Week 18 - Evangelical Free and Evangelically Disillusioned

This was a nice church visit. Everything you would hope to expect when you visit a traditional Christian church.

• Easy, accessible parking for visitors
• Friendly greeters
• Comprehensive bulletin
• Smiling pastor
• Church pews
• Blend of contemporary songs and meaningful hymns
• Announcement of weekly activities
• Mention of significant events – birthdays, anniversaries, weddings
• Offering, with mention of a special project
• Seven point sermon
• Salvation prayer
• Cookies in the fellowship hall following the service
• All in 1.5 hours.

The experience was pleasant, yet unremarkable; cozy, but not life-changing; cheerful, but that was the deepest emotion to surface. It was like a Thanksgiving meal that had all of the expected food on the dining room table, but upon eating it finding there is very little spice and hardly any flavor. Nobody goes back for seconds. The leftovers stay in the fridge until they go bad.

My criticism this week is not directed at the EFCA or even this particular church. It is with what “going to church” appears to have evolved to in our culture. Maybe the following examples will help explain my frustration:

On Sunday, six people stood on the front of the stage, microphone in hand, leading the song service for the congregation. None of the songs were new or unfamiliar; we are talking about the standard easy-listening church fare. Just in case someone in the congregation didn’t know the hymns, the words were projected on the screen behind the pulpit. But surprisingly (or not) the singers all had a similar crutch. Each of them had a music stand with all the song sheets. Most of the time each of the singers’ gaze was fastened to the papers that they didn’t need. It may sound petty, but it really bothered me. I was certain that I could have walked forward and gathered the stands, the sheets, and the microphones and we could have had a more meaningful song service. It just felt like we were going through the expected motions.

The sermon too was standard fare – all scriptural, all sweet, all encouraging. The pastor broke down the message into seven points, but it appeared that he was making the passage fit the delivery, not the other way around. Of course in the bulletin we were provided a sheet with sermon notes, with each of the seven points listed, minus a key word or two so that we could fill in the blanks as we paid attention. Certainly the goal is to put memory aids in front of the congregation so they have more than just one touch point with the sermon, but when did spiritual growth ever equate to filling in the empty spaces with the preferred answer? As it was, I felt like I got a passing grade that morning by filling in all the correct words in the blanks, but learning didn’t happen, life-change didn’t occur. I can’t picture Jesus testing the disciples knowledge of him or the Kingdom in quite this way…

Honestly I was more challenged spiritually and encouraged in my faith last week when I went to the New Age congregation than I did this Sunday. At least last week we broke up into small groups and discussed what was going on in our souls and how various spiritual disciplines can help us grow and connect with God. This week was more like watching a rerun of an old TV sitcom. We know the jokes, we’ve memorized the words, we know the characters and their expressions. We understand the theology and creeds as they have been provided, but we are bored with the experience, it isn’t helping, and joining with the laugh track just makes us feel phony.

I’d love to visit these very friendly people again absent of their music stands, song sheets, and fill-in-the-blank handouts. It felt like their expression of church got trapped with the trappings and the building stopped when they got stuck in the building.

Or maybe it is just me.

But I’m afraid others may feel this way too… A few weeks ago I overheard a conversation at a high school sporting event. One soccer mom was asking another what they did with the Easter weekend.

“Well, this may sound awful, but we stayed home from church this year.”

“You did?”

“Ya, I don’t really like the big crowd on Easter Sunday and the struggle to find a parking spot.” She paused, unsure if she should really say her next thought out loud. “Plus, I already know that story…”

I don’t think the mom was dissing Jesus or the significance of his resurrection. What she was trying to verbalize was that what her local church was offering on Sunday morning, even on Easter Sunday, wasn’t necessarily helping her along in her spiritual growth and development. She had no appetite for what they were serving.

She isn’t alone.

I don’t think this week was about connecting with the very fine EFCA folks. I think it was connecting with those in my neighborhood who are so disillusioned with the current form and function of church gatherings that they just don’t want to do it the same any longer.

Week 18 Preview–Evangelical Free

The Evangelical Free Church Association is a part of the National Association of Evangelicals, so don’t let the name fool you, this denomination is not free of Evangelicals. The word Free in the Church's name actually refers to its system for church governance. The EFCA local churches are all independent and autonomous. The governing body for the denomination is made up of delegates from these churches, both clergy and laity.

This denomination has only been around since 1950, and is the product of merging Swedish, Norwegian, and Danish church groups. They currently have nearly 1,500 churches in the United States, including one just a few blocks down from my house.

After reading their Statement of Faith, I’m not expecting anything too crazy when I visit. This group seems to have navigated itself safely in the middle of the road on the straight and narrow path. It was difficult to find much controversy with this denomination—one blogger does refer to the EFCA as “A Smorgasbord of Heresy,” and its most well known pastor Charles Swindoll as having a "résumé of heresy." I personally think that blogger needs a new hobby and a vacation.

Week 17 – Eckankar

Finding Value in the Neighborhood of Make-Believe

The Eckankar Center that I visited wasn’t a large one and it wasn’t very easy to locate. I drove around the block a couple of times before I spied street numbers on the local merchants’ buildings that clued me in to my destination. I arrived a few minutes late and missed whatever opening greeting may have occurred. When I reached for the door handle a lady quietly turned it from the other side and motioned for me to enter. She whispered to me that they had just finished their opening chant and were now in quiet meditation. I attempted to make it to the back row of chairs in the next room without being any more of a disturbance to the force that I already had created.

I took the time of solitude to get centered myself. I hate being late, I hadn’t wanted to draw attention to myself, and I was right in the middle of a New Age meeting that I grew up being warned about. I felt frazzled. I reminded myself that I wasn’t here to check out the religion, I was here to find out more about my neighbors and see if I could find a common place of relating to them, perhaps even caring about them.

I looked around my surroundings. Up on the wall was a picture of the current ECK Master by the name of Harold Klemp. He looks like Mr. Rogers, who I remember was very interested in his neighborhood as well. I don’t know what was going through the minds of the other participants during mediation, but I sat there inwardly singing “Let’s make the most of this beautiful day, Since we're together, we might as well say, Would you be mine? Could you be mine? Won't you be my neighbor?“

At the end of the quiet the service coordinator led us in the “Creative Arts” portion of the meeting. She played a ukulele and we sang a simple song. If I understood it right it was to be directed to the Mahanta, a title to describe the highest state of God Consciousness on Earth. I couldn’t begin to picture Fred Rogers and his Land of Make-Believe as very spiritual, so I just focused on singing to Jesus.

We then broke into small groups where we spent a half hour discussing the topic for the day, “The Creative Power of the Soul.” Everyone in the group shared one thing or the other, but they didn’t go around in a circle and I didn’t feel pressured to share. I did ask some follow up questions to what people were sharing about their spiritual journeys. Three things stood out to me that I found of significant value.

• One woman shared how the spiritual disciples she participates in Eckankar differ from what she grew up practicing. When I asked her for an example she explained that her prayer life used to be made up of petitions, of trying to speak to God. These days she does far more quieting herself so she can listen to God. I’ll be honest; I think she is on to something simple, yet important. In my religious circles we sure do a lot of talking during prayer, and though we discuss listening (which is sort of an oxymoron), I’ve very rarely ever experienced it modeled in a Christian setting.
• Another man shared that when he wakes up each morning he immediately looks out the window and mediates for 20 minutes about the gift that this new day is. He says it sets the stage for him to anticipate and respond in healthier and positive ways than if he just jumps up and rushes headlong into life. It makes sense. When I sleep till the last possible minute and then caffeinate myself though my first several deadlines, the day can taste chaotic.
• And together as a group we discussed how decision making is an amazingly creative process. It is easy enough to react to the circumstances around us like we are preprogrammed machines, but it is quite another process to realize that we have thousands of choices to make throughout the day. What if we learned to use these choices as opportunities to be guided by the Holy Spirit into life affirming behaviors and responses?

