Much ire was directed at I Could Sing of Your Love Forever. The whole song is about dancing with joy and it’s usually sung by “a bunch of stoic, middle-class white people, doing nothing that even remotely resembles dancing,” said one. Another person succinctly summed up my feelings when he said, “Why is this song always performed so it seems like it DOES go on forever?”


But the winner from last week’s comments was my college friend Tom who shared the verse from a song that, he said, “makes me want to shower each time I hear it.” Go check out the comments from part one.

And that leads us into today’s list…..


1. You Are My Passion

Objectionable lyric:

Now will You draw me close to You?
Gather me in Your arms.
Let me hear the beating of Your heart,
O my Jesus, O my Jesus.

You are my passion, Love of my life
Friend and companion,
My Lover.
All of my being longs for Your touch.
With all my heart I love You.

Why: If the example from Tom didn’t convince you (seriously, go read it), here’s another example of the “Jesus, my boyfriend with whom I apparently get very physical” genre. And we wonder why there are no men at church.

A good rule of thumb: If you would be too embarrassed to stand up with a microphone and speak the words to your spouse, please do not sing them to your Savior.


2. Did You Feel the Mountains Tremble?

Objectionable lyric:

Open up the doors and let the music play
Let the streets resound with singing
Songs that bring your hope
Songs that bring your joy
Dancers who dance upon injustice

Why: How, exactly, does one dance upon injustice? Are special shoes required? And for that matter, why are we going so easy on injustice? Why aren’t we stomping on it? Or kicking it? Or giving it lots of paper cuts and then squeezing lemon juice on it?


3. Above All

Objectionable lyric:

Like a rose
Trampled on the ground
You took the fall
And thought of me
Above all

Why: First, I’ve never connected with the image of a rose falling onto the ground and being walked on as a parallel for Jesus being beaten and nailed to wooden beams. Neither does “taking the fall” seem adequate (or even respectful).

But my bigger issue is that in typical American style we have made this song “above all” about us. Yes, Jesus laid down his life so we could know God, but the final chapters of each Gospel indicate he was focused on God’s glory, not Jennifer Taylor. Some worship leaders change “and thought of me” to “and now you reign.” It’s not a bad idea, folks.


4. Worthy is the Lamb

Objectionable lyric:

High and lifted up
Jesus, Son of God.
The darling of Heaven, crucified….
Worthy is the Lamb.

Why: It would only be worse if Jesus was called the sweetheart of heaven. “Honeybunch of heaven” has too many syllables. But “heartthrob of heaven” could work…….


5. Great is the Lord Almighty

Objectionable lyric:

Great is the Lord Almighty, He is Lord He is God indeed
Great is the Lord Almighty, He is God supreme

Why: Simply put, I cannot sing about “God supreme” without thinking of Taco Bell.


Okay, your turn again. Why the erotic subtext to so many Christian songs? Am I way off on “Above All”? And what would you do to injustice?

But I’m a words person, and it’s difficult for me to sing a song with lyrics that are silly, untrue or confusing. Unfortunately our evangelical bubble is filled with them—and thus we begin a two-part series of my top ten least-singable choruses.


1. Draw Me Close

Objectionable lyric:

You are my desire
No one else will do
Cause nothing else can take your place
To feel the warmth of your embrace

Why: I think he’s saying, “Nothing can take the place of feeling your warm embrace.” Which is slightly creepy, but could be overlooked if it was anywhere in the general area of grammatical correctness. Which it ain’t.


2. Shout to the North

Objectionable lyric:

We’ve been through fire, we’ve been through rain
We’ve been refined by the power of Your name
We’ve fallen deeper in love with You
You’ve burned the truth on our lips

Why:  a) Why are we shouting in all four directions? b) “You’ve burned the truth on our lips.” Yes, I get the Isaiah reference. But how many people in your congregation do? c) The melody makes me want to punch someone.


3. Trading My Sorrows

Objectionable lyric:

Yes Lord, Yes Lord, Yes Yes Lord
Yes Lord, Yes Lord, Yes Yes Lord
Yes Lord, Yes Lord, Yes Yes Lord, Amen.

Why: Figure it out.


