Authentic Worship--is it true?

Recently, I’ve heard a few conversations about authentic worship in church.  Is worship something we should market as entertainment?  Is traditional worship stale, old-fashioned, and out of touch with the modern world?  Should churches overhaul their liturgy to be more user-friendly?  Would that still be authentic to our cherished tradition?  Which makes me wonder: what does authentic mean, and what is authentic worship?

au·then·tic

adjective \ə-ˈthen-tik, ȯ-\

: real or genuine : not copied or false

: true and accurate

: made to be or look just like an original

:  true to one's own personality, spirit, or character

In the post-modern 21st century (are we still post-modern, or is it some new word--post-post modern or something) what does this mean?  When a person’s facebook and twitter profile are more important than their actual physical being, what does it mean to be  real or genuine?  When we can duplicate photos, paintings and 3-d sculptures through high-tech printers, what is “not copied”?  When the news media does not bother to check facts and reporters blatantly admit to bias, what is “true or accurate”?  When every new popular movement teaches us to find the “secret”, to “find yourself”, and to “Eat, Pray, Love”, what does it mean to be true to one’s own character?

If I wanted some entertainment on a Sunday morning, that was “true to myself”, I would book one hell of a worship service.  Let’s see, I would have Orlando Bloom as an acolyte, and James Spader to give the homily.  I would have Jackson Browne as the organist and the Indigo Girls singing in the choir.  The host would be dipped in chocolate and the blood of Christ would be cabernet, and let me tell you, the helping would be generous!  Wouldn’t that be an awesome way to spend a Sunday morning?  Why isn’t that authentic?  It’s all about me and making me happy.

Maybe that is the point.  The “authentic” here is not pointed at my own wishes, wants and desires, but pointed to God.  My fantasy church would be pretty cool and God might like it too.  I mean, God might want James Spader to do some preaching, and who doesn’t like to look at Orlando Bloom or listen to the Indigo Girls?  It sure would make people feel good. It’s great when church feels good.  It picks me up and fortifies me for the busy week ahead.  I love it when things feel good--but feeling good is not the point of worship, it is the side effect of coming closer to God.

If authentic worship and authentic living are not merely being true to my own desires, what are they?  Well, if you believe that we are created by God out of love, meant to exist in that love, and that we long to return to that love, then authenticity is when the love of God is reflected in our thoughts, words and actions.  Authenticity is when we are true to our author, if you believe that our author is God.  When we act, speak and think authentically, in love, then we feel good because we come closer to God.  

Here is what I need to bring myself closer to God.  Here is what is authentic worship to me:  a clear, ecstatic message of the catholic, universal saving grace and love of God, all wrapped up in the most mystical, miraculous package I can find, tied up with music, incense and beauty, with a healthy dose of intellectual stimulation and a challenge to greater service, ending up in personal compassion and spiritual connection with my neighbors and friends in Christ.  It is a church experience that makes me a little uncomfortable in my comfort, a little more willing to serve in Christ’s service, a little more generous in God’s generosity, a little more forgiving in God’s forgiveness, a little more loving in the love of God.

Thank you, Tacky Jesus!

This photo assaulted and delighted my eyes this morning on my facebook feed.  As I squinted over my coffee and oatmeal at the psychedelic light of Christ, I couldn't help but laugh out loud.  I have a secret attraction to the gaudy, the tacky, and the over-the-top.  Although you would not guess it from my regular-mom clothes and hairstyle and the neutral tones on the walls of my house, I really want sparkles, glitter and shiny mirrors.  I hope to someday fill an entire room with velvet Elvis paintings, sparkly unicorns etched on gilded mirrors, and shiny images of the Blessed Virgin surrounded by neon rays.  I fantasize of idle days spent combing through flea markets and rummage sales for the tackiest, gaudiest, silliest pieces of incredible art to hang in that room. I am going to show it to every visitor as if it’s the most precious treasure in the world and pretend that I absolutely LOVE it.  So, to the tacky, sparkly, psychedelic Jesus, I say,“Yes, please!”

