Becka:
Inner City Life, Inner City Pressure
One of the nicest things about MetroLife’s service (at least in theory) was that the kids were included. All of the children and babies were in the service for the first forty-five minutes: during the singing, announcements, etc. Most churches don’t do that because of the noise/distraction factor. And truthfully it was a bit noisy and distracting. After about forty-five minutes there was a ten-minute break in the service; people got coffee, chatted, and dropped their kids off in the nursery or their classes. Again, very complete-church-family-oriented as that break was a good opportunity to meet and talk with the other people there, something that’s almost impossible to do in the approximately 30-seconds most churches give attendees to greet each other (formulaically after a song and before they sit down). There are good reasons for splitting into groups (age-based, gender-based, life-stage-based, etc.) at times, and I wouldn’t want to stop that. But it seems to happen very infrequently (at least in American churches) that the entire particular expression of the body of Christ is in the same room. And that is a beautiful thing to see.
As a side note, if you were wondering, “How long was this service anyway? Forty-five minutes, plus ten minutes, and there was still a message to come?!” Yes. That concerned me at the time, as well. I am now much more conscious about trying to determine service length from the info on churches’ websites: having a two-hour service sprung on you when you’re not expecting it is kinda rough.
Kailey:
I think Becka and I had a lot of the same thoughts about our initial experience with Metro… So…
A note on Metro-Life (completely unrelated to my first-timer experience there):
My roommate Hallie attends Metro-Life, and she is the reason we knew of (and subsequently visited) this church. It’s tucked away unassumingly at the corner of a major intersection, and I’m not sure I’d have ever found it on my own. She talks about her experiences there often, and always in praise. (That speaks volumes to me about the individual congregation members and community, as one will more often than not hear the not-so-flattering, honest truth from one’s roommates.)
The things I hear about most frequently from Hallie are services that individuals and/or groups are doing for one another, or in the community at large. I once watched Hallie walk out with an entire family dinner she’d just cooked for a woman in her church who’d just had a baby, and apparently there were several others who were taking turns providing this relief to that family. On another occasion, the men in her home group sent all the women to Starbucks with gift cards, and in the duration, the men washed their cars.
This strikes me on two levels. First, I think service is a great way to check the pulse of any congregation. The men washed their cars, but they may as well have been washing their feet. If we’re teaching biblical truth and really worshipping God, service (both to those within the community and without) should be a natural by-product of healthy, whole worshippers. It’s easy to fade into the background at a church the size of Metro, and never really engage in service. I’m both pleased and impressed with the frequent reports I hear from my roommate. Secondarily, I’ve found in my own life that service is not just a by-product of a heart that is right with God, but a helpful path toward that end. While I never want to fall into the trap of believing that God really NEEDS my help, offering it to Him rarely gets me anywhere but holier. That’s not to say I think that my service justifies me—indeed, my service is as filthy rags to God, and there’s nothing I could do that’s good enough to make up for all the ugliness in my own heart. But the act of service, through God’s grace, changes something in me—far more, perhaps, than it changes the reality of the person I’m aiming to serve. And that refines my heart just a little bit each time, in that charming way that only getting my hands dirty really does.
Kailey:
I'm with you on the service length thing, Beck. I wish I could say I wasn't checking my watch after an hour has passed, but this was deeply ingrained in my up-bringing at Catholic school. I think sermons running over might have been a venial sin. In any case, it has a lot to do with expectation, which is semi-comforting to me when I consider the condition of my heart. In Africa, I expected our worship service to run a full 3 hours, and mentally prepared myself. When we adjourned after 2, it felt surprisingly abrupt.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Northland
Kailey:
A few observations about Northland…
1. It felt a lot like Summit in the lobby. If Northland were a person, that person would have certainly looked more conservative than Summit, if Summit were also a person—perhaps a slightly older, more dignified Summit, without the nose piercing and a tasteful Coach bag where there was once a Vera Bradley. But I was really happy with that. I think Summit does a great job in the lobby. It’s very welcoming and there’s coffee. Northland had an enormous first impressions crew, and I immediately felt like I was being taken care of. In a church that size, I think the feeling of being “noticed” will exponentially increase the chances of any “first-timer” becoming a second-timer. (Or a once-a-monther, a.k.a, regular attender.)
2. Once we got into the sanctuary, it felt decidedly less like Summit. This kind of surprised me. (Not in a bad way, just in an unexpected way.) I think I expected it to be more like Summit since Northland is Isaac’s dad’s church, and Isaac is the pastor of Summit. We sang a song that we sing over at Summit, and I hardly recognized it. It was sung by a mid-size choir of older ladies, and I’d only previously heard that song sung by early-twenties UCF students, whose voices remind me of Norah Jones. It was delightful. And amusing.
3. We took communion from those little, thimble-like plastic jobbies. I have decided that I will never be a fan of those. I like intinction, messy and unsanitary as it may be, as I think the entire idea of Christ taking on flesh for our sakes is altogether messy and unsanitary anyway. At the same time, I’d hate for the congregants to hesitate (or even have to consciously battle with their hesitation) to take communion because they’re afraid of getting the Swine Flu. I mentally filed this under “Personal Preference About Which One Ought to Suspend Judgment,” and I drank my little thimble shot of grape juice.
