Communion

I sometimes envy our more liturgical brothers and sisters in Christ whose liturgy brings them to the Lords' table more frequently than we in the "Free Church" vein of Christendom generally practice. While there are pitfalls of what one of my Baptist forebears called "rutualism," contemplating the broken body and spilled blood is a healthy practice. As I study and ponder our focus for this coming Sunday morning, I have re-encountered some marvelous texts in our hymnal. What they have to say to us and what they equip us to say is powerful.

One that I hope to use this week (at least in our "traditional" service ... I'm still trying to figure out if it will fly in our "contemporary" service) grabbed me ... perhaps because of our tendency to look for lines along which we can divide ourselves. The text is by Tom Allen (about whom I know absolutely nothing). If you have to imagine a tune for this text, it is set to BEACH SPRING in our hymnal, and it fits rather nicely.

Jesus, at Your holy table,
May our hearts united be.
Bind us with Your grace and presence
That redeem and set us free.
Crucify our pride and hatred,
Light the path on which we walk.
Teach us how to love each other,
In the way that You have taught.

Christ, remind us of Your passion,
Of Your precious life outpoured,
Of the love which none can fathom,
And our vict'ry evermore.
Bread of heaven, wine of promise,
Feed us with Your holy Word.
Nourish us with Your strong presence,
Risen Savior, only Lord.

Lift your hearts and raise your voices,
Celebrate this wondrous love.
Join the chorus with all Christians,
And with saints who live above.
Silent lips now sing with gladness,
Blinded eyes are filled with sight.
Jesus' love has pierced our darkness,
Brought us home to peace and light.

Text © Copyright 1991 Broadman Press.

There are so many things that we have allowed to destroy our fellowship with each other. Tom Allen has given us good and healthy words to say about our togetherness at the Lord's table.

Misunderstood.

Every February one of our WMU circles (Women's Missionary Union, for those outside the Southern Baptist tribe) hosts a staff appreciation dinner. This dinner is not just for the "ministerial staff," it's for the whole team (preschool staff, nursery workers, custodians, support staff ... everyone). The dinner is their way of letting us know that what we do is appreciated. It is a wonderful ministry to the staff and we appreciate it more than words can express. They always include some games as a part of the evening. Sometimes the games are just silly things that remind us not to take ourselves too seriously. Sometimes they help us to get to know each other a little better.

This past February, one of the games was an "identify the person" kind of thing with us having written down interesting or little-known facts about ourselves on cards, then everyone trying to identify who wrote it as they were read. One of the identifiers was "What are you afraid of?" I wrestled with what to put on mine. Not knowing the kinds of things everyone else was putting (snakes, rodents, driving off of a bridge, water, stinging insects, etc.), I wrote something a little more personally revealing: "being misunderstood." I work very hard at communicating clearly and at trying to understand what the other person may be saying as well. More important, I guess, is trying very hard not to say what I don't mean, or what I don't want to mean, and I think there is a difference (and some psychologist would have a field day with the id, ego, super-ego implications of that statement). If you don't understand what is meant by that parenthetical, just forget it and read on.

If you read my blogger profile, you understand that I serve in a multi-congregational church divided by preference of worship style (most easily identifiable in the style of music preferred by our two congregations). Ministry in a situation with multiple services with multiple worship styles is a minefield for being misunderstood ... and the mines go off even when you don't step on them.

Last night (3/14) after choir rehearsal, the chair of our Worship Committee approached me with a question. One of our 11:00 traditional worship attendees told her that someone told her that I had said (can you tell the rumor mill generated this one?), "The 8:30 (contemporary) congregation comes to worship, while the 11:00 (traditional) congregation comes to complain." I am as grateful as I can be for the maturity our Worship Committee chair showed in response to such a rumor. After I responded she asked for permission to call the individual she had heard it from with my response. I am frustrated that someone would misunderstand me so. I am heartsick that someone would believe that I would say such a thing.

As I have thought about the situation, I have a vague recollection of hearing that sentiment voiced in a conversation. Whether it was a conversation that I just overheard or one in which I was involved (however marginally), I cannot say for certain. My memory for details of conversations (even important ones) can be rather foggy. I am certain, however, that I did not say what I was accused of saying. Truth be known, both congregations complain equally -- only about different things. It's enough to break the heart of God. People are going to hell without Jesus and we are fussing about furniture ... or musical style ... or whatever else we get upset about.

I guess one of the things that bothers me most is that my heart in this thing is all about bringing the body of Christ together. I have a deep love for heartfelt worship in many style contexts, not just the two that we use most often where I serve. I want to see our people honor and respect each other regardless which service they prefer. I want to see our people open their eyes beyond themselves and see the world through God's eyes with God's heart (and lest I be misunderstood here, I'm not that good at doing that myself).

Jesus said that one of the things that will show people that we belong to Him (and that belonging to Him is a very desirable thing) is how we treat each other. When we say stupid stuff about others in the body, the world outside the body hears it loud and clear. Our actions (and our words) are screaming stuff that is not true about what it means to follow Christ. We are being misunderstood ... and it's probably our own fault. Maybe we need to think about not saying what we don't want to mean. May God grant us grace and redeem our thinking (renew our minds) so that when we talk we actually mean what He wants us to mean. May God also grant grace to those who have decided, based on what they have seen in us, that Jesus Christ is not for them. Heaven help us all.

