We're coming up on Palm Sunday, the most conflicted observance in the church calendar. At least, it is for me. Every year, our worship service opens with a grand parade of the kids of our congregation around the sanctuary, waving their palm fronds and singing "Hosaaaaanna, Hosaaaaanna, Hosanna in the hiiiighest." And we have more than a few hundred kids in our congregation, so it's quite a spectacle. The adults get palm fronds, too, although none of them seem as enthusiastic about waving them around. (What is it about the palm fronds that makes kids go crazy for them? I remember feeling the same way when I was young. Is it just that you only get them once a year? Is it because you can swordfight your little brother with them?) After the kids open the service, our band sings all the songs we know with the word "Hosanna" in them, including one that the music director requested several years ago.
Him: You should do that one that goes "All I wanna do when I something something something is dah dah daaah, Hosanna, Hosanna"
Us: ...You mean "Rosanna"?
Instant classic.
So that's all fine and fun. The church is full, we're welcoming our King with open arms, and the kids are cute. But I can never fully enjoy it. Doesn't anybody see what we're doing here? Does anybody remember what happened the last time a bunch of people waved palms and sang hosannas for Jesus? They, which is to say we, which is to say I, FUCKING STRAIGHT UP MURDERED him a few days later. How can we celebrate the day Jesus showed up to get not just killed but REALLY FUCKING KILLED, without any sense of irony or even recognition of the blood that has never left our hands?
The cynical part of me thinks that this is just typical American church triumphalism, mixed with a little cheap grace theology. It goes like this: Jesus has already won the victory over sin and death. It was so many generations ago that it hardly seems necessary to dwell on it more than once, and we'll do that on Friday. So why bother with it today? After all, we are post-baptism people living in a post-resurrection world. Our sins and their eternal consequences were swept away before we even considered them. Our happy ending is assured. All that seemed wrong is now right, and everyone who deserves to is sure to live a long and happy life. Ever after.
It's tempting to cycle quickly through the "downer" parts of Christianity and just focus on the fun stuff. We breeze through confession or eliminate it entirely from our worship, couching it in the language of "mistakes that we made" rather than "innocent guys in whose deaths we are totally fucking complicit." And when was the last time you saw a Christmas pageant where Herod's army was skewering a bunch of babies and toddlers? We are terrible people, and being forgiven doesn't mean we get to ignore our terribleness.
It feels icky to me that we celebrate Palm Sunday by marching confidently toward the altar instead of crawling in shame. Palm Sunday is a shameful day, or it ought to be. But maybe we need to do it this way. Maybe the violence we are about to commemorate is made even more awful by its contrast with the misplaced joy of Palm Sunday. I began this season and this blog believing that in order for Easter to be meaningful, I really had to live with the melancholy of Lent and the misery of Holy Week. Maybe in order for the horror of the coming days to be full, I need to remember that I am at best, little more than a hypocrite. Maybe the only way to get down in the depths is to fall off the highest cliff.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Friday, March 16, 2012
Do as I say
Christians don’t tell lies; they go to church and they sing them. – A. W. Tozer
A friend retweeted this Tozer quote a while ago, and I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since. It’s a provocative quote, and I haven’t looked for its context yet because I wanted to think for a while about what I think it means before I found out what Tozer thinks it means. My first reaction was, “YES.” I’m a member of a contemporary worship team, and much of the music that our team does is fairly ecstatic. On the whole, contemporary worship music (if that can be said to be a single genre) is meant to help a worshiper express an intimate, personal and profound connection with God. Here are some lyrical excerpts from this coming Sunday:
My dead heart now is beating, my deepest stains now clean
Your breath fills up my lungs, now I’m free, now I’m free
Sin has lost its power, death has lost its sting
From the grave you’ve risen victoriously
Heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
And I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way that he loves us
Oh, how he loves us!
Every day, it’s you I live for
Every day, I’ll follow after you
Every day, I’ll walk with you, my Lord
When you’re in agreement with these kinds of sentiments, these songs can be incredibly fun and fulfilling to sing. Even if the composition isn’t of the highest artistic caliber, there’s just something about singing words you agree with that makes you feel powerful, like you’re changing the fabric of the universe by proclaiming your truth into the air.