4. Ancient Words (and others)

Objectionable lyric:

Ancient words ever true
Changing me and changing you,
We have come with open hearts
Oh let the ancient words impart

Why: This song is just one representative of a entire genre using “impart” as the only rhyming word for heart. I am opposed to this in most examples (Watermark was a frequent offender) but this one is our scapegoat because it manages the hat trick of also being grammatically incorrect and confusing. Let the words impart what?


5. Come Thou Fount

Objectionable lyric:

Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come.

Why: This is actually one of my very favorite hymns, but for the sake of all Christendom would somebody please rewrite this line? Even if the worship leader explains it before the song, “raising your Ebenezer” still sounds vaguely dirty.


Your turn. What songs do you have trouble singing?

It’s become trendy among Christian church folks to give something up for Lent, and I admit my own tendency to, at times, avoid doing something simply because it seems everyone else is choosing to. And I still question how much we’re really identifying with Christ’s sufferings or taking personal inventory of our sins by giving up caffeine or the Internet. (Or, as at least one of my friends does, swearing.)


But, ultimately, I add Lenten fasting to the long list of other rituals, practices and disciplines that can be meaningful if approached with the right heart. And while I’m not giving anything up this year, I will sincerely be praying for those of you who are. And watching American Idol.

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The Christian churches have never been big on observing Lent, or the church calendar in general, so I grew up with little to contribute in discussions with friends about what we planned to go without during the Lenten season. I was in college before I saw someone actually walking through Ash Wednesday with ashes on their forehead, or made the connection to the bacchanalia of Mardi Gras the night before.

Although I still attend a church that focuses little attention on these holy days (except Easter, and the almighty Christmas—that one seems to be remembered each year), I have started to be aware of them. The cycles of Advent, Epiphany, Lent, and Pentecost lend a comforting spiritual rhythm to the year; even more importantly, they have the potential to refocus us on Christ in between the “big” holidays.

Still, I’d never considered actually giving something up for Lent. Remembering the cross, yes. Trying to be more reflective and contemplative in the weeks leading up to Easter, sure, okay.

But actually forgoing a regular treat as if it in any way approached Jesus’ sacrifice for us? Thinking my abstinence from candy or coffee even mattered to him? Truth be told, I always found it a little silly and self-important.


So I’m as astonished as anyone that this year I plan to observe Lent by giving up TV and movies.

A few days ago the notion popped into my head as I watched a Seinfeld rerun with one eye and lamented my unread list of “edifying” books with the other. Irony is fun.

Coincidentally or not, the same day I came across a website of prayers and reflections for each day of Lent (click here) that also piqued my interest. An idea was born: no TV, no DVDs, not even a sitcom on iTunes from Ash Wednesday through Easter Sunday.

(And lest you think this doesn’t count because of the writers’ strike, let me remind you that new episodes of LOST begin next week and will continue throughout February and March. So scoff not.)


This little “sacrifice” isn’t about equaling Jesus’ sacrifice, of course. As for whether my 46 days without TV “matter” to God, a myriad of Bible passages teach us anything can be done (or not done) to God’s glory if the heart is right. Putting a check in the offering plate or reading my 3.2 Bible chapters each day can be meaningless routine or intentional obedience. Likewise, the self-imposed deprivation of Lent can be the legalistic restriction so many “Christians-only” see it as, or it can be a quiet act of worship.

I’m going for the latter with Lent this year. And really looking forward to catching up on LOST after Easter.

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Several years ago, I decided to try the whole sabbath concept of working six days a week and resting from it on Sunday. Some weeks—like this one—that is harder than others, and I find myself writing, answering email, and working on projects much of Saturday so that Sunday can be work-free.

By and large, it’s been a helpful antidote to the overscheduled, multitasking world I live in the rest of the week. Other than 90 minutes with the 4s class each Sunday morning (which isn’t exactly restful, but it is fun), Sundays are mine to do whatever I please.

Which is exactly the problem—facing hours on end in which I’m supposed to be resting just stresses me out.


God designed work to give our days purpose. The most fun days for me are the ones where I accomplish something—or many things—not the days I spend lounging around. Although buying new patio furniture and replanting flowers, cleaning my pit of a kitchen, or organizing my over-stuffed file cabinet are not “restful” activities, if I had spent today doing one or two of those tasks I’d now be looking back on the day with a feeling of satisfaction, and enjoying the flowers or clean kitchen or organized start to a new week. If I’m honest with myself, that feeling of accomplishment is more rewarding, and more restful, than any amount of magazine-reading or napping.

