to do some good in these areas.
9. Do not shy away from lighting candles, silence, incense, laughter, really good food, and extraordinary music. By "extraordinary music" I mean genuine music. Soulful music. Well-written, well-composed music. Original music. Four-part harmony music. Funky retro organ music. Hymns. Taize chants. Bluegrass. Steel guitar. Humming. Gospel. We are the church; we have an uber-rich history of amazing music. Remember this.
10. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
11. Learn how to sit with people who are dying.
12. Feast as much as possible. Cardboard communion wafers are a feast in symbol only. Humans can not live on symbols alone. Remember this.
13. Notice visitors, smile genuinely at them, include them in conversations, but do not overwhelm them.
14. Be vulnerable.
15. Stop worrying about getting young people into the church. Stop worrying about marketing strategies. Take a deep breath. If there is a God, that God isn't going to die even if there are no more Christians at all.
16. Figure out who is suffering in your community. Go be with them.
17. Remind yourself that you don't have to take God to anyone. God is already with everyone. So, rather than taking the approach that you need to take the truth out to people who need it, adopt the approach that you need to go find the truth that others have and you are missing. Go be evangelized.
18. Put some time and care and energy into creating a beautiful space for worship and being-together. But shy away from building campaigns, parking lot expansions, and what-have-you.
19. Make some part of the church building accessible for people to pray in 24/7. Put some blankets there too, in case someone has nowhere else to go for the night.
20. Listen to God (to Wisdom, to Love) more than you speak your opinions.
This is a fool-proof plan. If you do it, I guarantee that you will attract young people to your church. And lots of other kinds of people too. The end.
My one addition would be this:
Stop speaking and acting as if all young people believed and acted alike. Stop thinking that all young people are progressive, or conservative, or whatever it is you think. Especially stop thinking that all young people like and will be attracted by contemporary music. My suspicion is that young people will be attracted by authentic worship, practiced by people who actually believe in what they are doing.
Start listening to actual young people. Consider that God may be speaking through them. Make space for that.
It was not long ago that a young person I know said to me she was looking for this kind of church, "A traditional liturgy, but a progressive sermon." She is just one voice. Listen to more. Consider that God may be speaking through them.
One of the most frequently asked questions I face as I visit parishes is, "How do we get young people to come to church?" I thought this week I would allow a genuine young person to answer that question. Tamie Fields Harkins served for four years as our chaplain to NAU Episcopal Canterbury Fellowship. Last week she had this to say about that question on her blog, which I share with you here.
+Kirk
Here is a step-by-step plan for how to get more young people into the church:
1. Be genuine. Do not under any circumstances try to be trendy or hip, if you are not already intrinsically trendy or hip. If you are a 90-year-old woman who enjoys crocheting and listens to Beethoven, by God be proud of it.
2. Stop pretending you have a rock band.
3. Stop arguing about whether gay people are okay, fully human, or whatever else. Seriously. Stop it.
4. Stop arguing about whether women are okay, fully human, or are capable of being in a position of leadership.
5. Stop looking for the "objective truth" in Scripture.
6. Start looking for the beautiful truth in Scripture.
7. Actually read the Scriptures. If you are Episcopalian, go buy a Bible and read it. Start in Genesis, it's pretty cool. You can skip some of the other boring parts in the Bible. Remember though that almost every book of the Bible has some really funky stuff in it. Remember to keep #5 and #6 in mind though. If you are evangelical, you may need to stop reading the Bible for about 10 years. Don't worry: during those 10 years you can work on putting these other steps into practice.
8. Start worrying about extreme poverty, violence against women, racism, consumerism, and the rate at which children are dying worldwide of preventable, treatable diseases. Put all the energy you formerly spent worrying about the legit-ness of gay people into figuring out ways to do some good in these areas.
9. Do not shy away from lighting candles, silence, incense, laughter, really good food, and extraordinary music. By "extraordinary music" I mean genuine music. Soulful music. Well-written, well-composed music. Original music. Four-part harmony music. Funky retro organ music. Hymns. Taize chants. Bluegrass. Steel guitar. Humming. Gospel. We are the church; we have an uber-rich history of amazing music. Remember this.
10. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.
11. Learn how to sit with people who are dying.
12. Feast as much as possible. Cardboard communion wafers are a feast in symbol only. Humans can not live on symbols alone. Remember this.
13. Notice visitors, smile genuinely at them, include them in conversations, but do not overwhelm them.
14. Be vulnerable.
15. Stop worrying about getting young people into the church. Stop worrying about marketing strategies. Take a deep breath. If there is a God, that God isn't going to die even if there are no more Christians at all.
16. Figure out who is suffering in your community. Go be with them.
17. Remind yourself that you don't have to take God to anyone. God is already with everyone. So, rather than taking the approach that you need to take the truth out to people who need it, adopt the approach that you need to go find the truth that others have and you are missing. Go be evangelized.
18. Put some time and care and energy into creating a beautiful space for worship and being-together. But shy away from building campaigns, parking lot expansions, and what-have-you.
19. Make some part of the church building accessible for people to pray in 24/7. Put some blankets there too, in case someone has nowhere else to go for the night.
20. Listen to God (to Wisdom, to Love) more than you speak your opinions.
This is a fool-proof plan. If you do it, I guarantee that you will attract young people to your church. And lots of other kinds of people too. The end.