That’s if you’re in the mood for it. What about when you’re not? I can’t begin to count the number of Sundays when I have dragged myself to the front of the congregation, grumbling inside about how the half-hour drive to church cuts into my weekend sleeping, or the annoying habits of the other people on the worship team, or how fat I am, or how stupid this music is, or how terrible I am at playing the bass, or how angry I am that people in our community keep dying even as we’re praying for their healing, or how confused I get by contradictions in the Bible, or how I look out at the congregation and see people who look like they’d rather be at the dentist than in church, or any old thing that happens to cross my mind in the wrong way. In those times, having to sing something like, “Every day, I’ll walk with you, my Lord” is downright galling. I don’t want to walk with God. What has he done to deserve my devotion? What have I done to deserve his attention? Sometimes I can’t even tell if it’s me or God I’m frustrated with, but I’m pretty sure one of us sucks. Either way, singing about how we’re madly in love with each other feels like the most hypocritical thing in the world.
But the songs aren't lies because they aren't true; the songs are lies because *I* am not true. The lie is the chasm between my experience and my hope, between how I feel and how I want to feel, between my fickle nature and a faithful God. I sing lies because I hope that somehow, the truth within them is strong enough to overpower my circumstance and conform me to itself. That's part of what it means to die to yourself, I guess. I live this Christian life, and I sing these songs, because I believe there's something there that is bigger and more worthy than what I can see in my world or in myself, and the closer I get to it, the more it will change me, whether I can tell the difference or not.
Like Hwin the mare said when she met Aslan, "Please, you are so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I'd sooner be eaten by you than be fed by anyone else."
A friend retweeted this Tozer quote a while ago, and I’ve been turning it over in my mind ever since. It’s a provocative quote, and I haven’t looked for its context yet because I wanted to think for a while about what I think it means before I found out what Tozer thinks it means. My first reaction was, “YES.” I’m a member of a contemporary worship team, and much of the music that our team does is fairly ecstatic. On the whole, contemporary worship music (if that can be said to be a single genre) is meant to help a worshiper express an intimate, personal and profound connection with God. Here are some lyrical excerpts from this coming Sunday:
My dead heart now is beating, my deepest stains now clean
Your breath fills up my lungs, now I’m free, now I’m free
Sin has lost its power, death has lost its sting
From the grave you’ve risen victoriously
Heaven meets earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my heart turns violently inside of my chest
And I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way that he loves us
Oh, how he loves us!
Every day, it’s you I live for
Every day, I’ll follow after you
Every day, I’ll walk with you, my Lord
When you’re in agreement with these kinds of sentiments, these songs can be incredibly fun and fulfilling to sing. Even if the composition isn’t of the highest artistic caliber, there’s just something about singing words you agree with that makes you feel powerful, like you’re changing the fabric of the universe by proclaiming your truth into the air.
That’s if you’re in the mood for it. What about when you’re not? I can’t begin to count the number of Sundays when I have dragged myself to the front of the congregation, grumbling inside about how the half-hour drive to church cuts into my weekend sleeping, or the annoying habits of the other people on the worship team, or how fat I am, or how stupid this music is, or how terrible I am at playing the bass, or how angry I am that people in our community keep dying even as we’re praying for their healing, or how confused I get by contradictions in the Bible, or how I look out at the congregation and see people who look like they’d rather be at the dentist than in church, or any old thing that happens to cross my mind in the wrong way. In those times, having to sing something like, “Every day, I’ll walk with you, my Lord” is downright galling. I don’t want to walk with God. What has he done to deserve my devotion? What have I done to deserve his attention? Sometimes I can’t even tell if it’s me or God I’m frustrated with, but I’m pretty sure one of us sucks. Either way, singing about how we’re madly in love with each other feels like the most hypocritical thing in the world.
But the songs aren't lies because they aren't true; the songs are lies because *I* am not true. The lie is the chasm between my experience and my hope, between how I feel and how I want to feel, between my fickle nature and a faithful God. I sing lies because I hope that somehow, the truth within them is strong enough to overpower my circumstance and conform me to itself. That's part of what it means to die to yourself, I guess. I live this Christian life, and I sing these songs, because I believe there's something there that is bigger and more worthy than what I can see in my world or in myself, and the closer I get to it, the more it will change me, whether I can tell the difference or not.
Like Hwin the mare said when she met Aslan, "Please, you are so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I'd sooner be eaten by you than be fed by anyone else."
