A Prayer for 4-15-12

God of Life and Love, with joy we celebrate the season of our Lord's resurrection. By the grace of Christ among us, fill us with the breath of your peace, touch us with the wounds of the world, feed us with Christ's humility, bind us together in love and community, and bathe us in your warm light. Open us to your presence around us that we, like Thomas, may declare, "My Lord and my God." And, in the mystery of your "eighth day," make us a new creation, raised with Christ, alive in your most precious world. We pray with the confidence of Thomas. Amen.

Violence, 9/11, and Requiem

I love the music written for Requiem Masses. Emotive, dynamic, and compelling, the music moves the listener through a journey of deep spiritual mourning. A Requiem, or Eucharist for the Departed, is known as it is because of the first word of the Introit: “Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine” (“Give them eternal rest, O Lord”). The word "requiem" simply means "rest" or "repose." A Requiem Mass is celebrated to bring rest or repose to those who have died. It is a gorgeous and mystical service.

As we move closer to the 10th anniversary of the horrendous acts of September 11, I have begun to think of the music from several of the great Requiem Masses. The horror of that day draws us to pray for the thousands who died, for their families, for the cities that were caught in terror, for our nation that was paralyzed by fear and has struggled with it ever since, and for the world that has changed in the aftermath. We pray for the people of Iraq, Afghanistan, and Pakistan, who have felt the brunt of the US response. We pray for thousands of US soldiers who have lost their lives and for those whose lives have been forever changed. We pray for the children of the world; children are always the ones most affected by war, poverty, and violence.

In one way, not much changed after September 11. Terrorist attacks and violence - even devastating violence - have always been a part of human culture. Planes have been hijacked. Bombs have been set off in public spaces. In the rush to remember September 11, 2001, many people forget about the 1993 attempt to bring down the World Trade Center. Even the use of mass transportation, including planes, for one's violent means has been around for a long time. Whether one speaks of IRA attacks in England, Timothy McVeigh's bombing in Oklahoma City, the 1988 Libyan bomb on Pan Am Flight 103 over Scotland, the 1968 Palestinian hijacking of an El Al flight from Rome,the 1995 Subway Sarin Incident in Tokyo, the 1991 Luby's massacre in Killeen (TX), the 2007 mass shooting at VA Tech, or any other number of incidents, political minorities, fringe groups, and crazy people have been directing their rage at others to deadly effect for a very long time.

Over and against terrorism exists tyranny, which occurs when the state misuses its power in order to oppress or suppress a people. Tyranny always relies upon violence and its threat. Tyrannical regimes and governments have been recorded since the beginning of human history. Ethnic, tribal, and religious strife is neither new nor creative. Whether one speaks of a Pol Pot, Alexander the Great, genocidal Bosnian Momčilo Krajišnik, Leopold II of Belgium, or many other despots, the state can be a force of evil, violence, murder, and terror. Forced disappearance has been used in many countries, most notably Argentina, to remove people through abduction and violence in order to stop them from challenging the government. Tyranny is at the heart of my own faith story. When Jesus was crucified on a cross, it was an act of the state to silence a troublesome leader. This type of execution served to keep an oppressed people in an occupied land from rising up against their oppressors. Rome publicly crucified people and allowed their corpses to hang in public view to discourage others who might find rebellion or revolution an appealing idea. Not terrorism proper as it was enacted by the government, terror-inducing it certainly was by terrifying those who longed for freedom to remain quiet, afraid, and under the rule of tyranny.

The difference between a group rising up against a tyrannical power and terrorism can sometimes become muddled. One group's resistance fighter is another's terrorist. One country's claim to stability may be at the expense of a vulnerable minority.

