April 25, 2005
Lots o' Liturgy: Part II
Yesterday I bemoaned my powerpointy church's lack of liturgy and lack of interest in its denominational heritage (CRC). Why then, you may ask, do I go there? The short and the long answer is, because God led me there. He seems to genuinely want me there. And the fact is, I do experience God in our worship services, even though I detest so many things about them. I wrote that God is present in the beauty and truth of the liturgy. Yes; but he is also present in the praises of his people. And that's why I'm there. I see him in the people that have gathered there. I see him in loud-mouthed M. and story-telling V. In exuberant S. and wise-cracking B. In a pastor who hasn't gotten the memo that pastors are supposed to act decorously. And in a whole gaggle of kids that are just too unbelievably precious; I have adopted them, since I have no children of my own.
Why couldn't these people to whom God has drawn me like a magnet have had better taste in worship? Would it have been so hard to provide me with good people AND good music? Argh! Clearly, I have something to learn here. It may well have to do with my snippety views. But for now, I choose the body of Christ. That's going to have to be my truth and my liturgy as far as church services go. Until I hear otherwise. In the meantime, anyone up for reciting a few creeds?
Posted by Lisa at 06:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
April 24, 2005
Lots o' Liturgy
This morning, I got my needed dose of liturgy when I went to a Lutheran church for the baptism of a friend's son. My own church is distinctly anti-liturgical. I think that the only parts to our services are "song" and "message," with maybe a prayer or two thrown in. It also has a rock band. It is, as my husband affectionately calls it, the Church of Powerpoint.
While I love my church, I also find that I desperately need a dose of good ole' liturgy sometimes. I need the passing of the peace. Even kids passed the peace at the church we visited today. Our two-year old friend, Micah, actually took our hand and said, "Peace." I need to sing meditative songs set to the haunting music of Vaughan Williams. I need to see the host lifted high. I need to confess my sins. Believe it or not, confession is not something we do at my home church. I was near tears at several points in the Lutheran service this morning, and while I know that faith is not about weepy emotion, I also believe that the beauty of the Lutheran liturgy opened me up to experiencing God.
This is something that I wish my home church could understand-- that God is present in beauty; that tender and reflective moments are as needed as really loud praise songs; that there is something powerful in reciting a creed; in other words, that throwing out all elements of the liturgy is throwing out the baby with the bathwater. If you throw out all of the liturgy, you throw out confession, statements of belief, prayers, and even communion, which we celebrate infrequently. It bothers me that someone stepping into our church on Sunday morning would not know who we are or what we believe, because we are so intent on downplaying our denomination (CRC) and rejecting anything that smacks of "church."
Our church bills itself as a "church for people who don't do church." In other words, it's mostly for the unchurched or for people who have been hurt by church in the past. I'll admit that I don't entirely understand the reasoning that says that an impoverished service would help those who have been hurt by the church. When I've been hurt by the church, I've been hurt by its people. But others have apparently been hurt by legalism, a good-on-the-outside but rotten-or-at-least-indifferent-on-the-inside mindset that manifests itself in, among other things, a works-based church service (you *have* to recite this creed; you *have* to dress up, etc.). So we do away with all the "have to's." (The irony, of course, is that we acquire a whole new set of "have to's:" we have to do praise songs only, we have to do away with anything churchy.)
One thing I know I have to do is to honor the hurt that leads to this attitude. "Therefore, if what I eat causes my brother to fall into sin, I will never eat meat again, so that I will not cause him to fall" (I Corinthians 7:25). Should we change the way we worship so that hurt brothers and sisters will not fall? At the very least, I can feel more tender towards them, instead of angry that they've (indirectly) taken away the liturgy.
I can't help thinking, however, that the anti-liturgical mindset may itself be (unintentionally) hurting people by eliminating important and powerful elements of worship--confession, creeds--and by hiding denomination and beliefs. "You shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free," Jesus said. I'm a little concerned that at my church, we're afraid of scaring people off with the truth. I think that hurt people need the truth. Not works, but the truth. And frankly, I'd rather scare a few people off with the truth than have a bunch of wishy-washy people in my church. In the end, though, I don't think we'd scare them off. Most people are desperate for something real, something solid and true. Let's give them something. Let's really give it to them. Let's realize that we have something wonderful to give.
My church is Christian Reformed; it's my opinion that week after week, we should be showering people with the best message that came out of the Reformation: God's grace. For hurt people, for unchurched people, for legalistic people, what better message could there be than this? "We can do nothing; we're screwed. But wait, God has done everything. He's fixed everything, and you don't have to do and do and do anymore." O church of mine, by incorporating just a little of your heritage, just a little of the liturgy that sustained your fathers and mothers, you wouldn't be "churchy" or overbearing. You'd be the aroma of God's grace to suffering people. Wouldn't that be far better than being "the church for people who don't do church?"
I'd better stop before I rip my heart out. Maybe it's enough that for today, I experienced God in the liturgy at the church that I visited. I got my fix, and I can be thankful for that. Next week I'll be back at my home church singing praise songs. I'll probably experience God there, too. I usually do. Although in my heart of hearts, I'll be yearning for something quieter and more reflective, something grace-ful, something more "ancient of days." It fills me more.
Posted by Lisa at 09:26 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack