I came across a word today that caught my attention: messy worship. I could have followed the internet bunny trail to see what the blogger was referring to, but I thought I'd stop and just consider it myself.
My pastor reiterates often that we are created to worship and we all worship something: God or idols. In 1 Samuel, the people are told (loose translation,) "If you want to return to God, throw your idols in the river." They threw them in the river, alright. Then they ran to the place where the tide washed them back up on the shore, and they took them back.
Now, that's messy worship...and oh, so familiar.
Then I think of my son, who is enamored with a genre of Christian music that is, well, messy in its sound and approach. He passionately wants me to understand the power of it and insists that it draws him to God in a way that "traditional" worship music does not. Is there a line in the sand of what is God-honoring worship? Is it better to listen to Taylor Swift croon about her break-up than it is to hear For Today's gutteral battle cry for the Lord? Noah had me watch a video of For Today's drummer. He quit the band to become a missionary in South America.
Worship can be messy.
I stood on the stage of our church last night, rehearsing a solo with a glorious orchestral and choir accompanyment. I sang these words: "Make my heart your Bethlehem...be born in me." I long for God to reign in my heart, and yet my heart is deceitful above all things (Jer. 17:9.)
It's messy. Forgive me, God.
But I will sing through the mess. I will cast my idols down as many times as I need to. I will find beauty in the messy, screaming battle cry. I will accept that the mess comes with choosing the MESSiah. I will worship.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Breaking Bread with Statistics
I almost didn't get where I was trying to go last night. I had a big crock full of dinner for 16 people, but when I drove up to the building, it was dark. I guess I didn't get the memo that the location had changed.
For several years, our family has volunteered with Interfaith Hospitality Network, whose mission is to serve homeless families in crisis by providing shelter, meals, and many other gracious services. I partner with someone every 6 weeks or so to make a meal, serve it, and eat with the families.
I panicked last night when I realized I didn't have anyone's phone number. My meal partner was a stranger. I couldn't get a hold of the coordinator or the office. My husband sat at his work desk, trying to find old messages in my gmail account that would give a clue to which of the 20 or so host churches they could be meeting.
"Gracie, let's pray," I said, and she dutifully started pleading, "God, help us get where we need to go so we can feed these families."
And then one call led to another to another, and we were blasting off to the right church. Grace and I looked at each other, eyes shining. "God did that," I whispered, and she bent her sweet little head and thanked Him.
Twenty minutes late, we walked into a room rampant with toddler screams and children racing in circles, with parents on their last nerve. I dished out the food as quickly as possible and suddenly, calm was restored. Grace and I looked around for where to sit. The tables were pretty full, so we could have sat at an empty one, but I've learned it's better to just squeeze in with the families and do what you can to be an encouragement.
So we adjusted some chairs and joined a hodgepodge of kids and adults. Two of the little girls were around Grace's age, and it took the three of them all of 5 minutes to decide they were friends and to plan what they would do when the meal was over. First doll house, then hide and seek, then board games. Grace and I couldn't get enough of 3-yr-old Micah, who was the spittin' image of Rudy Huckstable from the Cosby Show.
I spent the remainder of the evening talking with the big barrel of a man across the table about his street-tough beginnings, the price he continues to pay for his past, his sold-out love for Jesus, and his deep longing to get his life turned around and provide for his wife and little girls. In a place that often has a spirit of heaviness, where people are very reluctant to open up to a stranger, he was such a bright and hopeful spirit. It's the difference vibrant faith makes.
What I love about serving struggling and marginalized people is that you lose labels and categories and you realize that they are just people like you. Their eyes hold pain mingled with hope. After a season of political drama and people on their polarized high horses, it was good to be breaking bread with the "statistics." I don't want to misrepresent myself though. I spend the majority of time in my comfy house with my homogenous group of friends, or carting my kids to their activities. I could do SO much more, and there are amazing people who pour out their lives for others in ways that leave me speechless.
Church, let's get our hands dirty.
Stop complaining about the government, and just be Christ to someone. Stop with the ideological discussions on how best to rescue the masses, or worse, let them flounder on their own, and invest some time and money in a few lives here and abroad. That's my prayer for us, for me.
