I help with music at the church that endorses this blog. In Christian circles, what I do is often referred to as "leading worship," and so I reluctantly bear the title of "worship leader." I'll just say to those dismayed or surprised by my disdain for the title that it has nothing to do with the associated roles and responsibilities; it has everything to do with how presumptuous and arrogant it is to try on a label that should be reserved for Christ only (read Hebrews if you're confused why I'd say that). I bring this up because a passage of scripture I read recently reawakened me to the exclusivity of Christ's role as worship leader.
Here's the passage: "As each one has received a gift, minister it to one another, as good stewards of the manifold grace of God. If anyone speaks, let him speak as the oracles of God. If anyone ministers, let him do it as with the ability which God supplies, that in all things God may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom belong the glory and the dominion forever and ever." - 1st Peter 3:10-11.
I was happy to come across this, because it gives legitimacy and perspective to something the other musicians and I constantly pray and hope for, which is that God would be glorified through our service to the congregation. I have often wondered if it is just a platitude, though. Is it really possible for a bunch of amateurs playing music and singing to glorify God? We can put some songs together and sometimes it sounds ok, but is it glorifying to God?
The answer is no, at least, not without the critical vector Peter mentions: Jesus Christ. You see, when we "worship" (that's churchspeak for singing hymns of praise together during a service), sometimes we are under the dangerous--and possibly subconscious--impression that there is some sort of value to the medium. This impression is manifest in our hyperemphasis of style over content, length over depth, beauty in the flesh over purity of the heart. Frankly, anytime our worship service becomes about what we do and how it's done rather than whom we do it for, we've strayed towards some form of idolatry. Unfortunately, we musicians often buy into this thinking and even reinforce it by trying our darndest to "beautify" our craft, as if by making it prettier it will somehow become more acceptable, more glorifying to God. Yuck.
The fact is, however, no craft of man will ever be pleasing to God outside of the redeeming work of Christ. This is why Peter is careful to say that "God may be glorified through Jesus Christ." Had he left the last part off, the implication would be that the use of our abilities alone is itself enough to glorify God, which I'm grateful is not the case.
This whole passage in Peter puts abilities and ministry opportunities into an appropriate context for the church. We employ our God-given talents in ministrations of service for the Body of Christ, and to no other end than that, through Christ, God would be glorified. As musicians, we appreciate the opportunity to create something we enjoy and provide a point of participation for the Body of Christ. We do so with gravity, and an attitude of service to the church, which Peter articulated well here. It's a matter of stewardship. The details of exactly how Christ takes our music and humility of spirit during our times of corporate worship and transforms it into true worship, I don't rightly know yet. But I do know that without Christ, the whole exercise is pointless.
We musicians dare not suggest that what we do and how well we do it brings you into the presence of God. That's Christ's job, as the Mediator. So, I ask Christians everywhere not to project that on the musicians in your church. It's not a job we want to do for you, and more importantly, it's not a job we can do for you. You may not think you project anything of this sort on us, but I can tell you, I have often heard and even been the recipient of both criticism and compliments that suggest otherwise.
The challenge, as a church, and on a grander scale, as the Church, is to realize this issue doesn't just affect music ministry. There are other areas where ministry can become idolatrous, Christ-less. Do we see our service to the kingdom in it's proper context, which Peter outlines here, or are is it just another subtle attempt to get to God apart from Christ?
11 March 2012
05 February 2012
Living With(out) Fear
There's an album by the metal band "Zao" titled "The Fear is What Keeps Us Here." Couldn't have said it (or screamed it, as Zao does in the final track) any better myself.
Fear is universal, and my, how numerous are the ways in which it manifests itself. Approach anyone--man, woman, or child--ask enough questions, and eventually you'll uncover something he/she is afraid of. There is a whole industry (advertising/marketing) bent on finding slick ways to make us afraid without our even knowing it, keep us afraid, or make us even more afraid than we already are. Some fears are subtle, some overt. Some of us may be phobics, others just scaredy-cats. And if those labels don't quite fit, fear goes by other names too, sometimes perverting perfectly good descriptors: cautious, tentative, risk-averse come readily to mind.
My point is, fear seems an awful lot like something we just have to live with. . . right? Because if we don't, then I'm afraid (no pun intended) I've been wasting a whole lot of my life, immobilized from doing the right thing, or mobilized to do the wrong one. All this because of my various fears.
