I would like Wednesdays to be "What If?" days.
I have about a thousand "What If?s" I'd like to explore. It's liberating to imagine things in new ways with new light cast upon them. It opens up the creative side of things to push pause on what is and think about what might be.
Today's "What If?" is around the notion of worship.
What if....churches, like restaurants, offered their product (worship) many times per day and many days per week?
What if...the goal wasn't ever-larger worship services, but rather, ever-more intimate, smaller worship?
What if...pastors and musicians quit talking/singing/playing every so often, got out of the way and let God take the floor?
What if...clergy 'fessed up and admitted that they don't have any magic powers over the elements at communion? I mean, c'mon!? If the lay people read the words of the communion liturgy and invited the Holy Spirit to be present...would the Holy Spirit say, "Nope. I ain't coming unless an ordained clergy person asks me to."
What if...we began each service with these words, "Lord, this next hour is not about me. Allow me, Lord, to live for others for the next 60 minutes. Allow me, Lord, to love the people standing around me more than I love myself. Inspire me, Lord, to lay down my life for others right now. You know, Lord, I love praise music, but for this hour, let my voice be lifted up in praise through the hymns that make Mr. Smith so happy." "You know, God, I don't really like the music parts of worship that much; I love to hear the Word. But for this hour, I offer up my happiness and sing each song with gusto because I know how much Elise finds joy and comfort in the songs of faith."
What if the greatest benefit and joy in worship came, not when our desires were satisfied, but when we sacrificed our desires for the good of the people we call brothers and sisters in faith?
What if...we looked for everything that was right in worship and forgave all that fell short or was wrong?
What if...we really wanted God to bring people into our communion...and we really meant "all people." Even the sick, the damaged, the poor, the different, the difficult.
What if...I could come to worship with all my doubts and nagging questions and not feel the need to pretend I am completely in sync with the other "good Christians?"
What if...we just laid to rest the concept of "good Christian" altogether?
What "What If....?" would you add?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Monday Memory: Snow, Fog and Surprises
This memory is a short one, but has been an enduring image of beauty and a memory of a time of wonder.
In January 1987 I had just finished seminary at Duke Divinity School. We had been hired to go to Moscow, USSR to work in the food service department of the U.S. Embassy. We knew we were going, but didn't know if it would take two weeks or two months to get the paperwork in order and tickets in hand. Thumb-twiddling time.
During that time we lived with Frank's parents in Phoenix, Arizona. We filled our days with good food, sledding in the north mountains, hot air ballooning and daily Wheel of Fortune. It was a rare opportunity to explore Arizona and enjoy the company of my in-laws (hence, Wheel of Fortune).
Frank and I decided to visit the Grand Canyon. We'd been there before, but thought it would be a lovely way to pass a couple days. We borrowed a little tent from Frank's brother, hopped in the car and headed north.
It was a great day. Cool, but not miserably cold. We drove the canyon road and stopped to admire the vistas. We stopped at the lodge and had some pie and coffee. Eventually, we headed to the campground, threw up the tent, grabbed a bite to eat and settled in for a good night's sleep.
We slept great! All that mountain air, I suppose. We woke up, stretched, chatted, organized our stuff and made plans for the day. When we unzipped the tent door to get started we made a wonderful discovery. The campground we'd zipped out of view the night before had been brown, with pine trees and scrubby vegetation. When we flung back the nylon door the next morning that same drab scene was glittering in the bright new snow that had fallen overnight. There was a layer of snow on our car, on our picnic table, on our tent. Snow always makes me smile, but this was an ear-to-ear grin. Wonder and delight. Surprise and beauty.
We headed over to the Canyon Lodge on the South Rim for breakfast and one more look at the Canyon. The Grand Canyon has never let me down and never failed to impress. But on this day, the fog was so thick we couldn't see into its colorful depth or gaze out upon its remarkable breadth. We waited for the fog to burn off, but eventually headed back into the restaurant for another cup of coffee.
The Lodge was full of disappointed tourists. All of us were waiting for the fog to lift and the canyon to emerge from invisibility. Some tourists passed the time in the restaurant and the gift shop. So did we. For a while we chatted by the fireplace. We wandered out to the guard rail to peer into the fog hoping to see a rock outcropping or a tree outline in the mist. Nothing. We went back inside. A busload of Japanese tourists wandered around reflecting our own impatience, frustration and growing sense of disappointment.
Didn't Nature know we had come a long way for a splendid vision of grandeur? Didn't Nature know we were on a bit of a schedule? Why was she being so petulant and uncooperative? We'd been patient for the first hour or two. Now let's get on with it.
The Grand Canyon had never disappointed me before, but it was starting to look like this would be the day.
Frank and I decided it was time to head home. We walked out for one last look at the fog. Kind of a fist-shaking at the heavens, really.
