Rant 4: No T in Worship

6863701649_8c0ece153f_z[1]A friend of mine posted an article on facebook today entitled “Why Rock Star Worship Leaders Are Getting Fired.” Part of me wants to rejoice at what author Don Chapman identifies as the trend of “megachurches” firing performance-oriented leaders. Another part of me, however, a larger part, wants to go on a major rant. Because Don Chapman’s problem with so-called “Rock Star Worship Leaders” is that they are self-absorbed, overpaid, don’t work very hard, and aren’t particularly musically skilled. He writes:

A megachurch is a unique breeding ground for a Rock Star Worship Leader (RSWL)—he [!] probably couldn’t survive in a smaller ministry. A typical church music director is a busy guy or girl who schedules volunteers, conducts rehearsals, writes charts, arranges music and plans Christmas and Easter events. Some megachurch RSWLs surprisingly can’t even read music, let alone create chord chart.

Oh the horror! Ok, I’m as shocked as Don Chapman that there are (apparently) some music leaders out there who are paid big bucks and don’t seem to do much of anything but “perform” on Sunday mornings. But really? Our biggest concern is that they might not actually be as musically talented as we think?

In the 20 + years that I have been leading in churches, which of course includes reading multiple job postings and applying for some of them, I can count on one hand the number of “worship leader” job postings that have asked for any type of theological competency or depth. Musical ability, yes. Ability to plan and lead a multi-media performance, yes. Ability to manage audio-visual equipment, yes. Good people skills, yes. Strong leadership skills, yes. Actively following Christ, certainly. Ability to articulate a cohesive theology of worship and implement that theology in weekly services that draw a congregation deeper into the life of Christ? No. Not once have I been asked about that. I’ve tried to volunteer the information, but even then it sometimes doesn’t go over well.

There is no Theology in Worship.

But then. Then we have the audacity to complain when our “worship” is vapid, when it lacks depth, or when it comes off as mere “performance.” Well – sorry folks. But you got exactly what you asked for. And when you look at it that way, doesn’t it seem a tad unjust – even hypocritical – to fire someone for doing exactly what you asked them to do? We need to spend a little less time blaming, and a little more time re-training. Because unless we find the “T” in Worship, we will continue to sit back and listen to some lovely music on Sunday mornings – drawing no closer to the throne of God, and refusing to enter more deeply into the life that Christ has given us.

Fidelity, or “Why do we bother?”: Chapter 28 of Joan Chittister’s ‘The Liturgical Year’

by Ian Walden

The sun is setting. The feast of Easter is fading to memory. Ahead lies the long road of Ordinary Time. The next ‘high point’ in the Liturgical Year is a long, long way away. So when the candles are out, the colours are muted, and the words are, well, ordinary – why do we bother with these routines, these rituals, these practices?

The end of the noise and fuss and excitement is a good time for this question. It’s already forced me to re-examine my motives. It’s convicting to hear Sister Joan remind us that “we do not live a liturgical life to look good to other people. We do not develop a liturgical spirituality to affect a kind of spiritual dimension to our lives. And we certainly do not go to Mass regularly to avoid hell.” Ouch. Too often my newbie enthusiasm for this liturgical lark is akin to a shopper’s delight at a little-discovered bargain – consumerism ethos included.

So what’s a better answer? Chittister’s is that we are all (like a character in a parable she tells) being asked, silently but daily, the searching question: Are you Jesus? And I for one would like to say (perhaps also silently, but daily nonetheless) that yes, indeed, I am. I would like my Ordinary Time, my ordinary life, to be lived extraordinarily well, “no matter what other elements of life emerge to seduce us as the years go by.” No matter how far removed Jesus’ first earthly presence seems, no matter how absent his Spirit feels, no matter how improbable his Return appears, I want my life to be the evidence of Things Unseen. I want it, even this summer, to be both site and source of redemption in this world. More than a sacrifice, I need re-creation. I need my life to be witness that I am (and therefore all are) defined by the beautiful future, not the tragic past.

And as we’re all learning, in the Pentecostal economy, becoming like Jesus (learning to think like he thinks, to act as he acts, to allow his life/mind/heart to saturate ours) is something that can be learned. And learning takes repetition, re-enactment, constant re-membering. It takes fidelity, constancy, regularity. All else (and this also, paradoxically, is all the difference) is the in-breathed, dry-bone-stirring  Life of God.

Where have you seen Jesus lately? Where has his life continued in your midst, in the habits, reflexes, instincts, or desires exhibited by Jesus people – including yourself? Was it surprising, extraordinary, or surprisingly natural? Was it obvious, or seen only after reflection? What kind of practices, what kind of liturgy, might possibly (feel free to speculate, to guess!) have contributed to this miracle, this new Presence?