One of my favorite movies, Talladega Nights, has a hilarious prayer to various images of Jesus.  I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, but just in case you don’t, here are some of the exchanges.

“I like to picture Jesus in a tuxedo T-shirt. 'Cause it says like, I wanna be formal but I’m here to party too. I like to party, so I like my Jesus to party.”

“I like to think of Jesus like with giant eagles wings, and singin' lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd with like an angel band and I'm in the front row and I'm hammered drunk!”

When it comes to church, I’m a pretty straight-laced, high-church Episcopalian, who was raised as a contemplative Mennonite.  On the surface, I don’t go in for displays of Holy affection, yellin’, shoutin’, speakin’ in tongues, or any other embarrassing activity from which people tend to drop the ‘g’.  So, why does a closeted part of me love that tacky, over-the-top JEEEE-sus?  I think because it keeps me from taking things too seriously.

Someone wise once told me that Christianity is embarrassing.  It’s embarrassing to bow down to a humble God, one who became a impotent baby, who hung out with dirty, low-class people and offended social sensibilities, who broke the rules, and who did the unthinkable--who surrendered to those in power, who died.  That’s pretty embarrassing.  We clean it up, with pretty churches, robes and vestments, stained-glass windows, contemplative music, and liturgy.  Those things lead us to the majesty of God the Father-- I love them.  But sometimes, God the Father is not enough; I still need the regular-guy-transcendent Jesus who sits with you when you’re stuck in the snow-bank, or when you’re recovering from a bad night of drinking, right there in the middle of the torridness of life, loving you when you’re screwing up royally.  I need to be reminded of the lowness of Christ, so I acknowledge my own lowness and the lowness my fellow man.  We are all in this together, dirt, sequins, sparkles, tuxedo t-shirts and all.

I need the Jesus who gets dirty, who hangs out with the rednecks, the strippers, the kids in the projects, the LGBT community, the soccer-mom, the homeless, the drunk, and the hipster (yes, even hipsters can have Jesus).  I need to be brought face-to-face with the ridiculousness of a god-made-man who is there for all of us.  Once in awhile, I need it in pulsating rows of light coming from a sparkly, shiny, melodramatic painting. Thank you, psychedelic Jesus!

A slice of married life: Why I don't want someone to take me at my worst in order to deserve my best

I hate romantic comedies.  Even when I love them, I hate myself for loving them.  They are big, fat liars, liars with their pants aflame.  They tell us all sorts of stupid things.  Like if that guy acts like a jerk most of the time, but is mysteriously kind once in awhile, he probably truly loves you but is afraid to show it.  Like if the girl acts sassy, bratty and like she doesn’t care about the guy, he will be so entranced by her he’ll follow her anywhere.  Like love at first sight.  Like soulmates.  Like, “you complete me”. That one is a bunch of bullshit, if I’ve ever heard it.  I don’t want someone else to “complete me”, because I am an entire person all myself.

Hands down, the most annoying romantic comedy idea is the one where the girl (usually it’s the girl, but not always) says something like, “This is just who I am, and if you can’t take the bad, then you don’t deserve the good.”  OK, so I don’t want someone to complete me, that’s true.  But, I certainly don’t want someone who is just going to put up with my bad behavior.  And I sure as hell do not want to be with someone who expects me to put up with his bad behavior.  My husband and I love each other and have been through some real stuff together.  We don’t “put up with the bad so we can deserve the good.”  We call each other on our bratty behavior because we love each other and we expect to be treated better than that.

I don’t mean we pick on each other.  God knows we both give lots of slack.  We watch our language, we do not speak foolishly in anger (most of the time), we calm down, and we laugh at ourselves (and each other) often.  But, when one of us acts ridiculously, well we don’t just say, “Oh well, she’s just sassy, isn’t that cute.  It's worth it to be with her/him.” Let me paint you a picture.

Saturday morning, several years ago.  My husband is getting ready to play a softball game and I’m getting ready to head to the barn.  No kids, yet, so that what our Saturdays consist of--fun and games.  Before I go, I quickly throw a load of laundry in the washer.  No one can say I’m not a helpful wife, right?  Doing my part, chipping in, and so on.  As I’m getting my stuff together, he comes storming down the stairs.