The discussion ended too soon for my liking and they went back to singing their “HU” which they believe to be an ancient name for God. They would only sing the syllable as they were breathing out and as their voices joined it was a beautiful sound. There is a sweetness about being together in harmony that wasn’t lost on me as I listened.

During the fellowship time after the service I explained to the group that I was getting to know my community and was appreciative of their hospitality and their openness to my visit. They didn’t pressure me to join, but did give me more materials so that I could understand them better. I left with a much better understanding of this group. I may not agree on some of their beliefs and visions, but I do respect the way they are trying to live, and I really do find some value in some of the spiritual disciples that they practice.

Have you ever considered adopting a spiritual discipline that isn’t traditionally a part of your religious background?

Week 17 Preview - Eckankar

Most of the institutions I’ve visited during the project this year have been from the Christian perspective or have been major world religions. This week I visit a religious movement that many would describe as an American cult.

The site Religion Facts explains the following about Eckankar:

Eckankar is a new religious movement based on a 19th-century Indian tradition called Sant Mat, which centers around surat shabd yoga, "yoga of the sound current." Eckankar focuses on spritual exercises enabling practitioners to experience "the Light and Sound of God."

Founded: 1965 in Las Vegas, USA

Founder: John Paul Twitchell

Adherents: Estimated at 50,000

Headquarters: Chanhassen, Minnesota

Text: Shariyat-Ki-Sugmad ("Way of the Eternal")

Beliefs: Divine Spirit called "ECK"; salvation through God-realization; reincarnation

Practices: Spiritual Exercises including mantras, meditation, and dreams

Worship Services consist of readings, singing "HU" (a mantra of what they believe to be an ancient name for God, and is considered a love song to God.), silent contemplation and an open discussion. This weekend’s discussion is about “the creative power of the soul.”

From their website it appears that Eckankar is developed around the desire of experiencing God each day through spiritual exercises, techniques for experiencing spiritual experiences, and study that will serve as a guide towards spiritual fulfillment.

Do you have an Eckankar center in your neighborhood?

Week 16 – Going Home

I’ve recently been contemplating my spiritual DNA, processing the strands of church history that contribute to my faith as well as the genetic flaws from my church background.

I have a lot to be grateful for. I may not have been raised as financially privileged, but my family made sure I attended good churches and Christian schools the first two decades of my life. I had a stream of very committed people who invested in me, spent time with me, and showed that they cared about me. Being that I’m a nostalgic person I frequently look back over my shoulder feeling that my journey forward is enhanced by understanding where I’ve been.

The church that I visited this weekend I never, ever intended to leave. I would still be there today if I had had my way. Unfortunately, as can happen in any man-made ministry, the Kingdom can take a back seat to vision. And when vision is at the wheel, there can be a lot of casualties on the road. I watched a terrible wreck, several years ago, that I believed was very unnecessary. And even though by that time I was on staff at my childhood church, when I spoke up about this needless damage it wasn’t well received. And I didn’t receive it well that it wasn’t received well. And well, I ended up tending my resignation, and it created a political nightmare for the church administration. And then I was made to look bad so that church vision and visionaries wouldn’t be questioned. And then I felt hurt that I was made to look bad. And then I shook the dust off my feet as I left for the last time as I thought it was within my rights to react when I was convinced I had been right and had been wronged for it.

That was almost 18 years ago. I’ve been back for a baby dedication and a surprise party for one of my friends but other than that I’ve never darkened the doors of this space that used to be so sacred to me.

I’ve wrestled this year whether or not to include this church on my visitation list. It is on the border of my neighborhood’s 50-church circle and I could easily make an excuse about leaving them off the agenda. But this project is supposed to be about facing my fears and going where I don’t necessarily feel comfortable or welcome. This church really fits that bill. So this week when one of the people on staff at the church contacted me about getting together to discuss a missions project I knew I had a perfect excuse—to go.

Timing is everything. And this time I didn’t approach the thought of going back through the lens of a victim. I went hopeful that it would be a healing experience. What I saw as I approached the church made me laugh. A woman was standing out on the street in front of the church waving a sign and dancing back and forth like she was selling Little Caesar’s Pizza. The scene was ridiculous till I took in her sign. The two big words in the middle of her white poster board were COME HOME.

“Is that for me, God?”

“Do you want it to be for you?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know…”

“Rest in my peace.”

I parked my van and entered the church. I recognized the woman handing out the bulletins and her eyes caught mine but I bolted for the sanctuary before she figured out what to say. I made my way through a few more doors and down an aisle and found a spot on the end of a pew where I thought I could go unnoticed. I was feeling very emotional and wanted to get my bearings and steady myself before being faced with a lot of interaction.

The music started and I stood up with the others for the time of worship. I noticed the changes. The carpet was a different color and the pews have been reupholstered. All the crimson reds have been exchanged for emerald greens, but it is still all rather garish. The piano is now located on the east side of the stage and the choir has been replaced by a modern band. Their previous worship leader, who was a close friend of mine, has been swapped for her daughter. The change in music styles has affected the seating arrangement; the older generation now sits in the back half of the sanctuary, most likely because of the noise level, and the younger people are now positioned towards the front of the room where they worship with exuberance.

I took in the baptismal, where I dedicated my life to God, the platform where I had performed so many holiday church plays, and the pulpit from behind where I’d preached in school chapel services and to this church congregation. I close my eyes to remember the view from the stage and I remember the day when I watched my bride come down the aisle as we were married in front of more people in this room than are at this service today. I tear up, and figure the people around me must think that it is just the worship song.

After announcements they asked all the high school graduates and their families to come forward so the congregation could honor them and pray over them. I see a couple of the parents who had been pregnant alongside my wife and I head to the front. I realize this would have been my daughter’s celebration had we stayed.

When they paused in the service to greet the visitors my anonymity was up. Even though I’ve changed a lot over the years I now look too much like my dad, who was much loved in this church. Several people made their way over to me to kindly reconnect and ask about my family. I started to relax.

The staff pastor who had the preaching assignment this Sunday took us on a trip down memory lane to discuss the spiritual DNA and history of this church. He talked about days that took place before he was born but are vivid memories for me. Most people in my neighborhood would consider these the glory days of this church because they had been running three services each Sunday morning in order to get everyone a seat. The overflow was full, the balcony was packed, the air was electric, and the Kingdom seemed to have touched down. Of course on this Sunday morning the staff pastor was pumping up the congregation to not only get back to that place in attendance, but to overtake it. He used a passage out of Haggai chapter 2 - ‘The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house.’ And of course all the people in the congregation gave a hearty ‘Amen;’ especially the young people who hadn’t lived through those days and perhaps saw this charge as a competition.

But what brought me peace as a child was listening to my former pastor teach about a God who loved us. This pastor would get so overwhelmed trying to describe it that sometimes he’d get weepy, and sometimes he’d get loud, and sometimes he’d be really hushed. And I believed him. And it registered deep within my DNA. And today I needed to come home for a little reminder that being loved by God and learning to love others are the two most important aspects of church life.

There were other gifts during this little homecoming. One of the deacons, who was kind to me and my family when we chose to leave the church, saw me and hugged me. He wouldn’t let go and I didn’t want him to. And the woman who was my children’s pastor so many years ago was back in town visiting her old stomping ground as well. She told me I look more and more like my dad.

The service was long, over two hours. Finally I caught up with my friend who has remained on staff all these years. Over lunch at a local restaurant she and her husband asked me about how it felt to return. I shared some of my experiences from the past couple of hours.

“I couldn’t believe you guys have a dancing sign lady out on the highway.”

“What do you mean?”

“The middle aged woman who was dancing around with the ‘Come Home” sign in front of the church.”

