new to you friday–face the music

Since I first posted this, my buddy John (who, interestingly, is a super talented musician) has started monthly gatherings for “This Church,” a church using comedy and conversation in its worship instead of music and singing. I’m so proud of the way he’s trying what God has asked him to try, and I’m interested in hearing your thoughts. Worship is more than music, we say—so what’s our response to a church that doesn’t use any?

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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”?

church fatigue, part 2

Last week’s post, in which I confessed my boredom with attending church services, hit a nerve.

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?

face the music

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”?

“the message” meets the hymnal

I’m always pleasantly surprised by the simple but effective ideas my church comes up with for meaningful worship. Perhaps churches without instruments try harder? More likely we’ve just been blessed with leaders who understand that thoughtful and on-theme don’t have to mean expensive and complex.

Before singing When I Survey at a recent mid-week service, the worship leader and I read a short “rewrite” of each of the hymn’s four verses. The reading set the traditional hymn in a fresh context, causing us to think about the familiar words in a new way. It was effective for the listeners, I hope, and certainly helpful for us as leaders of the experience.

It’s also easy—I wrote the one below in 10 minutes, start to finish.  And as a public service to every worship leader who’s avoided verse two because of fifth grade boys who giggle at “raising their Ebenezer,” I selected Come Thou Fount. I’m on your side, folks.

Source of all blessings, help me to praise you. Your mercy always pours over me, and you deserve big thanks, loud thanks. Thank you! Teach me how to worship you. There is no one but you who deserves my worship. You have redeemed and loved me.

I proclaim your victory and help! I know you will continue to guide me until I leave this earth and meet you. After all, you loved me when I was just a stranger to you, and you died to rescue me from my mistakes.

So I am in debt to your grace. Your goodness is overwhelming. Even though I still have a sinful heart, help me, God; help me to follow your goodness and not wander away to follow my own paths. Here’s my heart. It is all yours. Protect it and keep it.

Behind the music

As sometimes happens, Arron scooped me. For several weeks I’ve been thinking about worship, and—practically speaking—how this might translate into choosing a church here in Nashville. And earlier this week Arron posted some great thoughts on the importance of meaningful worship, regardless of “style” or song choice.

The fact that we’re both thinking about these issues actually isn’t surprising; much of the evangelical world is wrestling with the “now what” question as it pertains to corporate worship. After the progression from hymns to Maranatha to Integrity to Hillsongs to Vineyard to Passion, we seem to be coming full circle with a new generation eager to embrace hymns again.

In fact, many not only want the hymns, they want the liturgy, the labyrinths, the stations of the cross, and the recited prayers. They want mysticism and candles. Most of all, I think they want a sense that this is bigger than the charismatic pastor up front and the coffee bar and the rock-climbing wall.

In our quest to be relevant, in our insistence on warehouse churches and electric guitars, we’ve lost a sense of awe and reverence in our services. We’ve lost the ancient rhythm of the church year which the Episcopalians beautifully describe as a dance. In some cases, we’ve lost doctrinal meat and rich truths that the hymns and responsive readings provide and that “Trading My Sorrows” does not.

This came into sharper focus as I began looking for a church here. I loved my church in California and in many ways it avoided the stereotypes—one of the reasons I made it my church in California. But I spend a lot of time in churches and I found myself dreading the process of visiting a series of them here, experiencing the same services with four of CCLI’s top 25 songs and the same messages with videos from Worship House. I dreaded the conversational prayers peppered with “Lord, just….” or “Father, we ask for your help and, Father, that you’d be with us, Father, and….”

I know I sound so critical. But my criticism is that “contemporary” and “relevant” have become as predictable as the “traditional” services they replaced. What’s needed in the churches I visit is not a great drummer or cutting-edge graphics (although I happen to be a big fan of both). What’s needed is time to hear large portions of scripture and let it seep down into your heart. What’s needed is time to pray and to reflect on the words being said and to make them our own prayers. What’s needed is time to confess.