Even though violence wasn't introduced into the world on September 11, 2001, something earth shaking did occur. In addition to great human loss, on that day ten years ago, the American sensibility of invincibility and permanence was significantly challenged, and it was deeply shaken. The surprising thing was that this sensibility was not only held by Americans. Much of the world looked at the United States as a privileged country. Physically removed from its enemies, economically and militarily unchallengeable, technologically advanced, and politically stable, it was difficult to imagine a different America. The natural response to this shaken sense of belonging was to declare that terrorism on American soil would never happen again (which, of course, it can and has). The government passed laws and initiated processes to ensure that nothing like the horror of September 11 would ever be permitted again. This deep desire for certitude and safety in a changing and unsafe world led to several acts of public theater, including but not limited to the removal of shoes and full body scans at airports and colored terror scales. Such folly resulted in two things: First, it kept a level of terror alive within the nation. This ongoing hum of terror-whitenoise prevented necessary real and deep mourning, and communal healing became almost impossible. And, second, it served no real purpose in saving lives. The government certainly did many things and instituted many processes for the protection of the country (more than 30 potential plots were thwarted), but in the midst of the rush to invincibility and certitude, the government also spied on Quaker meetings, put people who disagreed with the government on the No Fly List, and tapped our phones. Moreover, the Patriot Act, Guantanamo Bay, and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq have cost us much more than the billions of dollars that we have lost from our Treasury. They have cost us the precious blood spilled from our children, spouses, and family members. They have cost us our ideals, our hope, and our identity. September 11 changed us by making us a country bound by fear.

On this 10th Anniversary of September 11, I am thinking about the power of the Requiem to move us through an experience of not just "remembering" (we have done a decade of that), but of honest and real mourning, of finding rest and repose. Requiem invites us to sing and pray for rest and repose for the individuals who died in the towers and on the planes. We sing and pray for rest and repose for those who have died in the wars that were waged on behalf of the ones who died in the towers and on the planes. Because our fractious government no longer even pretends to seek governance for all (only power for a few and comfort for those who are already comfortable), we sing and pray for our nation's government that has died to its duty to a common good. We also sing and pray for rest and repose for all our whole world, which has lost its sense of neighborliness, trust, and commonality.

The world has never been a peaceful place. To imagine it so would be to ignore the many other losses, deaths, and suffering that have occurred throughout the world. I think this makes the Requiem even more needed now. Its Christological language is the heart language of my soul and my tradition, but a Requiem need not be exclusive for Christians; it is a human cry for rest and repose. We all die a little when we lose the idea of living lives shared with one another and embarked upon lives known only through war, greed, and victory.

Today I hear the music of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's (1756-1791) Requiem, K. 626, his final composition. It was left unfinished at his death.

Lacrymosa dies illa, qua resurget ex favilla, judicandus homo reus. Huic ergo parce, Deus. Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem. Amen.

O how tearful that day, on which the guilty man shall rise from the ashes to be judged. Spare him then, O God. Merciful Lord Jesus, grant them rest.

Opening Prayer for Pentecost 7 A

Let us pray:

We come from near and far, O God. We come wearied and hungry. We come to sit side by side to share with one another in the Bread of Life, to drink from the Holy Cup. Do not let us go; hold fast to us. Humble us and mark us by the scars we earn in our struggles with you. May they keep us bound to the weak and lost, the last and the least. By our struggles and at your table, transform us into a new people, alive in your love and assured of your abundant grace. We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

Learning a Lesson, Laughing a Little, and a Sermon on God's Wild Unpredictability

I started a new appointment on July 1. July 10 was my first Sunday leading services. Everything went pretty well, but, as all first Sundays are, it was bit a rough around the edges. It's just what happens when leading a service in a space with which and with a people with whom one is not familiar. July 17 was supposed to be the polished service. You know, now that I've presided in the space, I am supposed to know how to lead those assembled through an experience that offers occasions for encountering the divine. So, I put my all into it.

I am not one of those pastors who has their sermons mapped out years or months in advance. I've gone through periods of having songs selected and themes roughly outlined for the year. Suffice to say, I'm not in that space now. Even if I wanted to be, I just started a new church and I think I need to change my prerecorded tapes in order to craft worship that is relevant for the "getting acquainted phase" with this new congregation. For the time being, we are moving in a week to week mode. Hopefully, this will change.

Despite working in a weekly mode, I worked very diligently to get all of my ducks in a row. Oh, ducks...why must you stray? On Tuesday of this week, I emailed the contents of the order of service to the office and to the folks who do the visuals during the service. On Wednesday, I met with the music people, rehearsed with them, and selected music. On Thursday, the music was sent to the office for the bulletin and to those who craft the visuals. On Saturday, when I was still struggling to find the right message, I realized that it was going to be a late night. Rather than expecting someone else to open a text file on Sunday morning and scramble to put visuals to my rather unusual sermon, I stayed up until 3 AM finding photos that would move the congregation through the sermon. Needless to say, at 7 AM when my alarm went off, I was tired...very tired - so tired, in fact, that I didn't get up. I stayed in bed until 8 AM.

