Beloved Recovery in Western North Carolina

This past Wednesday evening we decided to have dinner at Wingstop in Asheville, NC.  Sophie had promised us that we would enjoy the best wings and French fries there, so it was a plan.  We left Montreat and drove west, through Swannanoa, into east Asheville.  Because of Hurricane Helene, much was different about western North Carolina: abandoned buildings, un-inhabitable homes, and washed out roads.  But as we drove through this area that is working so hard to recover, we noticed something else, another effect from the devastating storm.  It surprised me, and it broke my heart.

All along the route from Montreat to East Asheville, there were men and women scattered by the side of the road.  It was clear that many of them were under the influence of alcohol or drugs (or both), and we could see some of them who were actively using in plain sight.  We arrived at Wingstop, and as we walked toward the restaurant we observed the same atmosphere I have described.  We decided not to stay and eat there, and walking back to our car I walked by a young man who had turned up a pint bottle of vodka and was finishing it off.  He was in a bad place as were so many we saw that evening.

I did a little research and found that since Helene overdose deaths in Asheville and western North Carolina have risen drastically.  Drug use and addiction are more prevalent now than before the storm, and if one drives through that area it is easy to see the despair, the hopelessness, and the pain.

Later that night we attended a hymn festival that was a part of the conference.  Hundreds of pastors, musicians, and church members gathered to listen to scripture, testimonies, and sing together.  It was spiritually and musically amazing.

One of the pieces of music that we sang was a simple text, titled You Are Beloved.  It was arranged by Ana Hernandez, who led the hymn festival, and she had set the text to the traditional Irish tune ST. COLUMBA.  In five parts the congregation sang: you are beloved for God is love/you are beloved of God/You are beloved for God is love, for God is love.  It is a powerful text, and we were encouraged to sing it to others in the room.  It was a beautiful reminder that we each received, a reassurance that we all are loved by God, that we are all beloved.  It was a meaningful and moving moment.

There were many in Anderson Auditorium that night, and I’m sure there were quite a few who needed that word of assurance, that reminder that they are beloved by God.  But what flooded my mind were the many people, standing, living, barely surviving, on that road stretching from Swannanoa to Asheville.  Those living in tents, living only for the next high, and losing everything in order to get it.  Those individuals, those fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives, who are living on the edge, they too are God’s beloved.  I saw a lot on their faces: I saw despair, brokenness, pain, loss, but I don’t think I saw on any of those faces the hope of beloved-ness.

It is important to speak words of hope and good news in worship.  It is important to share words of God’s love and promise when we come together as Christians who are more or less living healthy lives.  But I hope I never forget that it is most often people outside of our comfortable gatherings who need to hear that they too are God’s beloved. I hope we never forget that we do not encounter anyone who is not God’s beloved, even those excluded and labeled unclean or less than by our culture. It is our calling, our mission, and our greatest joy to tell everyone of their own beloved-ness. May it be so.

A Pastor's Worship

There are not many times when a pastor gets to worship without leading worship.  I know, I know, leading worship has worshiping “built in,” but there is a difference.  When I preach I too, in a strange way, am also a hearer of the sermon; when I pray publicly during worship I am giving voice to my personal praise, confessions, and petition; when I read scripture I am also listening for God’s Word “for me today”; and certainly when I sing hymns I am offering my praise to God just as anyone else in the sanctuary.  But all things considered, there is a difference.  When a pastor leads worship there is always the thought of what is next, how to make a transition, how long to pause during silent prayers, how to read a text so the story is understandable, and how to have a reverent pace while not dragging the energy out of a time of worship.  These things and more are always before a pastor when he or she is leading worship, and I enjoy taking part in all of these and trying to get them all “just right.”

            But sometimes I like, I need, to simply worship.  To be able to sing a hymn and not think about my prayer that comes at the end of it.  To think about a Bible story and be able to turn to read it during the children’s sermon.  To let my mind wander, to miss something in the liturgy, to allow God to guide my thoughts to something that hasn’t been said out loud, to count the number of chandeliers in the sanctuary, to quietly protest what the preacher is saying, and to wrestle with the text for the day.  I like to be able to pray about my personal prayer requests while the pastor is leading a prayer, to sing without people looking at me, and most of all I love to be served at the table as a follower of Jesus.

            Sometimes I need to worship without leading worship, but those times are few in the life of a pastor.  While these times are few, I do find opportunities throughout the year.

            One of the ways I am able to worship without leading worship is the one week a year when my family and I attend a conference in the beautiful little village of Montreat.  This coming Sunday we will go to Montreat, and it is the 25th year Beverley and I are attending the Worship and Music Conference at Montreat.  I don’t know what I would do without it.  In addition to the many classes and seminars that are held throughout the day there is an eleven o’clock worship service each morning in which nearly 1,000 pastors, musicians, and church members assemble in a beautiful stone auditorium for excellent music, creative praise, and wonderful sermons.  Each night there are different offerings: a hymn festival, an organ concert, a choral concert, and additional worship services.  Over the years this week has became the highlight of my year.

            When I first went to Montreat in 2000 it was not much of a place to me, it was just another little mountain community among many.  It was much like that place that Jacob came upon in the middle of the night in Genesis when he was running for his life from Esau.  But much like Jacob, I now look back and realize that “I didn’t even know it, but this is the house of God.”  That is what the word Bethel means, house of God. 

            There is a hike my family and I take every year while at Montreat called Lookout Mountain.  It takes us about 90 minutes and at the top is a rock outcropping from which you can see down to Montreat and out toward Asheville.  It reminds me of the Biblical language used to describe that first Bethel in Genesis, a high place, set apart with stones.  Jacob took one of those stones, anointed it with oil, and named it Bethel.  I thank God for my “Bethels,” they are all over the place—at May Memorial each week and yearly at Montreat.  What an amazing thing—these have truly turned out to be the house of God, and I didn’t even know it.

Captured by Jesus

I had taken teenagers to camp at Fort Caswell on North Carolina’s Oak Island so that their lives could (hopefully) be changed.  But it was my life that was most changed that summer.  Two things happened that week.

First, I heard the story from Matthew 25 commonly referred to as The Parable of the Sheep and the Goats.  I grew up in church, but I had never heard this passage.  When I say I grew up in church, I mean I was there three times a week.  Sunday morning.  Sunday night.  Wednesday night.  I never heard it.  In this story Jesus tells about the final judgment (I had heard all kinds of stories about final judgement, but never this one), what it all comes down to, as Jesus tell the story, is how we treat others.  Specifically, how we treat the poor, the hungry, the imprisoned, and the grieving.  This passage moved me deeply.

Second, I was introduced to Keith Green, and specifically, his song Asleep in the Light.  Weeks before camp, I received a cassette tape (this was before cd’s) in the mail, with two songs on it.  One of the two was the above named Keith Green song.  The reason I got the tape with the song is because, as a youth pastor, I was to teach one of the Bible study groups that week.  I was to teach the Matthew 25 passage (the one I had never heard before) and in the lesson plan laid out for us the song was an aid in teaching the passage.