She smiled at me. “I don’t know of any ‘sign lady,’ at least nobody else on staff has discussed this with me.”

We just looked at each other a moment, then she laughed, “But it wouldn’t surprise me at all if there was an angel out front of the driveway this morning.”

And as I consider what I know of the Kingdom, and of a God who so enthusiastically loves me that he uses sign boards and memories to speak to my heart, that I’m overwhelmed trying to describe what it was like to safely return to a place that once was a spiritual home for me. All I can whisper is, ‘His peace!’

Have you ever returned to your childhood church? What did you experience?

A Year of Church Visitation – 2nd Quarter

There is a difference between going to a religious meeting and being a part of the Body of Christ. The first is about attendance and the second is about belonging. The former can become about performance where the latter is about relationship.

I am enjoying this project of visiting the local religious institutions in my neighborhood, but at its heart it is a relational endeavor for me not one that is driven by the calendar. Recently I’ve had some weekends that were full of family events and gatherings with friends that superseded my visitation schedule. While I’m thankful for this project and grateful for what I’m learning, I’m also glad to know where it fits in the priority of my life. My wife, children, and friends are not worth sacrificing for the sake of this blog. Also, the people in the places I’m visiting are worth more than just a quick nod as I rush by them to meet a deadline.

I was glad to see that as I took a few weeks off I really missed the church visitations. Although it is not always comfortable being the new guy, the benefits of getting to know and understand my neighbors are greater than the fears I face in these religious institutions.

As I start this 2^nd quarter I’m going to begin with the church where I grew up. I have a lot of great memories here - 18 years of them, but it didn’t end well and it has been almost another 18 years since I’ve been back for a service.

Here we go!

Week 15 – Jewish Orthodox

Spending Easter, Looking for Jesus, Amongst the Jews

I showed up at the Chabad Lubavitch a few minutes before the published start time. The doors were still locked. I walked around the building but didn’t find any other open entrance. I wondered if they were celebrating different this weekend because of Passover.

I sat in my truck and brought up their website on my smart phone. I couldn’t find any special announcements about this weekend other than they weren’t planning to have the normal meal after the service.

Next to the Chabad center is a Starbucks. I kept watching people drive up, park their vehicles and head to the coffee shop. I was wondering how the attendance in the local churches compares to that in the coffee shops over the weekend. That is when I saw the Rabbi walk up with his two small sons. I waited a few minutes and more vehicles began to arrive with people seeking Shabbat instead of Frappuccinos.

The room was split with a divider and the men and women were already taking their places on the proper sides. I felt conscious of my lack of head covering and looked to see if there were any Kippahs available for visitors. I didn’t find any, but the Rabbi did hand me the prayer book we would use. I had arrived for the Shacharit, the traditional Jewish service for morning prayers. It was over an hour long, all in Hebrew, and I was glad for the English translation so I could follow along silently while the others read and recited in Hebrew. The Rabbi took a prayer shawl, called a Tallit, off the shelf and went through a specific ritual of draping it over his head and shoulders. The Tallit was edged with Tzitzit, twined and knotted fringes that were handled like Catholic prayer beads at various times during the prayers. We faced an open window to the East, right into the sun. I couldn’t help but wonder how Christian worship services would feel different if the bands and singers faced away from the congregation instead of fronting them. Maybe we’d have less performance issues. I had no less sense of being led by the Rabbi, even though I was watching his back. There were no instruments during this prayer and Psalm singing, but the Rabbi’s two boys would tap out rhythms on the window seal and the wooden pulpit.

This is Easter weekend, and I’m normally at a Christian church for a sunrise service and worship celebration. I know this congregation is in the middle of celebrating Passover, but I’ve come with expectancy to hear about the Resurrection regardless. I found it as we read Psalm 30. It was originally a Psalm of David that was sung at the dedication of the temple. To me it reads as an Easter morning song that has specific, prophetic nods to Jesus’ death and time in the grave.

30:1 I will extol you, O Lord, for you have drawn me up
and have not let my foes rejoice over me.
2 O Lord my God, I cried to you for help,
and you have healed me.
3 O Lord, you have brought up my soul from Sheol;
you restored me to life from among those who go down to the pit.

4 Sing praises to the Lord, O you his saints,
and give thanks to his holy name.
5 For his anger is but for a moment,
and his favor is for a lifetime.
Weeping may tarry for the night,
but joy comes with the morning.

6 As for me, I said in my prosperity,
“I shall never be moved.”
7 By your favor, O Lord,
you made my mountain stand strong;
you hid your face;
I was dismayed.

8 To you, O Lord, I cry,
and to the Lord I plead for mercy:
9 “What profit is there in my death,
if I go down to the pit?
Will the dust praise you?
Will it tell of your faithfulness?
10 Hear, O Lord, and be merciful to me!
O Lord, be my helper!”

11 You have turned for me my mourning into dancing;
you have loosed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,
12 that my glory may sing your praise and not be silent.
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to you forever!

I also found great significance from the Rabbi’s teaching. We discussed the passage in Exodus where Moses crafts a second set of stones for God to inscribe the 10 commandments after Moses had broken the fist set. The Rabbi was full of interesting perspectives about the passage and filled in historical commentary that I’ve never heard. He shared things that were definitely worth considering and applying in my own life. I appreciated this teaching time because there was dialog back and for the between the congregation and the Rabbi. We weren’t just being taught at, we were given the opportunity to share and encouraged to ask questions. I found I have things to learn, about life and loving God, from the Orthodox Jews.

It is easy, I think, for some Christians to dismiss Judaism and their traditions.

It is easier, I’ve seen, for other Christians to make too much of it.

The hard part, but what may easily be the most rewarding, is to join into relationship and worship with them.

Week 15 Preview – Jewish Orthodox

Tradition!

There are two Jewish congregations in my neighborhood. I called the first to ask about attending this weekend. They have two services, a reformed service, where 75% is in Hebrew, and a contemporary service, which they thought would be easier for me, a visitor, to take in. I agreed to join them on a Friday night when they had their contemporary service, but this week I already had Friday evening plans. This left the even more traditional, Orthodox congregation as my religious outing for the week.

There may be enough Jewish people in my neighborhood for a couple of synagogues, but I don’t know any of them personally. Having grown up in the Christian church I know a lot of early Jewish history from the Old Testament, and having grown up in America I know a lot about recent Jewish history, their persecutions and struggles, but I’ve never visited the Holy Land or one of their places of worship. Much of what I know of their lifestyle (again) comes from the way that media represents them in TV shows and movies.

No, I don’t really know or understand Judaism but I’d like to learn more of their traditions. I’ve already memorized all of the songs from “Fiddler on the Roof.” If they play one of those during the worship time, I’ll sing as loud and as proud as Topol.

May the Lord protect and defend you.
May He always shield you from shame.
May you come to be
In Israel a shining name.

Week 14 – New Apostolic Church

Even when you regularly attend the same church every week not every service feels like a home run. I shouldn’t expect every visit to every church I visit this year to be successful. This visit wasn’t exactly a strike out, but I feel like I just barely got to first base.

I walked in a few minutes before the service and wasn’t sure where to go. There was a blackboard in the entry way with several different instructions, but because there were people coming in right behind me I didn’t get to stop and read it. The narrow entryway pushed me right up the stairs and past the information table. I just kept moving into the sanctuary and found a spot on the back pew.

I watched others enter the room. They were all taking the hymnals off the information table I’d passed and bringing them with them. I didn’t understand why the books weren’t already located in the pews but now I was without one. It seemed like it was time for the service to start, and people weren’t milling around or being social so I didn’t want to get up and walk back across the room. I felt nervous and out of place. A majority of the people were in white shirts and ties. Even the kid quietly reading The Foot Book, by Dr. Seuss was dressed up nicer than I was.