The worship service at my new church begins at 10 AM. While I wasn't working with an "excess of time," I did think that I had "plenty of time" to get to church. And yet, not so. I left the house a little after 9 AM. It takes about 20 minutes to drive the distance between my house and the church. I got about half way to the church when I realized that I had left my clerical collar on my dresser. I have worn a clerical collar since 1996 and this has never happened. Never. I quickly turned around and made it about half way back to my house when reality confronted me: There was no way to make it home and to church in the amount of time left. So, I made another U-turn and headed to church. This was going to be an embarrassing but not a fatal mistake. After all, I wear a robe.

Earlier in the week, some adjustments had to be made regarding the assisting minister and the sound board. Adjustments were made. Crisis averted. But, when I walked into the sanctuary without much time to spare, there was no one to run the visuals for the service. For the first time in 3 years there had been a miscommunication. Hey, they happen. So, I pull out my flash drive and pop it in the computer (I'm so prepared, right?). I open the internet and download the file with the song lyrics. Lo and behold, neither file will open. It is now time for worship to begin. No lyrics, no prayers, no liturgy for Holy Communion. And then, grace happened.

Song books were passed out to be shared. A lay person stepped forward to pull together the communion liturgy and other necessary components. I took a deep breath, laughed, and invited the Holy Spirit to move through the assembly. You know what? It did. We worshiped. Life continued - without a collar and everything.

The funny thing about this story, at least as far as I'm concerned, is that I often tell people that I rock worship old school. Not 1950s old school. But 1550s old school. I love incense, candles, and quiet. I like singing from hymnals and reading from Bibles. I enjoy hearing stories and being pulled into the imagination of the speaker. I like quiet prayer and shared prayer. Simple worship is beautiful worship. Today, as a result of the universe's sense of humor, we got to worship a little old school.

The even funnier thing? Today's sermon was on the wild unpredictability of God. I had spent a week crafting in detail a service to introduce people to the uncontrollable nature of God. I had planned, plotted, emailed, downloaded, and printed so that nothing would go wrong while we sang, prayed, and preached about wildness, wilderness, and the holy. Today offered a great object lesson with my own need for control and correctness sitting in the midst of the service. It was humbling.

It is true that preparation is important, that we can't just "fly by the seat of our pants" and move through life. It is also true that despite our best preparations, sometimes we have to let go and live not the plan we dreamed but the reality that is before us. I find that when I can do this - let go - then there is a lot of grace in the world, a lot of joy in the midst of error and chaos, and that community will inevitably arise to the occasion.

I don't know that I'm particularly glad that today's plan was not executed well. And yet, if it weren't going to go according to my plan, this was the best divergent path I can imagine. It helped those of us getting to know one another realize that becoming acquainted is often fraught with awkward moments. It reminded us all that, in the end, worship is not about our hopes but about God encountering us in community. And, while I don't know how others experienced today's service, God certainly was present for me.

Today was one of those "lesson days." And, I thank God for the gift of humor that allowed us all to laugh a little. Moreover, I am grateful for the wildness of God that constantly interrupts our plans for the sake of something more wonderful.

Phyllis Tickle - Spiritual Disciplines Video

Advent is wholly concerned with time - the beginning of new time and the ending of old time. Throughout Advent, Christians prepare their hearts for the coming of the Christ-child and for the second coming of Christ the judge, who comes to right the injustices of this world and to redeem the brokenhearted and downtrodden. This season is often confusing for many lay people. When the apocalyptic stories from both the Old and New Testaments are read, people are left wondering why such strange stories are being told during this season of waiting for "Sweet Little Jesus Boy." Yet, to be a faithful Christian is to learn to live in a different time - time that ushers in an end to the pain and injustice of this world in order to make way for the fullness of time lived completely in God. So, while there is much joy in Advent and Christmas, much hope, much light, and much to sing about, there is little "sweet" about these seasons that bear witness to God's light of peace piercing the darkness of our world. One only need read the Magnificat or the Benedictus to learn the core meaning of this most precious season.