“Honey!!”  he yells, in that tone of voice that is NEVER good.  “Where are my baseball pants?”  

“What pants?  I didn’t see any pants,”  I had no idea what he was talking about.

“The pants I left lying on the hamper.  Where are they?  I need them right now!”

“All the clothes lying on the hamper are in the washer.  I put them in about 10 minutes ago.  Aren’t they dirty?”

“NO!  They are clean and I laid them on the hamper because I needed to wear them to play today.  They’re my only pair.”  He is getting agitated--face red, voice raised, tendons tight.

Now, I ask you, friends, if someone puts his clothes ON the clothes hamper, wouldn’t you expect them to be in need of washing?  Wouldn’t you throw them in the washer and be proud of yourself for helping out? Would you carefully inspect them for dirt to ascertain their need for cleaning?  Would you think two steps ahead, to “my husband is going to play baseball today, maybe he needs these pants”?  Well, needless to say, I did not do the latter.  I WASHED THE PANTS.

Here is a moment captured by no romantic comedy ever.  Here is a moment when no one in his or her right mind would say, “Hey, if you can’t take me at my worst--my most demanding, my most airheaded, my most unreasonable, my most furious--then you don’t deserve me.”  Here is a moment, a slice of everyday life, where the silly, indefensible, truth of bad behavior comes out.

Hy husband is late (which he hates), with wet pants he grabbed out of the washer and then dropped on the dirty basement floor, furious and frustrated.  He says, “Didn’t you notice?  Don’t you notice anything?  You don’t CARE!”  

Now, up until this point, I was feeling very contrite, trying to make things better, ready to plead my case and apologize.  But, when I heard those words out of his mouth, well, I lost it.  I don’t get angry very often, and let me tell you, that is probably a good thing.

He leaves the house, jumps in the car, and begins to back out the driveway.  I run out of the house, in pajamas and barefeet, grab the door of his car and open it as he backs out.  I’m yelling, “You don’t get to say something like that and then LEAVE!  I do care, God damn it!  You don't get to say that and just run away!”  

He’s yelling, “Get out of the way!  Are you crazy?  You are going to get hurt!”  

Let me tell you, I am from the hills of southeastern Ohio, or “Ahia” as we say.  You may take the girl out of the redneck, but you do not take the redneck out of the girl.  If you piss me off enough, I WILL stand screaming in the yard of our subdivision, in pajamas and bare feet, and open your car door while you back out of the driveway.  

OK, this is not one of our proudest moments, this is not a moment when either of us can say, “If you don’t love this, then you don’t deserve to love me.”  Both of us acted like spoiled children, and both of us called each other on it.  Both of us got some space that day and both of us apologized later.  It has become a mythic story in our relationship.  Other crises are measured on the day-she-washed-his-pants scale; there have been a few bigger than this, and many that didn’t measure up to it.

I guess my point in painting this picture of wedded bliss is to bring a little reality to the romance.  If you act like a jerk, you should expect your partner to call you a jerk.  You should probably apologize for being a jerk.  You should probably try not to act like such a jerk the next time.  You should NOT say, “Well, that is just how I am.  You need to learn to deal with it.  You should love me the way I am.”  When your partner acts like a jerk, you should call him (or her) on it.  I don’t advise jerking open a moving car door in your pajamas, because it’s a little crazy.  But, you certainly don’t need to put up with someone else’s bad behavior, anymore than you should expect them to put up with yours.  

Treat each other with respect, and when you mess up, apologize.  I don’t see this much in romantic comedies, but it is the true bedrock of my relationship.  It is the most important vow in my marriage, not “love me as I am, or you don’t deserve me.”

Obedience or surrender: why do we have to fight so hard?

