What's your Status?

Becka:

What does that question mean, by the way, in its Discovery Church context? Is it asking whether you’re a saint or an infidel? I need to get someone to explain their name to me at some point. Anyway, on to the real blog…

It would be impossible to “get” the entire ethos of a church from one Sunday visit – to understand why they do things the way they do. But before I visited Status I heard people describe one aspect of their service that I thought sounded very interesting. During the singing, the musicians and worship leaders are only back-lit, which means that while there is light on the stage, you cannot see their faces. I’m not sure if they do it every week, but they did the week I was there. It’s actually not too noticeably different so I’m glad I knew beforehand what they were doing and why in order to appreciate it. The reason Status has chosen to do this is so that hopefully the congregation can focus more on God instead of on the people onstage. Whatever there is to be said for the fact that it could be helpful to see the leader’s face to know when to sing, I like the evidence of reasoning behind this choice because it shows the types of issues they’re thinking through.

One other thing that I noticed and liked is that they have communion every week. They don’t “do” communion every week, but they do have it available. Mind you, it was laid out on coffee tables with candles which, coupled with the dark room and stage lighting, seemed more “goth” than “early church,” and therefore a bit creepy. But it was there and I appreciate that. And there’s nothing wrong with a gothic atmosphere anyway.

Kailey:

I was once having a discussion about churches during a bonfire at Alastair and Julia’s house, and we began to talk about Status. One of their friends (who I’d just met that evening) said, “Oh yeah, I love it—but it’s a tight-pants church, for sure.” After I’d finished with my initial outburst of laughter, I was further amused to realize that I had yet to encounter a more felicitous adjective to describe my very own impressions of the Status church community. (I should point out that I use the term “tight-pant church” in NO derogatory sense, whatever. It’s just a super-accurate qualifier. And I have a lot of really awesome tight-pants friends, like JP and Kyle.)

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a young, trendy congregation, as long as not all churches everywhere are young and trendy, and your church isn’t throwing people out on the sidewalk who don’t have tastefully weathered chucks and “scene” hair. I think the way your pastor communicates the message of the grace and love of Christ will (by virtue of his or her own natural personality) attract a certain similar range of personalities. Incidentally, Josh Loveless was preaching that night about how we lose the depth and utility of our relationships by denying those around us vulnerable authenticity. His sermon illustration was a story about a man talking on his cell phone in the bathroom stall next to him. Josh thought the man was talking to him, and began to answer—awkwardly. (Then of course he finds out the guy is on a cell phone, ha ha, etc, etc.) The point was that the frequency and speed with which we can communicate nowadays (like, even while relieving yourself) do not necessarily make your relationships more authentic, and can perhaps even be damaging.

I liked his message. There was a lot of wisdom in it. But wise or not, the cell-phone-in-toilet-etiquette illustration may have been lost on anyone, say, over 50. Of course Status is a tight-pants church. That was a tight-pants story, and it garnered much tight-pants laughter.

I don’t have a solid opinion about diversity (or the acute lack of diversity) in a church. At first blush, my gut reaction is “of COURSE there should be diversity in churches! There’s diversity in the body of Christ.” But it’s more complicated in practice than in theory. Should the pastor change the messages he communicates—or the language with which he communicates said messages—in order to expand his target audience? Will securing the presence of a new demographic of church-goers justify the absence of the church-goers who are no longer able to relate to the new language? Somebody has to speak to the people who most easily relate to you. Should you sacrifice tight-pants for tight collars? I don’t know. It’s something for me to wrestle with.

My pastor once said in an interview that you can preach a sermon that helpful without it being biblical, but you can’t preach a sermon that’s biblical without it being helpful. I agree with that. Bottom line—if the pastor is communicating biblical truth in a way that is understandable and relevant to those listening, if the congregants are being inspired to pursue their own personal holiness, if they’re serving, if they’re praying—something right is happening, even if it needs tweaking.

Kailey (on Beck’s thoughts):

I agree Beck. I also really liked the concept of backlighting the worship team. I feel like they’re refusing to sacrifice the excellence of the worship, while simultaneously refusing to focus on the excellence of the worship.