Christians - faithful Christians - discipline their lives for living in different time. From prayer to special holy days to rituals that bind us to the past while making room for the future, it is our holy and sacred duty to continually place ourselves in a receptive posture to receive the gift of God's holy time.

Here is an excerpt from an interview with Phyllis Tickle, in which she talks about the power of spiritual disciplines to bring us into God's time. I hope you enjoy. As I continue to work on my doctoral project about Sabbath, I will post more and more videos from those who have gifted me with their wisdom. I thank Phyllis more than she can ever know for spending this day with me and for sharing in laughter, in story, and in life. From one Southerner to another, I can say honestly that "she's good people." Thank you, Phyllis.

The question I ask tonight is, "How is Advent helping you reshape time?" Or, perhaps, "How is the time of Advent reshaping you?"

Interfaith Thanksgiving Eve Service: One Nation, Many Faiths

Theme for the Evening: Neighborliness

This year marks the third annual interfaith Thanksgiving Eve worship service on Phinney Ridge in Seattle. In the past two years, the service has attracted about 500 worshipers. It aims to make friends from strangers, to weaken growing tensions between religions, and to remind people that at the core of all major religions are shared values: compassion, justice, neighborliness, peace, kindness, and love.

More information about the service can be found on its facebook page.

I have been privileged to be part of the planning team for the past three years. I am proud to say that I have become friends with the other organizers. It is our goal to continue to build relationships throughout the year. We have been invited to worship at Masjid Umar Al Farooq and at Temple De Hirsch Sinai. And, at Woodland Park United Methodist Church this Advent, we are celebrating our anticipation of the birth of the Prince of Peace by inviting representatives from Muslim, Buddhist, and Jewish religions to come and teach us about the basic tenets of their faith, the role of peace in their faith, and the struggles in attaining peace that they face.

The service begins at 6:30 PM at Sakya Monastery of Tibetan Buddhism (108 Northwest 83rd Street) with spinning of the prayer wheels followed by a procession to Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church where the remainder of the service will begin at 7:30 PM. If you have mobility restrictions, feel free to attend only the service at Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church.

Cecile Hansen of the Duwamish tribe will introduce the offering.
The offering will benefit the Duwamish and Great Harvest Food Bank.

Sponsoring Organizations: Sakya Monastery of Tibetan Buddhism, Masjid Umar Al Farooq, Temple De Hirsch Sinai, St. John the Evangelist Roman Catholic Church, Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church, St. John United Lutheran Church, Luther Memorial Lutheran Church, Woodland Park Presbyterian Church, and Woodland Park United Methodist Church.

The public is encouraged to attend. Dessert and fellowship will follow the worship service. Childcare is provided.

All Saints Opening Prayer

Here is a prayer that we are using to open worship this Sunday, when we will honor the saints of our congregation, living and dead.

Holy are you and blessed is your name, Creator of heaven and earth. You sent your Son to live among us, to bless the afflicted, and to gather in the outcast. Blessed are all the saints, living and dead, who continue his holy work, who see your world as you do, who have caught sight of your holy vision, and rejoice in your mystical fellowship and communion. By their lives, may the wounds of this world be healed. By their witness, may your gospel be proclaimed. By their joy, may we all come into greater communion with you, O Holy One. Amen.

Sermon: Dia del los Muertos - Nothing Separates Us from God and Each Other, Not Even Death

Sharing ourselves with another person changes the world. A bold statement, I know, but a true one all the same. When we share our stories, our vulnerabilities, our joys, our hopes, our dreams; when we commit to sharing a life with someone else; when we enter into another’s life, we are changed, they are changed, and something in the world is changed. Ripples of change emanate from that experience and move through the world shifting it this way and that. There is no scientific meter to measure this. There is no scientific hypothesis of which I am aware that really explains this. Yet it is a lived truth that people in all cultures and religions know. Being joined with another in a bond of love, with understanding and forbearance; being known, really known, and knowing another; these things reach into that part of us that stays hidden from the world and it works miracles there. With these people, these ones with whom we trust our tender places, we experience something that I only know to call “home.”

