Misunderstanding God

April 30, 2013 in Commentary, Leadership, Worship with 1 Comment

kidworshipHow many times do we hear of a church family struggling in their community of faith because of differences of opinion over worship styles? Most churches will, at some point in their church life, be confronted with conflict regarding ‘appropriate worship’ for their congregation. And if not their own congregation, many in churches will pass judgment on the chosen worship style of other congregations, regardless of the authenticity in style or content of their worship. And by far, the arguments are aimed specifically at music.

A generation ago, many denominations (including mine) were deeply involved in what has been called “Worship Wars”.  Books were written, conferences scheduled, consultancies formed, and ministry positions won and lost because of these so-called “wars”. I have read more than a dozen books on the rise and fall of the ‘worship wars’, and even outlined a few of my own to write someday. But as I continue to grow up in Christ, I continue to learn new ideas, to be exposed to biblical thought I have not yet seen….

It is my belief that worship style or music is not really the root of the disagreement regarding worship; the true root cause of disagreement in worship is found in our understanding- or lack of understanding- of our Loving and Just God.

I just completed a study session with friends from my church I called Worship 101.  For 9 weeks, we talked about biblical worship; we heard from our Pastor and Minister of Worship regarding their philosophies and how they plan for worship.  We studied worship posture, worship aids, silence, scripture, just about every way a local congregation can unite in worship. We wrote hymns, psalms, and spiritual songs for use in worship. And in all this, one singular truth clawed its way to the top of every other truth:

What we believe about worship isn’t really about what we believe about worship as much as it is what we believe about God. Let me say it another way: What we believe about worship reveals what we believe (or don’t believe) about God.

Churches and individuals fail at achieving liberty in worship because we somehow believe that God prefers one particular style or worship behavior over another; or that one style of congregational worship is somehow more acceptable or appropriate than another. Churches often brand themselves by the style of music used on worship, as if one style is preferred by God and their style makes them more Godly. Don’t fool yourselves, friends. The worship wars still exist, but are generally limited to the back hallway and classrooms of our churches. Time to get the conversation back into the open!

How can we define what God likes? God designed and created mosquitos, skunks, tarantulas. He also created roses, the coffee bean, and my sweet wife. I am learning that God loves us so much and that His capacity of understanding the tiny efforts of humankind so vastly overshadow our capacity to please Him that style the worship is offered is actually neutral. The music means nothing, because music is morally and spiritually neutral. The primary consideration is the condition of our hearts when we offer our worship (Psalm 24: 3,4). I am learning to understand that the best, highest-quality music, complete with accurate pitch, rhythm, phrasing, lyric, harmony, and melody performed by a dirty, hardened heart has no value and is not worth the time devoted to performing it. On the other hand, a well-rehearsed, heartfelt song offered in humility and gratefulness with shotgun pitches and mis-pronounced words will be accepted as a sweet aroma of worship to God. Remember, God looks on the inside; only the pride of man looks on the outside appearance (and sound!), leading to condemnation and judgment. And if God does not condemn it, what does our condemnation accomplish but to drive a wedge in our relationship with God?

As you journey with Christ, I challenge you- I dare you- before you go to a worship service, commit yourself to look Jesus square in the face. Study Jesus’ teachings on loving one another, loving God. Be reminded how God loved you so much that He would allow His own Son to die to pay the penalty for your behavior. Read in I John where we are taught that God loves us first, before we can ever love Him. Discover at the end of the 23rd Psalm that God’s goodness and faithful love will pursue you for all your days.

Boldly commit to see your world, your church, your worship through the eyes and truth of God’s enduring love…

Now tell me which is more appropriate for worshipping a powerful God: A Mighty Fortress? or Since I Have Been Redeemed? or How Great is Our God?….

In light of the breadth and depth and power of God’s love- all are appropriate. We should all be mature enough to find ourselves worshipping in all those styles, and more… even if we don’t care for the music. After all, it isn’t about the music, and it isn’t about you… is it?

 

We all have preferences in worship. Those preferences assist us in offering worship to God, but don’t necessarily assist God in being worshipped. How can we learn to experience the presence of God in situations using music or styles with which we can’t (or don’t) relate?

Weathering the Storm (repost)

April 25, 2013 in Life, Worship with 3 Comments

I have been blessed (in the deepest sense of the word) to have travelled to Israel and visit some historical Biblical sites. I recently travelled with a few hundred men and women to Israel and Armenia on a concert tour.

I took this photo at the Sea of Galilee, in northern Israel. Caparnaum is to the left, Tiberius to the right. The view is simply beautiful.
I wonder what the Sea of Galilee looked like to the disciples the night of the great storm.  You remember the story- the storm raged, the disciples feared for their lives- when they caught a glimpse of Jesus walking on the water.  The sea must have been extremely rough, the wind heaving their boats dangerously from side to side.  It must have been crazy strong to distract them from recognizing Jesus.  Or, it could have been the fact that Jesus was walking on the surface of the water even in the storm- they were convinced He was a ghost!  Or, it could have been their fear that prevented them from recognizing the Savior they loved and served…
When your storms rage, you can be sure that Jesus is there.  He may not appear like you hope He will or when you think is best.  Don’t let your circumstances- or the fear they bring- prevent you from seeing Jesus… He is there.  He is here.