My one addition would be this:
Stop speaking and acting as if all young people believed and acted alike. Stop thinking that all young people are progressive, or conservative, or whatever it is you think. Especially stop thinking that all young people like and will be attracted by contemporary music. My suspicion is that young people will be attracted by authentic worship, practiced by people who actually believe in what they are doing.
Start listening to actual young people. Consider that God may be speaking through them. Make space for that.
It was not long ago that a young person I know said to me she was looking for this kind of church, "A traditional liturgy, but a progressive sermon." She is just one voice. Listen to more. Consider that God may be speaking through them.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
The Woman at the Well, and all That
Maybe it was a wave that started yesterday when I met with seven of the 5th graders who are preparing for first communion. One of them is also preparing for his baptism. Two more young people are preparing on their own, as they were out of town this weekend. They got some materials and started studying on their own.
I walked into worship and saw one of my old worship professors sitting in a pew. "What are you doing here?" he asked me. Seriously. I've been serving here for several years. He was here to observe our interim organist, who's in a degree program at our local seminary. All of a sudden I was all in a dither, more nervous than usual, even though I wasn't being observed.
So, worship today: I preached. My sermon title: "Give me a drink," and how Jesus' request becomes the woman's request, his thirst reveals our thirst. It's such a great story, and so rich, I wanted to keep the sermon pretty simple. I hope I succeeded.
At the second service, I had the children come up and told them about wells and water jugs. One of my points was that a water jar would have been heavy. So I had a big pitcher filled with water, and had them try to pick it up. I myself thought the picture was pretty heavy, but the five year old boy who tried it thought it was not heavy at all. Oh, well.
I seriously underestimated the time it might take to give every child a small cup of water (after all these years!), but thought at the last minute to just have the people start singing the song, and continue pouring water.
At the second service, I poured water into the baptismal font during the last paragraph of my sermon, while I said,
"If you had known the gift of God, and who it was that was asking you, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water -- gushing up to eternal life, running down over your face, running down into your life. He is the water that covers us, that gives us life, day after day. He is the water that refreshes us at the top of the day, that cleanses us, that makes us new. give us a drink."
During communion at the second service, the congregation sang the chorus "Taste and See the Goodness of the Lord" while our Spirit Singers choir sang the verses. I can't even describe the sense of well-being I felt from hearing that.
(after worship I bought popcorn from the Boy Scouts, met with a couple preparing for their wedding, visited my mother-in-law in the hospital).
Taste and see, taste and see the goodness of the Lord
I keep thinking about the people who were there, and the people who were not there. I know that some people are on spring break, and some people are traveling, and there are many reasons for not being around on one particular Sunday or another. And I know that some people come to worship and they find it a place where there is bread for the journey, and the water of life, and others think it's boring, or perplexing, or a waste of a perfectly good Sunday morning. I take that seriously, by the way.
I walked into worship and saw one of my old worship professors sitting in a pew. "What are you doing here?" he asked me. Seriously. I've been serving here for several years. He was here to observe our interim organist, who's in a degree program at our local seminary. All of a sudden I was all in a dither, more nervous than usual, even though I wasn't being observed.
So, worship today: I preached. My sermon title: "Give me a drink," and how Jesus' request becomes the woman's request, his thirst reveals our thirst. It's such a great story, and so rich, I wanted to keep the sermon pretty simple. I hope I succeeded.
At the second service, I had the children come up and told them about wells and water jugs. One of my points was that a water jar would have been heavy. So I had a big pitcher filled with water, and had them try to pick it up. I myself thought the picture was pretty heavy, but the five year old boy who tried it thought it was not heavy at all. Oh, well.
I seriously underestimated the time it might take to give every child a small cup of water (after all these years!), but thought at the last minute to just have the people start singing the song, and continue pouring water.
At the second service, I poured water into the baptismal font during the last paragraph of my sermon, while I said,
"If you had known the gift of God, and who it was that was asking you, you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water -- gushing up to eternal life, running down over your face, running down into your life. He is the water that covers us, that gives us life, day after day. He is the water that refreshes us at the top of the day, that cleanses us, that makes us new. give us a drink."
During communion at the second service, the congregation sang the chorus "Taste and See the Goodness of the Lord" while our Spirit Singers choir sang the verses. I can't even describe the sense of well-being I felt from hearing that.
(after worship I bought popcorn from the Boy Scouts, met with a couple preparing for their wedding, visited my mother-in-law in the hospital).
Taste and see, taste and see the goodness of the Lord
I keep thinking about the people who were there, and the people who were not there. I know that some people are on spring break, and some people are traveling, and there are many reasons for not being around on one particular Sunday or another. And I know that some people come to worship and they find it a place where there is bread for the journey, and the water of life, and others think it's boring, or perplexing, or a waste of a perfectly good Sunday morning. I take that seriously, by the way.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
It Takes a Congregation
Sometimes you just get lucky.
Sunday was like that. You can go for months with people just shaking your hand and saying "Good sermon, Pastor" (or, perhaps, "Good pastor, sermon), not know whether or how the Holy Spirit was working through the worship service and the sermon. Actually, it's usually like that. You just have to trust God. And that's good.
But sometimes, you get just a little glimpse.
Sunday was like that.