For several years, our family has volunteered with Interfaith Hospitality Network, whose mission is to serve homeless families in crisis by providing shelter, meals, and many other gracious services. I partner with someone every 6 weeks or so to make a meal, serve it, and eat with the families.
I panicked last night when I realized I didn't have anyone's phone number. My meal partner was a stranger. I couldn't get a hold of the coordinator or the office. My husband sat at his work desk, trying to find old messages in my gmail account that would give a clue to which of the 20 or so host churches they could be meeting.
"Gracie, let's pray," I said, and she dutifully started pleading, "God, help us get where we need to go so we can feed these families."
And then one call led to another to another, and we were blasting off to the right church. Grace and I looked at each other, eyes shining. "God did that," I whispered, and she bent her sweet little head and thanked Him.
Twenty minutes late, we walked into a room rampant with toddler screams and children racing in circles, with parents on their last nerve. I dished out the food as quickly as possible and suddenly, calm was restored. Grace and I looked around for where to sit. The tables were pretty full, so we could have sat at an empty one, but I've learned it's better to just squeeze in with the families and do what you can to be an encouragement.
So we adjusted some chairs and joined a hodgepodge of kids and adults. Two of the little girls were around Grace's age, and it took the three of them all of 5 minutes to decide they were friends and to plan what they would do when the meal was over. First doll house, then hide and seek, then board games. Grace and I couldn't get enough of 3-yr-old Micah, who was the spittin' image of Rudy Huckstable from the Cosby Show.
I spent the remainder of the evening talking with the big barrel of a man across the table about his street-tough beginnings, the price he continues to pay for his past, his sold-out love for Jesus, and his deep longing to get his life turned around and provide for his wife and little girls. In a place that often has a spirit of heaviness, where people are very reluctant to open up to a stranger, he was such a bright and hopeful spirit. It's the difference vibrant faith makes.
What I love about serving struggling and marginalized people is that you lose labels and categories and you realize that they are just people like you. Their eyes hold pain mingled with hope. After a season of political drama and people on their polarized high horses, it was good to be breaking bread with the "statistics." I don't want to misrepresent myself though. I spend the majority of time in my comfy house with my homogenous group of friends, or carting my kids to their activities. I could do SO much more, and there are amazing people who pour out their lives for others in ways that leave me speechless.
Church, let's get our hands dirty.
Stop complaining about the government, and just be Christ to someone. Stop with the ideological discussions on how best to rescue the masses, or worse, let them flounder on their own, and invest some time and money in a few lives here and abroad. That's my prayer for us, for me.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Holy Determination
I read the first chapter of Ruth this morning. I've read her story many times, but it struck me differently today; perhaps because I am looking for people who do radical things.
Ruth was radical. She was determined to cling to Naomi at her own personal sacrifice, at her own peril, and probably against her better judgement. She saw in Naomi a worthy cause, and she didn't care what other people would think. Her determination silenced Naomi's protests.
The story is scary to me. It makes me ask some hard questions about safety, security, sanity, and sacrifice. It makes me evaluate what I cling to...my cozy home, my family, my comfortable faith. Honestly, who or what is my Naomi? The right answer is Christ, but do my choices reflect that?
Ten of us gathered recently to explore this idea. There was a spirit of holy determination to better live out this faith we profess, to give it teeth and nails. But mingling with determination was fear and doubt about how successful we will really be in leaving our holy huddle and entering the wilderness.
Just as Naomi tried to dissuade Ruth from leaving her safe home, Jesus tried to talk his disciples out of following him by pointing out all they would be sacrificing: comforts, relationships, respect. Will we take his warnings and say, "Um, alrighty then, I think I'll stay put here on my soft couch and thank you kindly for my salvation." Or will we take the challenge?
I have no plan. I am, instead, trying to be fertile ground, asking God to plant seeds that will take root, change the landscape, prevent erosion, and bear fruit. I'm praying the fruit will be unrecognizable to me; completely new and wonderful, sticky and dripping with the glory of God.