First Baptist

Kailey:

I only had two major observations, and I’m only going to comment on one of them, incidentally.  (The one I’m not going to talk about is the intentionality of language from the pulpit, which Becka has already covered.) 

To preface, purely as a matter of preference, I don’t enjoy ginormous worship services.  I started going to Summit when we were still meeting in Theatre 3, with its intimate little stage and lighting, old comfy movie-theatre seats and cup-holders.  So I would be a liar if I said I didn’t walk into First Baptist without a small (but tangible) measure of pre-fabricated antipathy.  It’s just so huge.  The style of music was huge in its own right—lots of band members, big stage, big lights, big noises.  And I was just beginning to comfortably drift off to a little island of subconscious reprobation when I heard a very familiar tune coming from all those big instruments. 

Let every creature in the sea and every flying bird,

let every mountain, every field, and valley of the earth,

let all the moons and all the stars, in all the universe

sing praises to the living God who rules them by His Word.

Halleluia!  Glory be to our great God!

The notes the band began to play and the words the voices sang around me were those of a song with which (since coming to Summit) I’ve become very familiar.  It was humbling to realize that I had once again slipped into church snob mode, while the worshippers around me sang a song that could very well be ringing out from the walls of Summit, that very day, that very hour—maybe even in that very key.  God was gracious to allow me this moment of humility, so that the beauty of our collective worship (FBO, Summit, and all worshippers everywhere) was not entirely lost to me.   I wondered to myself how many people were singing that song at that moment.  I wondered to myself how many people were singing at all.  It made the big church seem a much smaller part of something much, much bigger.  Something much more beautiful. 

Becka:

I don’t have a lot to say specifically about First Baptist because I wasn’t yet taking notes when we visited.  (Yes, I now carry a notebook with me and take notes through even the most emotionally charged moments, including singing and prayer.)  I’ll just make two points based on my vague memories of the experience.  One good thing: First Baptist had a lot of classes to offer its congregation.  If held in the right balance with action, information is so incredibly helpful to those of us trying to live as members of the kingdom of God.  I’m not recommending that everyone I know go to these classes; they may not be good (i.e. may not be teaching accurate information).  That’s a whole nother issue for churches that have classes – the quality of the teaching.  All I remember is that there were a lot of classes, and I like the potential there. 

Now, one caution: I think what I’m arguing for here is both thought and intentionality in speech from the stage.  Not that speakers need to have every word written down before they speak – some people need that, but others would find it stifling.  I do think, though, that some thought could be put into the way in which values, doctrines, vision, etc., are communicated (in general, therefore including but not limited to this church).  As a First Baptist example, the way in which the man onstage listed the reasons for giving to missions made those reasons sound primarily self-centered, and unfortunately not God-centered at all.  He encouraged the congregation to give first of all for their own spiritual benefit, second for the benefit of their missionaries, and finally so that people could get saved.  Everyone onstage: please be careful!  You are oftentimes communicating more than you think you are. 

One final side-note.  In case the pastor did actually mean what he said (and since I grew up Baptist I know that some Baptists do), this is why I think self-centered (even spiritual) motivation is wrong.  True, there are a number of times in the Bible where it sounds as though we are encouraged to be selfish – at least in spiritual matters – not the least all those times Paul talks about working for “crowns” or “rewards.”  And I have definitely heard people explain that because it is spiritual, it’s okay to be selfish… and they usually follow that explanation up with either a sheepish or belligerent (depending on their personality) statement that after all “it’s in the Bible.”  And it’s true the Bible does say that.  But I don’t think those words mean what some people think they do.  The problem comes when we don’t remember that the Holy Spirit works in our lives. If it is in fact God in the Holy Spirit working through us to make his kingdom known, if we really believe that in him we live and move and have our being, then our eventual crowns or rewards really will be thrown at his feet in praise because we will understand that we – literally – could not have done it without him; he was working through us when we did our “good deeds” and the crowns in fact belong to him.  The point in giving is not to get rewards (that aren’t ever really deserved anyway) but to be part of God’s plan.  That we get to be a part of God’s plan.  And just to be clear, our language should probably focus on that point.  God invites us unto his one plan; he doesn’t create individual plans centered around each of us (or each of our churches).  It’s always about him, never about us.    