When Keith Green originally recorded the song, on the album it was preceded by his telling of the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats.  They just go together.

All of this to say, the coming together of that song with that text, it captured me.  It made me realize that the heart of my faith, of OUR faith, is, well, Jesus.  This sounds so basic to many, but as one who was trying to weave together some sort of faith that included all of scripture, a faith that gave importance to every passage equally, a faith that figured out how all of these parts worked together into one whole, I came to see that what is most important, well, is Jesus.  Not Moses, but Jesus.  Not Paul, but Jesus.  Not the Ten Commandments (or the 613 other Old Testament laws) but the Sermon on the Mount (Jesus).  For me, it was transforming.

This transformation allowed me to let go of many things that were of lesser importance, so that I could reach toward what was most vital, and that is…you guessed it…Jesus.  I began noticing the things that seemed vitally important to many Christians that Jesus NEVER mentions. Not once. And I began noticing the things that Jesus talked about repeatedly that so many Christians never mention. Somehow, Jesus had just gotten lost in this big shuffle of names and characters and laws and traditions and customs and manners and literature.  He had been neutralized in a faith that taught me that the canon was flat.  Somehow, I had been taught that the most obscure of Old Testament passages were just as important as Jesus’ parables and sermons. And Jesus had become one of many in a big system of religion.  And he had gotten lost.  I had failed to realize that it is Jesus, he is the most important.

It is still easy for me to forget what is most important.  I get caught up in so many things, things that pull at me in the name of religion.  But today, as I feel summer on my skin with its humid heat, and I think back to that summer at camp, I remember that transformation that led me to what is most important.  Jesus.

Lord, Jesus, wake me from the sleep that comes so frequently, even my sleep in the light.

You can listen to Keith Green’s telling of the Parable as well as his Asleep in the Light by clicking here.

AA and Why We Confess our Sins in Worship

If you were to visit a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, you’d find a lot of things.  You would see that AA has a set format for meetings: readings, prayers, passing a basket, introductions, and statement of traditions.  You’d also pick up on many of the customs: coffee, passing out colored chips to mark periods of sobriety, etc.  But at the core what you will find is a diverse group of people who 1) have a problem, 2) admit they have a problem, and 3) need for help with that problem.  It is really very simple.  Now there are many other people in our world who have this problem who never get around to admitting it, and that is one of the distinguishing characteristics of AA’s: they admit it.  Only after admitting it can they (we) look for help.

Each Sunday during the season of Lent (and other Sundays through the year) we confess our sins together in worship.  We do this because 1) we have a problem (sin), 2) we are willing to admit that we have a sin problem, and 3) we need help with that problem.

Every human being who has ever planted their feet on this earth (except Jesus) has a problem with sin.  Things we do that we shouldn’t do, and things we fail to do that we should do.  Sins of commission and sins of omission.  It is a universal problem.  It is a problem for those who have never darkened the door of a church, and it is a problem for those of us who sit in the pews every week.  And there are some who would deny this problem, who would say they have never needed to ask anyone for forgiveness.  We know that is a lie.  And those of us who are a part of Christ’s Church are ones who admit we have this problem.  We don’t think we’re perfect, we’re honest about it.  We admit that sin is a problem for us.

This ongoing struggle with sin is not one to be hidden or denied, but God gives us tools, practices, disciplines, to deal with it.  And primarily there is confession.  It should be a part of every Christian’s life, and it is appropriate for us to do it together.  It keeps us humble.  It reminds us that we are not perfect.  It helps us keep short lists.  It enables us to be forgiven before God.  It enables us a honesty that isn’t expressed elsewhere in our culture.  Confession of sin is important.  Without confession, we can’t fully grasp forgiveness.

I didn’t grow up confessing sin together in worship, but the older I get and the more we do it, the more important I understand it to be.  It causes me to stop, to take inventory, and to name all of those places where I am broken, where I am sinful.  Then, in joy, I can sing We are Forgiven and greet you knowing the peace of Christ.

This year we are using the same prayer of confession each Sunday in Lent, I have included this traditional prayer here.

Merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.  We have not loved you with our whole heart and mind and strength.  We have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.  In your mercy forgive what we have been, help us amend what we are, and direct what we shall be, so that we may delight in your will and walk in your ways, to the glory of your holy name.  Through Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Known by our Worst Mistake?

Something very important happened last week, as it does every year mid-March.  It was the ACC Tournament, when the men’s basketball teams representing Atlantic Coast Conference schools battle it out in a five day tournament.  This year it was in Charlotte, and it is frequently in North Carolina, because of its suitable venues and central location in the ACC.

Duke won the tournament, and the regular season ACC title, which I love.  But something else happened during the tournament that I have been considering.  Duke played Carolina (by the way, Carolina can never mean South Carolina, which may as well be North Georgia) in a semi-final game, and Duke, being ranked no. 1 in the nation was expected to win easily.  And in the first half that is what happened.  Duke was up by well over twenty points, and it looked like it was going to be a blowout.  But Carolina came out in the second half and had an amazing comeback.  With only four seconds left in the game Carolina was down by only one and they were shooting two free-throws.  Lubin missed the first of the two, but had one free throw left which would most likely force overtime.  He made the second free throw, but another Tarheel, Jae'Lyn Withers, made the mistake of his career and stepped into the lane too early (before the ball left the shooter’s hand) which meant that made free thrown did not count, and Carolina lost four seconds later.

Don’t get me wrong, I wanted Duke to win.  But I hated to see Carolina lose that way.  It was a huge mistake, a mental lapse that Withers never should have allowed happen.  Withers is a fifth-year senior, a seasoned and experience student athlete, and this mistake was one that would’t be expected even from a high school player.

I thought about Jae'Lyn Withers and his successful career at Carolina.  I thought about all of the good games he played, all of the points scored, all of his assists, rebounds, all of his wins.  And I thought about how easy it would be to remember him not for any of that, but for that big mistake this past Friday night against Duke.

It is so easy to remember people for the biggest mistakes they make.  For people to always carry the label of the worst thing they have ever done.  It seems that we have the capacity to let memory fade of all the good, but never to forget the bad. Of that day when it all went so badly. Their worst decision. It is so easy to remember that.  This morning I read the the portion of the Sermon on the Plain in Luke’s gospel in which Jesus tells us “don’t judge, and you won’t be judged.  Don’t condemn, and you won’t be condemned.  Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”  And while Jesus is saying many things here, he is at least strongly implying that we all have things for which we can be judged, so we should be careful not to judge others. We all have worst mistakes.

Hubert Davis, Carolina’s head coach, is a class act.  From the moment Withers stepped into the lane too early all the way into the press conference following the game, coach Davis showed great mercy.  He did everything he could to allow Withers to keep his dignity, to save face, and to not allow the loss to be only laid at his fault.  The mistake hurt, but he kept it in perspective.

Show mercy.  Don’t remember the worst about people, but remember the best.  May mercy be shown to you, and may others never remember the worst about us.  God doesn’t.

