Nope, my favorite part is . . .

the sermon. Not everyone shares my sentiments, but I really mean this. Not only am I guaranteed to learn something (I have a wonderful pastor), but I’m certain to mentally take a lovely stroll through a variety of cerebral valleys and glens, only to eventually emerge back on the same plateau of thought with everyone else.

Here’s how it works.

Pastor:  Paul was lowered over the side of the city wall in a basket.

Me:        Wow. That must have been some basket. I don’t have a basket anywhere NEAR strong enough for that. Grant you I have one that holds about 50 pounds of onions…which, come to think of it is almost empty…I wonder if Paul ate onions?… I’d better get to the store this week…but I really hate shopping…although they’ve installed that little café mocha   dispenser now… I just wish it wasn’t in the refrigerated foods section—waaay too cold…I suppose I could wear my winter coat…I wonder if Paul ever wore a winter coat? What’s winter even like in Jerusalem? I wonder if…wait…what is that sound…I hear music…why is everybody standing…oh..it’s the closing hymn. Time to rise Carol.

I’ve heard there are people who have linear thoughts. Supposedly, these folks start a thought, think about it, and then complete it. They can focus intently on a 90-minute lecture regarding the historical derivatives of the word hermeneutics while never losing their train of thought. They actually have a train. I have more of a hot air balloon. I’m just as interested as getting to my location as the folks on the train, but I’m blown about a wee bit by the wind, meandering here and there, seeing things that weren’t on the agenda, but nonetheless are still quite lovely. So in church, while others stay steadfastly aware of exactly what is being said, my mind will take a comment by the pastor and gently blow off the linear path to regions unanticipated, and often lovely.

I might contemplate if Mary and Martha ever worried about the environmental impact of the cleaning solutions they used.

I might ponder if Sarah ever had to tell little Isaac to stop picking his nose.

I’ve even thought that perhaps the Garden of Eden’s greatest appeal was that before the fall, there was no laundry. Think of the extra hours each week that this gave Eve to contemplate weightier philosophical issues…to take up a hobby…to get her hair done. I’ve actually designed a laundry room banner proudly sporting Genesis 2:25 that I am convinced would be a huge seller to laundry-doing moms everywhere.

Then were naked, and they felt no shame

Yet another tragic consequence of the fall.

If I’m being honest with myself, I will admit I’m jealous of these linear thinkers. Although, I’m not completely sure if such people actually exist or… are instead are just mythical creatures like Big Foot or Amish telemarketers. Does everyone, even those who claim to have a train, actually secretly live in a hot air balloon? Are the pews full of people like me, looking intently at the pastor while wondering Noah was obligated to bring two fleas aboard the ark?

I live in fear that my Pastor may one day adopt the practices of my 4^th grade teacher, Mrs. Beakman. And exactly what is this device of evil used by cruel speakers through the ages? When the listener least expects it . . . they ask questions.

On any given Sunday, my mind will wander off the sermon, just the tiniest bit, and is now thinking about the back of that woman’s head, and why she let her roots grow so long and if the root plants in my garden are ready to be pulled since it looks like snow and I really should stop and pick up a new shovel and … “Carol,”…the pastor says cheerily, “Could you tell us why you believe the Apostle Paul was so quick to judge the church in Ephesus?”

Blink.

Blink Blink.

I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with roots. And my other usually safe fallback of always answering “Jesus” wasn’t going to work here either. Man! Where do I get one of those linear thought patterns?

So far I’ve been lucky. My pastor has continued with the traditional model of preaching as a single participant event, not a team sport. That’s good because. . .I’ve never been good at sports. . .although I once thought I’d like gymnastics. . .till I saw that Olympic girl bend herself in half backwards. . .which I’m thinking causes spinal cord damage. She looked like a pretzel. . .we haven’t pretzels in a long time. . .maybe I should get some next time I’m in. . . <watch the balloon drift away>

“Why, Laura, come in and have a muffin. Would you like a proper exegesis with that?”

While trying to live for the Lord, my uncontrolled use of the best practiced and most historically accurate of church terminology often puzzled people, in some cases, moving them further from the very God I wished them to know. I often saw the confusion spreading across their faces as I shared my thoughts of grace, mercy and ecclesiastical catechesis — and, yet, I was clueless as to what I had done to produce the wrinkled brow and baffled expression that regularly met my eager gaze.

Luckily, a mentor emerged to show me the error of my ways. “Carol,” he kindly said, “You do understand, don’t you, that the person you were speaking to believes Total Depravity is a headbanger group from the 90s?”