Sooner or later I’ll find a church here. Its services may include the entire set list from Chris Tomlin’s new album or its most contemporary feature may be padding on the pews. I don’t care, as long as I can glimpse I AM in the midst of it.

My ideal worship service

In my family we like to remind each other, “It’s not all about you.” That’s especially true in the area of worship preferences. Today five very different generations are trying to worship together as one church body, but even if we all enjoyed the same music at the same volume, it would not be about us—“praise and worship” on Sunday mornings and the lifestyle worship of every other moment are always about God.

Having said that, I still occasionally think how different the weekly gatherings would be if I were in charge…..

• The preacher would speak no more than 10-15 minutes at one time. He may deliver a 40-minute sermon (preferably 30) but it would be spread throughout the service. Depending on his topic, the intervals between the segments of his message might be opportunities to practice what he’s preaching—by praying alone or in groups, by meditating on Scripture, by confessing, by singing, by giving financially, etc. Video testimonies, movie clips, or other visual teaching tools might be used, too.

• The sermon segments would end while the congregation still wants more, not when they are praying the preacher will sit down.

• The sanctuary in the simple, chapel-like 19th-century building would include wooden floors, white painted walls, maybe a little stained glass, and comfortable chairs. Sometimes we would gather in darkness lit by candles, sometimes in a large airy room filled with light. The seats might be arranged in the usual theater seating, in one or more large circles, in small clusters around the room, or some other pattern. The decision to do any of these would be determined by what works for the message and the day’s theme, not what seems “edgy.”

• It would be okay to bring your coffee inside, but not your screaming baby.

• High-quality artwork would beautify the space, and would be used as appropriate throughout the service.

• Music would range from David Crowder to Martin Luther and everything in between. Regardless of style, it would be consistently well-done. Think of an instrument—yep, we’d use that one.

• The following exchange would NEVER happen:
Guy Up Front (GUF): “Good morning!”
People: “Morning.”
GUF: “Let’s try again—GOOD MORNING!”
People (louder and considerably more annoyed): “Good morning!”

• Sermons would be grounded in Scripture and would challenge the attendees to greater discipleship, wherever they may be in their individual spiritual journeys. Practical applications of Scripture are fine, but not so “practical” or topical that you leave the service feeling like an audience member at the Dr. Phil show.

• Opportunities for interacting with those worshiping near you would be more genuine than the obligatory “welcome the people around you before you sit down” thing—Catholics have the right idea by offering peace to each other.

• It would be okay to laugh.

• Worship leaders would draw from a variety of sources and traditions in weaving together each service—depending on the theme they might pull from The Book of Common Prayer, the writings of Bonhoeffer, or Chris Tomlin’s chord charts.

• Choices would be made intentionally. No one would ever say, “We need 10 minutes of music before the sermon and a special for the offering. Just pick some songs.”

• The order of the service would differ from week to week. (Does it seem to anyone else that two uptempo songs, announcements, two slower songs, and onward into communion is the new “traditional”?)

• The person cueing up the power point slides for congregational singing would be alert and on top of the task. (Another argument for allowing coffee inside.) Ditto the microphone guy—we’d never miss the first four words of every speaker.

• No one would EVER end a prayer with “And all God’s children said……”

During the years I worked at the NACC, my very favorite part was hanging out with the paid and volunteer tech crews that make the main sessions happen. For one thing, the job is inherently glory-free, so it only attracts those with a servant’s heart. This is true of the professionals we work with each year, but even more so the 8 or 10 volunteers from around the country who fly or drive to the convention at their own expense, spend long afternoons and early mornings performing soundchecks and herding worship teams on stage, and run around dealing with last-minute problems. They give up their time to do this for little more than a hotel room and a per diem for meals. The worship services at the convention couldn’t happen without them.

