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Liturgy: the same old stuff

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I love liturgy. There are many reasons for that: traditional liturgy is the result of centuries of selection and, consequently, it tends to be distilled, concentrated words of worship which ease our prayer. Traditional liturgy is also the expression of church unity worldwide and across centuries. Picture billions of people saying Amen, together, to the same words: that is what liturgy allows.

Tried and tested. Ecumenical. Exciting. Fresh.

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Photo: Richard Gilin, re-used under CC License

Hang on – fresh? Never mind the quaint archaisms, the thous and the thees from 1662, how can something – anything – be fresh if it is repeated week after week after week? Surely after so long we go into some form of routine and stop feeling and hearing the power of the words we are uttering.

This is true, of course. Routine does come in. It is especially true if the exact same order of service is used, week in, week out. What I find, sometimes, is that the collect – the dedicated section of the service that changes every week, albeit to the same text every year – is the part of the service where I am most likely to tune out; despite my best efforts.

So, yes, there is a routine. So much so that I can be slightly annoyed at the absence of the prayer of humble access. But this routine, rather than stopping me from engaging, actually is what allows me to engage with the words I am saying on a deeper level. A slight emphasis change, and a whole new meaning of what I have said becomes clear. Start stressing “For us” in the Creed – you’ll see.

Routine can be beneficial to worship: it structures the service, and within the service, it focuses the prayer. But for that to happen, two conditions must be met:

  • liturgy must be alive. It must be clear that the leader is not simply reading those words, but proclaiming them. Now, unless you’re presiding over services, you may think there isn’t much you can do about that – but you’re wrong! Prayer is never passive; and it is rare for corporate prayer to be merely the sum of individual prayers. When you pray with conviction and passion, you will have an influence over those near you, and, gradually, remind the leader of the power of the words he or she is proclaiming. And if that fails, you can always have a chat with your worship leader.
  • you must not expect change, but be open to it. Expecting new stuff is not only setting yourself up for disappointment, it also means that you’ll be seeking out those tiny differences, at the expense of the wealth that you already know. But if you are closed to change; that is to say, if you think from the start that you know what you’re saying (and how you’ll react to it) backwards, then you won’t engage with it at all.

And like most things, getting to these stages takes some time: time to get familiar enough with the liturgy that you can navigate it to experience those changes and realise how exciting and alive it is. So give it some time, and know that liturgy will come alive.

A bit like Scripture, really.

When they don’t get it

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I’m studying education. I know there is a world of difference between what is to be taught (the curriculum, of sorts), what is taught (what you think you’re saying) and what is learnt (what people  keep from it).

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Photo: zimpenfish, reused under CC license

From what I hear, the discrepancy between the latter two is something that preachers experience. A lot. The stories of people going up to the preacher telling them: “I loved that part about how we should not tithe if we don’t feel like it. God loves a cheerful giver indeed”, when the sermon was explaining why we should be cheerful about giving. Or “I  loved how you explained how Catholics are heretics”, when you were actually trying to explain they weren’t.

These discrepancies are often frustrating. As pastors, teachers of sorts, we have a responsibility to make sure that we communicate efficiently, and a responsibility to ensure that what we are trying to say is heard. When that doesn’t happen, we may feel like we have failed. But that view is one I wish to challenge, because it puts the preacher as the sole mediator of the Word: it suggests that everything that the congregation will hear will need to have been pre-digested by the leadership team.

Last Sunday, someone came to me to talk about my sermon from the week before, telling me about how it connected with his experience and that he felt that the person in the pulpit was actually understanding how they were feeling. “Great!”, I thought, a bit full of myself. And then he went on to describe the specifics of his situation, which was as far removed as what I had in mind when writing the sermon as possible! I was talking about fear of the unknown, he was talking about repeated stress.

Should I take this as a sign that my sermon was a failure? Quite the opposite. I take it as a positive sign: a sign that my sermon was aligned with the Word enough that it could just gently guide people to and through the passage, but crucially, that it was the passage that did all the work. The Bible is greater than all of us. That’s why we read it more than just the once, and that’s why we connect to it in different ways; and, for preachers, that’s why we shouldn’t aim to possess it, or to box it in.