A man stood to give the opening prayer. He mentioned the “Blessing Bearers” (whom I assumed were the apostles or some other high functioning leaders in the church), the departed souls, and baptism. I found it interesting that he covered so many of the distinctive points about this brand of Christianity in the prayer. All of the people stood and folded their hands the same way when the prayer started. At the end they all said, “Amen” in unison, but in a low, reserved tone. It weirded me out a bit. I guess it isn’t all that different from the physical responses to prayer that I practice like “Bow your head and close your eyes.” It is just different than what I am used to.

An usher with thick, coke bottle eyeglasses observed that I didn’t have a hymnal and gave me his. The organist started playing a song, all the way through, but no one sang. Then it got deathly quiet for a couple of minutes. I wasn’t sure if we were supposed to be meditating on the words we hadn’t sung or if we were waiting for some more church officials to enter the room. Then the organist started playing again and this time we joined in with the words. This was followed by all of the people in white shirts and ties circling the organ. They were the choir. Now I was glad I wasn’t dressed like them.

I wasn’t able to track with who was who and what was what. There were visiting priests and bishops and the mention of a district apostle. I’m not sure what was normal and what was unusual about this weekend. I took notes in my journal as the various men spoke and then handed off the next part to another leader.

The congregation sat very still and reverent through the procedures. They echoed their low ‘amen’ at the end of each section. Then it was time for communion. I didn’t really feel comfortable enough to participate with them. I was confused when I watched those sitting in the front row go forward and receive the elements. I only saw them get a wafer of bread, but nothing to signify the cup. By the time they got to the back row I just politely declined their invitation. When I got home I looked up how the New Apostolic Church took communion. They use wafers that are already infused with three drops of wine. I’m sure this is easier to set up and possibly more hygienic, but I like the physical experience of drinking, sipping or dunking.

Then all of a sudden the leaders were done officiating and the reverent part of the service was over. It was if the entire congregation had been carefully holding their breath and now they could relax. Smiles appeared, warmness entered the room, and people started acting like people instead of religious Autobots. It was during this part of the service that announcements were made, laughter was heard, birthdays were celebrated, and specific needs in the congregation were shared. I felt much more connected to the people in the New Apostolic Church than their religion. I imagine others could say the same thing about me when I’m acting religious.

It didn’t seem this church was all that used to visitors. Once everything was wrapped up, I realized that I had created a bit of a stir. The Pastor/Priest/Bishop’s wife wanted to know if I was from the local media. I guess most people don’t take notes during the service; maybe it was even inappropriate. When I told her that I lived in the neighborhood and just dropped by to visit she changed her concern. “Oh, well, I saw all the notes you were writing and all the verses you were looking up in your Bible.” (I only had my journal in hand, but it does look like it could be a Bible.) “I want to reassure you that everything we do is by the book. It is just scriptural, scriptural, scriptural!” She smiled. I smiled back at her. It made me wonder how much energy this church has spent with other Christians and people in the media who have labeled their denomination a cult. When she saw that I hadn’t come to argue she was very friendly. “Let me introduce you to my husband!”

He was concerned that some of the elements of the service that might have seemed chaotic. I told him much of it was new, but there was nothing that offended me. There were a lot of questions I could have asked about my experience that morning, but I was already exhausted from the effort of attending. Really I didn’t want to know more about the New Apostolic Church so I just asked him about the granddaughter he was holding in his arms.

At the end of our conversation he apologized that we’ve been neighbors for years and that they’d never reached out to me. I apologized for the same.

Week 14 Preview – New Apostolic Church

There is a little church tucked into the corner of my neighborhood. The only thing I know about them is there name, which is on the sign out in the front lawn.

I did a little bit of research to find out what is particular to this branch of the Christian church.

• You have to be baptized with water before you can experience a close relationship with God or receive the Holy Spirit.
• If you are baptized as an infant, you get it confirmed as a teenager.
• Baptism only counts if it was done in the triune name of God – Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
• Communion is celebrated every week.
• The church views the “Holy Sealing” by the Holy Spirit an necessary step in being a child of God.
• The church believes in pre-millennial eschatology and considers the second coming of Jesus to be imminent.
• The church believes in the role of the Apostles for the church today.
• The church has a special doctrine for the departed, having three annual services where prayers, communion and baptism for the dead are performed.

Some of these points are outside what I would consider orthodox. I have a choice to make. Will I exclude these neighbors from fellowship because of different points of view and spiritual practices, or is there enough common ground to consider them, and treat them, as family?

Week 13 – Roman Catholic Church

I went to the Catholic Church with some expectancy. I like this pillar of faith in my neighborhood. When I talk about this church to others it is always with affection and respect. Unfortunately my enthusiasm wasn’t met with inclusion during their service that I attended. If anything, it made me feel very much of an outsider.

Personally I’m not all that enthused about the role of the priest in the church. It was the very opposite of what I’d experienced in the Brethren Church the week before, where the pastor had a very limited role in the service and just sat down in the pews with the rest of us brothers and sisters. In the Catholic Church the priest was sitting in a big throne with younger people dressed in costumes running around doing errands for him. It reminded me of the holiday scene in the local mall with Santa Claus and the elves. Saint Nick was decked out in his robes for this service and was checking to see if all the Catholic kids had been naughty or nice.

It was hard for me to find my place in the liturgy. While some churches have gone out of their way to make sure new people know how and when to follow along and participate, in this church it felt like you should already know. I watched the people around me kneel, bow, curtsy and cross themselves without being given any direction to do so. It appeared to me they had grown up with this structure and it was second nature to them. I watched one little boy, about 2, before the service started. He was dressed sharp but acted very unhappy. He had a beatitudes coloring book in hand but was hitting himself in the forehead with it over and over to express his frustration with the woman who was anxiously trying to get him to behave properly. It seemed he had already learned, “Blessed are those who punish themselves, for such is the manner among Catholics.” He was quickly ushered into the ‘cry room’ at the back of the sanctuary. I had noticed the room on my way in. It had a sign that read, “If your child has calmed please vacate your place for others.” I understood the direction, but it felt somewhat cold and corporate.

I really experienced the corporate bent as I looked through the bulletin. I’ve never seen one with full color advertisements from the businesses in the local community. I guess it is a smart publication to push your products, but it felt out of place, like maybe it should have been left out in the courtyard where Jesus could overturn a table or two with the bulletins stacked high on them.

During this project I’ve participated in the celebration of communion in the churches when it was offered and I felt comfortable doing so. This Sunday it wasn’t an option; the decision had been made for me. I had to move out of the pew to let all the other acceptable people go down to the altar for their share of the Body of Christ while I had to go back to my seat, head bowed, more in shame than humility.

In our zeal to create some order out of religious chaos we create definitions and boundaries to figure out who is in and who is out. I very much felt the presence of that circle on Sunday morning and recognized that I’d been drawn outside of the acceptable arc.

As much as I’d like to personally love the Catholic Church, the structure in place will keep me as a distant admirer. I leave the service feeling sad and out of place.

I’ve taken some extra time on this visit to process my thoughts. My neighbor is a very devout Christian who attends this same Catholic Church. I know that for her she finds a great deal of comfort and encouragement from her participation there. Of course, she is already on the inside of the circle and benefits from all of the rites and routines. She comes home from her meetings at St. Nicks and is full of gifts for me and my family. Though we may not be on the inside of the Roman Catholic Church’s circle, we are very much inside of my neighbor’s. Her care and love for us is unmatched. I may not be able to embrace all that is Roman Catholicism, but I can with a full heart of giving and receiving, embrace my neighbor. She is the best expression of Catholicism that I know.

