Things I learned at church, Part 2: Worship is a two-way conversation

I sometimes think that a person coming to a church service for the first time must find it confusing. When do you sit and when do you stand? Are you supposed to kneel? What do some of those words mean? Will someone show me where to find the next song or passage that everyone else is looking up?

Although the church I grew up in did not have a complex liturgy, there were still different elements: prayers, songs, readings, an offering, a sermon and sometimes a baptism or communion. Because I was immersed in this style of worship from a young age, I did not really question it.  At about age 10 or 12, a church school teacher explained to our class that there was a purposeful structure to a worship service.  

When the pastor or an elder spoke from the Bible, it represented God speaking to the people.  That was because what this leader said was not just a personal opinion or something original that he wanted to talk about.  There was a "greeting" that was a direct quote from the Bible, usually from a Psalm.  A reading of the 10 commandments or a summary of the law would come a bit later.  The reading of another Scripture would be followed by a sermon. An announcement of what the offering would be used for would also come from the pulpit.

But coming to church was not just listening to the leader speak.  Each time, like a back and forth pattern, the people would have something to contribute too: a prayer saying sorry after the law was read, a song of response, giving the offering, the word "amen," another prayer asking God to bless the word as we read it, another song responding to the content of the message, another prayer that was more personal, sharing the needs of people we knew, and so on.

Many churches today have simplified their liturgy even more.  They start with a welcome, 3 or 4 songs in a row, time to read the Bible and hear a talk about it, a prayer, maybe one more song and then the service is over.  But even here, the gathered people are active in both listening and responding.  Going to church is never passive, even if it's done online. By singing along, praying along and deeply listening, we are taking part in a conversation with the God of the universe, who knows us better than we know ourselves.

Things I learned at Church, Part 1: Real Men do Cry

With this post, I'd like to begin a series of reflections about valuable things I learned at church.  I know many writers who take on the topic of their childhood church find much to critique and dismiss.  After almost nine months of disrupted church attendance due to the pandemic, I have found myself thinking about the positive impact that being part of a worshipping community has had on my life.

   The church my family attended while I was growing up was not an outstanding structure. Generic red-brown brick on the outside, cement steps with wrought iron railings leading to wide wooden doors, and plain wooden pews without cushions were fairly typical for a church constructed around 1960 in Ontario, Canada.  As a worshipping community, these people had been together for just over a decade when I was born.  All but one or two attendees had an ethnic tie to the Netherlands; these people were known for their thrift, hard work and stoic outlook on life.

   Given this last point, it is ironic that it was at this church where I learned that real men do cry.  When I grew up, every pastor and everyone in church leadership was male. And yet among these men, vulnerability was not shunned. Elders and pastors regularly announced things from the pulpit and led in prayers. It happened that when the news was sad or the prayer need painful, there were pauses to compose oneself or voices that broke with emotion.  I learned that it was all right to feel things at my church.

   One man of my parents' generation was a farmer.  I remember the first time I observed this man weeping during a church service. He was not loud, but there were tears and deep sighs that moved his body.  On the drive home, my parents compassionately explained that he had seen many painful things during a colonial war.  Perhaps a song brought back one of these difficult memories.  It wasn't the only time this gentleman cried in church.  Knowing more than I did then, it's likely this man was dealing with PTSD. But more important than a label, there was room at church for his tears.

   Another man I saw cry in church was a delivery driver for a lumber yard.  His tears did not need any explanation.  I was in Grade 5 when his two pre-school children died in a car crash.  That he might sometimes be overcome with emotion made complete sense to me.  Grief was appropriate to express at church.

   As a teenager I recall scanning the whole group of people in attendance one Sunday morning and coming to the realization that every single one of the men serving as an elder or deacon had experienced a deep tragedy in his life.  Leaders at my church were not those who lived removed from the brokenness of the world; they were real people with real emotion.  Since these people were voted in by the members, what some might consider weakness was viewed as a strength. As I reflect on these things decades later, it's one of the things I'm grateful to have learned at church.

The Gift of Sky

The heavens declare the glory of God;
            the skies proclaim the work of his hands.