An Ode to Daylight Savings Time (or the end of it)

March 9, 2013 in Life, Stories with 4 Comments

Tonight, we lose an hour of sleep.  Big deal.

The government suggested, at the behest of ol’ Ben Franklin, that if we adjusted the time on our clocks and watches a couple of times a year, we’d end up with more daylight than we would if we didn’t. OK, nbd.  I get it.

But why make the official change at the horrible hour 2:00 AM, in the middle of the night? Why not-at midnight- just skip to 1:00 AM?  Better yet, at 10:00 PM the night before, just skip ahead to 11:00?  Doesn’t that make losing an hour easier to live with?

A few years ago, I had a crazy experience with this whole Spring forward deal.  Hasn’t happened since, but it was a few days before it got funny.

I have penned a little ditty as a Daylight Savings warning:

 

“It’s here again- that awful time
When we must lose some sleep;

Yes, I completely understand,
My friend-no need to weep!

For we must move our clocks ahead
One hour at 2:00 AM

To reconcile the hour we stole
To satisfy a whim…

The whole commotion started out
When dear old Franklin, Ben

Suggested we’d be better off
To change the clock again;

In wintertime the sun demands
To set mid-afternoon,

And workmen sometimes don’t get home
‘Till after the full moon.

So Ben devised a clever plan
To trade one hour a year

To give us extra sunlight
During winter, dark and drear.

To take an extra hour
In the fall is no big deal,

To give that extra hour back
In spring has no appeal.

But give we must, and sacrifice
A precious hours’ sleep

To reconcile the calendar
Devised by that old creep.

Just do not do what I once did
While changing all our clocks:

Awoke at 2:00 AM;
I started with the cable box

Around the house I crept
To every timepiece I could find,

Changing every hour hand
So we’d not be behind.

Back to bed I went, to wait
For my old alarm clock

For CCR and Manilow
And classic Southern rock.

That very morning I awoke
With Free Bird in my head-

To find my wife had changed the clocks
Before we went to bed.

 

 

 

G’nite, all!

And One to Grow On

March 5, 2013 in Life, Stories with 0 Comments

In honor of family birthdays….

I will confess right off the start that I grew up in a different time and place.  Some of you may find the following experiences somewhat offensive, even violent.  For those who cringe when they read this, let me say-

Get over it.

While growing up in rural West Tennessee, we had traditions and celebrations that may seem odd.  One of our favorite annual celebrations was the traditional birthday spanking, or ‘whippin’ as it was affectionately known.  These birthday spankings were part of our family ritual. While we pretended to hate them, the truth is, we enjoyed the wrestling match and the tickles and the laughter that went with it.  Never painful, never mean-spirited, the licks always included one smack for each year of our lives, plus “one to grow on”.  I don’t know from where that saying came, but I think I should research it, find the origin and context of the phrase.  Or maybe not.

My dad always delivered my birthday “whippin’” when he got home from work.  He’d grab me, and to the floor we’d go; rolling around on t

he carpet, me squirming like a toesack full of snakes, Daddy’s big hands laying licks on my posterior amid our laughter and my flailing limbs.  He would reach way above his head, swing those huge hands in a fury, and just before making contact, would slow down so that the actual contact was  nothing more than a loud love pat.  He would count aloud, often purposefully forgetting what comes after 8, or like a broken record, repeating the same age over and over again.

Things changed when I turned 15.

As usual, Dad caught me and took me down to the floor.  We were having so much fun!  My mom was across the room, pulling first for me, then Daddy, then me.  Short of piling in herself, she did everything she could to keep us both worked up.  I squirmed as much as I could, trying to wrench myself free from Daddy’s hands, but not really wanting to get out of his grasp.  I rolled over; I curled in the fetal position; for several minutes I kicked and flailed, laughing my head off. But I did not notice that Daddy was no longer laughing.

I had succeeded in rolling over onto my back for the third or fourth time, when Daddy suddenly gave up and said, “Well, you whip me then!”.  With that said, he stood up, dropped my legs to the floor, and walked out of the room.

The room was suddenly quiet.  I didn’t really understand what Daddy meant, and didn’t understand why he would give in like that and leave the room.  I looked at mom, who seemed to understand what was happening.

“Did I do something wrong?” I asked my mom.

“No, you didn’t.”, she replied.

“Then why did Daddy give up?  Why did he leave?”  I was still not convinced that I was not in trouble.

Wisdom flowed from my mom.  ”Your dad quit because he couldn’t whip you.  You have grown up to the point that he can no longer handle you by wrestling on the floor, no longer muscle you around. So, you whipped him”

My heart sank.  Because I enjoyed the closeness and the frenzy of goofing around with my dad, I hadn’t considered that there would come a day when he couldn’t whip my hind end.  I had never ever considered what would happen if I won the wrestling match.

When I turned 15, I didn’t get my birthday licks, but I did get my “one to grow on”.  I learned that when it comes to their children, even tall, skinny, tough dads can have a hard time when suddenly struck by the reality that their kids are, in fact, kids no longer.