My other example of who this church is working for comes with a spoonful of humility. I mentored a young adult who wanted to pursue an active spiritual life in Christianity. Religion had not been a part of her very difficult background and she was learning to create something very new for herself from a lot of brokeness. She sat through my lectures, spent time in my home, ate my food, and followed my instructions the best she was able. She still struggled to find a rhythm of faith that worked for her. This last week I received an invitation to join her in celebrating her confirmation in the Catholic Church on Easter. She has found great strength in their particular expressions of discipleship. For that, I am overjoyed. It makes me realize that while I may not be at home in that particular environment, some of those whom I love, are. For that, I am eternally grateful.

Week 13 Preview – Roman Catholic Church

I’ll be visiting the local Catholic Church this week.

It is bigger, size wise, than any other building I’ll be visiting in my neighborhood during this project. I’ve been in this sanctuary before. It has a cruciform floor plan, meaning that the church from the air is shaped like a cross. From the inside this part of the roof is raised with a section of windows letting in natural light to warm the spectacular and polished room. It sends a message: God is big and you should be reverent.

I don’t think I’m very reverent.

There isn’t a lot of room in my life right now for ritual and routine. I’m pretty familiar with God. I talk to him without kneeling, making a sign, or memorizing prayers. They usually start out, “Hey Dad, it’s me Bob,” and then stay pretty conversational.

I respect Catholicism. It is part of my family heritage. I’ve collected some of the elements of worship that my grandparents owned that were helpful tools for them during their prayer times. I have books from some of the “desert fathers” whose writings about their pursuit of God inspire me. I really liked the last Pope and considered him a humble, caring man. I’d like to think well of the current Pope, but he looks too much like the Emperor from Star Wars for me to feel very comfortable about him.

I just finished reading Father Albert Cutié’s memoir, Dilemma: A Priest's Struggle with Faith and Love. He’s frank about his own journey, as well as what he has experienced as unhealthy and inconsistent practices in the Roman Catholic Church. (He is now a married, ordained, Episcopal Priest.) I know I’m not immune to the media’s representation of the sexual scandals that have plagued Catholicism. I seem to have more respect for nuns than I do priests. And though I view Dan Brown’s books as purely fictional, I do think the Catholic Church has real secrets that have been buried.

I participate with the Catholic Church. My wife regularly delivers boxes of food to their food pantry, as they have developed a great network of providing meals to the local poor. I pray in their small chapel as it is always open, is always quiet, and has people praying inside 24 hours a day, 365 days of the year. I have friends and neighbors that are Catholics that I respect their expression of faith and treasure their devotion.

I don’t feel part of the Catholic Church, regardless of my heritage. I know they have rules about what non-Catholics can and can’t do in a service. I’m not in a place in life to jump through the necessary hoops just so I can participate in the Eucharist with them. I find it daunting and the language foreign. I read an invitation to “experience the Joy of the Lord in the Catholic Church” on their website, but then it was followed by a daunting ladder of initiation.

RITE OF CHRISTIAN INITIATION OF ADULTS

Period of Evangelization and Precatechumenate

• This is a time for inquiry and introduction to Gospel values

Acceptance into the order of Catechumens

• This is the liturgical rite that marks the beginning of the catechumenate proper, as the precatechumens express and the Church accepts their intention to respond to God’s call to follow the way of Christ.

Period of the Catechumens

• This is the time for nurturing and growth of the catechumens’ faith and conversion to God.

Election or enrollment of names

• This is the liturgical rite by which the Church formally ratifies the catechumens’ readiness for the sacraments of initiation and the catechumens, now called the elect, express the will to receive these sacraments.

Period of purification and enlightenment

• This is the time period immediately preceding initiation into the Church.

Celebration of the Sacraments of Initiation

• This is the liturgical rite, usually part of the Easter vigil, by which the elect are initiated through baptism, confirmation and the Eucharist.

Period of post baptismal catechesis

• This is the time following the celebration of initiation, during which the newly initiated experience being fully part of the Christian community and participate with all the faithful in the Sunday Eucharistic celebration.

I’ll visit the Catholic Church in my neighborhood this weekend. But I’m afraid I’ll feel like I’m on the outside.

Week 12 – Church of the Brethren

Who’s in Charge here Anyway?

Most of the churches I’ve attended, even visited, in my life have been pastored by a personality. There is nothing wrong with the spokesman having some moxie; it helps make their messages memorable. The truth is, the identity of a church is usually established by those in control; those in control are usually those in out front; those out front are usually the ones leading the way. Imagine my surprise this week when it was the pastor who appeared to have more of a back seat.

When I arrived at the front door of the Church of the Brethren I was met by a kind and gregarious greeter. As we began to interact, I wondered if he wasn’t actually the man in charge. He sure talked like this was his church. He had me sign their church guestbook, gave me some documents about the church and denomination, and gave me a preview of what the service would be like. He explained the cookie communion they all enjoy in the fellowship hall of the church following the sermon and invited me to stay and stuff myself with sweet treats.

I began to suspect this gentleman could actually be the pastor until he introduced me to the man who would later preach that day. This pastor was out in the lobby hanging out with the people and didn’t seem very concerned that the service was scheduled to start in just a few short minutes. I’m more used to pastors gathering their thoughts, energy and composure before church begins, some not even coming out of their offices or green rooms before it is show time.

My greeter friend introduced me to an usher, who gave me the impression that this was his church. He fanned his hand over the pews and told me to sit wherever I’d feel most comfortable. Halfway back seemed to fit my mood so I staked a claim to a section of the room with some other kind looking folks. I could tell that they wanted to chat with me too, but since the music was starting they held back.

The Gospel quartet played a mini-concert, just setting the mood for the morning. The song and music style fit the congregation well and no one seemed rushed. When the band played a few minutes longer than what the printed schedule allotted for I wondered if they’d get a stern look from the pastor. He was sitting patiently on the pew in front of me though, and he didn’t seem concerned in the least.

During the greeting time the people really made me feel at home. They told me about their church history and explained some of the ways the Brethren churches are different from other congregations. I began to understand that these people really play an important role in their church, their districts, and in their national gatherings. In contrast to the COGOP that I attended last week where the denomination authorities install and remove pastors without the input of the local congregation, in the COTB the pastors actually serve at the request of the local people. It’s their church.

The pastor still didn’t move to the stage after the greetings. Someone else stood in the pulpit and opened up the front microphone for testimonies, announcements and prayers. I couldn’t believe that they didn’t realize how dangerous this could be. I’ve learned it is much safer to hold the microphone in front of someone’s when they are sharing in a service so that the amplified power doesn’t go to their heads and that they don’t take too much of the pastor’s precious time. I’ve learned from some of the best personalities out there how to stay in control of the stage. Yet the pastor still sitting in the pew in front of me didn’t even fidget.

It did get out of hand—there were announcements that never would have made it past the chosen three in my church—even one for the rock hounds in the group. If it was someone’s birthday week they took their time up front to receive the blessings from others and then gave the blessing back by putting a special offering in the offering vase behind them. And if someone in the room had a prayer request they shared it from the front and then they prayed. After. Each. One. It was beautiful, meaningful and anything but scripted. It was their church.

The pastor finally did get his time in the order of the service, and he brought a thoughtful message for the church to prayerfully consider and apply. What it lacked was vision—by that I mean that I noticed the absence of the pastor trying to sell me on a program, a direction, or a ministry to sign up for. It was really refreshing! Those items can be important for a congregation, and I’m sure they exist somewhere in the COTB too, but interestingly enough, not during their gatherings for worship.

I met a lot of people on Sunday and they all were very gracious hosts. I could sense that they didn’t really have usher training, greeter meetings, and cookie signups for the new comers’ follow up. Instead they all acted as if this church was their home.

I don’t really expect, in just one neighborhood visit, to be able to nail down what a local congregation believes, but I’m amazed just how much of this church’s philosophy I’ve already experienced because of how they behaved. Here are four statements from a brochure on the COTB.