While we stood at the rail lamenting the wasted morning, the sun burned a hole in the fog and pushed it back to the edges of the canyon. There it was! The pinks, oranges and reds of the canyon walls shimmered in the hazy light. The trees stood tall and deep green against the backdrop. I'd never seen the Canyon when she was dressed in white, but the light layer of snow gave her a whole new look. We gasped and looked around to see if others could see what we were seeing. There were just a handful of people at the rail. They were amazed and entranced, too. We turned to the lodge and saw the faces of people who were chatting with one another, oblivious of the moment.
We turned back around to enjoy the view and just as quickly as it had opened up, the fog closed in again and the Grand Canyon disappeared from sight.
It was a surprise, a moment, a gift.
We felt sorry for the international tourists whose schedule had allowed them only a morning at the canyon. If they weren't at the rail for that one brief minute, they missed seeing one of Nature's most remarkable accomplishments. It was a long way to come to watch fog swirl.
Many left disappointed that day. But not me.
The Grand Canyon has never disappointed me. Not even once.
In January 1987 I had just finished seminary at Duke Divinity School. We had been hired to go to Moscow, USSR to work in the food service department of the U.S. Embassy. We knew we were going, but didn't know if it would take two weeks or two months to get the paperwork in order and tickets in hand. Thumb-twiddling time.
During that time we lived with Frank's parents in Phoenix, Arizona. We filled our days with good food, sledding in the north mountains, hot air ballooning and daily Wheel of Fortune. It was a rare opportunity to explore Arizona and enjoy the company of my in-laws (hence, Wheel of Fortune).
Frank and I decided to visit the Grand Canyon. We'd been there before, but thought it would be a lovely way to pass a couple days. We borrowed a little tent from Frank's brother, hopped in the car and headed north.
It was a great day. Cool, but not miserably cold. We drove the canyon road and stopped to admire the vistas. We stopped at the lodge and had some pie and coffee. Eventually, we headed to the campground, threw up the tent, grabbed a bite to eat and settled in for a good night's sleep.
We slept great! All that mountain air, I suppose. We woke up, stretched, chatted, organized our stuff and made plans for the day. When we unzipped the tent door to get started we made a wonderful discovery. The campground we'd zipped out of view the night before had been brown, with pine trees and scrubby vegetation. When we flung back the nylon door the next morning that same drab scene was glittering in the bright new snow that had fallen overnight. There was a layer of snow on our car, on our picnic table, on our tent. Snow always makes me smile, but this was an ear-to-ear grin. Wonder and delight. Surprise and beauty.
We headed over to the Canyon Lodge on the South Rim for breakfast and one more look at the Canyon. The Grand Canyon has never let me down and never failed to impress. But on this day, the fog was so thick we couldn't see into its colorful depth or gaze out upon its remarkable breadth. We waited for the fog to burn off, but eventually headed back into the restaurant for another cup of coffee.
The Lodge was full of disappointed tourists. All of us were waiting for the fog to lift and the canyon to emerge from invisibility. Some tourists passed the time in the restaurant and the gift shop. So did we. For a while we chatted by the fireplace. We wandered out to the guard rail to peer into the fog hoping to see a rock outcropping or a tree outline in the mist. Nothing. We went back inside. A busload of Japanese tourists wandered around reflecting our own impatience, frustration and growing sense of disappointment.
Didn't Nature know we had come a long way for a splendid vision of grandeur? Didn't Nature know we were on a bit of a schedule? Why was she being so petulant and uncooperative? We'd been patient for the first hour or two. Now let's get on with it.
The Grand Canyon had never disappointed me before, but it was starting to look like this would be the day.
Frank and I decided it was time to head home. We walked out for one last look at the fog. Kind of a fist-shaking at the heavens, really.
While we stood at the rail lamenting the wasted morning, the sun burned a hole in the fog and pushed it back to the edges of the canyon. There it was! The pinks, oranges and reds of the canyon walls shimmered in the hazy light. The trees stood tall and deep green against the backdrop. I'd never seen the Canyon when she was dressed in white, but the light layer of snow gave her a whole new look. We gasped and looked around to see if others could see what we were seeing. There were just a handful of people at the rail. They were amazed and entranced, too. We turned to the lodge and saw the faces of people who were chatting with one another, oblivious of the moment.
We turned back around to enjoy the view and just as quickly as it had opened up, the fog closed in again and the Grand Canyon disappeared from sight.
It was a surprise, a moment, a gift.
We felt sorry for the international tourists whose schedule had allowed them only a morning at the canyon. If they weren't at the rail for that one brief minute, they missed seeing one of Nature's most remarkable accomplishments. It was a long way to come to watch fog swirl.
Many left disappointed that day. But not me.
The Grand Canyon has never disappointed me. Not even once.
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