Ruth was radical. She was determined to cling to Naomi at her own personal sacrifice, at her own peril, and probably against her better judgement. She saw in Naomi a worthy cause, and she didn't care what other people would think. Her determination silenced Naomi's protests.
The story is scary to me. It makes me ask some hard questions about safety, security, sanity, and sacrifice. It makes me evaluate what I cling to...my cozy home, my family, my comfortable faith. Honestly, who or what is my Naomi? The right answer is Christ, but do my choices reflect that?
Ten of us gathered recently to explore this idea. There was a spirit of holy determination to better live out this faith we profess, to give it teeth and nails. But mingling with determination was fear and doubt about how successful we will really be in leaving our holy huddle and entering the wilderness.
Just as Naomi tried to dissuade Ruth from leaving her safe home, Jesus tried to talk his disciples out of following him by pointing out all they would be sacrificing: comforts, relationships, respect. Will we take his warnings and say, "Um, alrighty then, I think I'll stay put here on my soft couch and thank you kindly for my salvation." Or will we take the challenge?
I have no plan. I am, instead, trying to be fertile ground, asking God to plant seeds that will take root, change the landscape, prevent erosion, and bear fruit. I'm praying the fruit will be unrecognizable to me; completely new and wonderful, sticky and dripping with the glory of God.
Friday, November 2, 2012
Holy Discontent
My sweet friend sat in the chair, verbalizing an emotion that is difficult to articulate. She didn't want to sound ungrateful , but she was dissastisfied. What should she be doing with her time? What will count? What will matter to the Kingdom of God? She was pent up with frustration and ambivalence, unsure of her next step.
A few comments were tossed to her from the group of ladies...enjoy this peaceful time...pray for contentment. They came with good intentions, trying to ease her internal struggle.
But I recognized her angst. I have felt it, too, in recent months: seeing so much need and recognizing my own well of resources, but feeling paralyzed, not wanting to jump into just anything. I gave her a word for her emotion: holy discontent. Those of us who have become dissatisfied with our quest of the American Dream, with our lovely homes, our cozy little family times, our beautiful churches complete with fine coffee, giant screens, and mega sound boards, our Christian conferences and Bible studies where we fill up but don't do much to pour out because we're too busy investing in our American Dream and our pretty churches.
Ministries that were once monumental efforts to me, like parenting, homeschooling, and music ministry, are now comfortable as God has blessed me with skill and resources. When I was on the learning curve, trusting God in my weakness, I felt smack in the center of His will. I'm certainly not an expert at any of these things, but as I've developed a certain amount of proficiency and can say, "I know how to do this pretty well," I think it's time to venture into deeper waters, beyond safe pastures.
Enter "holy discontent."
So my prayer is this:
God, I see needs that far exceed my ability to meet. Don't let me rest until I've done something. Send me into deep waters. Send others with me.
May God break my heart so completely that the whole world falls in. -Mother Teresa
A few comments were tossed to her from the group of ladies...enjoy this peaceful time...pray for contentment. They came with good intentions, trying to ease her internal struggle.
But I recognized her angst. I have felt it, too, in recent months: seeing so much need and recognizing my own well of resources, but feeling paralyzed, not wanting to jump into just anything. I gave her a word for her emotion: holy discontent. Those of us who have become dissatisfied with our quest of the American Dream, with our lovely homes, our cozy little family times, our beautiful churches complete with fine coffee, giant screens, and mega sound boards, our Christian conferences and Bible studies where we fill up but don't do much to pour out because we're too busy investing in our American Dream and our pretty churches.
Ministries that were once monumental efforts to me, like parenting, homeschooling, and music ministry, are now comfortable as God has blessed me with skill and resources. When I was on the learning curve, trusting God in my weakness, I felt smack in the center of His will. I'm certainly not an expert at any of these things, but as I've developed a certain amount of proficiency and can say, "I know how to do this pretty well," I think it's time to venture into deeper waters, beyond safe pastures.
Enter "holy discontent."
So my prayer is this:
God, I see needs that far exceed my ability to meet. Don't let me rest until I've done something. Send me into deep waters. Send others with me.
May God break my heart so completely that the whole world falls in. -Mother Teresa
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