For my sermon on being salt and light, I had quite impetutously gone to the grocery store and gotten a butt-load (the technical term) of tiny birthday candles and little packets of salt. I wanted people to have something to take home with them.
Two young men were visiting their grandfather on Sunday. On the way out of church, one of them said, quite gravely, "those packets of salt were a good idea."
At 10:00 there was a sound system malfunction at the very end of my sermon. We started getting broadcasting from a local Christian radio station. I'm not sure I was quite unflappable, but I did manage to have some sort of an ending. People made sure that I knew that they liked everything about the worship service: the children's message, the sermon, "even the interruption." Maybe there's something about having the unexpected occur that is refreshing. It reminds us that God is in the interruptions and the unexpected, when things don't go as planned. I'm not making an argument for chaos in worship, but perhaps for leaving room for the Holy Spirit.
Today I was having coffee and banana bread with a group of parish members. One of them said that she has her little candle and salt packet in the middle of her table, and tells everyone who visits about them.
Then she wanted to let me know something she witnessed in church on Sunday. At the sharing of the peace, she turned to speak to a young boy who usually sits in back of her. She overheard the older man who sat next to him say this, "You are salt and light to your classmates."
It takes a congregation to share the gospel.
Sunday was like that. You can go for months with people just shaking your hand and saying "Good sermon, Pastor" (or, perhaps, "Good pastor, sermon), not know whether or how the Holy Spirit was working through the worship service and the sermon. Actually, it's usually like that. You just have to trust God. And that's good.
But sometimes, you get just a little glimpse.
Sunday was like that.
For my sermon on being salt and light, I had quite impetutously gone to the grocery store and gotten a butt-load (the technical term) of tiny birthday candles and little packets of salt. I wanted people to have something to take home with them.
Two young men were visiting their grandfather on Sunday. On the way out of church, one of them said, quite gravely, "those packets of salt were a good idea."
At 10:00 there was a sound system malfunction at the very end of my sermon. We started getting broadcasting from a local Christian radio station. I'm not sure I was quite unflappable, but I did manage to have some sort of an ending. People made sure that I knew that they liked everything about the worship service: the children's message, the sermon, "even the interruption." Maybe there's something about having the unexpected occur that is refreshing. It reminds us that God is in the interruptions and the unexpected, when things don't go as planned. I'm not making an argument for chaos in worship, but perhaps for leaving room for the Holy Spirit.
Today I was having coffee and banana bread with a group of parish members. One of them said that she has her little candle and salt packet in the middle of her table, and tells everyone who visits about them.
Then she wanted to let me know something she witnessed in church on Sunday. At the sharing of the peace, she turned to speak to a young boy who usually sits in back of her. She overheard the older man who sat next to him say this, "You are salt and light to your classmates."
It takes a congregation to share the gospel.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
What You Missed
For the second week in a row, we have had Winter Weather Issues here in the upper midwest. Last night and this morning it was freezing rain. In the middle of the night, one of my stepsons was unfortunate enough to be out driving, watching cars who couldn't get off the freeway ramps because of the ice, and many many accidents.
As you might imagine, church this morning was a smaller crowd than usual. We had a few adult children call their parents and tell them not to come to church. But enough people ventured out to have worship, a few more at ten than at 8:45.
Here's what you missed:
1. The hymns. We sang a lot of good hyms, including Lift High the Cross, My Song is Love Unknown, Just as I am, and Jesus Shall Reign. I love the third verse of "Jesus Shall Reign."
People and realms of ev'ry tonge dwell on his love with sweetest song;
and infant voices shall proclaim their early blessings on his name.
(there was a young couple with their 10 month old baby at the Saturday evening service. The baby sang along, appropriately, during this verse. And here's one thing I love about being a pastor: during that verse, I caught the eye of the young father, and he caught my eye, at the same time, and we both smiled.)
2. At 10:00, one of our older elementary students read the lesson from Colossians.
3. The children's message, where all of the children present got Burger King Crowns. Since there was no Sunday School today, several of them wore their crowns when they came up for communion. I got to bless them by saying. "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit. Jesus is your king."
4. Even though it was a small crowd at 10:00 a.m., the worship felt lively and life-giving to me. There were people of every age group present, from little kids to teenagers to parents and grandparents. During one part of my sermon, our talented pianist played "Jesus, Remember Me" softly underneath.
5. In that small, eclectic crowd this morning were my mom and mother-in-law, who ventured out, and two of my former confirmation students (one of them lives in Shakopee now).
6. You missed my sermon too. I'll post that a little later....
As you might imagine, church this morning was a smaller crowd than usual. We had a few adult children call their parents and tell them not to come to church. But enough people ventured out to have worship, a few more at ten than at 8:45.
Here's what you missed:
1. The hymns. We sang a lot of good hyms, including Lift High the Cross, My Song is Love Unknown, Just as I am, and Jesus Shall Reign. I love the third verse of "Jesus Shall Reign."
People and realms of ev'ry tonge dwell on his love with sweetest song;
and infant voices shall proclaim their early blessings on his name.
(there was a young couple with their 10 month old baby at the Saturday evening service. The baby sang along, appropriately, during this verse. And here's one thing I love about being a pastor: during that verse, I caught the eye of the young father, and he caught my eye, at the same time, and we both smiled.)