In the hope of glory, Amen.

What’s Wrong with the Temple?

A couple of weeks ago, I preached John 1:14, looking back at God’s gift of the tabernacle and Solomon’s construction of the temple in order to answer the question: How does God dwell with his people? The tabernacle and the temple are key aspects of any Theology of Worship study (or should be), and as Solomon’s building of the temple is an especially fascinating passage, especially when combined with John 1, I decided it merited a blog post (how arrogant does that sound?!), especially considering the implications these passages have for the church.

Retelling the Story

When Israel was wandering in the desert, God graciously handed Moses the design of a tent in which he promised to dwell with his people – in the center of the camp. It was a visible way in which God made it abundantly and graciously clear that he was with his people.

Time goes on, and Israel finally manages to occupy the land God has given them. In 2 Samuel 7 we see David sitting cosily in his palace, after a life of fighting. As he reclines on his throne, he has a qualm of conscience and says to God’s prophet, Nathan: “Here I am, living in a palace of cedar, while the ark of God remains in a tent.” Nathan says (basically) “Good point!” But then God comes to Nathan at night with this message for David:

Are you the one to build me a house to dwell in? I have not dwelt in a house from the day I brought the Israelites up out of Egypt to this day. I have been moving from place to place with a tent as my dwelling. Wherever I have moved with all the Israelites, did I ever say to any of their rulers whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, “Why have you not built me a house of cedar?” (2 Samuel 7:5­-7)

God denies David’s request to build him a house – instead, he offers to build David’s house:

The LORD declares to you that the LORD himself will establish a house for you: When your days are over and you rest with your ancestors, I will raise up your offspring to succeed you, your own flesh and blood, and I will establish his kingdom. He is the one who will build a house for my Name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be his father, and he will be my son. When he does wrong, I will punish him with a rod wielded by men, with floggings inflicted by human hands. But my love will never be taken away from him, as I took it away from Saul, whom I removed from before you. Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before me; your throne will be established forever. (2 Samuel 7:11-16)

So we arrive in 1 Kings 5-9 in which Solomon, David’s “own flesh and blood” proceeds with the building of the temple. Here the subtle language of the text begins to cue us in to the fact that something is wrong.

The First Hmmm

In 1 Kings 2 David, on his deathbed, reminds Solomon of God’s promise, but the unconditional fatherly promise given in 2 Samuel reads more like a conditional warning here:

If your descendants watch how they live, and if they walk faithfully before me with all their heart and soul, you will never fail to have a man on the throne of Israel. (1 Kings 2:3-4, emphasis mine)

Suddenly a big “IF” is inserted into God’s seemingly unconditional promise in 2 Samuel. This is a tension that will be played out throughout the rest of 1 and 2 Kings, and certainly as we continue to work through Solomon’s building of the temple.

The Second Hmmm

Solomon starts out well enough. He asks for wisdom that he might reign well over Israel. God is pleased and grants him not only wisdom, but also wealth and power. And, at first, we see that Solomon’s wisdom, wealth, and power result in a people that “ate, drank, and were happy” (1 Kings 4:20). We get stories of his wise rulings, and his scientific discoveries (1 Kings 3 and 5). He is portrayed as a wise and good king.

But, as Solomon begins his preparations for the temple, you begin to get the impression he thinks he’s pretty important. This impression is confirmed when, between the building of the temple and its furnishing and dedication, you read an interesting little insertion about Solomon building his palace. (Right in the middle in Hebrew text often indicates something to which we should be paying close attention.) This insertion is absolutely brilliantly worded – and the transition is money.

…the temple was finished in all its details according to is specifications. [Solomon] had spent seven years building it. It took Solomon thirteen years, however, to complete the construction of his palace.” (1 Kings 6:38-7:1)

The emphasis in the text is mine – but the structure of the Hebrew certainly suggests it. This is where we really start to wonder if Solomon has his priorities in line.

The Third Hmmm

God’s response to the dedication of the temple highlights the shaky ground on which Solomon and the kingdom of Israel are standing – the blinking “IF” that David inserted into God’s promise. God appears to Solomon in 1 Kings 9: 3-9. If you read this text, you’ll discover that it doesn’t sound like much of a “thank you.” It doesn’t sound like much of a blessing. Instead, it is a harsh and dire warning. God is essentially saying: “Well Solomon, if you have to have a temple, fine. I’ll be there. But this is not going to go very well.”