Now my brow wrinkled. It was then that I realized the need for change. Yes, friends, it took years to jettison my vocabulary of words unknown to many and, thus, worthless in attempts at actual communication. But, with Yahweh’s divine intervention, … I mean, with God’s help, I began.

I started small, and, by that, I mean Big. Big words were the easiest to locate and remove. Propitiation. Apostate. Dispensationalism. In fact, if the word ever appeared in any one of the Confessions, or was listed in a seminary dictionary, or possessed more syllables than the gears of my car, it was now set aside.

The harder task was to remove the little words, words that, while easy and simple to utter, were still unknown in concept to many people.

For example, I might say something seemingly plain, such as …

“Sin entered world, which caused the fall of creation. So, God sent a sacrifice to take on our sin, and that’s the plan of salvation” (hear the lyric beauty of the rhyme).

Seemed clear to me. But what people actually heard was …

Glorp entered the world, which caused the floogery of nim-cloppidge. So, God sent a ramdoozle to take on our Glorp. And that’s the drission of interpillionism.”

Big sigh.

This struggle is insidious because the words become such a part of you. Try to imagine attempting to communicate, but being denied the use of the letter “m.” You might want to say “money,” but now you must pause. Your first instinct must be to set aside. Certainly you know of another word for money that doesn’t use “m,” but you’ll have to come to a mental halt, rifle through your cerebral rolodex cards until you find something else. Eventually you’ll grab on to “currency,” “rubles,” “flat paper you use to buy stuff with.” It’s a tedious process. You’ll have to rigorously inspect everything that typically comes out of your mouth at each moment until you find a satisfactory substitute. Even the thought exhausts me.

I am not the only one who has recognized the vital importance in this mission to eliminate church-speak. Many pastors have led their congregations to consider their word choices in an effort to reach out to the unchurched.

“No church speak here!” the pamphlet proclaimed. “Only the truth, proclaimed in the beautiful and simple language of God” (which, as any Old Testament scholar will tell you, is Hebrew. Gotta wonder how well that’s working for them.)

I was recently on the Web site of a church that absolutely prided itself on its intentional commitment to avoid church culture jargon.

“Come visit us,” they heralded. “We speak your language. We simply share Jesus in ways that everyone can understand. So, join us and we’ll help you loosen yourself from your besetting sins.” Well, give them credit. At least they were off to a good start.

I’m reminded of a song of the Shakers — ‘Tis the gift to be Simple, ‘Tis the gift to be free. I couldn’t agree more. It would indeed be a gift if I were able to speak simply, clearly, with no loss of meaning. And it certainly would be freeing, most especially for anyone listening to me. C.S. Lewis felt the pull of this simplicity goal, as well. His BBC radio lectures (yes, the same BBC that eventually brought you Monty Python) on the basics of the Christian faith were an attempt at simple, clear understanding of some rather weighty concepts. So successful was his work that many came to faith as a result, and the subsequent book, Mere Christianity continues to be standard reading, even 50 years later. It is to such simplicity and clarity that I aspire … as well as to a best seller that sells well for half a century.

Of course, if you ever miss the good ole’ days when you could speak your mind without a single edit and produce that puzzled look on the face of your listener, you can always briefly drop back to your old ways. Start chatting up someone in the grocery line and tell ‘em it’s all under the blood, or don’t cast your pearls before swine, or that they should perhaps put out a fleece. OR, you could use my new favorite, … You gotta lay your Isaac down. Gets ‘em every time.

For example, I learned at a very young age that, when the elderly Edith Cooper began her weekly snore, looking back at her would invariably produce a tiny ping from my mother’s index finger. Mother was a firm believer in the Head-Always-Forward theology. Once, when the second to the last pew completely collapsed, sending three people through the floor into the basement, emitting a cloud of centuries-old dust, I hesitantly glanced up at my mother only to watch her simply nod to the pastor and quietly say “Amen.” She was a rock.

Young children coming to church for the first time need to be warned. Don’t look back! Or if you must, do so with technique. I eventually learned that if I dropped the bulletin at the correct moment, when returning from my retrieval lean, I could swipe a quick backward glance that was, if not elegant, at least permissible. But there is a firm once-per-service allotment of this technique. Use judiciously. You’ve been warned.

Children should also be told about the risks involved when they are all taken up front for a “children’s message.” Who invented this terror-filled activity? This situation is fraught with peril. The first rule is simple — don’t offer anything unless asked. The second rule is also simple — when asked “How do we prepare our homes for an honored guest?” never answer with “Mommy finally cleans the basement toilet.” Again, you’ve been warned.