Augh!

A friend of mine says he doesn’t blog because he doesn’t feel that what he has to say is profound enough for publication. Anyone who has read my musings for long knows that I borrow [and cite sources for] much of the profound material I use. I blog sometimes just to get things off my mind … as a simple cathartic exercise. If you read many blogs (I frequent only 2 or 3 … think of them as online newspaper editorials) you will understand that I am far from alone in this process. Let the catharsis begin:

We now officially have a 16-year-old in the house. As of 3:20 this afternoon (at least, I think I remember that’s what time he was born), the toothpick (2thpik@bellsouth.net) officially turns 16. Sixteen! How did this happen? Where did all the time go? When we pause to think about it, there has been an awful lot of water over the dam since he was born. What a wild ride it has been thus far!

Time just begins to move faster and faster and faster. That skinny boy thinks he’s going to be taller than I am soon. He is 5’8”+ and has gotten there by growing a half-inch a month over the past few. He still only weighs about 105 (which is why we call him the toothpick). At least I know it will take him a long time to accumulate as much mass as I have (but I have been eating longer than he has, now haven't I?).

In addition, we have the college search on the horizon as well. We’re planning on going to look at some colleges over Spring Break. Sending him off to function on his own for weeks at a time is scarier than sending him out in a car by himself. If he drives himself to school we’ll be doing both.

With all that to think about, I don’t have time to think anything profound. My friend Charles (http://www.blogitch.blogspot.com/) writes about deep theological, philosophical, and political issues. I, on the other hand publish only once a week because I’m sure nobody wants to hear my opinion on the latest developments on American Idol. I’m not even going to get to watch the results of last night’s AI tonight because we’re using the DVR to re-record Celtic Woman because we lost the previous recording due to some hardware problems our equipment was experiencing. If you haven’t seen (or heard) Celtic Woman, you don’t know what you’re missing.

Anyhow, in the face of the rapid passing of time and our boys’ breakneck growth rate, the most profound thing I can say is again borrowed from somebody else; from one of the first philosophers I ever remember reading: Charles M. Schultz.

AUGH!

I’m glad he knew how to spell it. That’s enough to think about for now.

Practice Makes Permanent

The following quote comes from a California high school student’s blog (http://pianodude34.livejournal.com/). He gives a teenager’s perspective on some great principles for anyone who desires excellence in musicianship … and he’s right! Read on …

Practicing a piece of music in choir, no matter the level, is a lot like going to track and field practice. Both are preparing for a momentous occasion, and both can be considered very difficult depending on how you look at them both. Both require a lot of hard work during the practice portion in order to adequately prepare for the expected performance and or track meet.
It is understandable to assume that whenever you practice you should treat it like a performance, like you’re doing it in front of an audience, because if you can’t do it correctly in practice or training, how can you do it when it’s the real deal? The way my experiences with both can relate is I have been around people who seem dead set and fixated on the idea that even though they don’t sing or run well in practice, they can still pull it off in the show or race, when obviously you cannot.
There are too many people in our choir class who do not try hard enough during sectionals or in class or who do not even know their music well enough to participate rationally. How do they expect to do well in the concerts or at Golden State? They need to have a passion and a drive to achieve greatness. This really goes for singing because if you don’t sing it like it should be sung in sectionals, how can you sing it right on stage?
The same concepts go with track and field. Coach always told us that you need to pretend like every finish of a long-distance run is the finish of a race, especially with interval days (the days of hard training), because if you don’t practice that then, how will you be able to do that during a race? It all ties into the same thing, and I think it’s a pretty good comparison analogy because they suggested methods of good practice ethic all apply in this case.

Aristotle is quoted to have said, “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, therefore, is not an act, but a habit.” I love that quote ... and I hate it. It is uncomfortable for me to think about when I’m frustrated about my own level of excellence. What do our habits say about what kind of excellence we wish to give to the congregation? (Not all members will have the same answer.) That’s enough to think about for now.

Longfellow's "A Psalm of Life"

[Blogger's note: I wrote this on February 28th but didn't get it posted until today (March 6)]

Tuesday (February 27, 2007) marked the 200th anniversary of the birth of the great American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Longfellow’s pen gave us of the best known American poetry, such as The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, Hiawatha, and The Wreck of the Hesperus (which I knew by title long before I read it in school because Mom said my room often looked like it). He also wrote one of the most poignant Christmas carols I know (I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day) … one that is as relevant today as it was when he wrote it. In celebration of a gifted poet and his lasting impact on good American literature, I share with you Longfellow’s A Psalm of Life

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world’s broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe’er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act,--act in the living Present!
Heart within, and God o’erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time;--

Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.

What a wonderfully gifted poet Longfellow was. That’s enough to think about for now.

[Blogger's postscript: As I edited this from my Wednesday rehearsal handout, I noticed something in the text that made me wonder whether the children's round "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" preceded or followed this poem. Read line 2 of stanza 1 and think about it.]