The Result of Hmmm-ing

And, of course, we know that despite all the warnings Solomon fails miserably. Very shortly after the temple’s dedication we read that Solomon used forced labour for all his building, including the temple. We read of his shady business deal with Hiram, king of Tyre; of his excesses in wealth (now portrayed as luxuries, rather than food – and as benefitting the court rather than the people); and, finally, we read of his 700 wives and 300 concubines (all from other nations) and of the temples he built for their gods. And we read of Solomon going to worship in those temples. That “IF” is blinking pretty hard by this time.

The Final and Perhaps Most Interesting Hmmm

Before we move on to the implications of this, however, I want to draw your attention to one final shift in language. In 2 Samuel 7, God says to David “Are you the one to build me a house to dwell in…. I have been moving about from place to place with a tent as my dwelling.” But when God talks about David’s offspring building a temple, it very clear that the temple will house only God’s name. There is never any mention made of God dwelling in the temple as he did in the tabernacle. This language is repeated in David’s warning to Solomon, in Solomon’s long-winded dedication, and especially in God’s response to the dedication of the temple: “I have consecrated this temple, which you have built, by putting my Name there forever. My eyes and my heart will always be there” (1 Kings 9:3).

It is very clear that, while God promises to bless the temple and pay attention to it, he does not promise that he will dwell there as he did in the tabernacle.

I’ve spent considerable time wondering what this shift in language means, and this is what I’ve come up with: the main difference between the tabernacle and the temple is that one moves, and one doesn’t. That’s the conclusion to which my brilliant logic has brought me.

When God responds to David’s desire to build a temple in 2 Samuel 7:6-7 he states:

I have been moving from place to place with a tent as my dwelling. Wherever I have moved with all the Israelites, did I ever say to any of their rulers whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, ‘Why have you not built me a house of cedar? (emphasis mine)

Why specify all the Israelites. Wouldn’t it be safe to assume that “the Israelites” already refers to all of them? I think the author is using intentional redundancy here for emphasis. In the tabernacle, God dwelt with all his people, moving with them from place to place. Now, as Israel spreads out to occupy the land, and as a permanent temple structure is built in Jerusalem, it is no longer possible for God to be seen to dwell with all his people in one location. Is it possible that the text is subtly stating that God’s place is with the whole of his people, rather than in one specific location – rather than in the seat of power?

The HMMMs of 1 and 2 Kings leave us, I think, with two essential questions: will there ever be a king in the line of David who can fulfill God’s requirement of righteousness; and will God dwell again with his people?

Cue John 1:14

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.

The ancient Greek translation of the Hebrew text, the Septuagint, uses two words to translate the Hebrew Mishkahn. When it is in noun form, it’s translated as skaynay (tent/tabernacle), while the verb form is translated kahtoikayoh (to dwell). In the Greek of John 1:14, then, where a verbal form is warranted, we would expect the Greek word kahtoikayoh (to dwell). Indeed, that is generally how it is translated in English. Instead, the author of John uses the Greek noun form: skaynay. So “the Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” could be translated as “The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us.” He pitched his tent among us.

I think there is an intentional contrast to the temple happening in this passage. It’s not the only thing that’s happening in the text, but I think it’s there. The contrast is emphasized by the fact that Jesus is continually on the move, throughout the book of John. Almost every chapter has Jesus moving to another place: from Bethany to Cana to Jerusalem to Judea to Samaria to Galilee… (and that’s just chapters 1-4). There’s a reason that John uses the noun “tent” rather than the simple static verb “to dwell.”

What was the main difference between a tabernacle (a tent) and a temple again?

God will not be nailed down to one place or to one specific segment of his people. He does not sit still and wait for his people to come to him. When Jesus claims, in John 2, that he is the temple (and note how closely this follows “The Word became flesh and tabernacled among us”) he’s announcing his death and resurrection – but that’s not all he’s doing. He’s saying that he is the place where God dwells – but that’s not all he’s saying. He’s also proclaiming that his people, his whole people, all his people, have access to him again. Because he’s not waiting for us to come to him – he’s coming out to meet us. He’s travelling with us. He’s putting his tent down right next to ours.

So what does this mean for how we worship him? What are the implications of this amazing truth for your church?

It means that we cannot claim God simply for ourselves. The “God’s with us, but not with those other guys who call themselves Christians” mentality simply will not work. We don’t have a corner on the God-market – no matter how right we might think we are, and no matter how wrong we think the other guys are. This does not mean that all truth is relative. It does not mean we never use judgement, and that we accept every idea and method blindly. It does mean that we must err on the side of inclusion rather than exclusion.