4. It was Lent when we attended Northland, and Steve Brown preached. I have yet to hear Pastor Joel preach, so I’d like to go back. I’d also like to attend a Northland service online, with interactive Q and A, and I’d like to attend (per Josh’s suggestion) one of the services they celebrate with multiple congregations around the globe. From what he says, it’s pretty amazing. Upon planning these future forays into the Northland worship community, there was no way to avoid the sheer awe of how many people this church is reaching, both locally and globally.
A note on Steve Brown’s sermon…
Quite possibly my favorite line was this: “I hope you make it 39 days, and then mess up on day 40. Then you’ll remember your need for God.”
Deep voiced genius.
Becka:
An announcement during Northland’s service was the triggering factor for these thoughts; however, I’m mostly just talking in general, not to (or not only to) Northland, in this diatribe.
The week I “officially” visited Northland, their music leader announced his engagement onstage before worship started. I don’t think that was a good idea. Here’s the thing. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for him, and there’s definitely a Biblical imperative to “rejoice with those who rejoice” which certainly took place in the congregation that day – and that was good. I’m not proposing (although it may sound like it) that everyone onstage needs to keep their personal life off of it; as a matter of fact there are times when I think we need more personal honesty onstage – speaking in general here, not about Northland in particular. The thing I did not like about his announcement is that I think this particular kind of communication from onstage (and the “from onstage” bit is also important) promotes what I refer to as “rock star” leadership. What I mean is, especially (or maybe exclusively) in large churches, the pastor and other visible leaders often become like rock stars to their congregations: people walk through the lobby before or after a service hoping to make eye contact with their idols. They brag about the fact that the pastor knows their name or will take their calls. I don’t know of anyone who’s asked his or her pastor for an autograph, but honestly I wouldn’t be surprised. People emulate their leadership… but without thinking. They respect their leadership… but often blindly. They forget their church stars are human also. Following someone who’s been a Christian longer than you is good; and every leader of a large church whom I know personally (including those at Northland) I also know is worthy of being emulated… just not blindly.
There are a couple of reasons for this. First, it’s harmful to the congregation. Leaders are going to make mistakes, even SIN (can you imagine?). Both the congregation and its leadership have a responsibility to their church, and both need to look out for each other. The congregation is not living up to its responsibility when it sees its leadership as rock stars who can do no wrong. Sometimes the leaders are going to make mistakes. As a member of a congregation, you may not always know when they’re making a mistake, but you’re much more likely to identify it if you are testing their words and actions by your understanding of scripture. And taking the active responsibility to think about the implications of what your church is doing and becoming as you all strive to follow Jesus together will be integral to your own personal faith. If you don’t think and act, you’re not going to grow in Christ and church will become for you mere entertainment – not what it should be as a community of a living, moving, entire body of believers in which all parts are vitally important.
Then, being rock stars is also harmful to the leadership itself. It is so hard not to become arrogant if people worship you (whether you want that adulation or not). And when the congregation tacitly tells rock star leaders that they are the most important people in the room, it is very hard for those leaders not in some way to believe it. And act like it. Goodness knows it’s hard enough (read: impossible) for those of us who are not rock stars not to be arrogant or self-centered even without the approval of a church full of people.
So – back to the specific issue. Why am I making a big, probably unnecessary deal about a small bit of personal information that may even have the beneficial effect of helping a large congregation feel like family? Because I think the danger outweighs the benefit. Ninety eight percent of the church family does not get their engagements noted onstage, so there’s no reciprocity of information exchange. Additionally, the person speaking is on stage, and therefore visually and culturally the most important person in the room. So what happens is that personal information delivered from the stage becomes not so much conversation as the kind of updates about movie (and rock) stars you find in People magazine. In other words, it contributes to the distance between the people onstage and the rest of the congregation, and that distance only reinforces the “rock-star” problem that is hard to get away from in large churches where there are just too many people for them all to personally have a close relationship with the leadership.
That being said, Northland, you’re good people. I respect the way your leaders try to be intentional about following God in every decision, even if I’m not going to think every decision is right. Thanks for being 10,000 more people following Christ and making his kingdom known.
A few observations about Northland…
1. It felt a lot like Summit in the lobby. If Northland were a person, that person would have certainly looked more conservative than Summit, if Summit were also a person—perhaps a slightly older, more dignified Summit, without the nose piercing and a tasteful Coach bag where there was once a Vera Bradley. But I was really happy with that. I think Summit does a great job in the lobby. It’s very welcoming and there’s coffee. Northland had an enormous first impressions crew, and I immediately felt like I was being taken care of. In a church that size, I think the feeling of being “noticed” will exponentially increase the chances of any “first-timer” becoming a second-timer. (Or a once-a-monther, a.k.a, regular attender.)