It turns out, though, living with fear may not be all there is. The band and I read Psalm 3 this week, a chapter which ought to utterly crush our fear. Basically, the Psalm takes us through that moment when all seems hopeless, we come to the end of ourselves, and finally realize we aren't really in control. We realize, as David did, that salvation belongs to God.
There are those who spurn this last part. They say faith in God is a crutch, a weakness. They say all we really have is ourselves, and when that's not enough we can spin tales about a higher power to make us feel better about our circumstances, or we can just face it like men. In other words, their advice is to live with the fear.
Personally, I've lived with fear. If there's a better way, I'll take it. So, I'll keep my faith, along with Psalm 3's reminder that God is sovereign, and I am incredibly not.
Fear is universal, and my, how numerous are the ways in which it manifests itself. Approach anyone--man, woman, or child--ask enough questions, and eventually you'll uncover something he/she is afraid of. There is a whole industry (advertising/marketing) bent on finding slick ways to make us afraid without our even knowing it, keep us afraid, or make us even more afraid than we already are. Some fears are subtle, some overt. Some of us may be phobics, others just scaredy-cats. And if those labels don't quite fit, fear goes by other names too, sometimes perverting perfectly good descriptors: cautious, tentative, risk-averse come readily to mind.
My point is, fear seems an awful lot like something we just have to live with. . . right? Because if we don't, then I'm afraid (no pun intended) I've been wasting a whole lot of my life, immobilized from doing the right thing, or mobilized to do the wrong one. All this because of my various fears.
It turns out, though, living with fear may not be all there is. The band and I read Psalm 3 this week, a chapter which ought to utterly crush our fear. Basically, the Psalm takes us through that moment when all seems hopeless, we come to the end of ourselves, and finally realize we aren't really in control. We realize, as David did, that salvation belongs to God.
There are those who spurn this last part. They say faith in God is a crutch, a weakness. They say all we really have is ourselves, and when that's not enough we can spin tales about a higher power to make us feel better about our circumstances, or we can just face it like men. In other words, their advice is to live with the fear.
Personally, I've lived with fear. If there's a better way, I'll take it. So, I'll keep my faith, along with Psalm 3's reminder that God is sovereign, and I am incredibly not.
23 January 2012
the irony of excellence
Can church be so "good" it discourages participation?
Excellence has become a modern buzzword for Christian events and services. I've been playing music in churches since I was young, and I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say things like: "our goal is excellence," or "we need to be polished so we're not distracting to the congregation" or "David played skillfully before the Lord, shouldn't we?"
It sounds like a good thing and a worthy goal because of the contrast. If you're not excellent, you're subpar or mediocre--at best, just okay. No one want those words to be used to describe his craft. But endorsing excellence overtly seems rather silly, because it almost communicates that there might be some other goal--almost as if someone might undertake something in hopes of doing it poorly.
Now I'm all for a good focus on excellence in a team environment. People in charge of things should get together occasionally and discuss ways to improve. But I do question why we make such a big deal of it in church, and that question raises the other I posed in the first sentence of this article.
There seems to be a modern movement in Christianity to try to produce quality stuff--stuff we hope can suffice as Christian alternatives to secular I think there are two noticeable arenas where this movement has become very pronounced: music and church services. I'm going to leave music aside for a moment, although I will point out an interesting blog article I read recently by Michael Gungor of the band "Gungor" in which he discusses at length the bizarre approach Christian artists have taken to music. If you're interested, find it here.
Instead, I'll focus on my area of familiarity: church services. I have participated in hundreds of church services over the years. I know what it's like to be onstage, and to feel the pressure of wanting a flawless presentation. I've also experienced countless services from the pew, and I know what it's like to feel bored at church. It really does feel like we've come to expect our church services to entertain us, at least in the evangelical church. We've done away with traditional liturgy in favor of a more "modernized" service, including updated music, more engaging messages, captivating multimedia presentations, etc. None of this is necessarily bad, and I'm not trying to say otherwise. I'm just pointing out a trend.
There is much we could say about this trend, but to start, I'm curious what happens when we finally attain that excellent and polished service we've always wanted. Will anyone else even want to participate? Or will we be too worried about polluting it with our own less-than-perfect voices, or too engrossed in watching the production unfold that we forget why we came in the first place?
