This week I went to a United Methodist church in a small town adjacent to the city I live in. This was mostly because my roommate informed me the night before that his father was guest-preaching there. I like my roommate's father for multiple reasons, but prime among them is that he is a Medievalist and he looks like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof. He also tends to be a rather engaging card player, and he drinks rum. Basically the best of all worlds.
Anyway, without tracing through the path of my roommate's father, there are roots in Southern Baptist, Roman Catholic, and now, apparently, United Methodist traditions.
I seized upon the opportunity to go to a Methodist service. Being brought in the south and in a Baptist church, Methodists always seemed to be cast as our beer drinkin' brethren. The joke is tired, but I'll rehash.
Q: What's the difference between a Baptist and a Methodist?
A: The Methodist will say "hello" to you in the liquor store.
Now that I've been to services of both, I have to disagree. Methodist services are strongly reflective of their history. Brief rundown looks like this: Catholic->Anglican->Methodist. It's actually a very interesting story. The Methodist church was a part of the revivals being held in fields etc. and it was a part of the Anglican church for a good while before they finally split.
When we arrived at the church, we were a minute or two late, and we nonchalantly sneaked up the side aisle between the announcements and the actual beginning of the service. Squeezing into a pew near the front, I was suddenly struck by the similarity of the church to the one in which I grew up. Certainly there were two lecterns instead of one, and sure, they were on the sides as opposed to the central pulpit of my youth, but the general air in the church was much the same as my old Baptist childhood church. Too many wood tones. A general feeling of the 1970s through which I did not live. Community that is none too open to change, and an appreciation of that very quality. Status quo, born and died.
A small procession happened, and the woman who was presiding came down the aisle with my friend's father, and a little girl lit the candles on the platform. There were a couple of lectionaries and a gospel reading (though there was no pomp surrounding it-- the reader didn't even bring the Bible to the middle of the people!). A few songs that were familiar were interspersed, and we had a responsive reading from a projection on the front wall of the apse. My friend's father mounted the lectern and delivered a sermon that is hard to qualify as United Methodist, per se. He took one of the readings, the passage from the Old Testament that deals with the balm in Gilead.
He discussed how there is a plaintive, sad air to the question, because there seems to be no balm in Gilead. He related it back to the needs of our contemporary culture... he mentioned health care or the lack thereof. He talked about the people who are marginalized and the ones who are unable to make life work. Then he turned attention to the true balm in Gilead. He pointed the attention of the congregants to the sacrament of holy communion. He segued beautifully into how we do have a balm. We can come to the open table of the Methodists and receive our healing through the bread and the cup. I personally though the sermon was lovely and not at all what I might have expected from a small, country church. Then again, around here, you are as likely as not to find Ph.D's doing plumbing and playing in bluegrass bands as you are to find them in offices and libraries and classrooms. College town.
Next in the service, the woman who was the celebrant blessed the bread (unleavened circular loaf) and the cup (grape juice in a chalice and in the tiny plastic cups I like to call Baptist shots). The congregants moved single file starting in the back of the church and received their communion. There was an individual blessing given to each person as he or she got the communion, and he or she responded with "amen." I was last, which was kind of awkward, since it was my first time. I took the elements and knelt to pray for a moment and to reflect. Then I crossed myself and went back to my place.
In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have crossed myself in a Methodist church, but it has become habit in that kind of environment to do so. No one said anything about it, of course, but it was glaring weird halfway through. Father and Son and... mistake... but you can't stop now... Holy Ghost. Reverently skitter back to the pew.
A few things that I'm noticing so far:
-Liturgy begets diversity of opinion. The more liturgical a church is, the more people are able to interpret the liturgy and its meaning.
-Architecture is an indicator of importance. Dual lecterns indicates that maybe the celebrant isn't the main event. Single lectern indicates that what's being said is the "meat" of the service. Also, kneelers in the pews mean that it's time for Jesus-y step class.
-Similarities are by and large more important that differences so far.
T
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Remember Tony Alamo
I cannot remember a time before Tony Alamo. This gentleman is a self-proclaimed "World Pastor" who preaches a brand of Evangelical Christianity that I don't pretend to fully understand. However, his big compound a few miles from my childhood home made him always in the periphery of my consciousness. There were all sorts of allegations about polygamy and child molestation that circulated. I have no idea if those allegations are true. In recent years, I recall, Alamo was arrested and tried for child molestation and perhaps child pornography. The feds got involved. My hometown was a circus.
I say all of that to say that it is nearly impossible for me to complete this assignment without realizing that I have some really, really deep biases against people I snap-judge as crackpots. Tony Alamo would be one of those people.
