It was about a month ago that I blogged about "Reclaiming the Role of Lament." It stemmed from my growing frustration at how we evangelicals have virtually eliminated anything that "smacks" of negativity from our corporate worship experience. In a response to that post, esteemed visitor and comment officianado -- Karl Thienes -- remarked about how he used to call this phenomenon "The Cult of the Nice".

Anyway, I made some suggestions at the end of that post, and have remained committed to following my own suggestions with our congregation.

When our lives become unbearable, when our circumstances could be described as -- to use a familiar Old Testament phrase -- "the Pit", the ancient testimony of scripture suggests that we take initiatives to right the trouble. Respected theologian, Walter Brueggemann explains that "the Pit"...

"...refers to any diminishment of impairment of human well-being. Thus it refers to sickness, imprisonment, social isolation and rejection, or, in extremity, physical death. It comprehends the whole gamut of troubles that beset human beings." (Theology of the Old Testament, p. 470)

The scriptural model, explains Brueggemann, is for the human person in great trouble to become a "complaining person" (p. 470-71).

"The complaining person is one who treats his or her troubles as serious and legitimate and not to be accepted as normal. The complaining person refuses silence and resignation, but rather issues a vigorous and shrill protest grounded in the covenantal right to be granted well-being and to be taken seriously" (p. 470).

For Brueggemann, the psalms of lament -- or as he prefers to call them -- complaint psalms offer a helpful and instructive model for those in relationship with God; Psalm 13 being a convenient example.

Psalm 13
How much longer will you forget me, LORD? Forever?
How much longer will you hide yourself from me?
How long must I endure trouble?
How long will sorrow fill my heart day and night?
How long will my enemies triumph over me?

Look at me, O LORD my God, and answer me.
Restore my strength; don't let me die.
Don't let my enemies say, "We have defeated him."
Don't let them gloat over my downfall.

I rely on your constant love;
I will be glad, because you will rescue me.
I will sing to you, O LORD,
because you have been good to me. (TEV)

AND SO... I preached on Psalm 13 last Sunday, emphasising the importance of "being real" with God. Drawing from the classic characteristics of what constitutes a "complaint psalm" (a la Brueggemann), I encouraged our congregation to practice the following in relation to God:

• Be real about your complaints (vs. 1-2)


• Be real about your petitions (vs. 3-4)


• Be real about your trust (vs. 5a)


• Be real about your hope (vs. 5b)


• Be real about your thanksgiving and praise

And THEN...
I encouraged everyone present to compose their own psalm of lament (during the rest of the service) and to come up and place it on the altar (an outward expression of giving it to God).

WOW! I was blown away by their willingness to pour out their hearts to God, while reaffirming their trust and hope in him. Here's one of the "annonymous" lament psalms that ended up on the altar:

Distractions.
They come in all forms. BIG ONES. little ones. Personal ones. Corporate ones.

Certainly the modern church has experienced its share of distractions – those activities, programs, agendas, strategies, and styles of “doing church” which subtly – and often oh so subtly – steer our passions away from the One for whom those passions should burn the hottest and brightest – Christ himself.

And although it has become quite chic for those of us in the emerging church to tout our commitment to “being church” instead of “doing church,” I find myself wondering if we are pursuing above all, Christ himself.

Emerging churches seem just as vulnerable to distraction as their modern counterparts. In part, I think it’s our own arrogance at work, convincing us that Christ is best experienced in our way of "being church” – through our candles and crosses and nifty video clips and edgy music and hyper-casualness and philosophy of tolerance and…rejection of bibliocentricity. Now each of these “components,” in their own right, can be useful tools in the crafting of an emerging worship experience. But are we committed to experiencing, above all, Christ himself?

We are definitely learning how to value the “journey” (e.g. life) rather than obsessing over the “destination” (e.g. heaven), but is our commitment to the “journey” sometimes becoming a subtle, postmodern distraction, keeping us from what is ultimately important?

Does our commitment to tolerance, for example, lead us to “dial-down” our use of religious terminology and the honest sharing of Christ’s teachings – including those which seem harsh, inflexible, or convicting? If so, then we are guilty of the same “seeker-sensitive” errors of previous generations. Probably without realizing it, we too have begun catering to that same damnable consumerism that has so contaminated the modern institutionalized Church.

Our solution? Our safeguard? Our commitment?

Above All, Christ.

Philip. 3:10 (MsgB) I gave up all that inferior stuff so I could know Christ personally, experience his resurrection power, be a partner in his suffering, and go all the way with him to death itself.

We must love Christ above all else -- including our methods and our styles. 10-20 years ago, we began realizing that many people were falling in love with worship, rather than falling in love with the One whom we worship.

We must pursue Christ above all else -- including our handicapped notions of community. Yes, Christ is to be found and celebrated in the community of other believers and in the poor, but we must not use this powerful reality to otherwise insulate ourselves from him (in our humaness, we emerging church types can be just as "cleaver" in our mind-games as our modern counterparts).

