Worshipful - at a stoplight

I'm driving. Maybe I'm running a bit behind. I approach an intersection and - darn! - the light turns yellow. Quick decision: mash the gas and sail on through? Or ease onto the brakes, and stop?

Now it's red - and it's one of those long ones. Waiting. I hate waiting. Maybe I try to respond quickly to an email. Still red; the digital clock is rushing forward and I am not.

Finally - finally! - back to green. But... the knucklehead in front of me isn't going. Head's down - he's texting! Do I lay on the horn as my blood pressure surges?

Jesus understands. He was the Savior of the world, which had to be a pretty demanding job, his work never done, places to get to. And yet when the light turns red, I suspect Jesus wishes we might exhale, thank God, and just let a little Sabbath moment happen in the craziness of the traffic thicket. "Be still, and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10). Instead of reaching for the phone (or continuing to peck the thing if you've stupidly been doing so prior to the red light!), remember that not everything hinges on me and my frenetic busy-ness. God has the world well in hand. Being worshipful begins when we simply stop.

Jesus' Bible repeatedly reminded us about this, like a clock chiming the hours. "For God alone my soul waits; I shall not be moved" - or "rattled" (Psalm 62:1). "Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength" (Isaiah 40:31). "I wait for the Lord like a watchman for the morning" (Psalm 130:6). But maybe I'm hustling to go do something for God! "They also serve who only stand and wait" (John Milton).

The gracious blessing of the red light can be the saving mercy, when we think like Jesus, and relish an unchosen but worshipful moment. My car - becomes a sanctuary?

Spectating? Worshipful

You notice: I'm a spectator right now. Maybe I'm at a game, or the symphony, or watching TV, or looking out the window at a couple walking by. We know how to be in an audience: you watch, soak it in, maybe grade whether you approve or not. Did the movie make me laugh? Did my team win?

You might begin to feel like a spectator of your own life - like it's happening out there, the frames whizzing by, scenes you see and maybe wish you were a part of. Political life in America is largely about watching the TV and fuming about the knuckleheads - in the privacy of your own den, with no constructive action to make a difference yourself.

You come to church, and once more you slide into your accustomed role: I'm watching the show. Does the music suit me? Do I agree with the preacher? Did it hold my attention?

Søren Kierkegaard helped us understand worship: while a service looks like performers (minister, choir) on stage before an audience (the congregation), the truth is we are the performers (minister, choir, and congregation), and God is the audience of One. We are not consumers to be entertained; if we are in a spectating mindset, we have not worshipped at all.

Worship isn't about what I like or don't like. Worship isn't like pulling up at the gas pump and getting a refill. Worship is about God; in worship we glorify God. Worship is maybe only time during the week that it's not all about you, the one time you shelve being a consumer.

I once knew a woman who kept coming to church after she'd grown totally deaf. In a note I asked her why, if she couldn't hear the music, my sermon, or the other people? She wrote back and said It's not about you, or them, or even me. It's about God. I might even be able to worship better because I can't hear.

Next time you notice yourself spectating - in church, or out there at a movie or in a crowded restaurant, stop and think of Kierkegaard. You are the performer, and God is your audience. You begin to participate, and to really live - and it's not for the other people who might look your way. It's all for God, on Sunday morning but all through the week.

Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday. Somber worship. A mark of the cross on my forehead: a sign I need forgiveness, and a sign I am forgiven.
I like it when, after the service is over, I'm downtown, or at the grocery store, or in the neighborhood, and I have forgotten I have a black mark on my head. People look quizzically, and try not to stare. I've had helpful friends offer to wipe it off. The imprint of worship lingers when I'm not in worship any longer.
I've been intrigued by the idea of us becoming worshipful people ever since I was talking with a young man in my office, who positively lit up with energy when he told me "I'm an outdoorsman." He told me about hiking, climbing, camping... and was totally invigorated by being an outdoorsman - while we were very much indoors.
Could we, when not in worship, be animated by what we do in worship, and actually become worshipful people, who gradually, in subtle ways, begin to worship all the time? We gather in pews or chairs, we scan the bulletin or screens, and then we engage in a list of activities: a song, somebody talks, we bow our heads, we admit our mistakes, we give money, we say what matters, we ask God to help, we are quiet, we say thank you. What would it be like to be marked by these things, and the mark lingers for hours and days?
We might even think of worship as the ultimate Praxis. We believe, and practice doing what we'll need to be doing in the coming week: thanking God, offering ourselves, admitting weakness, asking for strength, reflecting on God's Word.See More

Praxis - Jesus and Wine

Wine is big. We have multiple stores devoted exclusively to wine. Restaurants boast extensive wine lists. Many of us are amateur sommeliers. Others believe in the health benefits of wine.

 

But then we remember: some drink too much, or for vexing reasons. Does booze become the secret elixir without which we cannot have fun? After a hard day do you "really need a drink"? Can you get to sleep without a glass of wine? Think of the freight our society piles on top of alcohol, like being hip, or a chic entertainer, or a business mogul. Marriages and families crash and burn - and doesn't alcohol too often fuel the explosion? Death claims too many who are too young because all of us buy the lie that is alcohol. When will we stand up and say "Enough!" or "God help us"?

All biblical people drank wine, including Jesus, Mary, Moses, Abraham. Wine was normal table fare; vineyards and the production of wine are used in some of Jesus' best stories, and by the prophets describing our life with God (Luke 5:37, Matthew 20, Isaiah 5, John 2). Paul recommended wine for its medicinal value (1 Timothy 5:23).

And yet the Bible, pressing not for abstention but for moderation, warns of the perils of alcohol. "Wine is a mocker; strong drink is a brawler" (Proverbs 20:1); and how observant is Proverbs 23:31: "You who drink will be like one who lies down in the sea; you will see strange things, and utter perverse things."

Alcohol seems to be this lovely gift, yet one replete with peril. Can we consecrate our drinking, or our lack of drinking, to God in some meaningful way? Am I willing to engage in some probing diagnosis of why I buy, drink, or serve what I do? Is some regular practice of fasting - just to prove I am not dependent - in order?

And can't the organization that meets in many churches, Alcoholics Anonymous, teach us much about how to be the Church? People who are broken, who know they are lost without each other and the power of God, meet, share, bolster, encourage, lift up, are brutally honest... Sounds like what Church was supposed to be.

Jesus & Email - Praxis...

When I first heard about email, I waved off the very notion, and didn't bother with it for a couple of years. Now, I... love it? depend upon it? am addicted to it? I'd say it's what the phone used to be, but that's not right at all. The phone required manners, and listening, give and take, a measure of humanity. Email may do these things at times, but too often we get knee jerk, thoughtless rips you wouldn't say face to face. And the sheer desperation and foolhardiness of humanity is exposed, as emails (which we know are forever findable in the virtual reality where there are no secrets) prove the ruin of wayward married and business people.


Beyond the rudimentary rules of email ethics, could there be such a thing as holy email usage? There must be a kind of virtue of hospitality in emailing: we remember tone of voice is guesswork, and so when we say anything that matters, we clarify, we express care, and maybe we forego the email if feelings or relationships are at stake and pick up the phone or visit in person.

Jesus once said "It's not what goes into a person that defiles, but what comes out" (Matthew 15:11) - and I suspect that's how Jesus feels about email. It's not what inadvertently flies into your email box - but what you forward out to others: this is what defiles. Tragically, people now pick up what they know about the world, politics, other people, religion - really anything! - from forwarded emails, with no backing or authority except somebody pressed "forward." The rancor, rage, misinformation, flat out lies and prejudice spewed via malignant emails is a poison that eats away at the soul. Jesus is not pleased. Can what comes out of my email box be edifying? or at least not corrosive?