Sunday, March 4, 2012
Follow the leader
Today during the children's message (i.e., the sermon that actually gets heard), our pastor had a brief game of Follow the Leader with the assembled kids. Everybody waved their hands, hopped on one foot, and followed the pastor on a brief walk up and down the aisles of the church. When they were done, the pastor gathered the group and asked, "What do you need to play Follow the Leader?" One girl piped up, "A line!" A detail-oriented young lady after my own heart. The next boy's answer was, "You need a bunch of people to play so you can follow them."
This wasn't the answer the pastor was quite looking for, but I found it interesting. In the game of Follow the Leader, especially if you are in a line, you are probably following the person in front of you, not the actual leader. Person A, immediately behind the leader, has a responsibility to do exactly as the leader does in order for Person B to be able to follow. The further down the line you are, the more people you are relying on to have paid attention and performed faithfully what's been handed down to them.
This got me thinking about a conversation I've been observing on Facebook about gay marriage and whether an interpretation of Scripture that accepts and blesses gay couples is appropriate or not. One of the issues at the heart of this particular conversation is the question of how much of ourselves to bring when we interpret the Bible. Those who believe that God speaks to people through the Bible want to hold back any part of our reason that may be faulty and get in the way. I personally feel this way, because I know that my own mind is imperfect, beset by temptations, and not to be unilaterally trusted. On the other hand, we are commanded to love the Lord with all of our minds. That means we MUST wrestle intellectually with the content of Scripture if we are to discover its truths. And we must decide whether to trust, sift or outright shun the collected (and sometimes conflicting) insight of centuries of study done by those around us and before us.
Many people choose the last option, I think because it feels safer. Like in Follow the Leader, if I'm way back in the line, I'm wondering how many of the people ahead of me have possibly screwed up, and how I might be about to trip over something. It seems like a better idea to jump the line and just go right to the source. I can Follow the Leader just fine by myself.
However, that's not how the game works, and that's not how we work. There's just no way that I can come to the Bible, or to prayer or to worship, as a tabula rasa and expect to get the unfiltered goods without any historical or cultural bias influencing me on any level. That's not possible, nor is it more righteous. By attempting to isolate myself and my understanding in order to "hear more directly" from God, I am effectively saying that I believe I am more capable of receiving truth from God than anyone else is or has been. I am dangerously close to making an idol of my own insight. Yes, I must apply discernment, but that includes acknowledging that my relationship with God does not, and was not intended to, exist in a vacuum. Humans are made to be in community, in time as well as in space. For better or worse, we are followers, not only of God, but of each other. It requires an enormous amount of trust. I have to trust in the Leader to keep an eye out for the whole line and to lead us in a good path, but I also have to trust in the fallible, imperfect, untrustworthy person in front of me. The person behind me is doing no less.
This wasn't the answer the pastor was quite looking for, but I found it interesting. In the game of Follow the Leader, especially if you are in a line, you are probably following the person in front of you, not the actual leader. Person A, immediately behind the leader, has a responsibility to do exactly as the leader does in order for Person B to be able to follow. The further down the line you are, the more people you are relying on to have paid attention and performed faithfully what's been handed down to them.
This got me thinking about a conversation I've been observing on Facebook about gay marriage and whether an interpretation of Scripture that accepts and blesses gay couples is appropriate or not. One of the issues at the heart of this particular conversation is the question of how much of ourselves to bring when we interpret the Bible. Those who believe that God speaks to people through the Bible want to hold back any part of our reason that may be faulty and get in the way. I personally feel this way, because I know that my own mind is imperfect, beset by temptations, and not to be unilaterally trusted. On the other hand, we are commanded to love the Lord with all of our minds. That means we MUST wrestle intellectually with the content of Scripture if we are to discover its truths. And we must decide whether to trust, sift or outright shun the collected (and sometimes conflicting) insight of centuries of study done by those around us and before us.
Many people choose the last option, I think because it feels safer. Like in Follow the Leader, if I'm way back in the line, I'm wondering how many of the people ahead of me have possibly screwed up, and how I might be about to trip over something. It seems like a better idea to jump the line and just go right to the source. I can Follow the Leader just fine by myself.