Jogging in Powhatan

If I can, at lunchtime each day I jog in Powhatan.  I start at the YMCA, and my route takes me all around the village, through Scottville, behind the courthouse, in front of the Rescue Squad building, through the cemetery, and on the trail that connects Scottville back to the YMCA.  I love jogging in the village, it is peaceful, there are sidewalks, and I love being in the woods on the trail.

When I jog through the cemetery there are always names on tombstones that I notice.  I always see Don Fitch’s grave.  And Dick Rabon's.  I always notice Helen Mason’s, I can look and see Bob Cosby’s name, and Dot Wilkins’ and Nancy Stoll’s.  I can’t see their names from the road, but I see the grave of Dover and Audrey Johnston.  Several times a week I see all of these and many more.  People I remember fondly, that I love.  I also think about those who walk or jog in Wayne Memorial Park in Goldsboro, NC, where my mom was buried two years ago this week.

I look at all of the names on the tombstones, and I often notice the dates of their life.  I quickly do the math in my mind: “wow, he lived to ninety-eight years old.”  “Goodness, she was only thirty-nine, so young.”  I think about the span of their lives, the number of their days.  From time to time as I am in the cemetery looking at names and dates the thought passes through my mind: my days are numbered too.

This thought, to some (and to me on some days) is quite the downer.  But, it is also clarifying.  I don’t have an unlimited amount of time.  One day our lives will come to an end.  And we can allow this sobering reality to get us down, or it can be a motivator for a more fruitful life.  We get one chance, don’t waste it.

This is part of the message for Ash Wednesday.  As the ash smudge is imposed on our foreheads we know, we are reminded, that we were created from dust, and to dust we shall return.  So, make it count.  Don’t delay those things that are most important.  You get one chance, don’t waste it.

All of those names that I see, those people that I think so much of, none of them were perfect.  And neither are we.  We are human, but we do have the capacity for God’s goodness in our families, our community, and our world.  Make it count.  Follow Jesus with all that you have, and take His Way seriously.  No other way will lead to life.

Forgive.  Love with abandon.  Don’t carry grudges.  Be a peacemaker.  Give.  Show mercy.  Don’t do things for show.  Tell the truth.  Honor commitments.  Don’t speak harsh words.  Don’t hate.  Don’t show partiality between different types of people.  Be holy.

You get one chance.  Your days, like mine, are numbered.  Make it count.

Read the Bible

Many years ago I heard a pastor say, tongue in cheek, that he “believed everything Jesus said about homosexuality and everything Paul said about the virgin birth.”  It drew quite a few head nods and even a couple of “amens.”  But the pastor knew that Jesus never mentions homosexuality and Paul never mentions the virgin birth.  But, one would just assume…right?

It has also been said that “the Bible ruins a lot of good sermons.”  People are a little perplexed when they hear that, but the idea is this: there are many ideas that are easily preached that have no Biblical (or even historically Christian) foundation.  We just make a lot of assumptions.

It is not uncommon, for someone to ask me, “where is this (fill in the blank) in the Bible?”  It also has not been uncommon when I’ve been asked that question that the answer is simply this: it’s not.  Sometimes I have to do a little research before I give the answer (the Bible is a long book), but sometimes I know immediately.  After a wedding one Saturday I was standing at the reception, a gentleman came up and asked me “where, exactly, is the wedding ceremony that we use located in the Bible?”  And of course, it’s not.

It is important to read the Bible, and the best place to start is the gospels.

If people actually read the Bible, I suggest a couple of things would surprise them.  First, they probably would be surprised at how often Christians talk about things that are not mentioned, or rarely mentioned.  Second, people, if they actually read the Bible, would be surprised at how LITTLE Christians talk about things that are repeated themes throughout the sixty-six books that make up Christian scripture.

I’ve read the Bible a lot.  Not as much as some people, but more than others.  And I continue to find myself surprised at how often Jesus talks about some things and never mentions others.  Jesus talks about money a lot.  Jesus talks about this thing called the kingdom of God a lot.  Jesus, as my pastor friend said, never mentions homosexuality. But Jesus talks about divorce a lot.  Jesus talks about hypocrisy a lot, and Jesus doesn’t talk about heaven (the afterlife) much at all. If you’re like me, there are some things that I wish Jesus would have mentioned, and there are also some things that I wish he would have never brought up. But we have what we have.

One of the best books I’ve read over the past couple of years was by a scholar who died January 3 at seventy-six years old.  Richard Hayes taught at Duke, and years ago he wrote The Moral Vision of the New Testament.  I read portions of that book in the past, but last year I read the entire volume.  There are many reasons why that work is beneficial, but what I still carry with me is the way in which he identifies the consistent and repeated themes from scripture, especially the New Testament.  Things that are mentioned over and over, from the Gospels to Revelation.  There’s not a lot of them, actually only three, and they probably would surprise you.

What do you think are the consistent themes of scripture?  What did Jesus talk about the most?  What did Jesus never talk about?  Well, read the Bible.  Start with the gospels.  It may surprise you.

The Deacons of May Memorial

The best title I can use to describe the deacons of May Memorial Baptist Church is Spiritual Leaders.

They are not the governing body (that’s the congregation), they don’t handle finances (that’s the finance committee).  They don’t deal with staff issues (Personnel Committee), and they don’t oversee building and grounds maintenance (Building and Ground’s Committee).  They don’t handle legal issues like insurance, contracts, and property (Board of Directors).  There’s many things that are done by many other groups in the church, but the deacons still have perhaps the most important role.  They are the spiritual leaders, and as spiritual leaders, they are called to:

Be faithful

Be mature

Promote unity

Pray for the church and our members

Have integrity

Demonstrate Christ-like love

Speak the truth

Share Christ

Serve at the Lord’s Table

Encourage the discouraged

Comfort the grieving

Welcome the newcomer and stranger

Visit the sick and hurting

Encourage stewardship of all God has given us

Promote faithful worship

(And other duties as required)

The deacons are not a board, they are spiritual leaders.  They are a necessity for the church, and they are God’s gifts to the Body.  May Memorial is blessed with wonderful deacons, and starting today we will feature the “deacons of the month” in the newsletter.

I am grateful for all of my co-laborers in Christ, not the least of which are those who make up the diaconate of May Memorial Baptist Church.

Church or Club?

My family and I, for years, have been members of the “711 Club.”  The club is on Virginia route 711, known now as Huguenot Trail, and membership is limited to forty families.  We paid the joining fee, we take care of our dues (pay them or I “work” them off), and we enjoy the benefits of membership.  Or more accurately, we enjoy the benefit of members: use of the pool from Memorial Day to Labor Day.  We spend time there each summer, I frequently help out by cleaning or cutting the grass, and it is a summertime activity for my family and me to enjoy.  Membership has its privileges: use of the pool.

That’s how a club works, you join, pay your dues, and you enjoy what that club has to offer to its members.  Non-members may be invited to join, but if you’re not a member you are not welcome to enjoy the benefits of membership.  That’s how it works.