Surrender… obey…  What do those words mean?  How do I feel when told to surrender to God’s will or to trust and obey?  There is a hymn I learned as a child, “to be happy in Jesus, trust and obey.”  I learned to sing it, growing up in the Mennonite church of my childhood.  Ours was not an oppressive religion, but definitely one that placed trust in God.  I didn’t trust and obey, though; I questioned my way right out of the church.  I was not having that “old-time” religion, with the idea of original sin, the idea that one must be baptized to be saved, the idea that woman must be subservient to man, that homosexuality is a sin, etc, etc, etc.  I was not going to "trust and obey". 

More than twenty years later, I realized the church I ran from was not the church I thought it was, and I found my way back home.  After coming to rest in Christianity after a long journey, how do I feel about “trust and obey” now?  The word obey still strikes a negative chord.  It still sounds too patriarchal, too dictatorial, too parental (and not the new-fangled “attachment” parenting or anything cool like that, but the traditional parenting, where father knows best).  Obey means to just do what you’re told, and that’s not something that adult women in 2014 are really good at doing.  We are taught to question, to decide for ourselves, to find our callings, to be true to our true feelings, to not apologize for our failings, and to live life large.  We are taught to be loud and proud and brash and sassy.  We idolize people who stand up to authority and question society’s morals.  We don’t OBEY!  We consider, we collaborate, we consent.  What value is there in obedience, even to God?

I don’t know, because I am still not very good at obedience.  I do know a thing or two about its cousin, surrender.  C.S. Lewis says of God (in The Problem of Pain), “Our highest activity must be [to God] must be response, not initiative.  To experience the love of God in a true, and not an illusory form, is therefore to experience it as our surrender to His demand, our conformity to His desire.” In 2014, surrender is a prouder, more acceptable, idea than obedience.  Surrender means you tried, you mounted a defense, you fought your best fight, and then you gave up because it was the last option left to you.  Surrender is easier to swallow, because when you surrender, you are exhausted from trying.  Surrender means you tried and tried and tried to fix yourself first, before you collapsed in a sobbing wreck on the bathroom floor, before you finally admit you’re a mess and you let the grace of God in to take care of you.  Surrender is honorable.  Obedience is a cop-out; it’s hard to swallow, a bitter pill.  But if you fight first, you can hold your head up when it's time to surrender.

Why do we have to fight our hearts out first, in order to let go and let God?  Is it because we are taught to be self-sufficient, to not look outside of ourselves to be happy?  Is it because we are a driven society?  We are rewarded for being hard on ourselves, for never letting up, for striving for perfection, for never settling for less than our best, for never letting things be quite good enough.  People wear their self-improvement ambition like a medal.  Or they persist in destructive behavior, because, after all, “it’s my own choice and this is who I am.”  We struggle and struggle for freedom, but what are we free from?  

In those fighting moments, I think of myself as a nervous horse who kicks the walls of her stall.  She only hurts herself (and the stall boards, I guess), but she keeps doing it.  What she needs is a strong leader, one who will give her the chance to obey.  Horses are funny, because most of them do not really want to be in charge.  Very few of them will truly fight a human for dominance.  For most horses, regardless of sex, personality or maturity, it only takes a sudden movement in their direction to get them to change course.  It only takes a clear intention and calm body language to get them to follow.  They are most nervous when their human handler is unsure or unpredictable.   When their handler is clear, calm and collected, they visibly calm down, lower their heads, lick their lips, and sigh.  A few rare horses need to fight first, before they surrender.  However, most of them don’t waste the effort.  When a strong leader appears, they willingly obey.  Why do people have to fight so much?

In my case, I think I had to try too hard, too long, and too much in order to finally quit trying.  When I finally told myself, “I can’t be any better.  I can’t fix this.  It doesn’t matter how I try, because I keep screwing things up.  This might be the best it can be.”  That is when the cracks opened up and the grace of God seeped in.  That is when I began to relax and breathe, instead of straining and huffing and puffing.  That is when I began to be a human being, instead of a human doing.  That is when I learned to surrender--then to obey.  