Without “permission” to do these chores today, even in a voluntary, New Testament kind of sabbath, I feel restless and set adrift, overwhelmed with options for “relaxing” activities. Do I start that book, call that friend, take a nap, catch up on Lost, cook from scratch? Whatever I choose, that means choosing not to do something else, and I have to cram all this relaxation into one day and it’s already 8 p.m. and I’m WASTING IT.

Or so the pathology goes. But can you relate?


I understand the reasons God commanded the sabbath for the Israelites, and I understand the physical, psychological, and spiritual benefits that have created a renewed interested in the idea. We all need quiet, we all need to turn the phones off, we all need to connect with other people, light a candle, make a meal. I’m just not sure how to reconcile those ideas with my own temperament. So I’m spending part of my sabbath working on it.

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In Christian circles we like to quote Romans 12 and say worship is a lifestyle and not really about music at all. In fact, my blogging comrade Arron wrote a good post about this last week, and I agree with the points he makes.

However, while we say this, we plan “worship services” which usually include mostly music and a sermon. The budgets for “worship” and the “worship staff” and “worship programs” are often some of the largest in the entire church. And many meetings, conferences, blogs, and books revolve around rehearsing, resourcing, and relevant-izing these 15-30 minutes of music each week.


One of my friends plans to start a church that moves away from this focus. In fact, he plans to include no music in their weekly gatherings at all; instead he’ll include observational and improvisational comedy that he believes will connect more easily and more genuinely with a non-Christian crowd.

He asked me to join a small team for a day-long meeting to brainstorm about this new project, and I’d love to hear your thoughts before I fly to California next week. Why has singing and playing music become the only method for corporate worship? Is it a problem for us to know that worship is an attitude of honoring God in every moment but to talk like it’s singing—preferably with ecstatic emotion—for 20 minutes on the weekend? Are there other, equally biblical ways to “do church”?

Should these realities affect the way we plan services and sermons? Do we give churchgoers what they want or what they need—and what is that, anyway?

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I prefer to study an entire book of the Bible instead of topics.

However, judging from most church web sites, I’m in the minority. Most churches do series after series—sometimes on practical issues (finances, marriage), sometimes more theological ones (the names of God, Jesus’ parables).

I agree it can be important to study topics occasionally, especially if they address real issues going on in the life of the church or the larger culture. (A study of the biblical qualifications and expectations for elders enriched my own church’s elder-selection process last summer.)

But I wish topical studies were the exception rather than the norm. I much prefer working through a book, Old or New Testament, chunk by chunk. I want to learn about the author and historical context, the meanings of words in Hebrew or Greek, the way the original audience would have interpreted the text.

I want to get a sense of the Biblical story, not its application—in verse-size bites—to the much less interesting narratives offered by our culture.

I wonder why most preachers (at least in our churches) don’t do this. Is it easier to preach topically? Do we think audiences (um, I mean, church goers) aren’t biblically literate and mature enough to benefit from it? If the latter, how are they going to grow to maturity through a steady diet of Bible sound bites?

Pastors, what influences your preaching calendar? Educate my ignorance about your strategy.

And pew people, am I alone in this? Which type of message do you prefer?

People re-posted it on their Facebook pages, linked to it on Twitter, and left dozens of comments expressing both anger and agreement with my thoughts. A few, including Skye Jethani, even wrote blog posts of their own in response.


Every blogger, if she’s honest, loves finding a topic that generates discussion (and page views). But I’m sad it was this one, because it means many of you share my “church fatigue.”


There was the anonymous pastor who confessed his own boredom with the services he himself plans and leads, a 70-something Christian who admits to being bored in church for most of his life, and a 40-something who’s resigned himself to it but wonders why it’s so hard to have this discussion and why his church’s answer is to volunteer more.

I wish these readers, and the many others who shared their stories, had said my perspective was incomprehensible. Unfortunately, the numbers who resonated with my confession point to some larger problems in the way we “do church.”