The church is not a club, but it is easy for “club-thinking” to creep into the church.  Everything the church does, just like everything Jesus did, is for everyone, members and non-members alike.  The church is called to live in an “others first” paradigm.  Sometimes, the “others” may be members in the church who are simply not you.  Another person.  Sometimes, the “others” may be people who have not yet been to May Memorial.  Sometimes “others” may be those who visit from time to time or a little more regularly, but have not yet joined.  Others.

This does not mean that we aren’t aware of needed practical practices that allow us to operate in an orderly, safe, and faithful manner.

But I wonder, when I pull up to a Tuesday night meeting at the church in the middle of July and families are parking in our lot for their kids to play little league, and I think about what Jesus would do, should I have the attitude that says “this is the church’s parking lot, don’t park in my space?”  Or, would Jesus give them the better space?

This idea can transform the way we view church.  What if we are called to a people that is a blessing to our community?  What if we are less concerned with being the best church in Powhatan but rather the best church for Powhatan?  What if we want our actions to answer the prayer “Thy kingdom come on earth in Powhatan as it is in heaven?”  What if God intends to bless our community through us, in such a way that individuals are invited into what God is doing in us?

The Wednesday night meal is not our meal…

The annual picnic and jazz concert is not our picnic…

The Halloween festival is not our festival…

It is really not our parking lot, or fellowship hall, or sanctuary, it is all entrusted to our stewardship by God so that we may use it in such a way that His kingdom will come in Powhatan.

Light in the Darkness

We have no reason to believe that Jesus was born on December 25.  And while the Western Church has been celebrating “Christ Mass” on December 25 since the fourth century, it is not done so because the Church believes it got the birth date right.  Some have tied the date of Christmas to Mary’s Annunciation on March 25, and nine months later would be December 25.  But most likely the Annunciation Day celebration on March 25 was derived from the already set Christmas Day celebration on December 25.

            The more likely story of a late December celebration of Jesus’ birth is much more complicated, involving pagan festivals and the tilting of the earth at the winter solstice.  This past Saturday, just past 4:00 a.m. (Eastern Time), the Northern Hemisphere reached its farthest distance from the sun.  These are the darkest days of the year, the days with the least amount of time between sunrise and sunset.  Saturday was the winter solstice.  And the ancients knew that on the winter solstice, that that would be the day when sun would start to “win the battle” over the darkness.  Because starting Sunday, each day little by little, the sun began to shine a little longer.  This was cause for celebration.  The ancients would take their beverages that had been fermenting since Autumn and drink them in celebration.  They would slaughter the animals they didn’t want to have to feed and tend through the remaining months of winter.  It was a celebration.

            Early Christians, noticing these “heathen” celebrations, probably made the decision influenced by these existing customs.  Some modern-day Christians are bothered by this story, that the celebration day of our Savior’s birth is tied to pagan or “heathen” customs.  Some modern-day Christians even reject the celebration of Christmas with its carry-overs because they want nothing to do with a celebration that is a blending of pagan and Christian.   But to me, especially this year, it makes perfect sense.

            John tells us that “the light shines in the darkness,” and celebrating Christ’s birth on the darkest day (they didn’t get it exactly right, but December 25 is close enough) is a near-perfect picture of exactly what God does in Jesus Christ.  Jesus comes to us when things are dark, and the light of Christ shines in the darkness. 

            We have lived through a dark year, and Christ has continually showed up to share light in the midst of the darkness.  The light has not completely overcome the darkness, as John mentions, but the light has been shining all through it.

            In the midst of this week’s darkness, remember that Christ is born.  The light is shining in today’s darkness, and the darkness cannot and will not overcome the light.

            Merry Christmas, that thing for which we have been waiting is already come.

Singing the Magnificat in Powhatan

In my former pastorate in North Carolina, my family and I lived in a parsonage.  For those who are new to church, a parsonage is a house owned by a church in which they allow (or insist) their minister and his or her family to live at no charge while the pastor serves in that congregation.  Most congregations talk about their parsonage as a “perk” to being their pastor, and the fair rental value of the parsonage is often included in the pastor’s compensation package.  The parsonage that my family and I lived in for five years was a house located less than 100 feet from the church building, and it was built in the 1930’s to be that church’s parsonage.  It was a large house, nearly 3,500 square feet, and for my family it was probably the largest house we will ever live in.

            The neighborhood that surrounded the church was what could be termed “transitional.”  On the street in front of the church and parsonage lived several church members who had purchased older homes and restored them to beautiful condition.  This was Church Street, and it was a beautiful picture of small town America with tree lined streets with sidewalks and perfectly manicured lawns.  Then there was the street behind the church and parsonage.  On the block that backed up to the parsonage was a row of rental houses that many would describe as being owned by a “slum lord.”  The houses were old and drafty, and were rented to multiple people within the same year because the routine was for people to quickly fall behind in their rent and then be evicted.

            I knew many of the people who occupied these houses as some of them would regularly come asking for assistance.  Some of them I liked and I had a relationship with, others were scarier individuals who would come and bother my family at the most inopportune times.  It was not uncommon for someone to show up about dinner time and we would normally make them a plate of whatever we were having for dinner.  Sometimes people would come early in the morning, and every once in a while they would come late at night.  This was a part of life in that parsonage.

            This has not been a part of my life for quite a few years.  I live in a place where this never happens, and I am grateful.  The peace and quiet that my family and I have at our home was new to us when we moved to Powhatan, and I value our home because it is our place of sanctuary, a place that I can step away from the needs and demands of ministry and simply be relaxed as husband and dad.  My kids are safe, no hungry people wait outside of our front door, and we have never had to share our dinner with a hungry person.  I love the peace, quiet, seclusion, and privacy of our home.

            I understand what draws people to Powhatan, and I would imagine that escaping the uncomfortable encounters much like I experienced is a part of it.  We like our solitude, our quiet, and our privacy.  And at times I worry that the blessing of my home in our wonderful community numbs me to the reality of need in our world.  I worry that I forget about the human needs of our world, and some days I also miss the blessing of meeting those needs.

            In the Magnificat, Mary sings a song about the child in her womb setting the world right.  She sings about the lowly being lifted up and the hungry being filled.  She sings about a world that will be as God intended the world to be, a world of justice and equity and peace.  Mary’s singing is so compelling that it invites God’s people into God’s work, not just singing but working to make God’s vision a reality.

            Very often it is hard for me to see the needy people in Powhatan.  The blessings of our wonderful home carry subtle risks.  We risk blindness to many needs, and we risk missing the blessing of service.  We all know that there are many needs in our community, needs that are often less visible than in other places.  Let us pray with Mary for a restored world and let us pray that our eyes will be open to see the hurt and hunger that exists around the edges of the good place we all call home.

Being Quiet in a World that Won’t Stop Talking

Zechariah was doing his job, he goes into the Temple, the Holy of Holies, and he gets a message from an angel.  The angel tells this old man that his old wife will have a baby.  Zechariah doesn’t understand how this will be, and he tells the angel as much.  In return the angel tells Zechariah that he will be mute, he will lose the ability to speak, until the child is born.  We read this story and understand Zechariah’s muteness as a punishment, but I wonder.