Last week, a friend received a Tony Alamo Christian Ministries World Newsletter on the windshield of his car while parked at a local Wal-Mart in the town where I live now. The compound and the child brides and the circus are well out of sight, but they linger in my mind. So I took a look at the pamphlet. I tried. I really did.
I read through the main article, "Eternal Life" by Alamo himself. It lays out what I would consider a fairly traditional Evangelical plan of salvation by placing one's faith in Christ and receiving forgiveness for sin by grace.
The idea, in case you did not grow up in a similar tradition, is that Jesus Christ is the one and only incarnation of God, the YHWH, or LORD of the Old Testament. Jesus was miraculously conceived by the virgin Mary through a work of the Holy Spirit (the other part of the Trinity, though we're not going there today), and then Jesus lived a sinless life. He was betrayed by one of his apostles, Judas, and he was crucified unjustly. In the process, though, Jesus took on the sins of the entire human race. He went through hell and then was resurrected three days later. Then, after a month on earth, he ascended into heaven. This process of sinless death, burial, and resurrection, makes him a perfect sacrificial substitute for the atonement for the sins of humanity. If we truly believe and ask him to forgive us, then Jesus will remove our sins and cover us with his grace. If we do this, then we can have eternal life in heaven with God. (And if we don't, we go to hell and suffer in anguish apart from God for eternity.)
So, anyway, Alamo basically follows this regular route, except for one difference in what I have found to be the orthodox Evangelical understanding. Alamo claims that if one accepts Jesus and is saved, then Jesus will transform the heart of the person, and he or she will never sin again. This sinlessness is an act of faithfulness and a show of gratitude for the gift of salvation.
I found the article to be convoluted and all but incomprehensible, though. Alamo pulls from diverse parts of the Bible and sews them together in a way that stories are stripped of their richness and made ugly as parts of an absolute, literal understanding that is zany at best. Things that could be literal are inverted into symbolic, and symbolic elements are made concrete.
For example:
Alamo continues for a couple more verses in this chapter in the same way. If that makes real sense to you, more power to you. I had to read through it a couple of times to understand where he was trying to go, and then I didn't really like where it went. I will say that I appreciate that Alamo seems to know his Bible verses. I don't really understand how he cobbles them together out of context, but I like that the Bible is a focus. But go back and actually read Hebrews 9. It has an argument all its own that didn't need Alamo's explanation. In fact, it is an elegant argument that stands on its own.
In the same article, Alamo writes a prayer for someone to pray if they believe what they have read about the plan of salvation. Then, there is a list of four other things to do in order to receive salvation. I won't pretend to understand what "resurrection from the satanic life of Adam unto the sinless life of Christ" means in any literal sense, but apparently it is necessary for salvation. Once one has done all five steps, he or she is saved.
Alamo's closing salutation is followed by what I consider to be the nail in his coffin on my personal spiritual quest. "Someone" has added in italics at the end of the article "Tony Alamo is probably the greatest patriot this country has ever known."
Unlikely. And irrelevant. Just like the rest of the article.
T
I say all of that to say that it is nearly impossible for me to complete this assignment without realizing that I have some really, really deep biases against people I snap-judge as crackpots. Tony Alamo would be one of those people.
Last week, a friend received a Tony Alamo Christian Ministries World Newsletter on the windshield of his car while parked at a local Wal-Mart in the town where I live now. The compound and the child brides and the circus are well out of sight, but they linger in my mind. So I took a look at the pamphlet. I tried. I really did.
I read through the main article, "Eternal Life" by Alamo himself. It lays out what I would consider a fairly traditional Evangelical plan of salvation by placing one's faith in Christ and receiving forgiveness for sin by grace.
The idea, in case you did not grow up in a similar tradition, is that Jesus Christ is the one and only incarnation of God, the YHWH, or LORD of the Old Testament. Jesus was miraculously conceived by the virgin Mary through a work of the Holy Spirit (the other part of the Trinity, though we're not going there today), and then Jesus lived a sinless life. He was betrayed by one of his apostles, Judas, and he was crucified unjustly. In the process, though, Jesus took on the sins of the entire human race. He went through hell and then was resurrected three days later. Then, after a month on earth, he ascended into heaven. This process of sinless death, burial, and resurrection, makes him a perfect sacrificial substitute for the atonement for the sins of humanity. If we truly believe and ask him to forgive us, then Jesus will remove our sins and cover us with his grace. If we do this, then we can have eternal life in heaven with God. (And if we don't, we go to hell and suffer in anguish apart from God for eternity.)