To put it in a different way, it is the gap between Scripture and the congregation’s lives that needs to be closed; in priority over the gap between the preacher and the congregation. The gap between what is to be taught and what is learnt; in priority over the gap between what is taught and what is learnt. Of course, the two often work together; but if someone in the congregation is brought closer to the Word through a different path than us, let us still rejoice over it rather than try to bring them back to our way! As long, of course, as they do connect with the ultimate Truth (which may not be the case in the examples given at the start…)

And it feels great! Because through that, we are reminded that, on the one hand, the transformative or exhortative power does not come from us, so that we as preachers may feel anxious about nothing; and that on the other hand, what we’re saying matters and connects with people!

What’s your experience of people not getting it?

10 myths about the Bible

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The Bible is, together with prayer, the way to learn about God and connect with Him. But its role is sometimes misunderstood. Here’s a short list of things I’ve heard about the Bible which quite frankly upset me – some because I think they don’t do justice to the Bible; others because I think they stop people from accessing it.

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1. The Bible is just a reference book. One that we might look at if we want to decide whether getting a tattoo is wrong, or to find out about the life of Christ. If that’s the only way in which the Bible were to be read – simply as an authority – then a rulebook might have served better. Talking of which: isn’t that the Old Covenant approach? The Bible is the living word of God. It inspires us, it teaches us, it moves us and, essentially, transforms us.

2. There’s only one way to read the Bible. Of course not! There’s many ways to read the Bible. I’m not talking here about literal vs figurative interpretation; nor about how to take the cultural context into account. These debates are important, yes – but better left to others; and taking sides in this debate, to me, feels like turning the Bible into just a reference book. What I’m talking about is ways to let the Bible transform you. And for that, there’s plenty of ways. Tease out the general meaning of a passage – its direction, its structure, its rhythm; when it’s a story, identify with different persons in turn (yes, including Jesus) and feel what they’re feeling; etc. etc.

3. The Bible is boring. If you really think that, you haven’t read the whole Bible. Seriously, there’s bits of 2 Chronicles which are far more gripping, even from a storytelling perspective alone, than Game of Thrones’s most gripping. And these bits aren’t an exception – most of the Bible is just as gripping.

4. The Bible is exciting throughout; this myth can be followed with: “and if you don’t agree, you’re missing the point of whatever you don’t find exciting.” I personally don’t find the whole Bible exciting. Sometimes, it’s a drag because it’s boring. Sometimes it’s a drag because it’s depressing. Seriously, though, if you manage to get the first ten chapters of 1 Chronicles to look as exciting as John 15, then (a) you really have a heart for genealogies and (b) please share that excitement with us in the comments. Yes, most, if not all the Bible, points to Christ and is exciting for that reason. But just like any other book, there are bits that are a drag to read.

5. Bible verses can be used as ammunition to shut down an argument. This myth is also known as “Cos the Bible says so”, a phrase which has become one of my pet hates. If the Bible is the living word, then let’s treat it as such. Imagine you have an argument about the theory of relativity, and somehow you have Einstein or Eddington at your disposal. Do you simply get them to come and stand behind you, or do you let them speak? The Bible, as the living word, opens up conversations – it does NOT shut them down.

6. Reading the Bible is an easy habit to take on. This is not true. Like I said before, it can be a drag. And if on top of that, you live in an environment that only considers the reference book aspects of the Bible, you lack the motivation to do so – after all, not many people just take up a textbook regularly. Being reminded that it is a book that transforms us is far, far better a motivation to read it! But there are ways to help: I personally find reading plans extremely helpful; but I also find that once I have the dynamic going, it’s a pleasure. And yes, sometimes I lose that dynamic and it’s a drag again to get back into it. I’ll admit – I’m currently about a week behind on my plan and it’s not the easiest to get back into the daily reading habit.

7. If you don’t have a reading plan, you’ll burn in hell. Also known as “read your Bible every day or perish”. Folks, don’t read the Bible out of a sense of ought-ness, that’ll get you nowhere. Get started out of a sense of ought-ness, maybe – because otherwise you might never start. But don’t let that be your sole motivation:

8. Only the KJV is valid for reproof, teaching etc. Yes, some people do believe that. I remember reading on a forum a while back someone claiming that Hallelujah was an English word that had been stolen by the Hebraic language. So, to clarify: the KJV is not the original text. It’s not even the earliest English-language version! Yes, I’m being flippant here; but have you ever looked down on others for the translation they use? Why would “KJV+NIV+ESV+NRSV” be the only valid set of translations?