Sometimes it feels as if we live in a world that is addicted to talking.  In her book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can’t Stop Talking, Susan Cain describes how we constantly are bombarded with words and how it often feels as if those who have nothing (or little) to say are viewed as less than:  less valuable, less powerful, less insightful, less intelligent, and at least less interesting.  In a world that won’t stop talking, having something valuable to say is no longer the priority, for far after the valuable has been said the talking doesn’t even slow down.  We want to always have the first word, the last word, and always chime in on every topic and every conversation.  We just can’t stop talking.

I often feel as if this is even amplified in the Church.  American Christianity has manufactured a culture of quick impromptu prayers, testimonies, and sermons.  There is often perceived value only in the “heart-led impromptu” words, where passion is valued more than substance.  And those who can do this at the drop of a hat with the best “stained glass language” are viewed as a cut above the rest of us, especially a cut above those who prefer to be silent or those for whom words don’t come easily.  This fits perfectly into a world that can’t stop talking.

There are many ways to move through the Advent and Christmas seasons.  Singing is an excellent way to journey through this important time, there is no shortage of music the Church has embraced through the last 2,000 years that nourishes faithful people.  Another way is through reading.  There are wonderful books the deepen our understanding of the Advent and birth of Christ.  There are also parties, and lights, and celebrations.  All of these bring joy and meaning.  But this year I’m wondering about taking a cue from Zechariah, and understanding that a way to embrace this story can simply be to be silent.

Zechariah’s song is called the Benedictus.  It is recorded in Luke 1:68-79, and we will read it this Sunday in worship.  It is important, it is prophetic, and it is meaningful.  Zechariah is often remembered because of his song.  But over the past days I have been thinking not so much about his song, but about his silence.  This year, I wonder if I need to find more things to say, or if I need to move through this season with more silence.  Maybe I need to give myself and those around me permission to stop the deluge of words, and just quietly take in what is happening.

So now I, one who makes up a great deal of my vocational life by TALKING, and has contributed to this deluge of words by telling you the importance of being silent, I leave you with the question: does this sound like something that is right for your soul this year too? If so, join me on this path for this season.

A Thanksgiving Memory from Maryvel Firda

This week Maryvel Firda is a special “guest contributor” for the May Memorial blog/newsletter. Maryvel is a deacon at May Memorial Baptist Church and teaches English at Powhatan High School.

One Thanksgiving, maybe 1979, we had Daddy’s aunts out here from Richmond.  Nannie, the oldest, didn’t come– she was a shut-in, and I remember imagining that meant she couldn’t leave her apartment under any circumstances, for mysterious reasons I couldn’t understand.  She wasn’t that much older than Sister, who was her roommate.  Sister’s real name was Margaret, but she was also a twin with the only brother, Thomas.  Even all those years after “Brother” had died, Sister always remained Sister. She was funny, and she laughed at my jokes, and she would play games with me. (Mom wouldn’t let me ask any of them to play “Old Maid,” one of my favorites, because it might hurt their feelings.)  They liked games where you didn’t have to move around, like “Who’s Got the Button,” and in case you’ve never played that whirlwind of excitement, here’s what you do.  Gather as many beloved old ladies into a circle in comfortable seats as you can, and have them cup their hands as if to receive something.  Then you take a button that you’ve obtained from one of them (they all have good-sized bags of buttons in their sewing boxes; they save every button from all their worn-out and discarded dresses in the certain knowledge that they will be needed someday). And then you, preferably a little girl around 6-7 years old, will go around the room with the button in your own cupped hands, pretending to give it to each, but really, of course, secretly bestowing it upon only one.  And then everyone has to guess who got it.  And forty or fifty years later you will tear up remembering how warm and soft and delicate those waiting hands were.

Two other aunts, Evie and Lou, lived right across the street.  Evie was tiny– at seven I was already taller than she was!  She was widowed, with no children, despite her and my Uncle Bill having wanted them so badly.  That was one of my earliest lessons in heartbreak: people don’t always get what they want, even if they really deserve it.  Of all the aunts, she was the one who adored me the most, so of course she was my favorite. (She always got the button.) She would keep “ging’ale” on hand for me in the icebox, and her kitchen table was set all the time, with the plates and glasses turned upside down. I got to spend the night with her sometimes, and I loved to sit on the little window seat in her bedroom and look out over the city lit up for the night, so different from Powhatan.  It was terribly romantic and surely the beginning of my yearning for city life.  Lou could play the piano.  All the aunts could play the piano– Nannie taught me to play “Chopsticks” on the piano in her and Sister’s apartment– but Lou could play the piano. She could light that thing up.  I hadn’t heard playing like that in real life again until Sandra came to us.

The Thanksgiving that the aunts came out to dinner was extra special, because we so rarely had guests.  Daddy and I went to pick them up in the morning, and I was pretty convinced that he could get Nannie out of that apartment if he really wanted to– surely he could just carry her out– but whatever spell that kept her inside held fast. (We made sure that she had a nice dinner and sent plenty of leftovers home with Sister.)   Mom had spent the day before polishing her wedding silver and smoothing her mother’s hand-tatted lace tablecloth over and over (and over and over until I honestly thought she had lost her mind.  I had no idea at the time about the amount of pressure that is brought to bear by having three of your husband’s aunts to Thanksgiving dinner.)  I was amazed to learn that these aunts used to live in Powhatan, right next to the courthouse, where the Rescue Squad was.  (It’s the Village Park now.)  It was hard to imagine them, sixty years earlier, growing up just a block from where I was growing up, going to church where I went to church, where their daddy was the preacher.

And now sixty years earlier has become over a hundred years earlier, and I’m thankful for these happy memories, for the lives of these wonderful women of my family, who, as saints of May Memorial, are your family too.  I am thankful for all of you.  Happy Thanksgiving.

An Ending to the Year

Liturgically speaking, we are at the end of the year.  Last year at the beginning of December the Church starting telling a story that began in Advent about the Israelites waiting for a hoped-for Messiah.  We celebrated that Messiah’s coming at Christmas, we told of his light shining to all nations, and the Magi coming to worship and adore him.  We continued the story by telling of his baptism and the beginning of his public ministry.  We then entered the season of Lent and told of Christ’s journey toward the cross, and then in Holy Week we lamented the crucifixion and his burial.  Easter was a joyful day on which we celebrated the glorious resurrection and for weeks we proclaimed the stories of Christ’s post-resurrection appearances to his followers.  Jesus then ascended to heaven and left the disciples wondering what would happen next.  Then came Pentecost, that Jewish festival on which the Holy Spirit blew through the house where the frightened disciples were gathered and turned that timid band of followers into a Church that would change the world.  We have continued to tell this story of Jesus, following Mark’s gospel this year, and this coming Sunday is the end of the story.  We are adjusting this calendar a little at May Memorial this year.  We are saving the space of one Sunday, November 24, to focus on Thanksgiving and all of God’s blessings to us.