The bigger implication, however, is that the church cannot stand still. There were two questions from Kings to answer: would there be a king fit to rule eternally, and would God once again dwell with his people? In Jesus, both questions are answered. He is able not only to inaugurate the eternal kingdom, but also to build a temple in which God can again dwell with his people.

1 Corinthians 3 tells us that we are the temple of the Holy Spirit. We, the body of Christ, are now the place in which God dwells with his people – all his people – everywhere. It is not enough for us to sit within the doors of the permanent structures we have set up and assume that people will come to us if they want to seek God. This is not the way Jesus functions, and nor is it the way we should function. Sometimes we get so tied up in our buildings that, like Solomon, we forget the point – and our building becomes our idol. God is not against buildings. But he is against sitting still. Worship of God is not limited to church buildings – true lives of worship should extend outside of our buildings into every aspect of life. If people are to meet God in this time, and in whatever place your congregation inhabits – the temple of God must be on the move – it must be a tabernacle, not a temple.

Subliminal Liturgy

A week or so ago Andrew (my husband) and I attended a “church planting boot camp” put on by the Evangelical Free Church of Canada (EFCC). The workshop was a helpful step back from our day-to-day work with a church plant just north of Edmonton – a good way to re-evaluate the church’s mission and goals, and re-assess our progress toward them. Upon returning to our place here, we found ourselves excited about deepening our engagement with the community in which our church is planted and – for the first time – I found myself excited about evangelism. These would be positive outcomes enough – but add to them that our congregation already seems to have latched on to the increased energy with which we returned. We had a congregational meeting this Sunday in which our congregation committed to a firm movement (with clearly defined first steps) toward community service and engagement. So first of all, a very sincere thank you to our three presenters, to our fellow classmates, and to the EFCC.

There was one thing, however, which I found lacking in the workshop. While there was a genuine sense of wanting to address the topic of congregational worship, and there were some good steps taken toward that, most conversation about worship centered on issues of style, of getting people in the doors, and of making it an experience to which people would want to return. These are important considerations, but they don’t address and consider the formative aspect of worship, an important concept to grasp for any congregation, but perhaps especially for a new church plant.

A few years ago I completed a paper on the ethics of Christian worship. Every ethics book I picked up, every anthropological paper I read said the same thing: a community is formed by its shared ritual actions. Some of these papers and books were speaking directly of the church, but many were speaking generally of societal groupings. The consensus seemed to be that actions consistently repeated as a group are formational not only for the group itself (forming the basis for identity and behaviour of the group), but also for individuals (forming the basis for individual identity and behaviour when outside the group).

Now I could take this information and write it off as a bunch of anthropological/psychological mumbo-jumbo (to use the professional term), but I find it difficult to do this when scripture so clearly tells us, again and again, that we are designed to be in community. Not only that, but we consistently see God setting up shared ritual actions for his people: from the time that Adam walked with God in the garden, to the instructions given for the tabernacle, to the ritual of the Lord’s supper established by Christ. Why is this? Might it be that God himself is concerned with forming us through shared ritual activity? And if this is the case, as I would argue it is, why oh why don’t we pay attention to the rituals and patterns we establish in our gathered worship?

Every church, every single one, whether it calls itself liturgical or not, has a liturgy: a set of actions its people engage in every time they meet. In non-liturgical churches, however, this liturgy is hidden, and therefore subliminal (below the threshold of our noticing). But this “subliminal liturgy” – whether or not we want to admit it’s there – is shaping our congregations and the individuals within them as surely as a river gradually carves and shapes a canyon.

We can talk about mission, vision, and goals. We can set them, and work toward their accomplishment. But unless our worship is consistent with them, they will stay out of reach.

As we moved through the church planting workshop, Andrew and I spoke together of the danger of our congregation developing an inward focus. Having taught workshops on the topic of subliminal liturgy previously (see https://thinkingworship.com/workshops for details), I realize that it’s time to really put the rubber to the road and see if this works. So this is what we will do. We will ensure that our “congregational prayer” is never limited to inside concerns; we will pray consistently and passionately for our little town each Sunday. We will choose at least one or two songs a week with a definite outward focus. We will consider carefully what outward response is required by each text we preach, so that we can guide the congregation into it. And we will try to end every service with a “sending benediction.”

Will it work? I think it will. I think it’s already beginning to.

Worship Theology 101: What’s in a Word?

The most commonly cited definition of the word “worship” is based on the etymology of the English word: “Worship” is derived from the Old English word “woerthship.” So, when we worship God, we are proclaiming (or giving him back) his worth.