I bring this up because in my view, a church service should be designed for participation. At least, that's what I've been led to believe over the years. Why else do we sing songs together and call it worship? Why are people encouraged to take notes during the message? Why did liturgy ever come about in the first place? The congregation should participate in the service, but they may not feel encouraged to do so if they feel somehow unqualified.
Just trying to explore the thought. There is certainly also a great danger in a haphazard approach to a church service. But it's interesting to me that the very thing a church service should engender could be threatened, at least in theory, when we achieve excellence. And the whole thought experiment begs other questions about the purpose of church, and the irreconcilability between an entertainment mentality and a participation mentality. Another time, perhaps. For now, I just wanted to ask the first question.
Excellence has become a modern buzzword for Christian events and services. I've been playing music in churches since I was young, and I can't tell you how many times I've heard people say things like: "our goal is excellence," or "we need to be polished so we're not distracting to the congregation" or "David played skillfully before the Lord, shouldn't we?"
It sounds like a good thing and a worthy goal because of the contrast. If you're not excellent, you're subpar or mediocre--at best, just okay. No one want those words to be used to describe his craft. But endorsing excellence overtly seems rather silly, because it almost communicates that there might be some other goal--almost as if someone might undertake something in hopes of doing it poorly.
Now I'm all for a good focus on excellence in a team environment. People in charge of things should get together occasionally and discuss ways to improve. But I do question why we make such a big deal of it in church, and that question raises the other I posed in the first sentence of this article.
There seems to be a modern movement in Christianity to try to produce quality stuff--stuff we hope can suffice as Christian alternatives to secular I think there are two noticeable arenas where this movement has become very pronounced: music and church services. I'm going to leave music aside for a moment, although I will point out an interesting blog article I read recently by Michael Gungor of the band "Gungor" in which he discusses at length the bizarre approach Christian artists have taken to music. If you're interested, find it here.
Instead, I'll focus on my area of familiarity: church services. I have participated in hundreds of church services over the years. I know what it's like to be onstage, and to feel the pressure of wanting a flawless presentation. I've also experienced countless services from the pew, and I know what it's like to feel bored at church. It really does feel like we've come to expect our church services to entertain us, at least in the evangelical church. We've done away with traditional liturgy in favor of a more "modernized" service, including updated music, more engaging messages, captivating multimedia presentations, etc. None of this is necessarily bad, and I'm not trying to say otherwise. I'm just pointing out a trend.
There is much we could say about this trend, but to start, I'm curious what happens when we finally attain that excellent and polished service we've always wanted. Will anyone else even want to participate? Or will we be too worried about polluting it with our own less-than-perfect voices, or too engrossed in watching the production unfold that we forget why we came in the first place?
I bring this up because in my view, a church service should be designed for participation. At least, that's what I've been led to believe over the years. Why else do we sing songs together and call it worship? Why are people encouraged to take notes during the message? Why did liturgy ever come about in the first place? The congregation should participate in the service, but they may not feel encouraged to do so if they feel somehow unqualified.
Just trying to explore the thought. There is certainly also a great danger in a haphazard approach to a church service. But it's interesting to me that the very thing a church service should engender could be threatened, at least in theory, when we achieve excellence. And the whole thought experiment begs other questions about the purpose of church, and the irreconcilability between an entertainment mentality and a participation mentality. Another time, perhaps. For now, I just wanted to ask the first question.
05 November 2011
another Advent is upon us
Nothing appeals to my appreciation of a slow, dramatic crescendo quite like Advent. Here we have the most profound of dichotomies--dark and light--juxtaposed within an ancient and beautiful framework of Church history and tradition. It is the month-long celebration of hope piercing through, the beginning of Life's conquest over Death.
We are coming up on something very meaningful, and for more important reasons than just the nice symbolism of it all. This thing we celebrate--this glorious thing--is human history. And because it's part of our past, it's also part of our present and our future.
I was first directed to this idea when reading N.T. Wright's "Surprised by Hope" In it, he notes that the resurrection of Christ is a historical event, something that happened in our world, so its effects must also be dealt with today. The book develops this idea, and others, very fully and inspirationally. You should read it.