How much easier would my life have been if I’d been able to obey in the beginning?  We are supposed to believe that all the struggle is worth it, that it made us who we are, that we would not appreciate the peace of God if we had not fought for it.  Funny, because the peace of God wasn’t ours to earn.  It is like fighting to keep the sunlight on a hot day in July.  There is no way we can miss it, but we act like it’s hard to get.  The more I think about it, I think that I was never fighting for or against God.  I was just fighting to wear myself out, the way I might lunge a fractious horse or take an energetic dog for a swim before training.  I was just exercising my own nervous self, until I found the way to quiet, to listen for God, until I began to obey.

How church has become my workout lately...

Today, I am thinking about two very different things:  my church and Crossfit, P90X, Insanity and all of those intense exercise programs.  Recently, I read a Time magazine article about Crossfit.  Most people have heard of it, most often from your super-fit, happy, energetic friends who post on Facebook or tweet about their intense workouts, glorifying in all the pull-ups, push-ups, dead-lifts, squats, etc, they can do.  These programs push people hard and obtain obvious, reliable results.  Their devotees are fanatical and evangelical.  Clients love their work-outs and they are quick to encourage anyone they meet to join them.  There are some critics, of course, people who incurred injury from working out too hard, or people who criticize the intense methods.  Does Crossfit apologize or justify its methods and philosophy in the face of criticism?  No!  They just say, “Hey, it takes hard work to get results.”  (My paraphrase there.)  My friends who work out seriously wear their hard work as a badge of honor.  They joke about the times they worked out until they puked, and about how sore they were after a certain set of exercises.  They pushed themselves beyond their limits and they have the fitness and physique to show for it.  I honestly admire them. 

So, what does this exercise franchise have in common with church?  Well, my church also builds people up, spiritually, intellectually, and emotionally.  Through worship. fellowship, and service, Christians embody the Holy Spirit in the world.  Mine is not a sit-down and relax kind of church, at least not most of the time.  Although we enjoy each other and have a good time, there is always some intense project going on:  rummage sales, vacation bible school, turkey dinner, live nativity, fish fry dinners.  I can already mark my church calendar by fundraisers and service projects, as much as by Christmas, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, or Advent.  

Recently, in a church meeting, at least one person mentioned that some prospective members are scared away by all of our activities.  Sometimes people say, “I couldn’t join your church--you work too hard.”  If faced with that comment, I would probably respond with, “Oh, well, it’s really fun.  Many hands make light work.  You really get to make some good friends, you know...”  I would gloss over it, apologize, and make it seem less than it is.  That’s the way to lure people into church, right?  You invite them with potlucks and parties, you woo them with worship, and then you lower the boom of service, after you have them hooked.  Because people don’t want to work that hard.

That begs the question:  how come we (as a society) will work until we puke at the gym but we can’t muster up the energy to serve in a soup kitchen?  Why do churches seem to apologize for pushing their parishioners to grow in service to Christ while gyms delight in pushing their clients to grow their fitness?  What would happen if churches quit apologizing and started selling hard work as the path to growth?  I don’t mean a ticket to heaven.  I honestly believe Jesus meant what he said about saving ALL the sinners.  We don’t have to organize a rummage sale or play Mary in the live nativity to earn divine grace.  Still, exposure to divine grace has a peculiar side effect:  it makes people WANT to organize rummage sales, plan vacation bible school, and act in live nativity plays.  The Holy Spirit makes people WANT to serve.  Churches grow spiritual service and sacrifice as clearly as gyms grow biceps and triceps muscles.  Churches push their people to love more, give more, sacrifice more, all for the good of the community, in the name of Christ. Can you imagine if churches were honest and proud of the work they expect?  If church ad campaigns sounded like this:  “Christ90X--the rest of your life dedicated to service!”  “Insanity Worship--the Holy Spirit meeting you wherever you are--get ready!”, “CrossToBear--lay your life down for others and find God’s loving grace!”  Can you imagine if parishioners described their sacrifice as if it were an intense workout?  “Dude, I worked so hard on that Turkey Dinner that I almost puked.  It was awesome!  I feel so filled with the Holy Spirit!” or, “Wow!  I am so sore from the rummage sale that I can barely move, but think of all the people we helped.  That hard work is really paying off.”