2. At 10:00, one of our older elementary students read the lesson from Colossians.
3. The children's message, where all of the children present got Burger King Crowns. Since there was no Sunday School today, several of them wore their crowns when they came up for communion. I got to bless them by saying. "You are sealed by the Holy Spirit. Jesus is your king."
4. Even though it was a small crowd at 10:00 a.m., the worship felt lively and life-giving to me. There were people of every age group present, from little kids to teenagers to parents and grandparents. During one part of my sermon, our talented pianist played "Jesus, Remember Me" softly underneath.
5. In that small, eclectic crowd this morning were my mom and mother-in-law, who ventured out, and two of my former confirmation students (one of them lives in Shakopee now).
6. You missed my sermon too. I'll post that a little later....
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Reformation Day or not
We're Lutheran, so today it was Reformation Day in my congregation. I suspect this was so at a few other Lutheran churches in our neighborhood. When you're Lutheran, you celebrate Reformation Day by doing things like singing "A Mighty Fortress Is Our God", and perhaps a few other hymns attributed to Martin Luther. Perhaps you'll have a sermon that allude to "Justification by Grace alone", or you might make reference to the date in 1517 when Martin Luther nailed 95 Theses regarding the Sale of Indulgences to the door of the Castle Church in Wittenburg, Germany.
We pulled out all the stops this year. We had someone dress up as Martin Luther, and retold some of the highlights of his life. We had a replica of a German church door up in the chancel area, where Martin Luther nailed his Theses. Then several people from our congregation also nailed a faith statement to the church door, saying "Here I Stand." (Luther supposedly said this at the Diet of Worms in 1521, when he was asked to renounce the things he had written. It turns out that maybe he didn't actually say it, but if he didn't, he should have.)
We say that Martin Luther is not just the father of the Lutheran church, but the whole Protestant Reformation. But I suspect that it was mostly Lutheran churches that commemorated Reformation Day today. And I'm wondering whether our "Reformation Sunday" celebrations are soon going to be extinct.
In part, there's a kind of stigma attached to "Reformation Sunday". It seems so "Lutheran" after all, and even Martin Luther told us that we should call ourselves Christians, not Lutherans. In the past, sadly, (though I would hope the distant past), Reformation Sunday preaching sometimes took the form of Catholic-bashing. And there's also the 500 year old baggage attached: the historical context of the Reformation is so different than our time and place, in so many ways. Sometimes it seems hopeless to try to preach about it. I myself am sort of a history buff, but I'm aware that many others are not.
I think of all of the churches these days that have exchanged stately services with liturgy and hymns for praise and celebration services with a band and a more conversational sermon. Luther's "Mighty Fortress" seems so out of place in these venues. (On the other hand, Luther himself was reported to have asked, "Why does the devil have all the good tunes?" Maybe he wouldn't have minded some of our praise bands.)
So, on the one hand, I wonder if "Reformation Day" services are becoming a thing of the past, and I'm thinking that perhaps it's not such a bad thing.
But on the other hand, I think that it's not such a bad thing to have a "Reformation Day" service, if for no other reason than to remember that the church needed reforming in the past, and that the church probably needs reforming now, and that the church will need to be reformed in the future. Don't get too comfortable.
You never know when it might be you, or your ideas, that will end up needing reforming.
We pulled out all the stops this year. We had someone dress up as Martin Luther, and retold some of the highlights of his life. We had a replica of a German church door up in the chancel area, where Martin Luther nailed his Theses. Then several people from our congregation also nailed a faith statement to the church door, saying "Here I Stand." (Luther supposedly said this at the Diet of Worms in 1521, when he was asked to renounce the things he had written. It turns out that maybe he didn't actually say it, but if he didn't, he should have.)
We say that Martin Luther is not just the father of the Lutheran church, but the whole Protestant Reformation. But I suspect that it was mostly Lutheran churches that commemorated Reformation Day today. And I'm wondering whether our "Reformation Sunday" celebrations are soon going to be extinct.
In part, there's a kind of stigma attached to "Reformation Sunday". It seems so "Lutheran" after all, and even Martin Luther told us that we should call ourselves Christians, not Lutherans. In the past, sadly, (though I would hope the distant past), Reformation Sunday preaching sometimes took the form of Catholic-bashing. And there's also the 500 year old baggage attached: the historical context of the Reformation is so different than our time and place, in so many ways. Sometimes it seems hopeless to try to preach about it. I myself am sort of a history buff, but I'm aware that many others are not.
I think of all of the churches these days that have exchanged stately services with liturgy and hymns for praise and celebration services with a band and a more conversational sermon. Luther's "Mighty Fortress" seems so out of place in these venues. (On the other hand, Luther himself was reported to have asked, "Why does the devil have all the good tunes?" Maybe he wouldn't have minded some of our praise bands.)
So, on the one hand, I wonder if "Reformation Day" services are becoming a thing of the past, and I'm thinking that perhaps it's not such a bad thing.
But on the other hand, I think that it's not such a bad thing to have a "Reformation Day" service, if for no other reason than to remember that the church needed reforming in the past, and that the church probably needs reforming now, and that the church will need to be reformed in the future. Don't get too comfortable.
You never know when it might be you, or your ideas, that will end up needing reforming.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Why Do You Come to Worship?
It’s a serious question. Why do you come to worship? A lot of people don’t these days. Some of them are Christian. Anne Rice, a famous writer who converted to Christianity, has now stated that she has “left the church.” She still believes in Jesus, but she’s given up on his followers.