Here are my thoughts after a week:

—Skye nailed it with his observation that we are longing for “the transcendent” in our worship. “This is likely what’s behind, in part, the movement of many evangelicals toward high-church traditions and liturgy,” he writes. “They’re hungry for something beyond culturally-familiar or Christianized versions of pop trends.”

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard leaders proclaim the need for church to be “relevant” to our culture. They mean well, but relevance is not to be found in a music style or a sermon series playing off the name of a popular TV show. It comes from Jesus, the Jesus who hung out with broken people, the Teacher who modeled a new way to live in relationship with God, the Redeemer who lived among us and still meets us at the Communion table. Jesus is never irrelevant, never boring. Why is our worship?

—I don’t think our preachers and worship leaders are responsible for me having that transcendent experience every week. For one thing, we all define that differently. Recently I’ve experienced God by listening to music and watching a purple sunset, by crying with a dear friend who lost her husband to a heart attack, by reading and thinking about good books, and by exchanging ideas with perceptive mentors. Other people will have very different lists and no one weekly experience is going to speak to each of us equally. (Nor is the emotional impact of that experience the correct measurement.)  Seeing a worship leader as responsible for my relationship with God ignores biblical teaching and guarantees these pastors will feel a burden to, as one commenter put it, get it right at the front of the room. “I know I carry that burden,” he said. “And it’s wearing me out.”

—That being said, if going to church matters, then it matters what we do, and someone has to lead it. But must that look the way it does?

I like what Jeremy said in response to Skye’s blog:

“….many passages in the Epistles make me wonder if the traditional American church organization really is (or contains) a Biblical church.

I Corinthians 14 speaks to it most directly. “When you come together, each one has a hymn, a lesson, a revelation, a tongue, or an interpretation. Let all things be done for building up. … Let two or three prophets speak, and let the others weigh what is said. If a revelation is made to someone else sitting nearby, let the first person be silent. For you can all prophesy one by one, so that all may learn and all be encouraged.”

We pride ourselves on restoring New Testament Christianity, but I’ve never been to a service like this. Why not?

—Have we simply over-elevated the importance of one weekly service (and our expectations of it)? Dan Kimball’s books remind us we’ve made weekly worship the entrance point for seekers and the “if you do nothing else, do this” baseline of our faith.

According to Alan Hirsch and Tim Stevens, that’s only effective for a shrinking minority. Instead, what if consistent participation in service to others and personal worship were the true indicators of a person’s Christianity, and corporate worship was less about the seeker and more about equipping the disciple to live this sacrificial lifestyle?

Of course, that would require a congregation full of growing Christians, all serving and praying and forgiving and submitting and leading from their gifts. That’s messy and difficult. It’s hard to manage and requires many, many leaders each discipling a handful of others over time. It’s no wonder we’ve defaulted to a Sunday routine. But if God intended the church to be more than this, it’s also no wonder we’re bored.


I don’t think I get to complain about something if I’m not willing to be part of the solution. But I’m still not sure what that means. How do you think weekly church needs to change? Is going micro the solution? What can we do individually to make the corporate experience more meaningful, for us and the others who attend?

I have a confession to make.

I’m tired of going to church.


After 34 years of weekly attendance I’m bored, bored with long sermons and the two uptempo/one slow song liturgy of our megachurch worship. I’m bored with gymnatoriums and rambling communion meditations and the tasteless cardboard bread pellets that follow. I’m bored with announcement times for ladies luncheons and small groups and choir sign-ups. I’m bored with the same cliched phrases in the same spoken prayers offered at the same routine times.

I’m bored.

I know all the reasons to attend church services. But honestly, most Sundays at noon I think about other ways I could have spent the morning. Reading the New York Times with a pot of coffee, or hiking through the woods, or enjoying restorative sleep, or putzing around my kitchen trying a new recipe—these all seem more fun, productive, and restful than spending several hours at church.


It’s not about being entertained. As Brett McCracken wrote in his great Wall Street Journal article last week, 70% of adults 18-22 aren’t leaving church because it’s not “cool” enough.

“As a twentysomething, I can say with confidence that when it comes to church, we don’t want cool as much as we want real,” he writes. “If we are interested in Christianity in any sort of serious way, it is not because it’s easy or trendy or popular. It’s because Jesus himself is appealing and what he says rings true.”