So, anyway, Alamo basically follows this regular route, except for one difference in what I have found to be the orthodox Evangelical understanding. Alamo claims that if one accepts Jesus and is saved, then Jesus will transform the heart of the person, and he or she will never sin again. This sinlessness is an act of faithfulness and a show of gratitude for the gift of salvation.
I found the article to be convoluted and all but incomprehensible, though. Alamo pulls from diverse parts of the Bible and sews them together in a way that stories are stripped of their richness and made ugly as parts of an absolute, literal understanding that is zany at best. Things that could be literal are inverted into symbolic, and symbolic elements are made concrete.
For example:
Hebrews 9:1 says, "Then verily the first covenant [which is done away with] had also ordinances of divine service, and a worldly sanctuary [built by men, not the Spirit of God]. For there was a tabernacle made; the first, wherein was a candlestick [symbolic of the church of God, the Lord who is the Word, the Light of the World], and the table, and the shewbread [symbolic of Christ, the Word of God, the Bread of Life, and the whole Word of God, like a table of power, strength, and joy which we eat in the presence of our enemies. 'Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies' (Psa. 23:5) keeping me spiritually nourished and with joy during all persecutions, trials, and tribulations. It is spiritual food for those of us who believe.]; which is called the sanctuary [for our souls]" (Heb. 9:1-2).
Alamo continues for a couple more verses in this chapter in the same way. If that makes real sense to you, more power to you. I had to read through it a couple of times to understand where he was trying to go, and then I didn't really like where it went. I will say that I appreciate that Alamo seems to know his Bible verses. I don't really understand how he cobbles them together out of context, but I like that the Bible is a focus. But go back and actually read Hebrews 9. It has an argument all its own that didn't need Alamo's explanation. In fact, it is an elegant argument that stands on its own.
In the same article, Alamo writes a prayer for someone to pray if they believe what they have read about the plan of salvation. Then, there is a list of four other things to do in order to receive salvation. I won't pretend to understand what "resurrection from the satanic life of Adam unto the sinless life of Christ" means in any literal sense, but apparently it is necessary for salvation. Once one has done all five steps, he or she is saved.
Alamo's closing salutation is followed by what I consider to be the nail in his coffin on my personal spiritual quest. "Someone" has added in italics at the end of the article "Tony Alamo is probably the greatest patriot this country has ever known."
Unlikely. And irrelevant. Just like the rest of the article.
T
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Start from the start
I went home for my mother's birthday weekend this past weekend. And thus I began the experiential bits of my so-called pilgrimage to God-knows-where. I returned to my hometown, the house I grew up in, and that same Baptist church that I knew for so many years as a home away from home.
At this point in my life, my parents have surrendered their half of the battle to make me go to a Sunday school class before morning worship. This is a thankful reprieve found in the wake of countless similar visits and awkward hours spent in small church classrooms with people I don't know well and smiles that say "I'll never tell" shooting around the table. I do not blame any such pretense on the religious leanings of the people around such a table. Rather, I find that it is human nature to hold one's cards close to the chest, at least until trust is built and the fear of judgment diminished.
Nevertheless, I found myself slipping into the foyer of the church and discreetly up the side aisle to my mother's spot on the right-hand side of the sanctuary. I found her big, blue, nylon zippered study Bible on the itchy pews from the 1970's. I plopped down and made the requisite greetings to the people in my vicinity. Mom came and sat next to me for a moment before shuffling off to the choir loft.
A prelude played and then the pastor, a man in his late 50's or early 60's, mounted the platform and welcomed those congregated to the service. He asked that everyone tear out an information card from their handout, and that new visitors would put it in the offering plate when it was passed later in the service.
Next, a middle-aged man in khakis and a polo shirt got up and led the choir, musicians, and congregation in a series of hymns and more modern praise songs. The theme of the music seemed to be the blood of Jesus and the grace that it imparts to sinners, and how that is what brings us to God. The music itself was nothing out of the ordinary. A piano, an organ, and an electronic keyboard played along as the lyrics were projected onto a screen above the baptistery. However, the joining of voices was transcendent in a plaintive, beautiful, hopeful, conflicted but joyous celebration of God and the possibility of a paradise beyond this world.
In singing, my heart rose, and my voice melded with the others in the sanctuary. A tingle ran across my skin as I was swept up into the emotion and the true belief of the people there. It was such a beautiful moment. I could have gone on singing with these people, my people, the ones from my childhood and my formation. The music ended, though, and mom came down from the choir in as unobtrusive a way as she could. Normally, I assume, she would stay in her spot, but with my presence she had an excuse to come down and sit next to me. It was nice to be next to my mother in the house of worship we'd shared for many years.