Why do you come to worship? There are lots of different reasons, as many reasons for coming to worship as there might be for not coming to worship. Perhaps you come to connect with your friends who are also coming to worship. Perhaps you come to sing a song, or to hear a sermon, hoping you will get something to take with you through the week. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t.
Just lately, my heart was warmed when I read an interview with writer Anne Lamott. She was asked how she kept “charged up” in her spiritual life. She replied, “I go to church every Sunday, which is like going to the gas station and really, really filling up.” That made me smile.
Why do you come to worship? Do you come to get something, or do you come to give something?
You might expect me, a pastor, to take the position that you come to worship to give something, rather than get something. Worship in our tradition is called “the work of the people”, the liturgy, and it is an act of corporate devotion given to God, the work of the gathered community. You might also expect me to take issue with the position that we come to worship to “get something.”
However, I don’t see worship as an either/or. I see it as a both/and.
Certainly, I want us to remember that when we are at worship, we are offering our hearts, our lives, to God, in prayer and in praise. We are giving something to God – and when we come to worship, we are also giving something to one another – by showing up and singing and praying together, by kneeling and standing (as we are able) together, by listening to one another’s joys and sorrows.
But of course, as Anne Lamott wrote, we are also getting something – we are getting something from God – bread and wine, Christ’s body and blood and the assurances of Christ’s presence, not just for an hour on Sunday, but in all our lives. We are getting something: hope, peace, love – from God – and from one another. You never know who might need you to be there in worship today, who might need to hear your voice, singing, who might need to see your tears.
As for me, today I needed to see a three-year-old girl, “running the race set before her”, during the children’s message. (Of course, the other children too!) I needed to hear all of your voices during the hymns, and the murmuring of names of your cloud of witnesses.
So, why do you come to worship? It’s a serious question. I hope you’ll take time to tell me.
(in some form or another, this will be my church newsletter column this month.)
Why do you come to worship? There are lots of different reasons, as many reasons for coming to worship as there might be for not coming to worship. Perhaps you come to connect with your friends who are also coming to worship. Perhaps you come to sing a song, or to hear a sermon, hoping you will get something to take with you through the week. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t.
Just lately, my heart was warmed when I read an interview with writer Anne Lamott. She was asked how she kept “charged up” in her spiritual life. She replied, “I go to church every Sunday, which is like going to the gas station and really, really filling up.” That made me smile.
Why do you come to worship? Do you come to get something, or do you come to give something?
You might expect me, a pastor, to take the position that you come to worship to give something, rather than get something. Worship in our tradition is called “the work of the people”, the liturgy, and it is an act of corporate devotion given to God, the work of the gathered community. You might also expect me to take issue with the position that we come to worship to “get something.”
However, I don’t see worship as an either/or. I see it as a both/and.
Certainly, I want us to remember that when we are at worship, we are offering our hearts, our lives, to God, in prayer and in praise. We are giving something to God – and when we come to worship, we are also giving something to one another – by showing up and singing and praying together, by kneeling and standing (as we are able) together, by listening to one another’s joys and sorrows.
But of course, as Anne Lamott wrote, we are also getting something – we are getting something from God – bread and wine, Christ’s body and blood and the assurances of Christ’s presence, not just for an hour on Sunday, but in all our lives. We are getting something: hope, peace, love – from God – and from one another. You never know who might need you to be there in worship today, who might need to hear your voice, singing, who might need to see your tears.
As for me, today I needed to see a three-year-old girl, “running the race set before her”, during the children’s message. (Of course, the other children too!) I needed to hear all of your voices during the hymns, and the murmuring of names of your cloud of witnesses.
So, why do you come to worship? It’s a serious question. I hope you’ll take time to tell me.
(in some form or another, this will be my church newsletter column this month.)
Sunday, June 13, 2010
...And a Little Girl Held My Hand
It is summer worship in full force here now, which means, you never know who will show up. Our 8:00 a.m. outdoor service was held indoors today, because with 96 percent humidity and 58 degree temperatures, it certainly felt like rain.
But, it didn't. Rain, that is.
It is the second Sunday since the Senior Pastor retired. I have been making lists of people to pray for, and visit, but working mostly on worship, and funerals. There is another funeral this week.
In the past the person who did not preach has had the children's message. I decided that, for a few weeks, my children's message will be a brief lesson and practice in prayer. This would be easy and would not take much preparation (at least, that is my hope.) So, at the second service (where I felt a little more prepared for the children's message), seven or eight children of varying ages came up, including a two year old girl whose mother brought her up. She shyly toddled over to me, and I took hold of her hand. I had some of the children go to the Lecturn and say something they thanked God for, after which everyone in the congregation would say, "Thank you God."
Except, I forgot to turn the mike on. So my new little friend and I toddled over to the Lecturn and turned on the mike for the children.
I worked from notes for my sermon today, "Passionate Spirituality, or How Not to be Like Simon the Pharisee." I haven't done that for awhile. I was a little shaky at 8, but better at 10. The sermon might have gone a little long though (that's the hazard without a manuscript).
I told a story from my youth as a fervant, hands-in-the-air type of Christian, and how one of my painful memories was how mean and judgmental I was to people who loved me, like my aunt and uncle who are my godparents. I even (I am embarrassed to say) sent them a letter at one time. Thing is, they wrote back and they were still NICE to me.