I try to remember that lesson as I watch my own kids grow up.  It is our job to teach and train them so that when that horrible day comes- the day I can no longer give them their birthday licks- they are ready to take life by the shoulders, wrestle it to the floor, and whip it at will.  The book of Proverbs calls it “training up a child in the way he should go so that when he is old, he will not depart from it”.

I think that’s a good one to grow on….

What are some hard lessons you’ve learned either from your parents or from your kids?

 

 

BTW- won’t you consider joining the Hook-Line-Sinker nation? You will receive regular email updates when a new post is published, as well as periodic giveaways and discounts on content published here. My first freebie is a sample of my new e-book by the same title- Hook, Line, and Sinker- and it will be released when we receive 25 new member email addresses (only four more subscribers!)! This content is only available to the Hook-Line-Sinker nation. Subscribe by adding your email at the top right corner of this page.

 

Daddys and Daughters

February 22, 2013 in Leadership, Life, Stories with 6 Comments

lifelineFridays are our day.

Fridays begin earlier than every other day of the week.  It’s still dark out when we (and when I say we, I mean Jane) wake my 13-year-old.  Not ever a morning person, sweet Madilyn begs for another few minutes to sleep.  She is always tired, never feels like waking up, and something usually hurts. Now that I think about it, I wake up that way, too. But things are different on Fridays.  Oh, she’ll still drag herself out of bed, but she knows its our day.  Friday.  The day I take her to breakfast and then to school.

We’ve observed this daddy-daughter date breakfast for a few years now.  We (and when I say we, this time I mean we) wanted to make sure I had some quality time with Madilyn.  Jane and Madilyn already spend quality time together because, first of all, they are both girls.  And girls never do anything without another girl in the room. Also, Jane has to take Mads shopping, so they get quality, stress-free time there. And Jane enjoys helping Mads with her homework. So for our time, we’ve committed to go out for breakfast before school every Friday. Over time, this ritual has become a valuable constant for me; a consistent connection, a kind of lifeline that we can both reach for in case we ever need it.

This morning, Mads is more cheerful than usual.  She even smiles and waves as she walks down the hall to the bathroom to get dressed.  I realize that she slept in the same T-shirt she wore to school yesterday.  Now that I think about it, so did I. This morning her hair looks a bit like Troy Polamalu’s hair.  Now that I think about it, so does mine. Jane will fix her hair with a few deft twists of her wrist, a couple of spritz of some magic potion, and an expensive curling iron.  It doesn’t take long for what was once the bathroom door to change into a magic portal- where Troy Polamalu went in, Taylor Swift comes out.  Long, beautiful twisty locks, just enough makeup, and that beautiful smile. Taylor Swift should be jealous.

It was not so long ago that while she got ready, I would sing to her.  I’d grab my guitar and make up silly songs, for example, that play off her name.  A few years ago, she would bellylaugh, and beg me to continue.  Not so much anymore.  Now, If I so much as cross the room towards the guitar case, a stern, “Dad, DON’T do it…” reverberates throughout the house. I never knew a human could roll their eyes so far back in their heads and remain conscious. Jane and Andrew, however, seem to enjoy and appreciate the skill and quick wit required to write, play, and sing songs on the fly.  Madilyn, not so much.  She’d rather listen to Harry and One Direction, or Ed Sheeran, or YouTube, or the neighborhood dogs barking.

Today, she is on time, and ready to go.  I joke, cut up, and try to make her laugh.  I even crack myself up.  But Madilyn has moved on to other sources of entertainment that lie at depths inside a 13-year-old girl’s brain that I can’t seem to fathom. That’s ok, though, because I have this…. today… my lifeline with her.

Madilyn will soon be 14, and not long after, will be on her own and will no longer have a need for daddy time or a ride to school. I often talk with her about these days, fast approaching, where we’ll disagree, or hurt each other’s feelings, upset one another, and maybe, might even stress out our relationship.  She says with her mouth that those times will never come, but those ever-present eye rolls tell me otherwise. And still, we’re good. We have each other, today.

Madilyn is the picture of self-confidence as we pull up to the school.  I tell her for the thousandth time that I’m going to blow the horn after she gets out.  She doesn’t even acknowledge me as she opens the door and slides out on the sidewalk.  She knows I would never purposely embarrass her. She knows I am her biggest fan.  She knows she will always be loved, and always be welcome in our home. And if, somehow, she should ever forget all that, she has this collection of miscellaneous Fridays… this lifeline… to remind her.

She slams the door, and I say, half-yelling through the closed window, “Love you, Mads!”….

This time she turns, smiles, and mouths, “Love you too, Dad.”

I’ll take it every time.

 

 

 

BTW- won’t you consider joining the Hook-Line-Sinker nation? You will receive regular email updates when a new post is published, as well as periodic giveaways and discounts on content published here. My first freebie is a sample of my new e-book by the same title- Hook, Line, and Sinker- and it will be released when we receive 25 new member email addresses (half-way there!)! This content is only available to the Hook-Line-Sinker nation. Subscribe by adding your email at the top right corner of this page.

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