The pastor went to the pulpit again and began his sermon. The subject this particular Sunday morning was the nature of faith. What a perfect start to my own escapades in what there is beyond myself. His scripture reference was from the eleventh chapter of Hebrews. This is one of the more famous texts from non-Gospel New Testament. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen..." The pastor went ahead and expounded on what faith is and is not, how it isn't a blind leap or an ignorant wandering into what we don't know, but a trusting movement into what God has promised. Without my notes at hand, I cannot be too specific (they got lost between here and there, as I drove with a hyper-active puppy and no air conditioning for a few hours on the interstate). But I remember thinking about the claims of exclusivity and supremacy of Christ. I remember why that makes total sense in this context, but why it is hard for me to swallow. It seems unfair to the world at large. Not to mention the problems of determination and free will and the God who cannot do both.
It was odd for me to sit there and think about the way that I had been so enveloped in the passion and love of the music and then became oddly uncomfortable as soon as the doctrine supposedly espoused in those same songs was made more plain in the explication of the pastor. I guess that is the point from which my journey germinates. There is conflict in this beauty. There is despair in my hope. And there is, and always will be, contrast in the grand design.
T
At this point in my life, my parents have surrendered their half of the battle to make me go to a Sunday school class before morning worship. This is a thankful reprieve found in the wake of countless similar visits and awkward hours spent in small church classrooms with people I don't know well and smiles that say "I'll never tell" shooting around the table. I do not blame any such pretense on the religious leanings of the people around such a table. Rather, I find that it is human nature to hold one's cards close to the chest, at least until trust is built and the fear of judgment diminished.
Nevertheless, I found myself slipping into the foyer of the church and discreetly up the side aisle to my mother's spot on the right-hand side of the sanctuary. I found her big, blue, nylon zippered study Bible on the itchy pews from the 1970's. I plopped down and made the requisite greetings to the people in my vicinity. Mom came and sat next to me for a moment before shuffling off to the choir loft.
A prelude played and then the pastor, a man in his late 50's or early 60's, mounted the platform and welcomed those congregated to the service. He asked that everyone tear out an information card from their handout, and that new visitors would put it in the offering plate when it was passed later in the service.
Next, a middle-aged man in khakis and a polo shirt got up and led the choir, musicians, and congregation in a series of hymns and more modern praise songs. The theme of the music seemed to be the blood of Jesus and the grace that it imparts to sinners, and how that is what brings us to God. The music itself was nothing out of the ordinary. A piano, an organ, and an electronic keyboard played along as the lyrics were projected onto a screen above the baptistery. However, the joining of voices was transcendent in a plaintive, beautiful, hopeful, conflicted but joyous celebration of God and the possibility of a paradise beyond this world.
In singing, my heart rose, and my voice melded with the others in the sanctuary. A tingle ran across my skin as I was swept up into the emotion and the true belief of the people there. It was such a beautiful moment. I could have gone on singing with these people, my people, the ones from my childhood and my formation. The music ended, though, and mom came down from the choir in as unobtrusive a way as she could. Normally, I assume, she would stay in her spot, but with my presence she had an excuse to come down and sit next to me. It was nice to be next to my mother in the house of worship we'd shared for many years.
The pastor went to the pulpit again and began his sermon. The subject this particular Sunday morning was the nature of faith. What a perfect start to my own escapades in what there is beyond myself. His scripture reference was from the eleventh chapter of Hebrews. This is one of the more famous texts from non-Gospel New Testament. "Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen..." The pastor went ahead and expounded on what faith is and is not, how it isn't a blind leap or an ignorant wandering into what we don't know, but a trusting movement into what God has promised. Without my notes at hand, I cannot be too specific (they got lost between here and there, as I drove with a hyper-active puppy and no air conditioning for a few hours on the interstate). But I remember thinking about the claims of exclusivity and supremacy of Christ. I remember why that makes total sense in this context, but why it is hard for me to swallow. It seems unfair to the world at large. Not to mention the problems of determination and free will and the God who cannot do both.
It was odd for me to sit there and think about the way that I had been so enveloped in the passion and love of the music and then became oddly uncomfortable as soon as the doctrine supposedly espoused in those same songs was made more plain in the explication of the pastor. I guess that is the point from which my journey germinates. There is conflict in this beauty. There is despair in my hope. And there is, and always will be, contrast in the grand design.
T
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