9. Protestants know the Bible off by heart. We don’t. We know some verses, but definitely not all of them.

10. Catholics don’t read their Bible. Seriously, I’ve heard that a few times, and it annoys me to no end; so let’s make it clear: Catholics read their Bible just as much as Protestants do. And kudos to them for that – after all, they do have more to read ;-)

Some slippery boots

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boots

Photo in the public domain, original on Pixabay

I love my boots. I’ve had them for ages: I remember wearing them in high school, so that’s at the very least 10 years ago (and yes, they still fit). For some reason, I forgot about them for a while, and rediscovered them a couple of years back. I use them when I need some warmth around my feet: canvas shoes just don’t cut it in the snow and rain. Which is pretty much all year round in Britain.

I have “broken into” them, that is, they are now shaped nearly perfectly to my foot. They are highly comfortable, and still waterproof, even though they look tattered. A bit of polish wouldn’t hurt, but I’ve never cared about looks that much.

The outer sole has lost a fair amount of its thickness, but still has a good inch on the heel (how thick they were to start off with, I have no clue, but it sure is impressive). The issue is, the tread has been worn through. The outer soles are now virtually smooth. To the point of being slippery over zebra crossings when it’s been raining. So imagine what it’s like with the recent snow and icy patches… (I only fell once!)

I am now convinced I need to go and see a cobbler (such a cool word) and try and get some new soles on them. And maybe give them a good polish all round, and new laces and everything.
Yet part of me is reluctant to do so:

  • reluctant to recognise that some form of change is needed. This is harder to do than just going to buy new shoes, because I could always choose that I don’t like my new shoes and go back to my old, tattered boots.
  • reluctant to recognise that that change will come from the outside. I will not have complete control over the type of sole, although I can be involved in the process (choosing, for instance, the pricier or cheaper option)
  • reluctant, ultimately, because even if it’s only the sole that gets changed, I will still have to break into it (the wearing off of the sole is irregular, there’s much more left on the inside). I will temporarily lose some comfort.

As you’re reading this, you are probably wondering where I’m going with this: no mention of the Bible, no mention of leadership, no mention of anything remotely Christian, and not one single mention of tea. The presence of “slipper” in the title should not really be enough to warrant being on here, either.

I could spell out the ways in which I think we sometimes have a similar experience in various aspects of our lives. I’m thinking particularly about Bible reading and theological hobby-horses because I feel, personally, that they are the areas that this attitude is the most dangerous, and the fall that follows the slip there is the most hurtful.

But I also think that this is the kind of experience that is extremely personal, and that it affects us all in quite different areas. So what I suggest, this once, is that you go back over this little story and think on all the details, how they might transfer to your own experience. Are there any areas where you got a little too comfortable? As far as the two areas I mentioned above are concerned, this should be transparent enough. And please, please share any insight.

I will highlight a few elements, by way of conclusion.

  • breaking into my boots was a good thing. Comfort was a good thing – until it left me hanging on to dangerous things. Intrinsically, there’s nothing wrong with looking for comfort!
  • my shoes were looking tattered. People could see that they were well worn, and (not in a mean way) someone had mentioned it. Looks sometimes betray a deeper problem – opening up to scrutiny could have helped before the snow fell.
  • the boots were completely safe, and still waterproof, as long as there was no icy patch.
  • I don’t have to replace all the boots – just the sole. Don’t throw out the baby with the bath water!

Get your inheritance

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Callings can be daunting, regardless of how difficult or easy they seem to fulfil.

Fear has a role to play: a feeling of not being capable of doing what seems to be expected of us. A feeling of unworthiness or inadequacy can also stop us in our tracks. At the root of these two lies, fundamentally, a misconception that we have to do it alone. Seen like that, the seeming humility turns into pride; and it is the same pride that leads us to stall, to refuse the callings.

In reluctantly answering our callings, we miss out, because we take on an attitude of spiritual procrastination – and end up not receiving the prize because we do not claim it. The same goes for our gifts – we often shy away from putting them to use and from reaping the rewards from God.

“How long will you put off going in to take possession of the land, which the Lord, the God of your fathers, has given you?” (Joshua 18:3, ESV)

Of course, our inheritance is more than simply the specific gifts we may have. As Christians, we enjoy the freedom from the shackles of sin and the peace of God. But our inheritance also includes these spiritual gifts, and we need to take possession of them.

What are your gifts? Which spiritual lands have been given you as an inheritance? And how are you working that fertile ground?