Going to Church
I almost never go to church.
Given that I lead two worship services every Sunday morning and an occasional Saturday night service and things like funerals and weddings, I probably need to explain that statement.
What I mean is that I never “go to church” the way most of the people who read this probably do. I don’t sit in the pew and pray and listen and sing and – well, worship in quite the same sense that most people do when they “go to church”. That doesn’t mean that I don’t pray, listen and sing – it’s just different when you are leading worship rather than being led.
But this week, Thanksgiving week, I went to church twice. One was Elyria’s Community Thanksgiving Service and the other was a service on Thanksgiving morning at my wife’s church, St. Paul’s Episcopal Church in Cleveland Heights.
In both services the preaching and the music were outstanding. There was a real sense of seriousness in worship that was at least as good as I try to have when I am leading worship. In both situations, however, I came up against things in myself that reminded me that worship is not a performance before a passive auidence. It’s something we all do whether we are behind the pulpit, in the choir or sitting in the pews.
The Community Service was at 7:00 PM Tuesday evening. Exactly 12 hours earlier, I had been in the holding area of a hospital’s surgical ward praying with a patient who was about to undergo a very long operation and the day had been filled with meetings. I was tired. The music was great, and the preacher was one of the best in town. Her Pentecostal tradition, however, teaches her that a “sermon” should be at least 40 minutes long. They were forty very enthusiastic and meaningful minutes, but I admit my attention flagged during the last half.
Then came the pastoral prayer. I heard, “let us pray” and closed my eyes. The next thing I knew, the congregation was praying the Lord’s Prayer. I think I fully came to on “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them who trespass against us.” – probably a Holy Spirit moment for a preacher who has, too often, seen his parishioners fall asleep during his sermon and taken it personally.
On Thanksgiving morning, I found myself wanting to hurry through the service. It wasn’t long. The whole service, sermon, and Eucharist lasted less time than the sermon I’d heard on Tuesday night, but I was still feeling anxious. I had no commitments I had to get to. My invitation to dinner was hours away.
I finally realized that I had been working so hard this week, trying to get things done so that I could take the holiday off, that my internal motor was still accelerating.
I wondered how many people sit through the services I lead, frustrated and uneasy because the rest of their lives are lived so frantically that the slow sonorous notes of the organ, the rituals of prayer and offering, and my closely reasoned, step-by-step, theologically astute sermons all seem like watching paint dry.
The thing is, I can’t do anything about that from the pulpit. I can put more energy into preaching, but even one of the most energetic preachers I’ve ever seen couldn’t keep me awake on Tuesday night.
I can make sure the service never runs over an hour, but even a 40-minute service seemed too long on Thanksgiving morning.
If people are going to worship, something really has to happen in the pews. The folks who come to church also need to do their half.
By the middle of that Thanksgiving Day service, I had slowed down enough to really worship – and after my nap at the Community Service, I also worshipped!
Go and do likewise.