Yet, we live imperfect lives and carry scars, and we are are trapped by fears deeply established and rooted in our minds and souls. We build up walls to protect us from further pain and loss and disappointment and suffering. These same walls that protect us keep us from one another; they keep us stuck in pain or at least numbness; they keep us stagnate in life; they fragment a world that God is desperately trying to re-form into its intended wholeness.

We are living near the end of a period known as Modernity or the Enlightenment. Its birth pangs began long before, but it came into its own in the 1700s as societies moved from feudalism to nation-states, from agrarian economies to capitalism - a new idea altogether, and it is marked by the rise of democracy. One scholar has said that during this time we moved from the “divine right of kings” to the “divine right of the individual.” Germ theory rose to prominence as a way of explaining the spread of disease. People learned about atoms and subatomic structure. Once forbidden studies in human anatomy yielded to humankind’s need to know. Psychology developed as a new science that attempted to explain the “whys” of human behavior, and it sought to help the broken self heal. In the production world, the assembly line was developed. Technology provided humans with the ability to travel far distances in short periods of time. The world, which had up until this time been understood in whole terms, was dissected, reduced, pulled apart, named, categorized, and segmented. If one thing can be said about the past few hundred years, it is that it can be known primarily as a time of segmentation - of fragmentation. We have been able to parse the world down into mind-boggling units. And, with this never ending segmentation of the world and the increasing development of humans as individuals, we find ourselves living as completely separated people in a highly fragmented world.

Birth and death have not escaped this process of segmentation. More often than not, in industrialized countries where the technology and money exist, women receive their first baby photographs in their first trimester. We can prolong death in extraordinary ways. Our thinking, our ethics, our understanding have not caught up with our technological abilities. How we think about birth and death has become very privatized. We can scarcely understand a time when people did not understand themselves as individuals, wholly separate people, being born, living in the world, and dying. We have even made the separation between life and death much more pronounced that in previous times. Just in the past decade or so, it has become increasingly customary to hold memorial services without the body present. And it is now becoming increasingly common not to hold memorial services at all. Death has become final. Really final. Yet, we belong to a faith that does not distinguish between life and death in such stark terms. Life and death are not so far apart. And, God is active and present in them both. Throughout our scriptures, God is reaching in to dead places in order to pull out new life. When people seek out Jesus for a teaching, a healing, an exorcism, or to literally bring someone back to life, it isn’t just the individual who is changed. It is a holistic experience creating unity in whole communities. The world changes, not just the person. Jesus doesn’t just cure an illness or remove a demon or tell people to live good lives. Jesus restores communities. Through his life, his ministry, his suffering, death and resurrection, Jesus brings the wholeness of God’s kingdom and the unity of God’s shalom to life here on this earth.

Today we honor the Mexican holiday of Dia del los Muertos, Day of the Dead, which came into being when the native peoples of Mexico were introduced to Catholicism as the Spanish conquered Mexico in the 1500s. But we could just as easily give a nod to Samhain (sow-een), the Celtic Druid celebration out of which Halloween emerged. Both of these, Dia del los Muertos and Samhain are premodern celebrations. They are not encumbered by our scientific explanations or individualistic experiences of death. In every premodern culture that I know of, there is a ritual to honor the dead and to commune with the dead. For Dia del los Muertos, the belief is that the souls of the dead return to their homes on November 1, All Souls Day. So, on Oct 31, homes are prepared to welcome them. Altars are set up. Favorite foods are left out, in part to show them the way home and in part to welcome them with a feast once they’ve arrived. Bright marigolds are arranged to help souls find their way. Candles are lighted and incense is burned. Specifically, small candles are lit at 4 AM on Nov 1 for returning souls of children; they are blown out at 8 AM. At 3 PM large candles are lighted. Prayers are said at home and on November 2, people go to mass. The visual theme is the skeleton, specifically the skull. Displays are set up that show skeletons doing all of the joyful things that people do while they are alive: at weddings, at feasts, driving cars, playing musical instruments, even playing sports. The more whimsical the toy, the more true to the holiday. For some in our country this can seem macabre, but it isn’t. It is a way to celebrate that our relationships do not end at death. Loved ones remain a part of us. Their joys don’t cease to affect the world. Dia del los Muertos reminds us that death isn’t that big of a chasm. In Christianity we believe that the veil that separates the living and the dead is torn apart on this day. Death, despite its power, is not stronger than the love shared by people, even if they can no longer share the same physical place. And, their love continues to change the world, even after death.