While there is a risk in saying too much, there can also be a risk in saying too little. A visiting pastor shared with us a time when he called all the children forward and asked a seemingly simple question.

“Hi, kids! Got a question for ya’. What’s little and gray, has a long fluffy tail, skitters around on trees and stores up nuts for the winter?”

Total silence met this man’s eager face.

A little surprised, he nonetheless cheerily continued.

“Oh, come on, guys. Let’s try again. Little and gray, long fluffy tail, skitters around on trees and stores up nuts for the winter.”

Again … not a peep, but this time the children’s eyes were huge and fearful.

This visiting pastor was clearly becoming agitated.

“Kids … this isn’t tough. The story won’t work unless you answer. So help me out.” He shot through the question again. “Little and gray. Long fluffy tail. Skitters around on trees. Stores up nuts for the winter!”

Finally, one kid timidly raised his hand. Clearly fearful at this line of questioning, he nonetheless took a deep breath and said, “Pastor … I know we’re always supposed to say ‘Jesus’ … but that really sounds like a squirrel to me.”

This kid knew one of the most basic forms of church survival. When in doubt, answer “Jesus.” Nine times out of 10, it’ll be the answer they want. But, as it turns out, listening is also a pretty good strategy. Who knew?

I actually love the buried truth in that concept. When in doubt, answer “Jesus.” Not only is it usually the right answer to the teacher’s question, it’s the right answer to most of life’s questions. I love it when we actually learn something from our kids.

Children are so beloved of Jesus. He took their previous status in the ancient Roman world as disposable second-class citizens and turned it on its head. Not only did he welcome children to his ministry, even into his arms, he went on to elevate them as an example of the childlike heart and meekness with which we, the adults, should approach the throne of the King of the universe.

My mother always said that a church without children is a dying church. She meant it. She and my pastor father regularly drove our battered orange VW van round the town early on Sunday mornings, gathering up any child in our little community whose parents would part with them for a few hours. Often these kids were poorly dressed, tired, hungry and, once in the pew, … a tad squirrely, but they were always excited to jump in the van, go to church and learn of the surprising truth that they were wanted, beautiful and precious in the eyes of a loving Savior.

Once, when this busload of kids was showing their lack of church culture etiquette, one church member bitterly complained to my mother.

“Those children are dirty and misbehaved. They’re sitting up there on the front pew and they have no idea how they’re supposed to act in church. What are you going to do about it?”

My mother’s answer? My sweet mother, who was really uncomfortable with such direct confrontations? THAT mother?

“You mean what am I going to do with a bunch of children who are so new to church that they don’t know how to behave? I’m going to go out and get as many more of them as I can.”

I liked that answer. Fill God’s church with people who’ve never been there before, who don’t know all the churchy culture, stuffy rules and complex etiquette. Bring in anyone and everyone who just wants to know that they are loved, needed and precious. After all, they are a metaphor for us. Didn’t we all come to Christ the same way? — messy, hungry and totally clueless as to how we should behave?

Every Sunday I end up scribbling one or five things worth hanging onto, things I may develop later when I’m so moved. Over the years he’s given me ideas for a children’s book series on odd characters of the Bible, a great quote about creeping legalism by Gordon Fee as “Hardening of the Categories,” and deeper insight into the mind of God. He even creates new words that frankly should be added to the Webster Dictionary; “Irkible” being my favorite. “Lord, remove from me any irkible spirit that lies within.”

So it was a nice break from all things theological to have him provide me with a simple moment of levity. He was talking about Moses, the children of Israel, and the much longed for “land of milk and honey.” But unfortunately, what came out of his mouth was “…the land of mucous and honey.” 

What?

We all squinted our eyes to test our ears to see in our minds’ rewind features if what we think he just said was actually what he had just said. He kept talking, hoping no one would pick it up. But one by one, we began to realize what had just been said. And one by one, shoulders began that telltale jiggling consistent with a laugh being vigorously supressed.

Soon he had to own it. Too many shoulders were dancing about the room. Too many hands were pressed firmly over their mouths. Too many people were no longer able to absorb any new information as they were all terribly busy trying to not laugh out loud.

He paused. Claimed ownership to the misspoken mucous (it was, afterall, cold season) and the entire room burst forth with the laughter they’d been holding in.

There’s a lesson in there about loving confrontation, about owning up to mistakes, about sharing the burden of missteps with community. God would approve. After all, He was always asking people questions, the answers to which He already knew perfectly well. Why? So that we’d own up to our condition. He doesn’t start the fixing process till we do the admission process.