I know it's a crazy idea.  Most likely, people would run the other way as fast as their legs would carry them.  This is probably the absolute wrong way to evangelize.  Churches are supposed to accept all comers, no matter how poor, broken and sad, and serve the community.  Churches are not a self-improvement program, they are a place to come into closer contact with God.  Still, for a church as well as a workout program, what you get out of it depends on what you put into it.

I don’t know why people don’t come to church; asking me that question is like asking a competitive weight lifter why people don’t want to work out.  For the last few years, I almost spring out bed on Sunday morning, eager to pack up my two small children and head to the church.  I love Sunday School, worship, and the volunteer activities that go with it.  I have no idea why it doesn’t work for other people.  I do know there are lots of people interested in personal, spiritual growth who do not go to church.  Maybe they have had hurtful experiences, maybe they have too many commitments, maybe they can find God just fine all on their own.  I don’t know and I am certainly not judging anyone.  I just wonder if they know what they might be missing.  I wonder if they really understand the riches waiting for them behind the red doors.  To me, church feels good.  Yes, it’s work, it’s a challenge, it requires sacrifice, effort and discipline, just like a tough workout.  And, just like a challenging workout, the rewards are reliable and obvious--peace, love, and the grace of God reflected in your fellow man.  What if the sign outside the church said, “Come on in!  Be challenged!  Do things you did not know were possible!  The rewards are well worth the effort!”

Advice to my younger self

Once in a while, I feel kind of old, like one of those gray-haired ladies on her front porch talking about “those kids today…” and giving out unwanted advice.  Maybe I’m not exactly a gray-haired old lady (yet), but I have “settled down” and acquired some life experiences already.  The person I would give the advice to is myself--my younger self.  The self who tried so hard to find her own way, was so driven, so ambitious, and so protective of her own interests.  I remember that 20 something girl in all her confidence.  She had the world by the tail, by God, and she was surely fabulous.  But, she was also distrustful, anxious and fearful.  I have made decisions that she would not have thought possible, and found happiness in things that scared her to death.

At 23, I was so good at being selfish that no relationship made it past the three month mark.  I remember telling my father, as I moved away to chase my career, “Dad, I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone who I care about enough to put my own plans aside for.”  My ever-wise father replied, “God, I hope you do, kid, because life will be lonely without it.”  A year or so later, I met my husband (quite by accident and with very little recognition that this guy was “the one”). Finally, I had met someone who made me want to slow down, and it felt very strange.  Finally, I met someone who I wanted to consult on decisions, who I considered before accepting job offers.  Finally, I met someone who made me want to put someone else first (at least once in awhile).  Putting others first sure isn’t easy; that is where the real growing starts.

 Here is where my little old lady sitting on the porch comes out.  After 12 years of marriage, 2 children, and all that goes with it: heartache, loss, and transcendent joy, I would give my 23 year old self some advice.

• Choose a partner for how they treat you, not the “potential” way they might treat you.  If he looks like a jerk, sounds like a jerk, and acts like a jerk (to anyone), he is probably a jerk.  Don’t think that your love can change him.
• Experiencing new things does NOT end with your marriage vows.  Life is just beginning to get interesting and challenging.
• Be open to surprises, especially surprises wrapped in mundane, every-day packages.  That is where the real miracles happen.
• There is a great deal of satisfaction in seeing your partner happy in his or her life.
• True love happens in the day-to-day living:  the laundry, the cleaning, the midnight baby feedings.
• Don’t fear becoming “ordinary”.  There is no “ordinary”.  The most every-day, regular people have a sacred story to share.  There is no shame looking like them.
• Keep your sense of humor.  It is the best weapon in your arsenal to protect against depression and anger.
• If the things that terrify you come true, if you change careers, become a mother, (gulp) drive a minivan, and (horror of horrors) even go to church, you will still be YOU.  You will still be the same girl who rode horses across Scotland, traipsed her way through Italy, and moved 400 miles away on a hopeful job offer.  When you do all those things that scared the hell out of you, when you “settle down”, you will be just as challenged, fulfilled, and happy as at any other stage in your life.