            But the following Sunday, Sunday, December 1, we begin telling this story again.  This story will begin and follow the same series of events as it has for centuries, and yet it is new each time it is told.  Who grows tired of hearing the prophesies of Isaiah who proclaims that one day the messiah will come and his kingdom will have no end?  Who tires of hearing about a kingdom of peace in which a wolf will lie with a lamb and the bear will eat straw like an ox, and even a child will stick his hand in an adder’s den and not be harmed?  The stories of the birth and life and resurrection of Christ are stories that continue to form and make us into faithful disciples, and to hear them year after year engrains in us the true story of God that tells the really real about the world.

            To dwell in this story year after year impresses upon us a different sense of time than our culture dwells in.  There are two Greek words for time in the New Testament, chronos and kairos.  Chronos time is the linear idea of time that we normally live in.  Kairos time is more cyclical and carries with it the idea of a “right” time.  When we begin to dwell in the story that the church tells year after year we understand that kairos time is God’s time, not a beginning and an ending, but a movement through important events that happen again and again when it is right.

            I love fresh starts, and I love beginning to tell a good story.  The story we start telling in a few days is the best story, it is the greatest story ever told.  This year I hope to immerse myself in the story even more, to know it, love it, and be transformed by it.

Tell me the old, old story, even though I know it well.  May it become new again each time I hear it, and may I become new in its hearing.

Election Eve and the Kingdom of Jesus

Beverley and I have already talked about what we are going to do tomorrow night as the election results (hopefully?) come in.  We are going to watch movies.  Here’s our list: The Big Lebowski, Sideways, and Waiting for Guffman.  By the time we have watched those three, we think, or maybe hope, what we have known as the 2024 election season will be at the end.  We don’t have cable or satellite, so no constant news coverage for us.  We have been like most people over the last year of election and political mania: surprised, disappointed, frustrated, sad, angry, shocked, and desperate.  For me personally, the things I haven’t felt from this election season are peace, hope, joy, or promise.

Of all the days to flip back through Resident Aliens, today is the day.  It was published in 1989, and it is just as pertinent now as it was then.  If this provocative work by William Willimon and Stanley Hauerwas is anything, it is a reminder that Christians belong to another kingdom.  This kingdom to which we belong is not of this world or any government, politic, or system this world has ever or can ever produce.  We are, in fact, resident aliens, living in a strange place as a colony of people who cannot make any sense of what we see around us.  What does make sense to us is the kingdom of Jesus, a kingdom that is shaped by Jesus’ life and transformative saving work.

I don’t know if I have ever felt so much like a “resident alien” living in an unrecognizable culture as I have over the past few years. I am confused by so many things.

A couple of weeks ago I heard a new song by The Porter’s Gate.  The Porter’s Gate is an ecumenical group of artists and theologians, and often their music is featured on the daily audio devotional Pray As You Go.  The song is titled The Kingdom of Jesus, and it has been a holy corrective to the dimness this election season has brought to my soul.  I want you to listen to the song, and as you do, notice the lyrics.  May these words (and the beautiful singing of them) be a little light in your soul these days.

Remember, whatever happens tomorrow, we don’t belong to this culture.  We follow a different leader, and we live by a different ethic.  On many days that sounds so challenging, but this week it is about the best news we can hear.

Click here to listen to The Kingdom of Jesus.

v. 1: To what shall we compare the Kingdom of Jesus if not a seed?

It's small, it's sewn, it's tended and grown and it's sturdying you and me

Its branches never break and its fruit never withers

Chorus: His Kingdom is not of this world or of any kingdom whose ruler's face is on a penny

He comes to make all things bright and put a new wine in us

He's chosen the small things to outlast the great

The meek and the merciful to shine through the hate

Though it seems some days that Hell and its gates are prevailing

Oh say can you see the kingdom within us is the Kingdom of Jesus?

v. 2: To what shall we compare the spirit of the hour if not a sword?

It frees us, unites us, it slaves and divides us and violence, help us Lord

Chorus: Oh His Kingdom is not one of slander or rage

but one that is ruled by the Lamb who was slain

And is worthy of wisdom and honor and glory and strength

No pain, no division, no public disgrace will compare with seeing the smile on His face as He welcomes the poor as children with places at the table

Not a death, nor threat, nor power can ever separate us

from the love of God forever in Christ Jesus

Everything shall pass away but not the Word that's within us,

no, it's the Kingdom of Jesus

The Gulag Archipelago and All Saints’ Day

In volume 1 of The Gulag Archipelago, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn tells story after story of Russian citizens who were arrested under false pretenses and who suffered brutal interrogations and cruel sentences at the hands of the Stalinist regime of the Communist Soviet Union.  By some estimates as many as 15 million Russian citizens were arrested and taken from their homes and families in the middle of the night and never seen again.  Families lost fathers, grandfathers, mothers, grandmothers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters.  Some lost their lives, and others disappeared into the vast system of Russian prisons and work camps.

            During these years families in Russia set aside a day when they would pull out photographs of their family members who had been taken from them.  Whole communities would gather and put their pictures on the table so they could pray for those who were lost and keep their memory alive.  It was a day of remembrance in the midst of the cruel reality of life in an oppressive place.

            This Sunday at May Memorial we will remember our Christian sisters and brothers who have died and entered the Church Triumphant.  In a symbolic way we will place on the table those who have finished their race on earth and are have now entered their rest and reward.  We do not do this to offer prayers on their behalf, for they are already in the hands of God.  We do this to thank God for their lives, their testimonies, and how they impacted us in our lives of faith.  It is appropriate as Christians that we do this in God’s presence. 

            We also remember that the veil that separates Heaven and earth is very thin when we come together for worship, especially at the Lord’s Table.  We know that our loved ones have not simply ceased to be, but they continue to live in God’s presence.  We look forward to the time that we will all gather in God’s presence in a real way around God’s table.

            Don’t miss worship this Sunday, it will be a moving service in which we remember “whether we live for die, we belong to the Lord, who is Lord both of the living and the dead.” 

Does May Memorial Make Your Life Better?

Philip Jenkins is a scholar and prolific writer who has a regular piece in the Christian Century.  I first was introduced to Jenkins years ago when I read his Jesus Wars that explains how our current Christian belief and doctrine did not come into being through a peaceful and spiritual process but through violence, war, and politics.  Jenkins seems to have no end to his scholarly scope, and I always find his insight, especially in regard to global Christianity, informative.

Last month he described a study that is being done to answer this question: does religion promote human flourishing?  Aside from the doctrinal and liturgical truthfulness of this faith of ours which is rooted in the death and resurrection of Jesus, does religion simply make life better?  Since reading his description of this study, I have been wondering, does May Memorial cause human “flourishing” for those who are a part of our church family?  Does it promote a good life?  As he states, many things do promote flourishing.  Jenkins names civil peace, good government, justice, the arts.  But what about church?  Religion?  What interests me is considering whether May Memorial causes flourishing for our members and our community?  When a person attends our programs, activities, and even worship, do they leave having a greater sense of peace and fulfillment, or do they leave frustrated, confused, and ill at ease?

