Meeting a hero can be nerve-wracking. I was practically shaking when I shook the hand of Nadia Bolz-Weber, one of the people I call “my theological super-heroes”. I had the privilege of assisting with an event at my church, St. Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church, where Nadia was the keynote speaker. The interesting thing about this woman, who has such a strong presence and magnetic personality, is that it’s not all about her at all. It is about the God of Jesus Christ----Worship (with a capital W) and Liturgy (with a capital L).
When asked what her church does besides Sunday worship, Nadia replied, “Yeah… Mostly we worship. Everything else comes from that.” During a speech about why she is a Christian, Nadia spoke lovingly, desperately of the liturgy, of the proclaiming of the gospel, the interpreting of the word, of the sacrament of confession and absolution, and of the sacrament of the Eucharist. She repeated the words of absolution that forgives the sinner and remarked, “Nobody tells me that shit in yoga class.” Clearly, the most important role of the church today is to worship God. Everything else, the service, the education, the friendship, could be found somewhere else. But nowhere else will we get to bask in the grace of God found in Jesus Christ.
It doesn’t take long for church people to forget the main purpose that brought us there, though. Churches have plenty of stuff to do besides worship. We are supposed to organize community projects, work for social justice, feed the hungry, and educate children. We are supposed to have plans for growth, finance reports, education committees, and mission statements. Churches need structure, plans, and projects. There is nothing wrong with some good planning. Personally, I LOVE structure, plans, and projects. I’m a teacher; give me a syllabus, a scope and sequence, and a strategic plan, and I’m happy as a lark. Admittedly, plans and organizations help churches get stuff done, stuff that the world needs us to do. The problem is that none of that other stuff, that can be so consuming and distracting, is the actual purpose of the church. Distracted by tasked, we can forget the meaning. It’s like a marriage where the partners have lost sight of the things that drew them together, the very thing that they need so desperately.
While preparing for this event, I had an anxiety attack when the projector wouldn’t connect to my computer; my chest tightened up, my heartbeat quickened, and I ran into the bathroom to hide. Ironically, mass was starting at this exact moment. I could have taken the time to worship, to rest, to contemplate God. Instead, I splashed some cold water on my face and proceeded to battle stubborn technology. I had things to do; there was no time to worship. Christ! For an educated woman, I can be such an idiot sometimes! While preparing for worship, wrapped in anxiety over the details, longing for recognition for my hard work, I forgot to GO worship. I forgot the whole damn point. I had forgotten the very thing that had drawn me to church four years ago, the thing that fed my soul, the thing that I can’t find anywhere else: not at my rewarding job, not with my loving family, not riding my horse, not working out, not reading my favorite authors, not walking beside the lake contemplating the sunset. I forgot the purpose of the thing that drew me there.
After years of estrangement from Christianity, I returned to Christian church because the mystery called me home. Years ago, in a moment of terror, after my career ambitions had run into walls and my relationship suffered for it, after nothing seemed good enough no matter how much I tried, I collapsed on the bathroom floor, sobbing, saying, “This is the best I can do.” In that moment, puddled in tears, hiding in a heap on the tile floor, something lovingly embraced me, something answered me, “Yes, it is. You are OK.” I have to believe that it was God. The grace of God had touched me, knocked me out of my selfishness and self-loathing, embraced me with unconditional love, the kind of love that burnt, because I knew I didn’t love others well enough to deserve it. God opened my heart with a wrench, and it hurt. I saw the world differently and I needed to understand it. Reeling from the experience, I longed to rest in the grace I’ve found, and to find others who had found it too. I needed to know that I wasn’t crazy, that there really was love, that there really was mystery. So, I went to church, and I found a home.
I remember when I first walked through the red doors of St. Ignatius of Antioch Episcopal Church. I remember what I ached for, so deeply. It wasn’t service projects, or new friends, or book discussion groups. I longed to confess the sins weighing heavy on my soul and revel in the grace I found. I had heard of a party of forgiven sinners, of a God who came to save the world, not condemn it, of a God who entered into our brokenness and healed it, of a God who loved us through our pettiness, our jealousy, and our hatred, of a God who conquered through surrender, of a God who lived by dying. I had heard of a party celebrating that God and I longed to join it. Although the liturgy was unfamiliar, the words new, the actions confusing, when I knelt and said the confession and received absolution and took communion, the noose around my heart loosened. Worship set me free, and I found a home.
My friends, whatever happens to our strategic plans, to our adult education, to our charity resale shops, whatever happens to our buildings and our staff, we ARE the church. We proclaim the gospel. We confess our sins. We receive absolution. We celebrate the sacred eucharist, the mystery of Christ in bread and wine. What does a church do? Duh! We worship the triune God. To quote Nadia, “No one does that shit at yoga class”.