• Has a democratic congregation structure with widespread participation for each participant.
• Seeks to be a body which gives more attention to developing deep relationships with Christ Jesus and one another than to narrow doctrine or traditional structures.
• Practices the ministry of every believer.
• Know that ALL are welcome here.

I could tell, Church of the Brethren, I could tell.

(And the cookies were delicious!)

Week 12 Preview – Church of the Brethren

My project takes me down the street to the local Church of the Brethren gathering this week. Most of my perceptions about this denomination come from a few pastors that I’ve watched at a distance and reading the weekly messages on the church sign as I drive by. If I had to sum up my notions in one word it would be ‘peaceful.’

The church in my neighborhood was built near the same time I was born. I’ve always known it to be there, but I’ve only entered the building once for a wedding. I’m looking forward to this visit.

Here are a few things that I’ve learned online about the Church of the Brethren:

• They don’t follow any creeds other than the writings in the New Testament. They particularly like Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount.
• The Brethren really care about peace and are proponents of solving conflict through non-violent means.
• Although most Brethren churches have paid pastors these days, the churches, districts, and denomination are largely run by the laity.
• Baptisms are done by immersing the believer three different times (for Father, Son and Holy Spirit) in the forward direction since that is the way Jesus’ head fell when he died.
• While starting in the United States as a more conservative denomination, the Church of the Brethren is currently known to be more socially liberal than many of the denominations that are hierarchy led.
• There are roughly 1000 Brethren churches in the United States with an average of 125 members per church. They do not actively seek out new members.
• In Nigeria, wanting to get away from the sexism in the word ‘brethren,’ the denomination is known as the ‘Church of the Children of the Same Mother.’

Week 11– Church of God of Prophecy

At least I think it is a Church of God of Prophecy. The sign, which has stood as a sentry next to the sidewalk for years, is draped with a new vinyl cover, held in place with bungee cords, and sporting a non-descript, new generic name. I’m glad that the service times are printed on the sign in bright red colors as I hadn't found a website for either the new church name or the old one.

I’m not real comfortable this Sunday morning. As I’ve stated in the preview post, I have a grudge that goes back a few decades for the way this church and denomination handled a situation with their senior pastor and his son, my friend. I feel both defensive and loyal, which I realize weighs against the occupants of this church building even though I imagine there has been a significant turnover in the past 20 years.

They didn’t exactly roll out the red carpet or put out the welcome mat for me. One gentleman did shake my hand at the door and another followed me to the pew and pressed his hand into mine while giving his name. With both I felt that they were checking me out, not really being friendly; then again, I could just be paranoid.

There is no bulletin, no visitor card, no instructions for guests, and no sharing of the Peace. Once I leave after the service it will be harder for this church to follow up with me than it was for me to find out information about them.

The pastor is a gregarious man, much larger than life. He resembles a cross between the white-suited Boss Hogg from the Duke’s of Hazard and similarly clothed holiness preacher from the movie, The Apostle played by Robert Duvall. His voice carries over the congregation of the 70 or so people and he has no need for the wireless microphone that looks as if it was borrowed from a telemarketer.

The worship team has its own special set of wireless microphones that resemble Blow Pops, with a rainbow selection of round, foam windshields topping each one. The six singers all have their own assigned color, which must make it easier for the sound man to dial in their individual settings. The two men on the team, one tenor and one bass, hold very still during the song service- their feet don’t move, their smiles don’t change, the only way I know they aren’t the frozen chosen is that they occasionally open and shut their eyes while moving their lips. Three of the four women are dressed very conservatively. Their dresses travel from north of their necklines to south of their knees. They appear to represent the holiness quotient of the team. It is the fourth woman that holds my attention. She is dressed in a wild TigersBlood print dress and bounces around the stage like spring-tailed Tigger or a coked-up Charlie Sheen. Her lime green microphone and hand motions give away that she is the Pentecostal cheerleader for the congregation.

This church seems overly focused on style and severely lacking in substance. The pastor ends each sentence with an exclamation point and seems perturbed that he isn’t getting the same energy in return. “Have you guys been baptized in pickle juice this morning?” he chides. “Why the frowns?”

At least for me I’m sure I’m scowling because of direction of the message. Even though the season of Lent is historically about connecting with humility, sacrifice and death, this pastor declared they were skipping directly to the Easter message and would stay there until Easter Sunday. He verbally knocks the church down the street that has a representation of the Savior on their crucifix. He points out that the cross on the church wall behind himself is empty. He gets theatrical about the empty tomb as well, telling the congregation that you can go to Jerusalem and see the stone that had been in front of Jesus’ tomb for three days now some 50-60 feet up the hillside where the angels had launched it.

I’m beginning to understand my disconnect—the songs have all been about victory, the prayers have all been about healing, the message only about the resurrection. I’m not sure if this pastor has noticed, but three of the older ladies in his congregation are on portable oxygen machines that they carry into his service. They are dealing with deterioration and facing death. He can continue to claim healing until he is as blue in the face as his tenor’s microphone, but it won’t cause a fountain of youth to spring up in our neighborhood. I don’t like what I’m being asked to drink.

The illustrations the pastor used are all canned, like this one.

A young man who was graduating from college wanted a new car for his graduation gift. Finally, graduation day arrived, and his dad handed him a box. He opened it with anticipation, only to find a Bible inside. He was so angry and disappointed that he handed the box to his dad, walked away, and never spoke to him again. Years later, his father died, and it was his responsibility to go to his father's home to put his affairs in order. As he was looking through papers on his desk, he spotted the box. He opened it up, and sure enough, there was the Bible his father had given him. For the first time, he opened the Bible. There inside the Bible was an envelope. He opened it and found a cashier's check dated the same day as his graduation and made out for the exact amount of the car.

It was easier to find this story on BibleStudyTools.com then it is to find this Church of God of Prophesy online. I found another of the illustrations on inspirationalarchive.com and the third on sermoncentral.com.

I’m sad for the pastor as he wraps things up. He tries to give an alter call after promoting what an important decision he is asking us to make, but then tells us all to close our eyes because it “isn’t anyone else’s business.” He asks everybody to repeat his prayer out loud. The congregation has it down by rote. He invites people to come down to the altar; nobody moves. I make my way to the door.

I’m visiting the churches in my neighborhood this year, dealing with my biases, hoping to get to know my neighbors and understand them better. When I left the service on this particular Sunday, I knew I was moving in the opposite direction with this church.

I decided to talk to my friend who grew up in this denomination. His phone call helped me understand more of the CoGoP history, the organizational structure, and the pressure that these pastors are under. It gave me some empathy, enough that I think I could sit down with this pastor and have a discussion with him without being angry. Before reaching out to my friend for help, that wouldn’t have happened.

Some weekends this is a longer journey than I imagined.

Week 11 Preview – Church of God of… Judgment

According to their website, “The Church of God of Prophecy is a vibrant, worldwide body of believers, united in worship, working hand-in-hand to share God’s love and a message of hope to the broken-hearted.”

Unless you screw up.

This weekend I’m going to the CoGoP in my neighborhood. I admit I have some strong biases against this particular assembly. When I was in high school I knew the pastor’s son at this church. We were classmates together at a private school—that is until he got his girlfriend, one of our cheerleaders, pregnant. Our school administration decided that it was best that he not continue in our school. As I look back I’m not sure who that decision was best for.

It didn’t seem to matter what this young couple decided to do “right” after they had already done the “wrong.” They found themselves on the outside of grace, even though by definition unmerited favor shouldn’t have any such boundary.

What shocked me even more was what happened at my friend’s church. Under pressure from the denomination leaders back in Cleveland, Tennessee, the CoGoP state director asked my friend’s dad to resign. Apparently in the Holiness Movement “keeping your house in order” means taking responsibility for all your offspring’s actions. If you, or yours, screw up, you’re out.

This isn’t a message of hope.