If we answer honestly, May Memorial, and all churches, have things in our culture that does not promote flourishing, and that cause frustration.  Any one of us who spends much time around the church understands that.  But at the same time, I think there is much that causes flourishing, that makes life better.  I’ve formed two lists in my mind, one labeled “flourishing acts” and the other “frustrating acts” for May Memorial, and I will share a few of each with you.

First, the positive, what causes people to flourish:

1. Singing together (congregational, choir, small ensembles)

2. Wednesday night meals and the community they promote

3. Sunday School

4. Book Club

5. Being still and quite while listening to someone else sing/play an instrument

6. Senior Adult Trips

7. Camps and Retreats

8. Service/Mission Projects (we have a lot of these…Funeral Reception Meal volunteers, Food Pantry, Just Kids, etc.)

9. Soul Food and Kingdom Kids

10. Welcoming our neighbors to community building events (Picnic, Fall Festival, Scottville Friends, etc.)

11. Practicing Hospitality from 8:30 a.m. until 2:00 p.m. Monday—Thursday.  You would be surprised how many people stop by the church office just to check in/talk to a friendly and caring person.  Many times this is the Administrative Assistant, but could be other church staff.

12. Civil, open discourse about important issues

Second, the negative, what chips away at flourishing:

1. Senseless committee meetings, especially meetings that could have been an email, OR meetings that should last under an hour but last much longer

2. The amount of energy (money, time) consumed by the need to maintain buildings

3. Nitpicking/Complaining (this does not include criticism that makes us better)

4. Focusing energy on things that are not important

5. Allowing partisan politics or “culture war” issues to impact our Christian bond. Political “jabs,” “insults,” or anything that implies that someone who disagrees with “me” is less than or not welcome.

Neither one of my lists is exhaustive.  If I kept a list through an entire year I am sure that I could add to both.  But, in my mind, there is far more at May Memorial that promotes flourishing than takes away from it.  I see how lives are better because of participating at May Memorial, and I’m grateful for all of those good things.

A Story in Defense of Marriage

John the Evangelist doesn’t say that Jesus danced at the wedding feast at Cana, but if Jesus had been at the wedding I officiated that Friday night years ago, I’m fairly confident he would have found his way to the dance floor.  Clarke’s Old Time Music Center was a bluegrass music venue/dance hall nestled in the Shenandoah Valley just south of Waynesboro in the community of Raphine, and it is where two music lovers met on a Friday night many years ago.   It was in this unique place that was called the sawmill by those who were familiar with it that a bluegrass band played each Friday night to a couple of hundred locals who were transported to another time by the acoustic instruments and songs that grew out of the mountains of the Southeastern United States.

Martha and Lester met at the Sawmill, so it was their desire to have their wedding in that same place.  I was told that it would be unlike any other wedding I had ever done, and the couple were right.  There was no definite time that the wedding was to take place, it would probably start around 8:30, but that depended on when the band would take their break.  Other than a granddaughter who served as a flower girl, there were no attendants.  There was no rehearsal, no rehearsal dinner, and no posed photographs prior to the ceremony.  Without a formal reception, rented tuxes, a bridal gown, bridesmaid’s dresses, and a rehearsal dinner, the budget was small compared to nearly all other weddings I have ever officiated.  The focus of this wedding was not the ceremony but the relationship, not pomp and formality but the importance of being surrounded by friends and community as two people made a solemn promise before God to one another. 

In a culture in which many couples are focused more on the details of the ceremony (or the party after the ceremony) than the marriage, this wedding was a refreshing experience.  Often it feels like the minister has one job on the wedding day: don’t do anything to distract from image of a perfect wedding as pictured in magazines and social media posts.  It often feels like a minister is simply rented for a service, just like a caterer or photographer, a necessary player in a pageant that has more to do with fantasy than a life-long commitment.  In a culture in which many Christians make angry accusations about people who are going to “destroy the biblical definition of marriage,” that wedding on that Friday night years ago was a living example of how a broken practice and undesirable expectations may begin to be corrected.

Nearly everyone danced that night.  The bride and the groom danced.  Young children danced.  Sr. adults danced.  Even the preacher danced.  I must admit that I was surprised when I was approached by a lady who offered me a strong but tacit invitation to step onto the dance floor.  As we danced she was shocked to learn that I was the pastor and I was shocked to learn that she was 87, but that didn’t stop our two-step to that bluegrass band.  Dancing with the Stars it was not, but when a person finds someone they can share their life with, decide that the marriage is more important than the ceremony, and make their vows before God surrounded by close friends in and old sawmill in the Shenandoah Valley, I don’t know anything to do but dance.

The Value of Staying

My heart broke a couple of weeks ago for a group of people that I care deeply about.  From a distance, I learned that a congregation in NC that has meant a lot to me had lost their pastor.  It makes me sad, because (counting interims) this was the fourth pastor to come and leave this congregation since I resigned in 2011 after serving ten years before coming to Powhatan.  I’m sad for that congregation, because they desire deeply a pastor who will come and stay for a long time.

I’m sad for congregations who can’t keep a pastor very long, and I’m also sad for pastors who don’t see the value or have the opportunity of staying in one place longer than the 3.5 year national average.  This average of pastor’s tenure in one place varies by different studies, but the longest number I’ve read recently is around 6 years.

I understand that pastors leave congregations for different reasons, including conflict, decline, too low pay, etc.  There are many good, sincere, and healthy reasons to move even when there are no difficulties in a current place of call. And there are not many pastors who serve one single congregation through their entire vocational life. All of these are understandable. There are also some pastors who, unfortunately, see their “career” as a series of steps, each one taking them to the next “biggest steeple” with the perceived status that accompanies it.  This bothers me.

My first Sunday at May Memorial was September 11, 2011, which means I have finished thirteen years as the pastor of this wonderful congregation.  When we came, it was said in a light-hearted way that “all of your kids better graduate from Powhatan High School,” meaning that the church wanted someone who would stay for a longer tenure.  There have been some difficult days when some (including myself) would have wanted my tenure to not last any longer at May Memorial, but thirteen years in I am still grateful for coming to May Memorial and I am grateful that I have stayed.  In staying, I have learned things that a 3.5 year tenure would have never taught me.  Here’s a few:

First, it takes a long time to build trust.  The former head of Lifeway, Thom Rainer, says that “acceptance, trust, and stability” happens in a pastor’s tenure between years 4 and 7.  It takes a while.  And when pastors move every 3.5 to 6 years, that level of trust never comes.

Second, I know from experience that there is a different level of love and affection a pastor has for a congregation after a longer tenure.  I love our church family more now than I did at year four.  I know you, I know your stories, I remember the things that have brought you joy and I remember your hardest days.  I remember when you children got married, and I remember your spouses who are now with the Lord.  And this long relationship has given me a great love and affection for you.  This, to me, is the greatest blessing that comes from staying.