They are also a supremely fun group of people, who I still look forward to seeing each year. In fact, I volunteered to serve on the morning tech crew this year just so I could spend time with some of them again. (And to help the convention, of course, but mostly my motives were selfish.) I used to think preachers had the best stories, but I laugh harder with this crew than any other group I see all year.

I know, as only a one-time employee of the convention can know—the main services don’t please everyone all the time. They’re too loud, too long, have too many sermons, have too few sermons, have the same familiar speakers, don’t have familiar speakers, sing too many choruses, have one band the whole week, have a different band each service. I know the difficulty of creating a worship atmosphere in a concrete convention hall. But as I sit in my hotel and type this a few hours before the opening service, I’m looking forward to what’s going to happen in there tonight, bad acoustics and all. And I’m so grateful for the team that’s working even now to make it meaningful.

The Father’s Day services at my church this weekend proved that you don’t have to spend a lot of money to create engaging worship experiences.

I am blessed to attend a dynamic, creative, fun, wealthy megachurch in south Orange County—but the Father’s Day worship services were meaningful because of the adjectives dynamic, creative, and fun—not the adjectives wealthy or “mega.” I love that while our leadership takes Jesus seriously, takes the Great Commission seriously, and takes faith seriously, they don’t take themselves seriously. The combination consistently creates an atmosphere of authenticity, informality and family.

Many churches do the “which father has traveled the farthest to be here” routine, and I cringed when the service headed that direction after several minutes of high energy music (including the ESPN theme song to kick off the service!). But true to form, a few of our associate pastors added enough uniqueness to make this trite idea seem like new. Half a dozen La-Z-Boy recliners and overstuffed sofas sat along the perimeter of the floor seats, and the guys who won the “newest father” or “most involved father” titles got to spend the rest of the service reclining in these comfy seats. Jeff and Bruce kept it moving (very important with this kind of thing) and prompted laughs with their creative emceeing. The newest father—a dad for just under three months—received a pillow and blanket and permission to nap in his recliner during the service; after identifying the most involved dad in the 3,000 seat auditorium as one who participated in “only” three of his kids’ activities, Jeff handed him a copy of How to Say No and remarked, “Apparently most of the dads here have read this already.”

The service continued with our worship minister sharing a story about his dad’s love and forgiveness. At the end of the story, he invited dad and the other three members of dad’s Southern Gospel quartet to share a song or two. It was done with excellence, of course, or it wouldn’t have made the stage, but the musical skill became secondary to the enjoyment of praising God together—especially when four of our worship ministry staff joined the quartet for a rollicking finale. (I couldn’t help thinking that for all of our focus on postmodern, “contemporary” worship, it’s funny how people always go crazy for this kind of thing.)

The sermon brought things back to a more serious place, but I noticed the same focus on the church-as-community. One of the most meaningful moments I’ve experienced at church in some time came when the minister talked about how God provides for us as a heavenly father. He commended fathers for honoring God by faithfully providing for their own families, and a short video showed children and adults of all ages thanking their dads. Finally, he asked all the fathers and grandfathers to stand, and the congregation erupted in several minutes of applause, whistles, and cheers—a simple thank you for the dads and husbands who work so hard. When we finally stopped our applause, the minister led us in a prayer of blessing for all the men standing.

Your church’s worship minister may not have a dad who travels with a gospel quartet, but I bet someone in your congregation could share a meaningful story of how her dad demonstrated God’s grace during a difficult time. You may not have a laugh-out-loud-funny associate to “work the crowd” on Sunday morning or a volunteer to deliver recliners on Saturday afternoon, but you could create your own way to “un-cliché” the usual traditions. You definitely could clap for your dads, pray for your dads, and thank your dads.

These ideas had little to do with the location or size of my church, and everything to do with thinking about ministry, about overly-familiar Hallmark holidays, and about church in creative ways. We don’t have great weekend services like this because we’re a big church—we’re a big church because we have great weekend services like this, and our community responds.