I remember my homeroom teacher at Hufford Junior High in Joliet, Illinois saying, “I’d rather be in bed on Sunday morning thinking about how I ought to be in church, than in church thinking about how I want to be in bed.” While this could easily work it’s way into an essay on the nature and use of guilt, the very fact that some people intentionally stayed home from church I found curious. My family went to church. My mom sang in the choir and my father did other important, mysterious things. We went to church if we were in town and it was simply the fact of our lives. There was no discussion or wrangling on the issue. There were no sports events to compete. Sunday morning television wasn’t worth watching. So off we went for church and brunch at the Skylark Diner afterwards where I would luxuriate in a salty hot roast beef open faced sandwich with peculiar mashed potatoes and that diner gravy. And big fat meally peas.
I didn’t mind going to church. The First Presbyterian Church of Joliet Illinois was a big place with nooks and crannies and friends galore. It was the heyday of American Protestantism and there was a large Sunday School class for every grade. I assume we learned all sorts of important things that I can’t remember exactly except for the books of the Old Testament that I managed to memorize in order. Perhaps a verse or two as well. My confirmation class was so big that they didn’t notice that I wasn’t there for the actual confirmation and I got my certificate in the mail later. This missed event planted the seed that perhaps if I wasn’t in church not only would no one notice, but that it might not matter at all. I had heard that church attendance was mandatory for those Catholic people, but the idea that it was NOT mandatory for us never hit home.
Well, I’m on sabbatical from my job as Senior Pastor of the First Reformed Church of Schenectady New York and I’m not taking it as a busman’s holiday by visiting other churches. A part of this is that I taught preaching for many years and it is difficult for me to listen to a sermon and not grade it in my head. It’s hard to give yourself to the power of the Spirit when you are counting the ‘ums’ or designing an intervention for the distracting lisp. I once thought that this judging process made me unique, but I have come to understand that most people are evaluating what is happening in a church service all the time, just not with my criteria.
At the beginning of a Jazz Vespers service I will usually tell folks that they can turn off a certain evaluative section of their brains because there will be no creeds or hymns that we will all say together that they need to decide about. There will be no doctrine that they will need to take a position on. There will be a little banter, a longish prayer and mostly music. Of course, since many of the folks are jazz enthusiasts, all this means is that they are saving their judgement for the music, not the theological positions. But I say that to people so that they can have a different experience. There is such a wide spectrum of thinking in the particular churches of every religion, it must be tough to figure out how to fit into the community as well as the philosophies. If I am to be held responsible for the insanities of the conservative elements of most any religion, I’m not sure I want in at all. Can I just go to something and not be a part of it? Can I go to a Trump rally as an interested participant and not support Trump? Well. No. Certainly not as the world will see and interpret your attendance. Being a Christian going to church these days is a bit like being a Republican embarrassed by the high profile shenanigans but still believing in important things. Or being a Scout leader or a Roman Catholic in the face of the abuse scandals.
So I’m not going much. I may sneak into some strange venue once a month, but only if I really feel like it. But do I feel like it? I’m writing this early Sunday morning and the irony and suspense is palpable. Is it better for me to be writing about church attendance or to actually attend?
There is a part of the American experience that is fiercely independent. It is how our country was formed. This spirit has mitigated the business of being in community where individual self-interest is subordinated for the common good. This requires participating in things that may not serve our individual needs at any moment. It requires us to understand that life together is not all about us at every moment. That our opinion about this or that is not the final word. That the egregious lisp may, in fact, make a preacher more interesting. Whether or not I feel like going to church, I may need it.
Going to church is an act of humility. Which, of course, is why Trump rarely goes. Quite apart from comfort or inspiration or getting a deeper understanding, the very act of showing up is a subordination of selfishness that we certainly need.
Well, I’m on sabbatical from my job as Senior Pastor of the First Reformed Church of Schenectady New York and I’m not taking it as a busman’s holiday by visiting other churches. A part of this is that I taught preaching for many years and it is difficult for me to listen to a sermon and not grade it in my head. It’s hard to give yourself to the power of the Spirit when you are counting the ‘ums’ or designing an intervention for the distracting lisp. I once thought that this judging process made me unique, but I have come to understand that most people are evaluating what is happening in a church service all the time, just not with my criteria.
At the beginning of a Jazz Vespers service I will usually tell folks that they can turn off a certain evaluative section of their brains because there will be no creeds or hymns that we will all say together that they need to decide about. There will be no doctrine that they will need to take a position on. There will be a little banter, a longish prayer and mostly music. Of course, since many of the folks are jazz enthusiasts, all this means is that they are saving their judgement for the music, not the theological positions. But I say that to people so that they can have a different experience. There is such a wide spectrum of thinking in the particular churches of every religion, it must be tough to figure out how to fit into the community as well as the philosophies. If I am to be held responsible for the insanities of the conservative elements of most any religion, I’m not sure I want in at all. Can I just go to something and not be a part of it? Can I go to a Trump rally as an interested participant and not support Trump? Well. No. Certainly not as the world will see and interpret your attendance. Being a Christian going to church these days is a bit like being a Republican embarrassed by the high profile shenanigans but still believing in important things. Or being a Scout leader or a Roman Catholic in the face of the abuse scandals.
So I’m not going much. I may sneak into some strange venue once a month, but only if I really feel like it. But do I feel like it? I’m writing this early Sunday morning and the irony and suspense is palpable. Is it better for me to be writing about church attendance or to actually attend?
There is a part of the American experience that is fiercely independent. It is how our country was formed. This spirit has mitigated the business of being in community where individual self-interest is subordinated for the common good. This requires participating in things that may not serve our individual needs at any moment. It requires us to understand that life together is not all about us at every moment. That our opinion about this or that is not the final word. That the egregious lisp may, in fact, make a preacher more interesting. Whether or not I feel like going to church, I may need it.
Going to church is an act of humility. Which, of course, is why Trump rarely goes. Quite apart from comfort or inspiration or getting a deeper understanding, the very act of showing up is a subordination of selfishness that we certainly need.