I talked to my friend this week on the phone. Though very hurt by how the church and denomination mistreated his family, and still feeling the pain two decades later, he speaks of them with patience and gentleness. I’m humbled by his forgiving spirit towards the religious spirit he encountered. He is full of grace towards those who don’t deserve it, but then isn’t that the point?

Week 10 – Episcopal Church

I got my Saints messed up.

I looked up the service information for the downtown Episcopal Church, named after one Saint, instead of the one in my neighborhood, named after a totally different spiritual superhero. This meant I showed up on Sunday for a non-existent 9:15 am service. I was a bit frustrated when I sat alone in the sanctuary for 10 minutes without any other participants joining me. The choir director finally strode in and stood in front of the piano rehearsing his arm motions to the non-existent singers. I had never considered that this was a skill that needed to be practiced, like a pastor delivering his message to himself in front of his full length, bedroom mirror.

The website had said that Episcopalians do not talk in church before the service but instead use this time for personal meditation and devotion. I decided to simply follow these instructions, especially when the white-robed staff would walk by me and quietly nod their heads. Now I realize they were trying to give their visitor some quiet space, especially since he apparently arrived so early to pray. After another five minutes passed and no one joined me I checked the bulletin and found that the services were at 8:00 and 10:30. I had missed the first and had another hour to kill for the second.

Not feeling that I could stomach another hour’s worth of kneeling without sustenance, I went to the local bakery to find a maple bar. This is one of the best preparations I know for Sunday worship.

When I returned to the church I found it teeming with people. They apparently hadn’t read the part about not speaking before church as this was a very social and verbally welcoming group of people. Although the majority of them were of retirement age they reminded me of a group of kindergarten students that were supposed to have their heads down on their desk for nap time but they were too busy waving, smiling and whispering to each other to get any rest. It may not have been the reverent description I read about online, yet their pre-service communion still felt very holy.

When it was time for the service to begin a lady moved down the aisle next to me and slid open the back window. She flashed a sign to the person stationed outside and the church bell began ringing. I’ve never been a part of a church where they rang bells, but I like hearing them peal across my neighborhood.

I found it fairly easy to track through the order of the service although I did have four sets of materials to juggle. The usher had handed me a bulletin and an Order of Worship booklet. In the back of the pew in front of me I located a Bible and a Book of Common Prayer with hymns and prayers that we also used during the service. A few times I lost my place and cheated by looking at the answers of the elderly kindergartener sitting next to me.

The Rector’s message came from Matthew 20:25-26 where Jesus instructs his disciples not to lord over, or exercise authority over other people, like the ungodly rulers that oppressed them. Unfortunately I think most people experience the Christian religion as one that tries to dominate and dictate in the very vein that Jesus encouraged his followers to move away from. This gives me much to ponder about how I communicate my own agenda. Do I do it by arguments, power struggles and force, or do I lovingly serve, even as Jesus showed, by example? I’m not sure the Moral Majority movement ever memorized this particular passage, or at least the way it is being taught in this neighborhood church today.

A reader of this blog sent me a message this week, asking me if I’d be visiting an Episcopal Church. She explained that she just started attending one in her neighborhood and shared what she liked about their services:

I like that it's always exactly 1 hour 20 minutes long. I like that the service follows the pre-printed agenda that I have in my hand, almost word for word, and that my son can read along with what is being said. No surprises, no ambushes. I like that most of the service is call and respond with scripture. It's reverent, and peaceful. I like the fuss they make over communion (Jesus said to do this, so by golly we do it every single time, the same way) and the way they have a discussion time for the congregation mid-service, which gives folks a little forum for personal sharing outside of the script. I like the stained glass windows. I like the kneelers in the pews, it reminds me of my time at Catholic school in elementary. I appreciate the chance to pray, worship, and reflect on scripture without being pressured to donate to a building fund or vote against any "anti-family" legislation. I like knowing that no one is going to judge my lifestyle, and I appreciate the good works they do (food bank, help with the local park landscaping) that are positive community efforts. I like that it is small. I want to go walk the labyrinth they keep in the back. It's ancient, respectful, and calm.

That is how I feel when the service is over—calm. I like the spirit in this place. I even check the box on the visitor card that allows the church to include me in their email announcements. I’m not looking to join any specific church, denomination, or group during this project, but I think I’d like to hang out with this group in my neighborhood on occasion.

I think I will start with the Lent services that begin this week.

Week 10 Preview – Who was Saint Episcopal?

An Introduction to the Episcopal Church

Who was Saint Episcopal?

The word “Episcopal” comes from the Greek word episcope, meaning “oversight.” It is a descriptor of how the church is structured and is not the name of the first Bishop.

Where did the Episcopal Church originate?

After the American Revolution the Anglican churches needed to separate themselves from the Church of England, as they no longer would swear allegiance to the British monarchy.

How does the Episcopal Church differ from the Roman Catholic Church?

• Saints are recognized, but not prayed to as intercessors.
• The Episcopal Church invites all baptized Christians to partake in communion. The Roman Catholic Church only serves communion to its members. Thus Catholics are welcome to take communion at the Episcopal Churches, but not vice-versa.
• The Episcopal Church ordains women to the priesthood, the Roman Catholic church does not.
• Priests in the Episcopal Church may be married and have families while Roman Catholic priests must remain single and celibate.
• The Episcopal Church is structured with more local authority in the parishes while the Roman Catholic Church is focused on top down leadership from the Pope.

What should I expect when I visit an Episcopal church?

A great resource can be found here

Week 9 – Evangelical Covenant Church

This Week it got Personal

I didn’t want to go to church when I woke up Sunday morning. I had that same feeling about my church visitation project that many people do about attending church services—it seemed more of an obligation than it did an opportunity.

There are three churches a half mile down the road from me, so I figured I could stay in bed a few minutes longer before hitting the shower and getting to one of them on time, but after I’d hit the snooze button a couple of more times, my margin was erased. I hurried through my bathroom chores, threw on a shirt, and grabbed a cup of strong coffee as I ran out the door.

I had already missed the start time of a couple of the church services, and I really didn’t want to be late, so I decided to go to the one who advertised their service starting at 10:35. Why would a church start five minutes past the half hour? It doesn’t make sense to me, but I was glad that I could pull into the parking lot at 10:34 and not miss anything. They didn’t actually get started until 10:42, but I digress.

My neighborhood church visit of the week is at an Evangelical Covenant Church, of which I am unfamiliar with. I found this description on their website:

The Evangelical Covenant Church is a rapidly growing multiethnic denomination in the United States and Canada with ministries on five continents of the world. Founded in 1885 by Swedish immigrants, the ECC values the Bible as the word of God, the gift of God’s grace and ever-deepening spiritual life that comes through a faith with Jesus Christ, the importance of extending God’s love and compassion to a hurting world, and the strength that comes from unity within diversity.

The Evangelical Covenant Church is:

• Evangelical, but not exclusive
• Biblical, but not doctrinaire
• Traditional, but not rigid
• Congregational, but not independent

I like Swedes, I like Swedish Fish, and I like this description of what the denomination stands for.

The church meets in a school chapel and has pews and stained glass as part of their built-in culture. They have to use their portable sound system though, so the worship band sounds like they’ve set up in a movie theater without taking advantage of the room’s surround sound speakers.

I realize I’m in critique mode, which isn’t where I want to be. I’m here to get to know my neighbors, to see how they worship, to see if there is common ground to connect with them. The first worship song ends and there is an uncomfortable pause. The worship leader tells us he didn’t plan the transition between songs very well and he has to retune his guitar. His honesty makes the moment real. The drummer spoke into his mic to lighten the moment, “Ok, so three guys walk into a church…” We all laugh. The band starts the next song. I begin to relax.