Kailey: 

Holy brain EXPLOSION, Becka!

Becka:

Kailey! Thanks for writing about the connection to the whole church.  That is actually one of the things I most enjoy about our church-hopping experience: the moments that remind me in some way or another that we are all one body of believers.  I like church (sometimes); I definitely like The Church.  I like God.  I like seeing all the people even just in Central Florida who really are trying to live for him and become more like him.  And thanks to the congregation at First Baptist for being some of those people.    

Our "Friends"...

Becka:
Here’s what happened. The “service for worship” (note: if you’re not used to it, church vocab is different/peculiar/startling) started at 10am. Kailey and I had decided to get there a little early so that we could also observe the end of the “service for singing” which started at 9:15. We probably showed up about 9:20 and right away we were a little confused because our car was almost the only one in the lot. There may have been one or two others, but that was it (and mind you, this lot is also used for parking for the Quaker-owned apartments next door). As we walked up to the building, too, we could only see one person moving around through the window. Not being sure yet if they had cancelled the services for the day or what mistake we might have made, we sat down on the benches outside to regroup. Luckily (for my stress level) we only just sat down when the woman we had seen inside came out and invited us in through the kitchen – the church building is a converted home. She was very friendly and (at first) decidedly normal, which was a relief to me, not being sure what to expect of a Quaker. We chatted for a few minutes (where are you from? What do you do?) and she gave us nametags and a brochure that explained what to expect during the service for worship. So far so good. But just as I was starting to relax, she casually remarked, “We have our service for singing now. Do either of you play the guitar?” I looked nervously around for the “we” I seemed to have missed, thinking we were going to have an embarrassingly small singing group; I can’t necessarily carry a tune, so the more singers, the better. Turns out there really wasn’t anyone else there. The nice lady handed us each a hymnbook and asked us to pull two more chairs next to hers. We set our chairs in a semicircle and flipped through the hymnbooks trying to find something we all knew. Since neither Kailey nor I claimed guitar proficiency, the nice lady played (chords only). The rest of the Friends trickled in and wrote nametags as our voices faintly strained out the last verse of hymn number four or five. As we headed over to mingle before the next service, I asked the nice lady how many people usually came. “Ten to twenty,” she said. “Since Quakers make every decision unanimously, their congregations tend to be small.”

There were fourteen people (besides us) attending the service for worship this Sunday, ranging in age from a high school boy to a white-haired man with a cane. One woman had “cool” hair (reassuring for us – from what I remember of 19th century fiction, Quakers dressed plainly in grey and I wasn’t sure if our clothes and hair would be offensive) and everyone was very friendly, or at least not unfriendly. The sixteen of us made our way over to the chairs which had been set up two rows deep in three sides of a square, facing the center. And then, as the brochure had explained, we sat in silence. For an hour. Mostly we kept our heads down. Some people closed their eyes. The brochure had explained that we would remain in silence, clearing our minds and keeping ourselves open to any “inward light” we might experience. If anyone was moved to, they could speak. This happened twice for our group.* Mostly, though, there was just a lot of silence. It was actually very nice. I did notice that no one mentioned Jesus, and the references to God were somewhat vague. Turns out you don’t need to believe in Jesus to be a Quaker, and unfortunately I think these Friends leaned in that direction. Afterwards, everyone shook hands and there were some announcements. A service for learning came next, in which they were going to discuss the question “Why do I do what I do?”: not a reference to Romans 7:19, but rather why they chose to be Quakers. Probably very interesting, but we did not stay. I think we both felt like we’d had a long enough first experience.