A historical reality has to affect our present reality one way or another. To say otherwise would be to say the effects of the fall of Rome can be ignored, or the effects of the Holocaust can be ignored. We know that's not true; even those of us far removed from historical events of this magnitude study them in school, and they have brought our culture to its present state. They affect us somehow. Of course, you could argue the premise, if you wish, and say that the resurrection of Christ is myth--nothing more than a fairy tale or religion-starter fodder, and certainly not historical reality. But you have to recognize in making that argument, you are still affected by the idea and the claim to the contrary, to the point where you are opposing it. My starting point is always going to be a worldview which accepts the reality of Christ's resurrection. I can't make sense out of anything else in this world without it. Consequently, and necessarily, my current reality is also affected by the past reality of Christ's resurrection. I can't ignore it, in the same way I can't ignore any of the other events that have brought our world to its present state.
Quite naturally, Christ's birth carries with it similar implications. Can it be ignored? Not if you believe he was actually born (and most people seem to). But it can be trivialized, and that is the most clear and present danger, as I see it. Instead of concentrating our minds on the reality of Christ's birth and its consequences for humankind, we busy ourselves with its shadow--the abstraction, the symbolism. It's not about Christ anymore, so much as it's about the Christmas spirit, generosity, good-will, family, what have you.
This is one of the reasons we will be observing Advent again this year at ROL. It's a chance to go against our cultural thirst for instant gratification. It's a chance to slow down and reflect on the reality of Christ's birth and what it introduced into a fallen world. More importantly, it's a chance for us to go beyond paying lip service to keeping Christ central during the entire holiday season.
Mark your calendars. Nov. 27 is the first Sunday of Advent. I look forward to observing it with you and Christians around the globe.
Jeff
We are coming up on something very meaningful, and for more important reasons than just the nice symbolism of it all. This thing we celebrate--this glorious thing--is human history. And because it's part of our past, it's also part of our present and our future.
I was first directed to this idea when reading N.T. Wright's "Surprised by Hope" In it, he notes that the resurrection of Christ is a historical event, something that happened in our world, so its effects must also be dealt with today. The book develops this idea, and others, very fully and inspirationally. You should read it.
A historical reality has to affect our present reality one way or another. To say otherwise would be to say the effects of the fall of Rome can be ignored, or the effects of the Holocaust can be ignored. We know that's not true; even those of us far removed from historical events of this magnitude study them in school, and they have brought our culture to its present state. They affect us somehow. Of course, you could argue the premise, if you wish, and say that the resurrection of Christ is myth--nothing more than a fairy tale or religion-starter fodder, and certainly not historical reality. But you have to recognize in making that argument, you are still affected by the idea and the claim to the contrary, to the point where you are opposing it. My starting point is always going to be a worldview which accepts the reality of Christ's resurrection. I can't make sense out of anything else in this world without it. Consequently, and necessarily, my current reality is also affected by the past reality of Christ's resurrection. I can't ignore it, in the same way I can't ignore any of the other events that have brought our world to its present state.
Quite naturally, Christ's birth carries with it similar implications. Can it be ignored? Not if you believe he was actually born (and most people seem to). But it can be trivialized, and that is the most clear and present danger, as I see it. Instead of concentrating our minds on the reality of Christ's birth and its consequences for humankind, we busy ourselves with its shadow--the abstraction, the symbolism. It's not about Christ anymore, so much as it's about the Christmas spirit, generosity, good-will, family, what have you.
This is one of the reasons we will be observing Advent again this year at ROL. It's a chance to go against our cultural thirst for instant gratification. It's a chance to slow down and reflect on the reality of Christ's birth and what it introduced into a fallen world. More importantly, it's a chance for us to go beyond paying lip service to keeping Christ central during the entire holiday season.
Mark your calendars. Nov. 27 is the first Sunday of Advent. I look forward to observing it with you and Christians around the globe.
Jeff
24 July 2011
It's not who you are
Does the American Church struggle with a guilt complex?
We are not persecuted, and on top of that, we live in a rich and free nation. Yes, we have concerns, but daily survival and safety aren't generally among them. If that thought doesn't make us somber, it should. But somberness is different than guilt, and I think too often guilt is the prevailing emotion we have when we consider our relative position in the world. And the problem with guilt is it usually motivates you to do the wrong thing, and even if it doesn't, it motivates you to do the right thing for the wrong reason.