The variety of individuals who use this as their functional definition of “worship” is staggering. When I searched for blogs on the topic of worship, the most common title I came across was “Worship Is…” and nearly all of these blog entries finished that sentence (eventually) with “giving God his worth.” Plenty of worship practitioners use this definition. Most “theology of worship” books make reference to it. Even N.T. Wright, in his book “For All God’s Worth” uses it.

In some ways an etymology-based definition can be a helpful start. God’s worth is infinite, so we can never give back enough – a fact that leads us toward the glimmer of a biblical (rather than etymological) definition: a life given in service of God.

The study of the history of words, however, can only get us so far as we strive to understand what it means to worship a triune God. It might be a good place to begin, but leaving the definition of “worship” in the old English is, at best, problematic for both understanding and practice.

Yes, “worth-ship” can lead us toward the glimmer of a biblical understanding. It does so, however, without reference to any biblical text, and therefore cannot answer any of the questions the definition raises: how do we know that God is worthy; assuming that he is, what is his worth; and what is the appropriate way to give it back to him? Old English, beautiful as it may be, can only stare at these questions blankly.

Not only does this definition fail to answer the questions it raises, it also fails to add much at all to our understanding of the word. Most of us have already been reading the word “worship” with tacit understanding of the word as “giving honour and praise to God.” I’m not sure the phrase “giving God his worth” adds anything at all to that meaning; it’s simply a trendier way of phrasing it. The word honour, at its root, means glory, dignity or reputation; the difference between giving God honour and giving him worth, therefore, seems at most a very short hop. I can give him what is due his dignity, reputation, or glory; or I can give him what is due his worth. Surely, in the case of a God who abhors dishonesty, these amount to the same thing. I have a hunch that our fascination with “worth-ship,” then, is nothing more than the search for a fresh pat-answer; a quick and shallow understanding that doesn’t take much effort, but allows us to feel like we’re getting a big pay-off.

Not only is it a shallow and unbiblical definition but, if we actually take the etymology seriously, we discover that it is also a stagnant definition. Worth-ship is a state of being (like friend-ship). When we apply the word “worship” to God, we simply affirm that he is of worth. There is no sense of movement, of interaction, of relationship with God. There is no sense of the narrative that underlies scripture; of the call and answer that enriches our lives before God; of the patterns and forms of approach that God has set in place. It’s a definition that would easily lend itself to a deist stance: my worship of God admits to his existence and his worth, but does not really infer any interaction between us. God might have set things in motion, but he has now stepped away, and I can admire him from a distance.

Furthermore, what does it mean to say that God is worthy? Worth is usually determined in relation to function. A vase, for example, is considered worthy if it holds water, displays flowers to advantage, and has a pleasing shape, form, and colour. None of these virtues would cause you to proclaim a colander worthy. So it is useless to talk about “giving God his worth,” unless we are able to first articulate what makes God worthy. Some who use the definition take the time to biblically examine the character and person of God in an effort to understand what it means to “give God his worth,” but many more do not.

So, if this definition of worship is as woefully inadequate as I paint it, where should we turn for a better one? I would suggest that we begin with biblical languages, admittedly not my strongest skill-set, but no less essential because of that.

In Hebrew, there are a myriad of words used to describe the act of worship. Besides multiple words for dancing and singing, and various other rejoicing and mourning-type movements and noises, there are at least ten other words that are frequently translated worship. These ten words carry the following connotations: bowing down, falling down, service, labour, making, inquiring, seeking, fear, awe, ministering, and supplicating. Do you notice anything? Every single one of these words has a very physical, very active meaning. There is no “state of being” in this definition, but a very real and visceral description of the ways in which we are to act toward God. These words infer movement, action, interaction, and relationship.

The Greek is similar. Again there are multiple words devoted to rejoicing and mourning-type movements and noises. In addition, there are about thirteen words that are translated as “worship,” most of them indicating the following actions: bowing or prostrating oneself; ritual service; and acts of service toward God. Again, there is a physicality here (although less so than in the Hebrew) that specifies not just our attitude toward God or a vague understanding of him, but our actual day-to-day movements. And this doesn’t even include the countless subtle references to Hebrew worship that are woven through the New Testament text.

I hope it is apparent that even this over-simplified biblical word-study yields us more fruit than that of English etymology. But even in-depth Hebrew and Greek word studies, while they help, will not get us to a full biblical definition of worship. Scripture communicates far too actively for that. It is narrative, poetry, prophesy and rhetoric that we need to study in order to push aside stagnant, shallow, and unbiblical definitions and move toward the full knowledge of what it means to worship a triune God. I have only begun to move toward this type of definition. I could study for fifty years and still say I had only begun. But, with your help and company, I would like to continue to (in the words of C.S. Lewis) move “further up and further in.”