One final note: I do agree with Kailey. It was incredibly refreshing to spend that much sustained time in silence with God and in the company of people who were doing the same thing. Honestly, I wasn’t doing as the Quakers instructed (we were not supposed to be actively “thinking,” but I was actively praying). I do wish longer communal silence happened more (or at all) among the Christians I know.

*Speaker #1: A lady maybe in her 60’s. As far as I can remember, said first, “Let us speak in the vernacular of the age and of the times.” And went on to talk about our souls as inboxes and the need for a spam filter. She finished by exhorting us to make sure we stay connected to the “computer of the universe.”

Speaker #2: An elderly (and somewhat tottery) man. He chose to speak about the golden rule, which, as he side-noted, was also the name of a department store when he was young. He mentioned that he had been trying to live by the golden rule for a week, and recommended the same course of action to the rest of us. He pointed out that the golden rule was also sometimes expressed negatively (do unto others as you would have them do unto you versus don’t do unto others what you would not have them do unto you) and suggested that perhaps these two ways of describing the golden rule were in fact getting at the very same thing. He finished by suggesting that we make the golden rule a “rule for action [in our lives] as opposed to a method of conduct.”

Kailey:
I might have been more apprehensive when Beck and I peeked through window of the church at the lone woman in the empty room, but we just assumed we’d gotten the service time wrong, or maybe the website was out of date. It said “worship begins” at 9:15, “service begins” at 10am. It was about 9:20, but there was only this woman, and now us. It was lovely enough outside, so we just stayed and sat down in a small but charming stone patio area near the rear entrance. A minute or two later, the woman we’d seen poked her head out of the door, caught sight of us, and promptly came over. “Are you here for worship?” she asked with a friendly smile. We said yes, we’d gotten the time wrong, etc., etc. We had a brief and pleasant exchange of names and what-brought-you-here’s, and at the end she casually mentioned that we were, in fact, right on time for worship. As the realization dawned on us, Beck and I were barely able to steal a brief look of panic before she had ushered us both into the empty room and into two newly plucked and positioned upholstered chairs in front of a music stand.

And thus commenced the most awkward 20 minutes I’ve experienced so far this entire year. The lady herself, though not past her 40’s, appeared somewhat antiquated. She wore a white button down shirt and roundish tweed skirt, sneakers with socks, and glasses with one of those ropes attached that screams “homeschool pride.” She handed us 2 hymnals, and then asked us what songs we’d like to sing. Beck and I continued to periodically survey each other dumbly, both waiting for and expecting the other to bail us out—but eventually resigning to the reality that we were, in fact, going to sing hymns basically to one another. I think we settled on amazing grace, mostly because we were both sure to know the tune. The friendly woman grabbed her guitar, and off we went. If it was terrible—I still feel reasonably certain that God probably took some tangible measure of pleasure in our musical humiliation.

Fun times.

Much to our relief, people began showing up shortly after we’d launched into the second verse of Be Thou My Vision, and our worship leader had to attend to those arriving. I was surprised when all of the newcomers did not fit the same stereotype that I’d already pegged onto the friendly woman who’d greeted us. There were folks in jeans, people talking about their facebook photos, etc. We were clearly the only visitors, but we were received with genuine warmth and a distinct absence of the awkwardness of our first 20 minutes. It was refreshing. They explained to us how the worship service worked—that it consisted of an hour of reverent silence. If you feel so led to speak in the spirit, you do, but it’s by no means necessary. When the clock struck the hour, people gradually dropped away from the social circle and began taking seats within a large circle of chairs around the room.

We sat down, and I looked around for cues from the others. Some kept their eyes open, some closed. No one spoke or focused on the other people around them, and I followed suit, slowly settling into the silence. It’s a strange beast, quiet. At first it’s so foreign that I feel almost a sense of panic—like I’ve forgotten to do something really important, like study for an exam or turn off the burners. It took me a few minutes to fight through the unquiet in my head before I could claim to have been truly silent. But as the minutes passed, first my thoughts were calmed, later I began to enjoy the silence, and later still I found that I was actually waiting on God. It was lovely. I felt that I’d connected with God more in that hour of silence than I had in many of the contrived (though skillfully and prayerfully executed) worship services I’ve been a part of. I think reverent silence (and even prayer) is a felt absence in a lot of the churches I’ve visited or been a part of. (Or at least it should be felt—but I’m not sure we slow down long enough to really feel it.) I don’t think the absence of it is intentional—but after this visit, I think the presence of it should be.

