"Well, what did you think of the church service," asked my friend, after excepting his invitation to attend a Sunday morning worship service, recently. "It was a pleasure worshipping with you folk," I responded. "A bit different than the congregational worship at my home church, but I sensed your congregation's deep love of Christ and each other." It wasn't too 'jumpen' for you, was it?" "Not at all," was my reply. Then a day or so after, thoughts of another, long past, worship service, flooded my mind. A worship service that I consider, to this day, as 'jumpen." In fact, in my estimation it went completely 'awry.' I thought we where gathering to celebrate the person of Christ, but in the end it seemed we were more celebrating words void of life. I am going to fail to recall the name of the church, the denomination it was a part of, or even what the sermon was about. I only remember the rabbit trail that led us down a darkened hole of condemnation. From body piercings and baggy pants to homosexuals and liberals, the list was long, the frustration clear, and the rationale was fired with as much passion as the targets that had been chosen: “Sitting there, you must recognize that hell is a fearful reality, and that many—maybe even those sitting near you, this very moment—will find it their final place of unrest.”
“Amen!” the person in front of me called out. “Yes, amen,” said several others in agreement. I don't think my heart could have sunk any deeper into my soul. Did they know that “Amen!” means “Let it be", I silently asked?
A great deal of time has passed since this experience, and yet, remembering it still brings despair to mind and a bad taste to my spiritual mouth. But what I remember only as a particular worship service in a particular city on a particular Sunday morning, I also remember as an illustration of any worship service I am all too capable of leading now or in the future. When I allow myself to cling more to dissent than to Christ, when I cherish words of death more than words of life, when I spend more time complaining about what is wrong with the church than putting energy into being the church; this is exactly the worship experience I recreate—and there are always voices willing to shout “amen” at the end of each of my sermons. From my experience, Christianity in many circles has become synonymous with negativity.
I was reminded of this again the other day re-reading “The Weight of Glory,” with C.S. Lewis taking note of a subtle shift in the language of his day, which he felt was the first detour in a road leading far away from Christ. Writes Lewis, “If you asked twenty good men today what they thought the highest of the virtues, nineteen of them would reply, Unselfishness. But if you had asked almost any of the great Christians of old, he would have replied, Love. You see what has happened? A negative term has been substituted for a positive, and this is of more than philosophical importance.” I see this morning, he goes on to explain the ideologies that grow out of subtle shifts of language. The positive answer requires a perspective that looks outward at others—those who are the recipients of the virtue or else the one from whom this virtue arises in the first place—whereas the negative virtue shows that my concern is primarily with myself—my own self-denial—and hence the appearance of good virtue. It powerful thinking what Lewis notes, “The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself.” To put this in terms for the subject at hand: Scripture has lots to say about what is wrong with the world. But thankfully, this is never the end of the sermon. (At this point I can't forget and remind myself that both the Old and New Testaments have a lot to say about complaining.)
Of course I would be remiss if I don't confess that I live in a world full of philosophical pitfalls, bad behavior, and theology with which I can rightfully see fault. But so is it fuller of the glory and action of God. So why am I, at times, more excited to see fault than to see faith? Why am I so quick to complain and so lamentably slow at showing my reason to be more fully alive and authentically graceful? The same God who tells me though the writing of Peter in his first epistle, to defend my faith, tells me to do it with gentleness and reverence—so that those who abuse me for “my good conduct in Christ” may be put to shame. The same scripture telling the Philippian Christians also geodes me to do all things “without complaining and arguing” instructs me to do so because it is by my “holding fast to the word of life” that I demonstrate I'm truly holding onto a different message than that of a crooked and perverse generation. Moreover, the same apostle who died to defend the person of Christ instructs me to stay focused on the kind of person Christ is: “For the Son of God, Jesus Christ, whom we proclaimed among you, Silvanus and Timothy and I, was not ‘Yes and No’; but in Him it is always ‘Yes.’ For in Him every one of God’s promises is a ‘Yes.’" For this reason, I learn from 2 Corinthians that it is through Him that I say ‘Amen’ to the glory of God.”
Father, God, in everything I create with my words and actions, with the things I do and the things I leave undone, might there be good reason for those around me to say “Amen.”
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