When Jesus entered Jericho, the tax collector Zacchaeus climbed a tree to, we are told, “see who Jesus was.” I find this curious. He didn’t just want to see Jesus. He wanted to see who he was. When Jesus called him by name and told Zacchaeus that he would be eating in his home that day, Zacchaeus was changed. I don’t know if he at first saw who Jesus was, but Jesus saw who he was. And it was a powerful thing to be seen and known. Zacchaeus responded to Jesus with an offer to pay restitution to all whom he had harmed. This is real transformation born out of a shared experience. And to him, Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house.” Jesus says, “Wholeness has come to this house.” Not just to Zacchaeus, but to his whole house. I bet their feast was something pretty great.

We feast today, too. We feast in the assurance that nothing can separate us from the love of God. We feast at God’s table as the host of Christ himself. We break this bread and we feast in the presence of the saints and in the presence of the Holy Spirit. This is a mystical meal that crosses all the boundaries that try to keep us separated from one another and with God. In this meal, shared with the living and the dead, in the presence of the Most Holy, transformation occurs, not just in us. No. In the taking of this bread, in the sharing of this meal, by the confession of our mouths and in the prayers that we offer and in the stories that we retell, ripples are sent out into the world, and it is changed from this day forward.

God sends us to one another to share in this world and all that it has to offer. To share big and robustly, not to hid behind the walls that we erect, to be safe from one another. Shared life is risky life. Yet shared life is whole life - healing life - salvific life. Today we are reminded that nothing really separates us from one another or from God. As it is written in Romans:

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36As it is written:
"For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."^[l^] 37No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,^[m^] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Let it be so. Amen.

Opening Prayer for Epiphany 3C

We become your people, O God, when you write your law and grace inside of us. We become your people when are living examples of your justice. We become your people when we unite into one body - the body of Christ - to be your eyes and ears witnessing the pain and wonder in the world, your heart and brain dreaming and planning for a new world, and your arms and legs working for your realm in every place in all times. Unite us, O God, with one another and with you, that our lives will be your living word uttered on this earth. We pray in the name of Jesus Christ, the Word become Flesh. Amen.

23rd Psalm - Bobby McFerrin Style

For those following the lectionary, this week's psalm is the 23rd Psalm. Here, performed by Cantus, is an adaptation of the psalm by Bobby Mcferrin:

My Trip to Mars Hill Church

A friend of mine and I attended worship at the 8:30 PM service at the Ballard campus of Mars Hill church this Sunday. I've been a couple of times to worship just to see what all the hoopla is about. In Seattle, the most unchurched city in the country, Mars Hill is growing rapidly with a membership reaching 10,000 people in its ten year history. They've grown to five campuses and are adding another one in the downtown region. While I don't have the statistic to prove it, I would bet that it's the fastest growing church in the area. So, last Sunday we went and yet again I was surprised at my reaction to the worship service. What surprises me, you might wonder? Every time I go, I am bored. And every time I go, I am reminded that Mars Hill takes theology very seriously, unlike many of our mainline churches that are afraid to delve into theology out of fear that they will offend someone or run someone off.

Why does Mars Hill bore me? I don't know; it just seemed...boring. Not much happened. I didn't experience prayer. Mark talked too long. I was bored.


The worship service is liturgically very similar to what happens in mainline churches except it is light on liturgy and community. However, I give them props for including Holy Communion (of a sort) at each worship service. United Methodists sure don't do this. I am very glad that we are moving toward weekly communion, but I would bet that most churches still serve it monthly. Here is my run down on worship at Mars Hill - the good, the bad, and the ugly (just a phrase, folks):

You enter the lobby, which is well appointed, clean, spacious, and occupied by well marked kiosks and information centers. No one greets you or comes up to you. I happen to like this. I like anonymity when trying something new. There is also an interactive station where you can learn about the church, home (community) groups, ministries, and its mission. I like that this, too, is an anonymous activity. You - I - don't have to feel new or out of place or awkward.