Reflecting on this has reinforced a view I've been refining for some years now, starting with what you might call an axiom: it's not who you are, it's who you're becoming that matters. We know redemption is a process. That should tell us that no matter what our stage, station, or status, there's always a next step, which further tells us that success, from a more eternal perspective, probably has a lot more to do with the distance between our starting point and our ending point than it does with anything else.
I think back to Paul's words in 1st Cor. 7: "Let each one remain in the same calling in which he was called." It has nothing to do with our starting point--our initial endowment. Otherwise, Paul would have encouraged us to improve our environment, our status. Instead, he tells us to stay where we are, whether enslaved or free. He's pointing out this same principle.
Yes, I am deeply horrified by stories of persecution and want around the world, just as I am by all reports of senseless violence, pain and suffering. And I do feel obligated to improve those situations whenever and however I'm able. But I'm not sure guilt is the most appropriate response, given that we who were called while free are Christ's slave.
We are not persecuted, and on top of that, we live in a rich and free nation. Yes, we have concerns, but daily survival and safety aren't generally among them. If that thought doesn't make us somber, it should. But somberness is different than guilt, and I think too often guilt is the prevailing emotion we have when we consider our relative position in the world. And the problem with guilt is it usually motivates you to do the wrong thing, and even if it doesn't, it motivates you to do the right thing for the wrong reason.
Reflecting on this has reinforced a view I've been refining for some years now, starting with what you might call an axiom: it's not who you are, it's who you're becoming that matters. We know redemption is a process. That should tell us that no matter what our stage, station, or status, there's always a next step, which further tells us that success, from a more eternal perspective, probably has a lot more to do with the distance between our starting point and our ending point than it does with anything else.
I think back to Paul's words in 1st Cor. 7: "Let each one remain in the same calling in which he was called." It has nothing to do with our starting point--our initial endowment. Otherwise, Paul would have encouraged us to improve our environment, our status. Instead, he tells us to stay where we are, whether enslaved or free. He's pointing out this same principle.
Yes, I am deeply horrified by stories of persecution and want around the world, just as I am by all reports of senseless violence, pain and suffering. And I do feel obligated to improve those situations whenever and however I'm able. But I'm not sure guilt is the most appropriate response, given that we who were called while free are Christ's slave.
28 June 2011
Personal Update
As I reviewed the quantity and voice of some of my past posts on this blog, I couldn't help but pick up on the progression my thoughts have undergone since the blog's inception. What started as impassioned, verbose attempts to draw out discussion and opinion from other individuals soon became nothing more than a bulletin board of scribbled thoughts, and less frequent, less readable, and frankly, less accessible material from the few sermons I've preached.
What I noticed most was the waning frequency of the posts. It's amusing to me, because the blog has become exactly the opposite of what I had envisioned in those first weeks, and has in many ways, shared the fate of thousands of other blogs whose authors couldn't quite keep up with them. I comment on this not to apologize for or explain the lack of consistency; I'm really just fascinated to observe my attitudes and opinions within the last few years.
Particularly in the last 18 months, I have been subjecting myself to one of the most intense, exhausting probes to date into my beliefs. I tend to be a bit skeptical, so life (and maybe faith) naturally takes a bit more work for me. Some of you out there with similar personalities can appreciate that; I'm definitely used to this, and I expect it from myself and can often compensate. But I'm not quite sure even I was ready for the level of questioning I threw at myself. Maybe when I look back on this period of my life I'll see the fruit of it all, but right now, a year-and-a-half into it, I feel unbelievably tired.
So, when I read posts with a "pt. 1" in the title and no pt. 2 follow-up, and when I sense the shift in tone from colloquial and friendly to cold and academic, I have to chuckle a bit, because I know the backstory. I've felt a bit like a math student, who has always accepted as given the operations and theorems behind some of the most basic mathematical truths, and now has to prove them.
I thought mentioning these things might give some context to the blog. The message on Fathers' Day caught my attention because Doyle brought up some interesting points on questions and doubts that I found a little encouraging in the midst of this big project I seem to have on my hands. If you have some time and want to listen, you can find his sermon on the church website, entitled "Storms of Life" dated 6/19/2011:
26 June 2011
Did the blog end?
No. . .
But I have definitely forgotten about it. I've also been experiencing an extreme poverty of creative thought for about the last 6 months. My ideas have been sporadic, incoherent, and generally uninteresting.
So here's my attempt at performing CPR on our blog. Maybe I'll have something to say within the next few days or so.
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