We must trust Christ above all else -- including the writings and teachings of postmodern, emerging church guru's. God often uses others to point us in the right direction (that's certainly been my own experience), yet none of these thought-leaders (or all of them) can ever be a substitute for Christ himself. He alone must be the source and substance of our trust.

The Emerging Church holds such promise for the future. Breaking free from the bonds of modernity is exactly what the Church has needed. Yet we are just as prone to error as those who have gone before, regardless of what century or millenium they lived in.

In the midst of this new reality, this freshness, this renewal, may we therefore pursue...

Above all, Christ.

An article that appeared at CCN.com yesterday caught my attention: Church group slams Bush on Clean Air Act -- especially with its repeated reference to how polution ends up impacting the poor and the marginalized in our society. And it really has me thinking again -- how "green" (i.e. ecologically sensitive/responsible) should our churches be?

For too long, it seems, Evangelical Christians in particular (although I don't think it's limited to them by any means) have zeroed-in on the "have dominion" injunction of Genesis 1 without regard to the responsibilities which accompany that authority. I suppose it's pretty easy to tout our "freedom in Christ" in church while drinking coffee from our styrofoam cups under a barrage of incandescent lights within a room made comfortable by 20-year old, energy-hogging heating-a/c units. But, as the above article suggests, ecological issues run far deeper than this.

Why are churches often quick to jump on the pro-life bandwagon, the anti-gambling bandwagon, or a number of other "causes", yet generally unwilling to defend, protect, or proactively care for the environment? And why do so many church leaders avoid "green" issues?

Re-reading Philip Jenkins' book, The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity, has got me wondering what the missionary evangelization of the United States by Southern Christians will look like in the coming decades. Currently, Southern hemisphere missionaries to the United States are primarily focused on reaching immigrant concentrations, mostly in the nation's urban centers (e.g. Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, Philadelphia, New York). But chances are likely that passionate Christian leaders coming from the South will increasingly respond to a growing burden to evangelize the secularized American populace. This is exactly what has happened in Great Britian. Here's a telling excerpt from Jenkins' book:

"...of deliberate missionary work, Great Britain today plays hosts t osome 1,500 missionaries from fifty nations. Many come from African countries, and they express disbelief at the spiritual desert they encounter in this "green and pagan land." To quote Stephen Tirwomwe, a Ugandan missionary active in teh rustbelt north of England: 'It was so depressing when I first arrived to find churches empty, and being sold, when in Uganda there is not enough room in our churches for the people. There is a great need for revival in Britain -- it has become so secular and people are so inward-looking and individualistic. The country needs reconverting.'" (p. 205)

The quote by Stephen Tirwomwe in particular seems hauntingly familiar and strikes close to home. The United States is certainly not far behind. And that's exactly what has me wondering...

What will the evangelization efforts of Southern-hemisphere missionaries look like in the coming decades, and how will a secularized, individualized, and paganized America respond?

• Will "all-things-Christian" fall so completely out of vogue that foreign attempts at spiritual revitalization will repeatedly fail?
• Will a "cultural" brand of Christianity emerge as a "preference" and "defense" to foreign influences?
• Will the 100 million (and rapdily growing) U.S. Latino population end up redefining America's cultural, spiritual, and moral landscape?

These are just some of the questions on my mind today as I thoroughly enjoy re-reading Jenkins' book. And so let me leave you with one last quote -- one that Jenkins himself uses at the beginning of chapter nine:

"Be nice to whites, they need you to rediscover their humanity." -- Archbishop Desmond Tutu

(The following thoughts and reflections have been "stewing" inside of me for some time now. They represent more of an indictment over where I've been than where others might currently be. I see this as a topic worth contemplating, but would love to hear what you think)

Zoomed in (micro view):
It seems like we’ve got the whole “relationship-with-God” thing working great.

Zoomed out (macro view):
It becomes alarmingly obvious that something’s dreadfully wrong.

What is it? What’s wrong?

The challenges and realities of life loom larger-than-life, while our “manageable” faith has somehow become too small. Like the unexpected turning-on of a bright light, or the lifting of a stubborn fog, we abruptly come to realize that the breadth and scope of our faith is in no way commensurate with the breadth of scope of our life, with it's complexities. Perhaps for the first time now the truth is soberingly clear -- we’ve marginalized our submission to God, and minimized our reliance on God.

Suddenly, we’re not the tall, well-formed tree we thought we were…
We’re a bonsai.

bon•sai (bŏn-sī΄) n. 1. The craft of growing dwarfed, ornamentally shaped shrubs or trees in small, shallow pots.

For all of us, it’s inherently difficult to “pull back” and objectively take stock of our own lives, and normal for us to see ourselves differently than others see us. Frankly, it’s just too easy for our vision of ourselves to become myopic – focusing in on (what we consider to be) our redeeming characteristics, while losing sight of “the big picture.”

As bonsai Christians we’ve developed the “craft” of encouraging our own spiritual growth while at the same time restraining and restricting it. We choose to obey God, but in all honesty it’s only selective obedience. And we do the same thing when it comes to trusting God or serving Him. The fact is, we usually end up hoarding our available time, energy, and money, and are enjoying our self-absorbed lives to damn much to seriously consider changing. Our coveted individualism has betrayed us. And when we start to feel “conviction” over this, we usually begin expending the effort necessary to make our “tree” (i.e. our life) look impressive – all the time forgetting (or unaware of the fact) that we’re “zoomed-in” on ourselves, and that what we see isn’t really an accurate picture.