Next you move through the lobby into the worship space, which is appointed like a concert venue. There are no bulletins, greeters, or ushers. I like the dark atmosphere. Again, it allows for anonymity. This Sunday the venue never quite filled up, but it was the fifth service of the day. Still there were several hundred people present, all of whom were younger than I! Chairs are arranged in sections like a concert is. They are linked together to make straight rows - no scooting your chair for room or to see around the posts! Understandable, but a bit constricting. Well, less constricting than pews, I suppose. There are multiple screens scattered around - two big ones flanking the stage (and it is a stage, not a chancel), one smaller one actually on the stage, and two more mounted up high for those seated in the back sections. I find that many screens distracting. The room is big, but it isn't cavernous. How many Mark Driscolls does one person need to see at any given time? The stage has a cross, a band set up, a podium, and one screen.

The best part about the service? The lighting and the sound system. They are top notch. Lighting changes across the stage and along the side walls to create a wonderful atmosphere, especially since we're worshiping in a warehouse. The lights add a sense of "specialness" to the service.

Okay, time for the service to begin. A worship leader welcomes the crowd and lists a few announcements. Every time I've been there finances have been clearly and specifically mentioned. I like this; they seem to do a better job than most local churches in being clear about their needs and expectations. On the other hand, it was announced that they were averaging $1.50 per person in giving. That's pretty low. Next the band plays a couple of songs; it's a tight band, but not my idea of worship. I'm an old fogey. There was a time in my life that I appreciated hearing in worship the sounds I listen to on the radio, but that time has mostly passed me by. I prefer worship that feels different from the rest of my life. I find the songs of my tradition important and meaningful. A mix of the two would be fine. I won't get into the theology of the songs. Let's just leave it at, "It's not my theology." Then Mark Driscoll comes on the stage and talks for an hour and fifteen minutes. This week his topic covered fourteen kinds of grace. Some of his kinds of grace I've never heard of, but mostly it was an overview of grace. Again, most of what he said is theologically far from me. I don't believe in the elect or in predestination. As a good Methodist, I believe that I have free will. Driscoll doesn't. After his talk, he responded to some questions that were texted to him during his talk. Then the worship leader returns and announces Holy Communion, except that it wasn't communion. There was no liturgy or words of institution. There was no loaf. No one broke the bread or presided over the elements. Instead we were asked to remember Christ's sacrifice for us (and via Mark we've already been told how awful we are and how we are enemies of God so we knew how big that sacrifice was) and to come for Holy Communion if we're Christian; communion is reserved for Christians. I like that they offered wine and juice, both clearly marked. Then the band played a few songs while people came to the various stations for communion where there was wine, juice, and bowls of cubed bread waiting for you. The band played about six songs in a row. Then we were offered a blessing and a dismissal with another reminder of announcements. That's the whole service. It was about an hour and forty-five minutes long.

Several times during announcements and in the talk people were asked to make a decision to become Christian. They were invited into a process to become Christian. We are rarely so audacious in the mainline church anymore. However, growing up I recall that the last hymn of every service was the "Hymn of Invitation" during which anyone could come forward for prayer. It was our version of an altar call. Being fully bourgeois, though, no one ever came forward unless it was a planned transfer of membership or something quite like it.

Other than the theology, which I find not only faulty but harmful in many ways (that's another topic), I didn't experience a worship grounded in prayer. I always expect a more evangelical worship when I'm at Mars Hill and I'm always surprised at how "bam, bam, bam" it is. It's logistically flawless but feels a little spirit-less. Clearly I'm in the minority on this point; thousands of people worship there weekly. But I just don't experience a deep pull to prayer in their service. It really is primarily a lecture from Mark Driscoll bookended by songs and some juice.

How does its emphasis on theology surprise me? There are no gimmicks, just a long talk about theology. Every time that I've been to Mars Hill the sermon/lecture barely includes any anecdotes or other stories that make the points concrete. They are in there, of course, but they are short and exist solely for the purpose of illustrating a theological point. The theology in the music is completely commensurate with that which is preached. The invitations to Christian life falls clearly within a clearly stated theological mission. It is strongly theological.