However, that's not how the game works, and that's not how we work. There's just no way that I can come to the Bible, or to prayer or to worship, as a tabula rasa and expect to get the unfiltered goods without any historical or cultural bias influencing me on any level. That's not possible, nor is it more righteous. By attempting to isolate myself and my understanding in order to "hear more directly" from God, I am effectively saying that I believe I am more capable of receiving truth from God than anyone else is or has been. I am dangerously close to making an idol of my own insight. Yes, I must apply discernment, but that includes acknowledging that my relationship with God does not, and was not intended to, exist in a vacuum. Humans are made to be in community, in time as well as in space. For better or worse, we are followers, not only of God, but of each other. It requires an enormous amount of trust. I have to trust in the Leader to keep an eye out for the whole line and to lead us in a good path, but I also have to trust in the fallible, imperfect, untrustworthy person in front of me. The person behind me is doing no less.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Ye shall have a song
"Ye shall have a song, as in the night when a holy solemnity is kept, and gladness of heart, as when one goeth with a pipe to come into the mountain of the Lord." (Isaiah 30:29) (Also this)
About two weeks ago, I caught some sort of virus that has decimated my ability to speak without a coughing fit. So, on the advice of my section leader and other smart people, I am on vocal rest for the time being. Living alone and being an introvert, I'm used to going for hours or even a whole day without speaking out loud to anyone. It's easy when I'm by myself. It's a lot different at work. I get frustrated that people don't ask the right questions. I don't have enough time to write my response on the little white board I carry around (like Buffy!). I have to let opportunities go by to make a comment when I normally would have spoken up. I wish I could just text everybody.
The reason why I am not speaking now is because I am completely terrified of something happening to my voice. Like getting nodules and having to have surgery, which could seriously screw with my instrument, even if it goes well. I can't have that. I need my voice. There is nothing that I know how to do as well as I know how to be a choral singer. It is a deep intimacy, the sense of not quite knowing where the sound of my voice ends and the sounds of Katherine and Sara on either side of me begin. Have you ever stood in a room with 65 people and, without a visual cue or direction, you all took a breath at the same time and began singing as one? As if you were all reading each other's minds? It's kind of amazing. Or how about the sweet moment in worship band practice when the instruments cut out for a moment and all you hear is me and Dain and Heather belting out a tightly tuned triad with all our hearts? IT IS SO GREAT. Singing is a stress reliever and a source of joy. I can't imagine who I would be, how I would get through a year, without the ability to sing. I know there is much greater suffering in the world than that, but would God really be THAT cruel to allow my voice to be taken away by a stupid cold? (Obviously. He's allowed much worse.)
So, if it means muddling through a few days of work with hand signals, smiles, and clarifying follow-up emails, in order to save something so important to me, so be it. Maybe I'll set up an overhead projector in my office for the really complex conversations.
About two weeks ago, I caught some sort of virus that has decimated my ability to speak without a coughing fit. So, on the advice of my section leader and other smart people, I am on vocal rest for the time being. Living alone and being an introvert, I'm used to going for hours or even a whole day without speaking out loud to anyone. It's easy when I'm by myself. It's a lot different at work. I get frustrated that people don't ask the right questions. I don't have enough time to write my response on the little white board I carry around (like Buffy!). I have to let opportunities go by to make a comment when I normally would have spoken up. I wish I could just text everybody.
The reason why I am not speaking now is because I am completely terrified of something happening to my voice. Like getting nodules and having to have surgery, which could seriously screw with my instrument, even if it goes well. I can't have that. I need my voice. There is nothing that I know how to do as well as I know how to be a choral singer. It is a deep intimacy, the sense of not quite knowing where the sound of my voice ends and the sounds of Katherine and Sara on either side of me begin. Have you ever stood in a room with 65 people and, without a visual cue or direction, you all took a breath at the same time and began singing as one? As if you were all reading each other's minds? It's kind of amazing. Or how about the sweet moment in worship band practice when the instruments cut out for a moment and all you hear is me and Dain and Heather belting out a tightly tuned triad with all our hearts? IT IS SO GREAT. Singing is a stress reliever and a source of joy. I can't imagine who I would be, how I would get through a year, without the ability to sing. I know there is much greater suffering in the world than that, but would God really be THAT cruel to allow my voice to be taken away by a stupid cold? (Obviously. He's allowed much worse.)
So, if it means muddling through a few days of work with hand signals, smiles, and clarifying follow-up emails, in order to save something so important to me, so be it. Maybe I'll set up an overhead projector in my office for the really complex conversations.
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