So for all the wonderful insights that my pastor purposefully provides Sunday after Sunday, even in his missteps, he still comes through. The Spirit can make anything a teachable moment. Don’t miss this one. In the end it all comes down to this…claim your mucous.

Amazingly, the idea of sitting in church didn’t even emerge until the Reformation. It’s true! Up till that time, those poor German peasants worked hard all week long and then went to church on the day of rest to do what? STAND and listen to a sermon in a language they didn’t even speak. You may not have known this, but when Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses to the door of the church in Wittenburg, thesis number 58 was, “It’s time to let us sit down in church for crying out loud!”

It seems odd that the stand-at-church practice ever came into being in the first place. After all, the earliest churches were in people’s homes. No cathedrals, no stained glass, no gymnasiums for the athletic outreach program. (Actually…they considered an athletic program, but during the gladiator period, this required equipment that was beyond the budget abilities <and strength of stomach> of most home churches.) Nope, there were virtually no buildings of any sort. Admittedly, it’s kind of hard to build big impressive structures when you’re on the run from Saul and his little band of stone throwers. That’s why archaeological sites only find foundations. They never got the chance to build the wall.

The separate seating of men and women was also a common practice for centuries, both in the Old and New Testament days. It’s even practiced in some places today. Folks upholding this practice will tell you that there are many unexpected benefits to this arrangement. No single or widowed member would ever again feel isolated. Teens would gather round and greet the elderly matron, perhaps even sitting with her during the service. A recently widowed gentleman would not be suddenly sitting alone, but rather would be surrounded by the fellowship of his band of brothers. And of course, the distractibility of courting couples would be minimized by the geographic separation. But by far, my favorite of the reasons offered by these separate supporters was that when speaking of sins more at home in one sex over the other, the pastor no longer had to cast his glance about the room like a tennis match judge, finding the faces for whom the message applied. They were all pooled together in one neat little package. Really. That’s what they said. I’m not sure about this, but it does explain why my Pastor wears a neck brace the day after a sermon on pride.

In some churches you’ll see kneelers. These little flip down steps of wonder were put in place for the ease of congregants whose church liturgies involved more and more kneeling. No such devices can be found in the earliest church structures. That’s because the preferred submission position was prostrate (face down, flat on the ground) and the early church architects felt a flip down panel accommodating this practice would require too much space between the pews. Besides, early attempts of this device revealed a flaw that sometimes catapulted would-be-supplicants up and over the altar.

Kneeling became the preferred method of humility. However, for quite some time, congregations needed no such kneelers. They were of hardier stock and found the cold solid stone against their knees refreshing. But then the Church Potluck was introduced and folks began having problems with the getting back up part. Enter: the kneelers. Followed by kneelers not quite so close to the ground. Then, the padded kneelers. Then ,the intricately needlepointed padded kneelers. I think heated gel pads and a lift ticket are the next obvious mutation.  

Now seating is growing more and more like expensive theatrical events. Stain resistant. Deeply cushioned. Padded armrests. Sometimes even with cup holders. I fully expect this trend toward more technology will eventually include an electronic circuitry panel embedded into the backs of the seats in front of us allowing us to provide constant assessment and feedback of the pastor’s efforts.

My current level of interest….hmmm…my mind did wander just a bit there. I’ll give him a 4. Clearly he’s trying. But that passage about Cain and Able could have used a bit more action and drama. A video clip would have been nice. Well, maybe just a 3 then.

I’m thinking we’ve got this backwards. The technology should be on the side of the preacher. If we begin to whisper and be distracted or start nodding off, he would have several buttons of wonder at his disposal. First offense, the chair simply vibrates. Sort of a you’ve-been-warned sensation. The second option would be a sort of elevator that lifts you up over the crowd a good three feet, so that others will know of your transgressions. For the really offensive congregants or those who’ve completely gone to sleep, I’m thinking a mild tazer is in order. You know what they say. If you laid all the sleepers in church end-to-end along the pews…they’d be a lot more comfortable.

I fear for this dangerous direction. This inevitable progression of technology and comfort should probably be nipped in the bud right now. All these concerns have motivated me to form a protest group to bring back the spartan environment of the early church. We’re still working on a name for our organization, but we’ve got our slogan all figured out. “Superior holiness can be yours through better seating.” God’s judgement of our devotion might just be on the line. After all, the mark of God most definitely is not the imprint of a lovely-hued stain-repellent polyester weave.