While I could never worship at Mars Hill, I believe that we could learn a few things from it. Worship is worship and only worship. It has been my experience that too many mainline churches try to do everything community related during its worship because we don't see each other outside of worship. Mars Hill strongly emphasizes its small group ministry which frees worship to be one thing. Perhaps our worship services would be better if we just let them be worship and created community through other means. Second, music is important. While I don't like the music at Mars Hill, it is expertly done. I don't sit anxiously wondering if they will miss any notes. I can (at least I could if I weren't busy cringing at the words) just float into it because I'm not concerned about it. Too many of our local churches suffer from mediocre to bad music. Music should glorify God, not torture God (or those in the congregation). Third, anonymity is a good thing. Churches have had it beaten into them that welcoming the stranger is important (and it is). In consequence, a lot of churches threaten newcomers with their "love bombs." Let people find there way into community in a non-threatening way; just make sure there is a clearly identified and welcoming way for them to enter when they decide to do so. Fourth, atmosphere counts. There is a performance aspect to worship. What does your worship atmosphere say about God and community? How does it reflect the overall personality of your church? Fifth, liturgy is important. Ancient practices tie us to a long tradition. Even Mars Hill, as bereft of liturgy as it is, turned to icons on the screen. Know your liturgy and know why you use it. And last, prayer is important. I didn't find real prayer at Mars Hill and I learned that I need it, absolutely need it. I may be entertained, intrigued, and even enlightened by an event that doesn't include prayer, but I only worship when prayer - authentic, deep, and real - is emphasized.

So this is my long report on "My Trip to Mars Hill - by Katie Ladd."

worship and love

Bishop Will Willimon has posted on his blog a Peculiar Prophet a great article about the function of worship. It is in response to an email question submitted to him and is called "Why Do Worship?" It begins:

Frankly, I just don’t get much out of the Sunday morning thing. A lot of the time, I like the music, particularly when it’s contemporary. But there is a lot that goes on Sunday morning that doesn’t do much for me. Am I supposed to feel something? I would think that being a Christian is more than sitting and listening. It is also doing. What is the good of the praying and the singing and the sitting and listening?

What is the chief end of humanity?

The proper answer from the Westminster Confession: The chief end of humanity is...

Read the whole article.

Liturgical worship places this love in the midst of a long tradition of loving God. That is why we respectfully stand for portions of the service, follow a certain order of service, and why we return time and again to our sacraments and rituals. How liturgy and love interplay is worth a great deal of exploration. Perhaps they sometimes diverge. It is, of course, always possible for liturgy that once glorified God to simply function as a relic of the past. We need to always be intentional about the ways in which we live into our liturgy and be mindful about how we introduce newcomers (and old hats, for that matter) to liturgy. Liturgy exists to point us ever closer to God and to bring us into closer and closer relationship. When it doesn't, we lost the act of loving God as the primary goal of worship.

home from retreat

I returned home this afternoon after spending three days on retreat with other clergywomen/women in ministry in the PNW Conf of the UMC. This is one of the most important three days of my calendar year. Every February we head into the Cascade Mountains to a lovely retreat center called Rainbow Lodge. We sit in sacred space and share our life journeys with one another.

This year we discussed Diana Butler Bass's book "Christianity for the Rest of Us." We had great dialogue about tradition, call, and ministry. We played games, took walks in the woods, sang, and worshipped with one another. I love to hear the voices of the thirty-five or so women singing with gusto. We're a great choir!

The worship experiences that we have together always intrigue me. As a pastor, I hardly ever get to experience the worship creativity of my friends and colleagues. On the rare occasions when I am blessed to be led in worship by others, I realize that there are a lot of poets, storytellers, hymnists, and liturgical artists in our midst! The creativity that flows from the hearts of worship leaders is powerfully generative.

So tonight I am hungry to find new liturgical resources...for Eucharist, Holy Baptism, prayers... I wonder what joys are occurring in churches all around me. If you would like to offer a progressive liturgical resource that would help my community, please do so. I am always trying to find new ways for people to experience the transforming grace of God. And I am forever seeking new ways to engage the Christian passion for justice. This is a plea...Don't let me come home from retreat. Help me stay a little longer!