A note on Becka’s observations: I’m glad you mentioned that they never spoke the name of Jesus. I wrestled with this after we left, and the jury is still out for me about whether or not I feel comfortable worshipping YHWH in a circle of people who may or may not be worshipping another God altogether. But I suppose if my (albeit, unrealized) goal is to live a life of worship at all times, I’ll always be worshipping God in the presence of people who may or may not be worshipping any number of other things. Regardless, my biggest take away is that I should be quiet more often—even if I’m already not talking.

Church shopping 101

Kailey:
As I recall, it was originally Alastair’s idea for us to visit the Quaker Church. Alex was on board, and Beck and I had just decided to embark upon this little social experiment a few days earlier. My desire to visit other churches in the area probably had very little to do with any venerable scheme of expanding the depth of my connection with the One True God, by denying myself the comforts of familiar worship—though I might have told people that at the time, and I may yet say that later. (I doubt so many people will visit this blog for me to fear incrimination, and it does make me sound so holy and spiritual…)

Beck was thinking about checking out another church down the road (which, for purposes of anonymity, I shall call “Prestige”), and I mostly went along cause I like her and wanted to offer moral support. I remember listening to the worship and thinking smugly to myself how much better the worship was at my church. (See, now I sound way less holy…) Then the pastor (who I shall call “Amour-free”), proceeded to preach an entire sermon on judgment and spiritual exclusivity. It was a crushing blow to my loftiness, and to be sure I’m glad for it. I realized with a healthy level of self-disgust that I had, in fact, become a church snob. And in practice, being fashionably aloof is very hard to distinguish from insolence. In truth, I wanted to start visiting churches because (for someone who works for a church) I have a shamefully limited perspective on worship, and an even more shameful comfort with that. (See, now I don’t sound holy at all…)

We’ve now visited 6 churches since the start of our experiment, and at times it’s been quite the adventure. In my best moments, my desire is to allow this time to transform me and sharpen the effectiveness with which I can communicate the Good News. But I continue to feel a natural (or not so natural) ebb and flow between this and the thrill of basic, affirming comparison. In any case, God is greater than the worst of my humanity, and my prayer is that Beck and I will walk away with more than a few good ideas on how to do effective lighting. (Though we certainly will make notes of that…)

Becka: Kailey's blog makes me want to yell, "I agree!" I guess that would be "Amen!" in church-language.

Becka:
What we’re doing is visiting churches. If I were, say, to write a blog explaining why I’m doing so, I’d have to admit that the basic, fundamental reason is I’m nosy. I just want to see what everyone is doing. (And then, of course, being me, I have an opinion about it.) For many, many years (i.e. since around 2005 or so), I’ve tossed around the idea of visiting churches, and I guess I’m finally not-busy enough to do something about it. And also I have Kailey. That’s important, too. I need some support to walk into new places every week. I have a firm belief that information is helpful to a person, so I’m not worried that this experience will be wasted personally: in my theory, by the way, more information helps you make more connections between ideas, people, and so on. (The connections are important). It would be great if these visits were also helpful to someone else eventually, but I don’t have any big plans for how they would be.

If you happen to wonder what I’m thinking about there and afterwards… first (but not primarily), I am interested in what they do: what makes this church different, what have I never seen before. Then, seeing what actually happens leads me to question why they do it, what’s important to them, and whether it’s also important to me. And, again being me, of course I’m always looking at how well things are done or communicated. Or even what is actually being communicated, whether it’s intended or not.

Kailey: If I happened to wonder what Beck was thinking about while we're there, it would definately be something like, "Oh, Dear God, don't let Kailey stand up when they ask to meet the visitors again..."