2. Once we got into the sanctuary, it felt decidedly less like Summit. This kind of surprised me. (Not in a bad way, just in an unexpected way.) I think I expected it to be more like Summit since Northland is Isaac’s dad’s church, and Isaac is the pastor of Summit. We sang a song that we sing over at Summit, and I hardly recognized it. It was sung by a mid-size choir of older ladies, and I’d only previously heard that song sung by early-twenties UCF students, whose voices remind me of Norah Jones. It was delightful. And amusing.
3. We took communion from those little, thimble-like plastic jobbies. I have decided that I will never be a fan of those. I like intinction, messy and unsanitary as it may be, as I think the entire idea of Christ taking on flesh for our sakes is altogether messy and unsanitary anyway. At the same time, I’d hate for the congregants to hesitate (or even have to consciously battle with their hesitation) to take communion because they’re afraid of getting the Swine Flu. I mentally filed this under “Personal Preference About Which One Ought to Suspend Judgment,” and I drank my little thimble shot of grape juice.
4. It was Lent when we attended Northland, and Steve Brown preached. I have yet to hear Pastor Joel preach, so I’d like to go back. I’d also like to attend a Northland service online, with interactive Q and A, and I’d like to attend (per Josh’s suggestion) one of the services they celebrate with multiple congregations around the globe. From what he says, it’s pretty amazing. Upon planning these future forays into the Northland worship community, there was no way to avoid the sheer awe of how many people this church is reaching, both locally and globally.
A note on Steve Brown’s sermon…
Quite possibly my favorite line was this: “I hope you make it 39 days, and then mess up on day 40. Then you’ll remember your need for God.”
Deep voiced genius.
Becka:
An announcement during Northland’s service was the triggering factor for these thoughts; however, I’m mostly just talking in general, not to (or not only to) Northland, in this diatribe.
The week I “officially” visited Northland, their music leader announced his engagement onstage before worship started. I don’t think that was a good idea. Here’s the thing. It’s not that I wasn’t happy for him, and there’s definitely a Biblical imperative to “rejoice with those who rejoice” which certainly took place in the congregation that day – and that was good. I’m not proposing (although it may sound like it) that everyone onstage needs to keep their personal life off of it; as a matter of fact there are times when I think we need more personal honesty onstage – speaking in general here, not about Northland in particular. The thing I did not like about his announcement is that I think this particular kind of communication from onstage (and the “from onstage” bit is also important) promotes what I refer to as “rock star” leadership. What I mean is, especially (or maybe exclusively) in large churches, the pastor and other visible leaders often become like rock stars to their congregations: people walk through the lobby before or after a service hoping to make eye contact with their idols. They brag about the fact that the pastor knows their name or will take their calls. I don’t know of anyone who’s asked his or her pastor for an autograph, but honestly I wouldn’t be surprised. People emulate their leadership… but without thinking. They respect their leadership… but often blindly. They forget their church stars are human also. Following someone who’s been a Christian longer than you is good; and every leader of a large church whom I know personally (including those at Northland) I also know is worthy of being emulated… just not blindly.
There are a couple of reasons for this. First, it’s harmful to the congregation. Leaders are going to make mistakes, even SIN (can you imagine?). Both the congregation and its leadership have a responsibility to their church, and both need to look out for each other. The congregation is not living up to its responsibility when it sees its leadership as rock stars who can do no wrong. Sometimes the leaders are going to make mistakes. As a member of a congregation, you may not always know when they’re making a mistake, but you’re much more likely to identify it if you are testing their words and actions by your understanding of scripture. And taking the active responsibility to think about the implications of what your church is doing and becoming as you all strive to follow Jesus together will be integral to your own personal faith. If you don’t think and act, you’re not going to grow in Christ and church will become for you mere entertainment – not what it should be as a community of a living, moving, entire body of believers in which all parts are vitally important.
Then, being rock stars is also harmful to the leadership itself. It is so hard not to become arrogant if people worship you (whether you want that adulation or not). And when the congregation tacitly tells rock star leaders that they are the most important people in the room, it is very hard for those leaders not in some way to believe it. And act like it. Goodness knows it’s hard enough (read: impossible) for those of us who are not rock stars not to be arrogant or self-centered even without the approval of a church full of people.
So – back to the specific issue. Why am I making a big, probably unnecessary deal about a small bit of personal information that may even have the beneficial effect of helping a large congregation feel like family? Because I think the danger outweighs the benefit. Ninety eight percent of the church family does not get their engagements noted onstage, so there’s no reciprocity of information exchange. Additionally, the person speaking is on stage, and therefore visually and culturally the most important person in the room. So what happens is that personal information delivered from the stage becomes not so much conversation as the kind of updates about movie (and rock) stars you find in People magazine. In other words, it contributes to the distance between the people onstage and the rest of the congregation, and that distance only reinforces the “rock-star” problem that is hard to get away from in large churches where there are just too many people for them all to personally have a close relationship with the leadership.
That being said, Northland, you’re good people. I respect the way your leaders try to be intentional about following God in every decision, even if I’m not going to think every decision is right. Thanks for being 10,000 more people following Christ and making his kingdom known.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
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.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
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.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
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..."
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..."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)