I looked out at the congregation at the services today, and I saw a few young families with small children, single parents, teenagers; a man in a wheelchair faithfully recording the service; I saw the woman who fell after worship last week, with her arm in a sling; I saw some of the young people who will be going on a mission trip later this summer; I saw a family who got hard news about a diagnosis this week.
And I pray that throughout this coming week, they will know God's presence, God's power, God's love -- that the crucified One suffers with them, loves with them, and will give them courage to be God's people where-ever they are.
But, it didn't. Rain, that is.
It is the second Sunday since the Senior Pastor retired. I have been making lists of people to pray for, and visit, but working mostly on worship, and funerals. There is another funeral this week.
In the past the person who did not preach has had the children's message. I decided that, for a few weeks, my children's message will be a brief lesson and practice in prayer. This would be easy and would not take much preparation (at least, that is my hope.) So, at the second service (where I felt a little more prepared for the children's message), seven or eight children of varying ages came up, including a two year old girl whose mother brought her up. She shyly toddled over to me, and I took hold of her hand. I had some of the children go to the Lecturn and say something they thanked God for, after which everyone in the congregation would say, "Thank you God."
Except, I forgot to turn the mike on. So my new little friend and I toddled over to the Lecturn and turned on the mike for the children.
I worked from notes for my sermon today, "Passionate Spirituality, or How Not to be Like Simon the Pharisee." I haven't done that for awhile. I was a little shaky at 8, but better at 10. The sermon might have gone a little long though (that's the hazard without a manuscript).
I told a story from my youth as a fervant, hands-in-the-air type of Christian, and how one of my painful memories was how mean and judgmental I was to people who loved me, like my aunt and uncle who are my godparents. I even (I am embarrassed to say) sent them a letter at one time. Thing is, they wrote back and they were still NICE to me.
I looked out at the congregation at the services today, and I saw a few young families with small children, single parents, teenagers; a man in a wheelchair faithfully recording the service; I saw the woman who fell after worship last week, with her arm in a sling; I saw some of the young people who will be going on a mission trip later this summer; I saw a family who got hard news about a diagnosis this week.
And I pray that throughout this coming week, they will know God's presence, God's power, God's love -- that the crucified One suffers with them, loves with them, and will give them courage to be God's people where-ever they are.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Sunday Observations: Before I Forget
We always have a time of silence during the prayers on Sunday, a time for people to consider their own prayer concerns, what is on their own hearts. I like to leave just a little more silence than is comfortable.
On Sunday, while praying, I thought: I don't like it to be too silent during the silence. I like to hear some rustling, a stray instrument, a child's cry. It helps me to remember what to pray for, and that there is life going on in our congregation.
We had a baptism at the ten o'clock service. The baby cried and cried while she was being baptzied (and why not? the water is cold; it's a rude awakening to a new identity as a child of God). Then when she faced the congregation again, she was suddenly all smiles. Some in the congregation laughed to see her play to the crowd already at 3 months.
The Kindergarten students completed a "Faith Milestone" on Saturday, and I had them stand up on Sunday and be recognized. But as soon as I said it, I realized that no one would see them from the pews, so I had them come out into the center aisle for a moment. Everyone clapped. Next fall, Kindergarten students will be able to help with worship, as greeters and ushers, and helping carry the baskets at communion.
During communion, a little girl stood in line with her mother. I could tell she wanted to ask me a question, so I bent down to hear her begin, "How old...." "5th grade," I answered her quietly.
Another little girl and her mother were first-time visitors this Sunday. She was so excited when she saw one particular adult: her Kindergarten teacher from her school!
You never know where you are going to make a connection with someone else in the body of Christ.
You never know how important it is for you to show up on a particular Sunday.
On Sunday, while praying, I thought: I don't like it to be too silent during the silence. I like to hear some rustling, a stray instrument, a child's cry. It helps me to remember what to pray for, and that there is life going on in our congregation.
We had a baptism at the ten o'clock service. The baby cried and cried while she was being baptzied (and why not? the water is cold; it's a rude awakening to a new identity as a child of God). Then when she faced the congregation again, she was suddenly all smiles. Some in the congregation laughed to see her play to the crowd already at 3 months.
The Kindergarten students completed a "Faith Milestone" on Saturday, and I had them stand up on Sunday and be recognized. But as soon as I said it, I realized that no one would see them from the pews, so I had them come out into the center aisle for a moment. Everyone clapped. Next fall, Kindergarten students will be able to help with worship, as greeters and ushers, and helping carry the baskets at communion.
During communion, a little girl stood in line with her mother. I could tell she wanted to ask me a question, so I bent down to hear her begin, "How old...." "5th grade," I answered her quietly.
Another little girl and her mother were first-time visitors this Sunday. She was so excited when she saw one particular adult: her Kindergarten teacher from her school!
You never know where you are going to make a connection with someone else in the body of Christ.
You never know how important it is for you to show up on a particular Sunday.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
A Different Drummer
Today was Passion Sunday, otherwise known as "Palm Sunday". It's always a big day in my congregation, because one of our traditions is a live donkey, who leads the processional from the fellowship hall into the sanctuary. We have huge banners in purple and scarlet as well. At 10:30 the children (all the children, not just the children's choir) lead the processional, all dressed up as if they were living in Jerusalem in Jesus' time.