Psalm 19:1

   I have been pondering this verse for many days, weeks and months. I have wanted to write about it, and finally the opportunity has come.
   The writer has much to say in Psalm 19; however, it is actually something other than the author that declares and proclaims.  The skies remind us of just how small we are compared to the vastness our eyes can see. The skies are the original "screen" on which people may observe bits of reality:

• sunrises
• constellations
• meteor showers
• hot air balloons
• rain showers
• faces in the clouds
• sunbeams
• blue skies
• the International Space Station
• clouds that warn us of inclement weather
• fog
• sunsets
• phases of the moon
• the morning star (Venus)
• jet streams
• birds and insects in flight
• snowflakes falling
• rainbows

   By having visual access to the sky, we open ourselves up to the glory of God, but many things in our modern lives block that sky from view.  We cut ourselves off from this manifestation of the glory of God in many ways we may scarcely realize:

• Spending much of our days indoors, at work or school
• Walking outside with our heads down, looking at smart phones
• Asking "Alexa" or "Google" what the weather is instead of looking out the window
• Cityscapes that block the horizon in all directions
• Light pollution at night
• The appeal of video games, which keeps children inside
• Basements and garages that become places of repose
• A narrowed range of vision when driving in a car or truck, unless it is a convertible
• Smog

  Prison inmates are a group of human beings often cut off from the sky, yet most Western jurisdictions mandate at least one hour of fresh air and sunlight, the chance to be outside and see the sky.  Although this policy is based on the human need for exercise and movement and the desire to avoid the pitfalls of idleness, I would argue that giving prisoners a chance to see the sky each day is restorative to the spirit. 

   How much time have you spent outside today, where you could have direct access to the glory of God revealed by the sky?  Don't underestimate its value.

Inspiration for Remote Learning

As we embarked on Week Nine of Remote Learning in Ontario, Canada, I shared this devotion with my staff via Zoom.

Colossians 2:5
For though I am absent from you in body, I am present with you in spirit and delight to see how disciplined you are and how firm your faith in Christ is.

2 Timothy 1:3-4
 I thank God, whom I serve, as my ancestors did, with a clear conscience, as night and day I constantly remember you in my prayers. Recalling your tears, I long to see you, so that I may be filled with joy.

Romans 1:11-13a
 I long to see you so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to make you strong— that is, that you and I may be mutually encouraged by each other’s faith. I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters,[d] that I planned many times to come to you (but have been prevented from doing so until now) 

1 Thessalonians 2:17-18
But, brothers and sisters, when we were orphaned by being separated from you for a short time (in person, not in thought), out of our intense longing we made every effort to see you. For we wanted to come to you—certainly I, Paul, did, again and again—but Satan blocked our way.

Exodus 3:3-5
So Moses thought, "I will go over and see this strange sight--why the bush does not burn up."
   And when the LORD saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, "Moses, Moses!"
   And Moses said, "Here I am."
   "Do not come any closer," God said. Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground."

In 1994, when I was hired for my first teaching job, it was at a school opening its doors for the first time that September.  The position was to teach Grade 6, 7 and 8 in the same classroom, with nine pupils.  To encourage myself that such a task was indeed possible, I spent a week in May observing in my uncle's Grade 4-8 classroom in Renfrew.  Seeing firsthand how someone else was capably teaching and managing an atypical arrangement gave me a bit more confidence.

Where do we find models like this to encourage us during remote learning?  Aside from the inspiration we can gain from one another, which is nonetheless helpful, and from reading about teachers in China, I've been struck by two other sources.

New Testament Epistles

Repeatedly, the apostle Paul is unable to be present with individuals and groups due to factors outside his control.  He wants to reach out and teach the believers, but he can't do so in person.  Paul's remote teaching method came in the form of letter writing.  In fact, our New Testament would be missing a great chunk if it were not for the remote teaching that not only Paul but Peter, James, John and Jude availed themselves of.  Many of these letters contain prayers, but they were certainly accompanied by prayers on behalf of the letter writer.  When we as teachers provide written lessons to our students, our heart is communicated and our prayers accompany them.

Mr. Rogers

Mr. Rogers created a remote learning program to reach and teach children about how to relate to others and expand their understanding of the world around them.  He used a screen, as we have been forced to do.  Yet, as explained in the book The Simple Faith of Mr. Rogers by Amy Hollingsworth, he considered the space between the screen and the viewer to be holy ground, a place where the Holy Spirit could take his words and be just what's needed for the student and parents on the other side.  Fred Rogers, by being himself, exuded the love of God that was unmistakable in person and on the screen.  In our case, a relationship already exists between our students and us.  Our video transmissions can build on it, and we can trust the Holy Spirit to bridge any gaps.