Third, as a dad, I wanted my children to not experience several moves throughout their school career.  Beverley and I agreed with the statement, “we expect your kids to graduate from Powhatan High School.”  This has value for pastor’s children, and a pastor who moves every 3.5 years takes this away from his children.

Fourth, I understand that churches have ups and downs, but if we are faithful, we will remain fruitful.  May Memorial is a faithful church, made up of mature Christians, and while we may not see a year of one hundred new members, we do see that our church is fruitful.

Fifth, I understand the importance of stability in a church.  There are some people who like to walk into worship and be surprised at every turn.  Everything be new and different from the week before.  But I also know that the stability of faithful and traditional worship brings comfort, reassurance, hope, and peace.  For many of us, God speaks through familiar rhythms and patterns that are time-tested and faithful to good traditions.  (But I do like the unexpected from time to time). Longevity, when it is healthy, creates a sense of stability in any organization, and churches are no exception.

One of the questions I have been asking myself and others over the past six months is how does a pastor sustain energy after many years in one place?  I ask this question because I don’t want to be one of the pastors who stay twenty years but had their last good idea at year eight.  I’ve gotten some good insight when I’ve asked that question, but for some reason that I can’t exactly identify, I feel now as if I have as much (or more) energy, love, hope, and affection for May Memorial as I ever have.  I am excited about what God is doing at May Memorial, and I am glad that it has been the place that I have spent the largest part of my vocational life.  I wouldn’t trade it for anything or any other place.  Powhatan has been a great place for Beverley and me to raise our girls, and I am grateful that thirteen years ago this became our home.

One of my best friends back in North Carolina would say it often, “this world is full of good starters, what is needed is good finishers.”  He was a recovering alcoholic and addict, had been clean and sober for many years, and when he made that statement he most often was talking about how many people start the path to recovery but fail to find lasting, long-term sobriety.  He intended to be not just a good starter, but a good finisher as well.  In my life as a husband, father, and pastor, I want to be a good finisher.  I’ve learned there is great value to not giving up, even when there is a tough day, or week, or month.  Longevity holds many blessings, and not walking away from commitments is good and honorable.  I’m grateful for these thirteen years, what I’ve learned, and who I have been blessed to spend them with.

Clapping, Applause, and the Audience of Worship

First things first: I think when members of a congregation offer applause after a piece of music, whether vocal, choral, or instrumental, members of the congregation are demonstrating kindness and encouragement to that church’s musicians.  Applause, in our culture, is a way to say “thank you,” to express gratitude, and it is done out of the goodness of kind, Christian, hearts.  I do not judge individuals or congregations who regularly offer applause, as I have done it myself, many times.  I am personally not bothered by it, and it is not a big deal that keeps me awake at night.  But, having clear thinking as my goal, I want to offer a few things for consideration.

Preliminary number two, I want to be clear about how I use the terms.  Applause is something that is done after the presentation of a piece of music to express gratitude or approval of what has just happened.  It conveys “good job” or “thank you.”  Clapping happens during a piece of music.  It is a way for a worshiper to be involved with the piece of music that is being presented either by a choir, soloist, or a congregational song.  Clapping can be an expression of worship.

Now, with the preliminaries out of the way, here’s what I want to say.  Applause is not necessary, or even ideal, in worship.  Here’s the main reason I say that: you (the congregation) are not the audience.  It is an unfortunate mindset that causes us to see the people “on the stage” as the performers, and those sitting in the congregation as “the audience.”  “Who then,” you may ask, “is the audience in worship?”  That is a great question, and in Christian worship God is the audience.  God is the one to whom we sing, speak, and pray.  Everyone sitting in the sanctuary, from the back row of the balcony to the back row of the choir loft, are “performers,” and our one-member audience is God who has created, redeemed, and is transforming us into Christ’s image and reconciling all things to Himself.  This is why I do not refer to the place where our pulpit sits as “the stage.”  To me it is a “platform,” and my more sophisticated friends even call it a dais, but it is not a stage.  The “stage,” if you will, is the entire sanctuary, and God is watching and hearing our praises as he is the audience.  So, this means, that the choir is not singing for you.  They’re singing for God.  Voices of Unity, not singing for you.  Sandra, not playing for you.  All for God.  You are not the audience, God is.  Audiences offer applause.  You are not the audience on Sunday mornings.

If you are not the audience it also means that it is okay if music is done in worship you don’t like.  Why?  Because it is not being sung (or played) for you.  It is for our audience, God.

Here’s some other reasons why applause is not necessary, or even ideal.

Once applause starts in churches, how do we know when to stop?  If we offer applause for the choir will next week’s soloist feel “less valued” if that same applause is not offered?  And, by withholding applause from one musician’s piece after offering it to another, is that a way of tacitly saying “yours wasn’t as good as the other?”  Put plainly, is “no applause” a kind of “booing” when it has so freely been offered to someone else?  When a congregation that freely offers applause doesn’t, is that a way to say to a musician “go work a little harder this week, and next week you may get our applause?”

Also, why are we so selective in applauding?  Can we applaud for the deacon when they pray an awesome offertory prayer?  Can we applaud for the children who do an amazing job taking up the three cents a meal offering?  Are we slighting them by not applauding when they make their contribution to worship?  Why don’t we applaud for the high schooler who shows up EVERY week to run the sound system?  And what about the dozens of small, selfless acts that are done each week at May Memorial without any applause?  The guy who sweeps the steps each Sunday morning?  The Sunday School teacher who spends time each week studying for the lesson she is to teach?  The ushers who give a “first time visitor bag” to a newcomer?  Everyone is playing an important part, and “one member of the body is as important as the other (using Paul’s image),” so why only applaud for a few?

A better way…and I know this makes some uncomfortable…is to give a good, hearty, Amen!  Amen carries the idea of “so be it, this is firm, this is reliable, this is good, this is reliable.”  And another option, is to do nothing at all.  This happens sometimes, and often when a piece of music has been most moving, there is a stillness, a silence, that falls across the room.  This happened weeks ago when a young man was our guest soloist in worship, and the piece of music and his singing of it was such that no one wanted to interrupt the moment, and we allowed it to speak to us even as it passed.  These are holy moments, when we overhear a person (or group of people) singing to God in such a way that it leaves us still.  It is as our organist played Sunday for his prelude, “when in our music God is glorified…”. (click here to hear this wonderful hymn sung)

When in our music God is glorified,

and adoration leaves no room for pride,

it is as though the whole creation cried:

Alleluia!

How oft, in making music, we have found

a new dimension in the world of sound,

as worship moved us to a more profound

Alleluia!

So has the church, in liturgy and song,

in faith and love, through centuries of wrong,

borne witness to the truth in ev'ry tongue:

Alleluia!

And did not Jesus sing a psalm that night

when utmost evil strove against the light?

Then let us sing, for whom he won the fight:

Alleluia!

Let ev'ry instrument be tuned for praise;

let all rejoice who have a voice to raise;

and may God give us faith to sing always:

Alleluia!

(Fred Pratt Green)