This year, though, we had our annual Mardi Gras brunch on Palm Sunday. I realize this means it is no longer a Mardi Gras brunch. But we're not quite sure what to call it yet. (We're also not quite sure if this is a new tradition, a blip on the radar screen, or a paradigm shift.) But because of the brunch we couldn't process from the fellowship hall.
So instead we had a dramatic presentation of the Passion Story. It's called "The Cry of the Whole Congregation"; it was published in Walter Wangerin's book Ragman and Other Cries of Faith. It features four narrators, a children's choir, a soloist, a drummer and a liturgical dancer. I organized the readers and rehearsed them.
Today, I didn't have a major part in the worship service.
Except that I played the drum.
The drum beat begins when the crowd cries, "blasphemy!" It continues, varying the speed and intensity until Jesus dies.
In the past, when I didn't play the drums, I thought of it as a heart beat.
I'm not sure if it was exactly that. There's a relentlessness to the beat. Sometimes it feels inexorable, like the "it is necessary" clause in the scriptures: "It is necessary for the son of man to suffer...." Sometimes it feels like the beat of the anger and fear of desperate people trying to preserve the status quo. It's the beat of something set in motion.
I found it a very different experience for me as a pastor. Instead of standing in the spotlight, I was behind the scenes. The gifted people who had rehearsed with me were standing in the spotlight, telling the story with words and music and movements. I was in the back, worrying a little, but keeping the beat.
It's a different image of leadership, at least much different than the ones I have been taught to strive for and embrace.
But I'm convinced that choosing and rehearsing and then standing in the background beating the drum: this is an image of a real leader, too.
Today the dancer moved with the grace of Christ, and the readers spoke with the passion of Christ, and the musicians sang and played with the beauty of Christ.
The drummer kept the tempo.
This year, though, we had our annual Mardi Gras brunch on Palm Sunday. I realize this means it is no longer a Mardi Gras brunch. But we're not quite sure what to call it yet. (We're also not quite sure if this is a new tradition, a blip on the radar screen, or a paradigm shift.) But because of the brunch we couldn't process from the fellowship hall.
So instead we had a dramatic presentation of the Passion Story. It's called "The Cry of the Whole Congregation"; it was published in Walter Wangerin's book Ragman and Other Cries of Faith. It features four narrators, a children's choir, a soloist, a drummer and a liturgical dancer. I organized the readers and rehearsed them.
Today, I didn't have a major part in the worship service.
Except that I played the drum.
The drum beat begins when the crowd cries, "blasphemy!" It continues, varying the speed and intensity until Jesus dies.
In the past, when I didn't play the drums, I thought of it as a heart beat.
I'm not sure if it was exactly that. There's a relentlessness to the beat. Sometimes it feels inexorable, like the "it is necessary" clause in the scriptures: "It is necessary for the son of man to suffer...." Sometimes it feels like the beat of the anger and fear of desperate people trying to preserve the status quo. It's the beat of something set in motion.
I found it a very different experience for me as a pastor. Instead of standing in the spotlight, I was behind the scenes. The gifted people who had rehearsed with me were standing in the spotlight, telling the story with words and music and movements. I was in the back, worrying a little, but keeping the beat.
It's a different image of leadership, at least much different than the ones I have been taught to strive for and embrace.
But I'm convinced that choosing and rehearsing and then standing in the background beating the drum: this is an image of a real leader, too.
Today the dancer moved with the grace of Christ, and the readers spoke with the passion of Christ, and the musicians sang and played with the beauty of Christ.
The drummer kept the tempo.
Sunday, January 17, 2010
A Few Rare Things
This morning, as I was preparing for worship, the worship coordinator approached me and said, "I really liked your sermon last week."
Last week? How often does that happen? (almost never). I savored the moment, just a little. Usually (and I think that I speak for most pastors in this respect), you have the few minutes right after the worship service. Then it's gone.
After church this morning, we had a birthday dinner for my mother-in-law. This was rare for a couple of reasons: my husband's two boys were both in town and could be there; I do not cook much. I know how to cook, I really do. But I have not so much time, and I have a pretty small kitchen and I do not have a dishwasher, so I don't cook much.
I cooked a kind of a rare dish (I've just made it a few times). It's one from one of the Moosewood Cookbooks, and while I was working on it, I remembered why I don't make it so often: It uses about four pots and a casserole, so it's a little messy and involved.
It's called Baked Pasta with Cauliflower and Cheese, and it also features tomatoes, basil and seasoned bread crumbs. It was worth it, if I do say so myself.
This is not so rare, but my mom called. She visited my dad again today, and went home feeling upset. It's both the sense that he seems to be losing ground some days, and also the level of care he's getting.
He was in another care center for awhile; we thought he got better care there, but it is a private pay only facility, which means it is not available to him.
I've been thinking a lot about health care lately. I know that the current bill is fatally complicated, not perfect, all those things. But I despair of doing nothing, which some people seem to think is just hunky-dorey.
A long time ago, I heard that one of my relatives said, "people should take care of themselves." He said this with regard to Social Security, which he thought was probably a mistake. Instead of Social Security, "people should just take care of themselves", he thought.