Quite a few of the "books" in the New Testament were originally letters mailed across a great distance, preserved now for us to read centuries later. Do we ever say anything in an email worth saving?

If I send an email ("what comes out"), I want it to be okay with Jesus - and hence truthful, not hurtful, not disparaging of anybody, not arrogantly ranking me and my ilk as superior to somebody else, never a catalyst for venom, or anything that may cause another person to stumble.

So we think, and maybe offer up a quick prayer before we hit "send." Even email has the potential to be redeemed; even an email might actually prove to be holy.

Jesus - and the alarm clock

I cringe with a touch of foreboding when I set my alarm clock; I shudder and shrink deeper under the covers when the thing goes off in the morning. I'm not a morning person. The alarm says It's time - now! - to get moving, to hustle, to get the stress of the day cranked up. I heard Ken Blanchard, author of The One Minute Manager, humorously ask, Why is it called an "alarm" clock? An alarm means warning, fright, danger! Why not call it an "opportunity" clock?

As cobwebbed as my head can be when I'm awakened, I do have a choice. I can mutter, Ugh, time to get up, I'm tired, why did I set that breakfast meeting, it's dark, not enough sleep, so much to do today. Or, I can pause, and breathe - and the simple fact of inhaling and exhaling can be my first prayer. Thank God I'm alive; praise the Lord that another day has been added to my life. God is good.

I might give thanks I got some sleep. I might let a Bible verse cross my mind, or even come out of my mouth: This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice, and be glad in it (Psalm 118:24). I wonder, with technological advances, if I could even persuade my smart phone or iHome to awaken me with somebody reading those words, or maybe a spiritual song or a hymn.

I picture Jesus waking up in the morning. Maybe his mother Mary jiggled his shoulder a little, or he heard a rooster crowing. Maybe his travelling companions began to stir. I envision Jesus as a morning person, but maybe his body clock was like mine. Either way, Jesus was so intimate with the God who made the day, the God who keeps hearts beating and lungs respirating when none of us are even trying, the God who dances a few dreams through our heads during the night, that I bet Jesus rose gratefully, and before grabbing his coffee (or whatever pick-me-up ancient people used) he spoke with God his Father, gave thanks, offered himself to serve that day.

Nothing to be alarmed about. Just another day the Lord has made.

There's Somebody I Don't Know - think like Jesus

There's somebody I don't know. He's not from around here. He isn't dressed like us, his mannerisms are peculiar, his accent is strange, he doesn't think like I do, his tattoos or his gait or his religion or his political viewpoint or his line of work or whom he loves qualifies him as a stranger.


The world says Be suspicious. Be afraid. Profiling is not only acceptable but prudent. Why bother connecting with a stranger? I have enough to do, it would be hard work, and scary.

But Jesus is all about hospitality. Jesus believes that when we encounter the one who is different, when we engage, when we aren't merely polite or tolerant but actually hospitable to the other, we grow, we uncover new truths about ourselves. If we haven't honed our skills at burrowing out of our narrowness to connect with the stranger, we probably will miss Jesus too, since he is from another place and time, his skin dark, his hair long, his lifestyle unsettling, his words troubling.

Children are taught not to cross the road; but as they mature they navigate the dangers and can find their way. Children are taught not to speak to strangers; but as we mature, we know how to be cautious, but we also can discern how to poke through barriers, and even befriend.

There's a stranger. Might just be somebody Jesus sent - or Jesus himself in disguise. "Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares" (Hebrews 13:2).

To meet lovely strangers.... Come to the church Wed. Feb. 6 @6:30pm or Sun. Feb. 10 @12:15 to learn about joining one of our Hope Teams. You and 4 or 5 others befriend someone and change a family's life (yours and theirs!) through our friends at Charlotte Family Housing.

Watch this terrific video about Elizabeth House - our great new project with CFH.