They play the hymn, “Be Thou My Vision” and the second verse penetrates my defenses.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word;
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord;
Thou my great Father, I Thy true son;
Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

I’m here for me this morning- not the project, not for my neighbors, but for me. My heart feels drawn to the flame and I know I’m vulnerable.

I look three rows in front of me and recognize the style of purse one woman is holding. It looks Asian and familiar to some of the regions where I’ve traveled as a missionary. I look up and recognize the back of this woman’s head. It startles me. I thought this woman was on the other side of the world and instead she is in a mid-sized church just half a mile from my home. I move forward to greet her at the appropriate time of the service. She tells me this is her church home when she is in the States, which is just twice a year. The timing is not lost on me. We have lots we need to say to each other but I know it needs to wait until the service is over.

The message is the kind I appreciate. The pastor uses the scripture, but does his best to present it in context. Instead of experiencing a religious leader trying to get me to understand God the way that he does, and using Biblical passages to support his views, I felt like this pastor was helping connect me with God and embrace the fullness of life that is available walking in relationship with Him and each other. Here is what spoke to me.

Jesus said (in Matthew 5:21) “you have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.” The pastor suggests (as does the footnote in my Bible) that Jesus was referring to Leviticus 19:18,

Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against anyone among your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.

Unfortunately the emphasis that the Israelites put on that commandment was “among your people” which meant it was a good idea to show forgiveness towards someone else in your own family, culture, or religion, but those outside those boundaries it was okay to hate. Jesus corrects the misinterpretation, suggesting that, no, the point of that command was not seeking revenge or bearing a grudge against anyone.

Which includes the missionary sitting three rows in front of me. I had been holding a grudge against her and thinking I was justified in doing it because I had defined her as being outside my “people.” I’m wondering if she’s listening to the same message that I am. I’m wondering if this Sunday is for her too.

When it comes time for communion at the end of the message, instead of moving forward towards the pastor, she made her way back to my pew. She touched my shoulder and said, “I’ll show you how we celebrate communion here,” and we went forward together. We partook of the brokenness of Christ; we drank in His life.

We took the time after the service to verbalize the forgiveness that had taken place in each of us. Years of misunderstanding just didn’t weigh anything any longer. It felt great to shrug it off and let it go.

This was one of four connections I had in this church on Sunday—two were with new friends; one was from someone who approached me and explained that I’d made a big difference in his life with a message I’d preached years before—similar to my own experience this morning.

As I drove home I considered what would have happened if I’d missed the service at the ECC church this morning. I felt that old guilt creeping back that takes the beauty of a spiritual life and condenses it to cold commandments and rules. And here is what I felt whispered in my spirit as I turned back into my driveway. I don’t think I could have missed God this morning in my neighborhood. It might have been a different hymn, church service, denomination, or even running into a different religious leader that I had disunity with—the reality is, God dwells in this neighborhood with His kids, and He is teaching us—He is teaching me—what it means to be His family.

Week 9 Preview - The Limitation of Google Maps

When I made my list of the 50 closest religious institutions near my home I used Google Maps as my research tool. I searched for “my city” and the word “churches” and was pleasantly surprised at the results- a map full of red dots and advertising pins. I centered the map on my neighborhood and zoomed in until there were around 50 results. My concern was that by searching for the word ‘churches’ I might miss out on the temples, mosques, centers, etc. Thankfully Google interpreted my request in the broad sense I intended and included those religions’ meeting locations as well.

I also thought I might miss out on some of the smaller religious gatherings such as home-based cell groups happening in my neighborhood. Interestingly enough, some of those have made their presence known to Google and can also be found online.

What I was surprised to find was that some of the local churches didn’t have a red dot. I didn’t realize this until I drove down the street and saw a couple of buildings that I know have weekend church services inside, but hadn’t made my list. I guess this makes sense- I doubt the Amish make it a big priority to keep up with search engine placement.

Not all churches these days meet in church buildings. Especially when church plants are getting started they may not be able to have their own building. Many meet in school gymnasiums or auditoriums, movie theaters, and hotel conference rooms. Often these young churches are on the move often during their pioneering stages and don’t sink down neighborhood roots until they become larger and more established.

This week I added two local churches to my list. The first is an Evangelical Covenant Church that meets in a nearby school. I found them after seeing their sign in the school parking lot that they are only allowed to put up on Sundays. The other I added is a Church of God of Prophecy. Maybe Google excluded them because they had one too many ‘of’s in their title.

I plan to go to one of these two churches this weekend.

Week 8 – Foursquare

Their website told me to expect 400 people. There were only about one fourth of the promised amount on the morning I showed up. There is nothing wrong with a church of 100 people. It is four times the size of some churches I’ve already visited this year. But a church of 100 doesn’t feel very genuine when they are still pretending to be a church of 400.

This church is trying really hard. The greeter at the front door had on a used car salesman’s face. “What’s it going to take to get you inside the doors of this church?” he grin said as he pressed the flesh. He purposefully altered his statements to each person, as if being relevant was more important than knowing people’s names. When he tried to fist-bump to an 11 year-old girl I could almost hear the Black Eyed Peas lyrics through her wordless stare – “I’m so 3008, you so 2000 and late.”

Not wanting to be late myself for the service I moved quickly through the foyer and found a seat in the sanctuary. The worship band began playing modern-styled worship songs, but I wasn’t familiar with any of them. When the band stopped playing so they could give the congregation a chance to hear themselves, I could detect no vocals. People were just lip synching with the band—no one else was hitting the high notes or singing from their diaphragms.

The band was good though. They had a sax player that seriously belongs in an upscale blues bar. The female vocalist sounded like the British singer Adele, belting out Chasing Pavements. When the song was over I wanted to clap, but the pastor, who was playing lead guitar, told us we needed to clap “for Jesus.” We all obeyed, but I wasn’t sure why we were clapping for Jesus when he was neither playing nor singing in the band. I get the whole “deflect any glory that would be given to us and give it to you, Lord!” but honestly it’s pretty weird. We had to stop after every song and either pray or give a “clap offering to Jesus.” I’m not so sure that Jesus is the glory-hoard that we make him out to be. If he was listening to the same song service I was I bet he would be happy to clap for the sax player and vocalist too. I think God is delighted in us the same way I am when I see my kids doing well. I’ve never once tried to take credit for the touchdown catch my son made, or been upset at him for not pointing to me in the stands after scoring.

The service did make me want to pray—especially this, “God, please bless Pastor Alex. He really needs it.” This minister did everything on Sunday morning: he was the worship leader, he gave the announcements, he led prayer for the offering, and then gave the message. I think he is so used to having to run things on his own that he would even fill in the empty blanks he’d insert into a sentence to try to get audience participation.

“Jesus said he is the Way, the Truth and the what?” he’d ask, giving a half second pause, “Life! That’s right!” Not giving us a chance to buzz in and say, “What is Life, Alex?”

I know this pastor meant well. It must be hard when your expectation for what successful ministry looks like isn’t matching what you see in front of you, especially if it is what you’ve had in the past. I gathered that his church had once been larger, with several different successful ministries, and now they were in a “rebuilding period” as several people pointed out. Even Alex mentioned it, in sort of an ashamed voice from the pulpit. I caught up with some friends right after the service and they apologized to me for their church, thinking that I would compare it to experiences of my own. Size isn’t everything, but many pastors fear it is.

This church is scrambling—scrambling for winter camp drivers, youth staff, Sunday school workers, and nursery helpers. They were trying to recruit people into the spiritual disciples of fasting and prayer that week too. While they were dealing with their inadequacy the pastor was too busy to great me after the service. I think he had to go make coffee in the reception lounge for potential visitors.

I don’t think I experienced much of what the Foresquare denomination is really about. What I did recognize is that I have some hurting and exhausted church-goers right here in my own neighborhood. I left wondering what I could do to help Alex – not by working in the nursery for him, but by helping him step back from the edge and just breathe.