In the same town, lives another relative of mine, an uncle actually. He never married; he worked his whole life as a farmhand. He didn't save much money because he didn't make much money. From my vantage point as an adult, I think I can say that my uncle did the best he could with what he had.
He's able to live, and have a little apartment in that town because of social security.
So, even though I will admit to not having all the answers, I will continue to hope that somehow we figure out how to cover all people. Because of my uncle. Because of my dad.
Last week? How often does that happen? (almost never). I savored the moment, just a little. Usually (and I think that I speak for most pastors in this respect), you have the few minutes right after the worship service. Then it's gone.
After church this morning, we had a birthday dinner for my mother-in-law. This was rare for a couple of reasons: my husband's two boys were both in town and could be there; I do not cook much. I know how to cook, I really do. But I have not so much time, and I have a pretty small kitchen and I do not have a dishwasher, so I don't cook much.
I cooked a kind of a rare dish (I've just made it a few times). It's one from one of the Moosewood Cookbooks, and while I was working on it, I remembered why I don't make it so often: It uses about four pots and a casserole, so it's a little messy and involved.
It's called Baked Pasta with Cauliflower and Cheese, and it also features tomatoes, basil and seasoned bread crumbs. It was worth it, if I do say so myself.
This is not so rare, but my mom called. She visited my dad again today, and went home feeling upset. It's both the sense that he seems to be losing ground some days, and also the level of care he's getting.
He was in another care center for awhile; we thought he got better care there, but it is a private pay only facility, which means it is not available to him.
I've been thinking a lot about health care lately. I know that the current bill is fatally complicated, not perfect, all those things. But I despair of doing nothing, which some people seem to think is just hunky-dorey.
A long time ago, I heard that one of my relatives said, "people should take care of themselves." He said this with regard to Social Security, which he thought was probably a mistake. Instead of Social Security, "people should just take care of themselves", he thought.
In the same town, lives another relative of mine, an uncle actually. He never married; he worked his whole life as a farmhand. He didn't save much money because he didn't make much money. From my vantage point as an adult, I think I can say that my uncle did the best he could with what he had.
He's able to live, and have a little apartment in that town because of social security.
So, even though I will admit to not having all the answers, I will continue to hope that somehow we figure out how to cover all people. Because of my uncle. Because of my dad.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
4th Sunday of Advent
Today the worship coordinator (who was featured in last week's story about the advent candles) told me she had another one for me today: "This one is more funny", she said. She began by noting how many people name the Advent candles for the different Sundays in Advent. I was familiar with this tradition, after which she said that she heard that the 4th Sunday in Advent is sometimes called, "Panic Sunday."
But then she said that her mother always told her, "Christmas comes, whether you are ready or not."
"That's supposed to be good news," I said, smiling.
"It's all we need," she answered.
It's really important for pastors to hear the gospel from the parish members, I think.
Today I preached at three services, a message about Mary and what she believed, in whom she believed, and the difference it makes. I think it was a decent message, if I do say so myself; but I think the worship coordinator preached a pretty good sermon to me, too.
Today I got to hold a baby, not quite two weeks old; I spoke to a young couple, just moved to Richfield. She had heard of the book I mentioned in my sermon (Half the Sky); the authors had been featured on Oprah. Today I watched adults and children get the sanctuary ready for Christmas, with paper chains and blinking lights and all kinds of greens. Today I wondered about the importance not just of worship, but of community; I wondered what it would take for us to realize how important we are to one another. I have heard that we are hungry for real community, and that is one thing that the church can do. But, to be truthful, I'm not sure that I see evidence of that hunger very often.
Today after church we went out to dinner with my mother-in-law, my oldest stepson and his girlfriend. This might be the only Christmas we have with them, until sometime in January, when we hope we can all be in town and together. I'm still knitting. Maybe I'll be done by that "sometime in January" date.
Today I am bone-weary, done with some things, but still "in the middle" of others.
Christmas comes, whether you are ready or not.
It's all I really need.
But then she said that her mother always told her, "Christmas comes, whether you are ready or not."
"That's supposed to be good news," I said, smiling.
"It's all we need," she answered.
It's really important for pastors to hear the gospel from the parish members, I think.
Today I preached at three services, a message about Mary and what she believed, in whom she believed, and the difference it makes. I think it was a decent message, if I do say so myself; but I think the worship coordinator preached a pretty good sermon to me, too.
Today I got to hold a baby, not quite two weeks old; I spoke to a young couple, just moved to Richfield. She had heard of the book I mentioned in my sermon (Half the Sky); the authors had been featured on Oprah. Today I watched adults and children get the sanctuary ready for Christmas, with paper chains and blinking lights and all kinds of greens. Today I wondered about the importance not just of worship, but of community; I wondered what it would take for us to realize how important we are to one another. I have heard that we are hungry for real community, and that is one thing that the church can do. But, to be truthful, I'm not sure that I see evidence of that hunger very often.
Today after church we went out to dinner with my mother-in-law, my oldest stepson and his girlfriend. This might be the only Christmas we have with them, until sometime in January, when we hope we can all be in town and together. I'm still knitting. Maybe I'll be done by that "sometime in January" date.
Today I am bone-weary, done with some things, but still "in the middle" of others.
Christmas comes, whether you are ready or not.
It's all I really need.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
....The Lion Shall Lie Down with the Lamb
a vision of the kingdom of God....
....where even the goats will be called "blessed."
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