So I’m not looking for a slicker sermon series or a faux-hawked worship leader or designer coffee in the back lobby. And for those of you who are my parents (hi guys!), I’m not pulling an Anne Rice and rejecting the Church universal or leaving the faith. I’m not even having a crisis of faith.


I’m just bored.


Because I also believe you make a commitment to one local church and invest in community with those believers long-term, I’m not going to start shopping for a new church. Besides, all those churches would also have long sermons and rambling prayers and worship leaders in skinny jeans. That’s the problem.

I also believe the writer of Hebrews was wise when he cautioned, “Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another.” I just don’t find weekly church attendance that encouraging anymore. In addition to its predictability, I have plenty of friends who also attend church each weekend and then get drunk, live with their boyfriends, or swear the air blue. In the south, church attendance is traditional. It is a habit, and one that doesn’t in itself produce life change.


So I’m sincerely unsure of the solution. Church, with two songs/greeting/awkward handshakes/one song/communion/offering/sermon/two songs/dismissal, is how our culture does Christianity. And I’m ready for something else.

Can you relate? How do you deal with “church fatigue”?

(One of the things I love about LA is no one thinks it’s odd to see a group of 60 people parading down Albion Avenue carrying sofa cushions and following a very tall man wearing a top hat and hoisting a lit torch.)

So it was an interesting evening. In many ways, this artistic community fit my expectations; it’s a young crowd, mostly single. The people were warm and welcoming. The communal meal included hummus.

In other ways it didn’t. There was less ethnic diversity than I expected (the crowd was mostly Caucasian) and only one child.


But the most surprising thing was how closely this gathering resembled what we know about the early church. The Tribe gathers each Sunday night for a shared meal, then worships through original music, visual art, and study of the Bible. They rip pieces from a loaf of bread, dip them in a cup of wine, and celebrate communion together. They sing acapella and accompanied by drums. They know each other well and pray for each other. They toss crumpled bills into a bright red tote bag to cover the warehouse rent and learn from a small leadership team who coordinates the the weekend services and receives no salary.

I’m not saying this a better way to do church and community, but it does seem more like a New Testament congregation than many of our “Restoration” churches modeled on that ideal. Yet I suspect many of us would be uncomfortable there—which is the most interesting thing of all.

In most churches, this term—if it’s used at all—means a service, held once each month or each quarter, designed for entire families to attend together. Kids’ classes are canceled and often the service will include “kid-friendly” elements like a short devotional time (don’t call it a children’s sermon, we’re not Presbyterians), or a terrifically perky adult will lead the whole congregation in singing one of the songs used in children’s church. Hand motions may be involved.

Despite my strong opinions on bringing kids, especially squalling babies, into many intended-for-adults venues, I  like to see kids joining their parents and other adults in worship. (The babies should still go to the nursery. Seriously.) It’s great for churches to develop weekend programs where kids can learn about the Bible in age-appropriate ways, but I think it’s also important for them to observe and participate in the larger church. They need to see their parents, their friends’ parents, and total strangers praying, singing, serving communion and giving an offering.

However, I think they also need a way to participate, so I was thrilled to hear of a church that’s defining “family worship” in a broader way. During a chance discussion during a seminar last week, I met a woman named Dana whose church celebrated the 4th by not only inviting kids into the service, but onto the stage.

The praise team singers led worship flanked by their children, who stood and sang next to them. The people praying, presenting the communion thought and giving announcements were accompanied by their children. Even the preacher was joined by his kids, who shared a few minutes of the sermon. Each adult involved in the service in any way brought his or her children up front to share the experience.


I love this for so many reasons.

It teaches kids the importance of serving the church and doing so in an orderly, God-honoring way. It expands their perception of “big church” and why it matters. It respects and values their contribution. It reinforces ideas of family, both the small biological family unit and the larger extended church family. It could even spur the adults to think about the weekly service in new ways, to reconsider the why behind what happens because a curious six year old has lots of questions.

Worshiping this way takes extra planning and extra patience. It requires intentionality and thoughtful consideration of every age group. It happens because a group values the gathering more than the inconvenience.

The same is true for the NACC. Family worship isn’t always the easiest, but it’s worth it. I’m sure Dana’s service was a success and I’m looking forward to a great week in Indy…….although I hope there aren’t hand motions.