What we see is an impressive root structure, and the well-trimmed look of a healthy tree – and we pat ourselves on the back for this, even though we are nothing more than a dwarf.

That’s why we need one another -- why our identification as part of and our participation within a viable community of faith is so important. We desperately need the objectivity as well as the discerning, prophetic voice of others in our life. They’re the ones who can help us re-focus so that the big picture regarding our life can begin to come into view. It’s others who can help us see how we’re empowering ourselves while at the same time limiting God.

Ultimately then, the only sure antidote for the bonsai Christian “condition” is our immersion in authentic Christian community.

He is Risen! -- It's the victory shout of the Church! Jesus is our victorious, conquering Christ!

"But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him." 2 Cor. 2:14 (NRSV)

Yes! And that was the passage that I taught on during our two Easter morning celebrations. And this year they were so much fun! The video clips, the hugs, the special music, the hugs, the scripture reading, the hugs, the celebrative praise choruses, the hugs -- lol!

But the highlight of this year's celebration was the Eucharist, the Lord's Supper. And what made it especially meaningful was the manner in which people partook of the body and blood of the Lord -- it was something they did as families, as couples, or with a friend -- inside the prayer room at the back of the sanctury, which we had transformed into an empty tomb! You can check it out for yourself by clicking here for a brief video clip.

The inspiration for "morphing" the prayer room into an empty tomb, with pin-spots fixed on the white garments left behind -- all came from one of our favorite house-church pastors (and dear friend), Matt Segawa. Thanks, Matt! Your idea rocked! :D

Wow! What an incredible week we experienced last week! And something that was especially rewarding for me as a pastor, was to see a number of people "connect" with Christ throughout the week who had probably never done anything like this before. To watch them "grow" as we moved through Holy Week was awesome! It made every minute that we "burned the midnight oil" TOTALLY worth it! And, if that were not enough, this year I also found myself able to focus and worship through it all like never before. Lord, you are good!

So if any of you are in the vacinity next year... come on out and experience Holy Week with us!

Good Friday has clearly been our congregation's favorite day of Holy Week since we've seriously begun observing it. It's also been a favorite of other believers outside of our congregation who, since their churches do not offer any Holy Week services, find coming to ours especially meaningful.

Well, Good Friday began with our rather traditional noontime Good Friday service. It's a short one, since usually a good number of people come during their lunch breaks, but its always inspirational. The dramatic images and sound (provided this year by Benjy) contributed a lot to the ethos of the service -- it's been very moving. If you're intereseted in reading through this year's noontime service, you can download it here.

Not to overshadow the noontime service, but the most popular and heavily attended service of Holy Week (apart from Easter) has been Tenebrae -- and this year was certainly no different. Now... the photo above IS the set-up for a Tenebrae service -- just not ours. I'm totally kicking myself for not taking some video of this year's Tenebrae observance, and by the time I thought about it -- it probably would have looked the picture on the right (which WAS taken in our sanctuary previously). Arggh!

Anyway, Tenebrae this year was awesome! There's just something about the history, the ambiance, the drama, the images, the poetry, the videos, the scripture readings, and oh yeah -- the candles! It's a VERY moving experience. It's a multisensory, audio-visual, participatory experience that's an absolute delight to put together and see God bless each year. Everyone receives a printed booklet to guide them through the experience. If you're interested, you can download a copy of it here.

If you're not familiar with the observance of Tenebrae, take a few moments and read the introduction in the abovementioned booklet -- I think you'll find it very interesting. It's all designed to help us get a grip on what the death and burial of Jesus may have felt like to his disciples and family -- actually, I think it's more about allowing the impact of Jesus's death and burial to get a grip on us! The tenebrae, or candelabras are eventually extinguished as the service progresses, and concludes in very dramatic way that coincides with everyone departing in a profound darkness and silence. Wow! It still moves me just thinking about it -- and Benjy and I can hardly wait until next year!

We instituted a Maundy Thursday service four years ago -- and it has continued being one of Holy Week's most attended by those in our congregation. It's been a very meaningful way to focus on the institution of the Eucharistic meal, and the Lord's command to "love one another." This year, however, Benjy did a great deal in helping me (through the use of images via PowerPoint) to begin introducing the idea of footwashing -- a prominent part of Maundy Thursday observances through the centuries. The idea behind doing so is to begin preparing our congregation for the addition of footwashing to our Maundy Thursday observance.

Well anyway, it was a great service and if you'd like a copy of it, you can download it here.

Wednesday night's Vespers service reminded a little of Robert Kysar's book, Stumbling in the Light -- probably because I'm a relative "newbie" when it comes to leading others in praying the offices or in facilitating anything liturgical.

Yet, despite my evangelical, charismatic "handicap" -- I was thrilled by people's responses to the 30-minute service last Wednesday. Right at the beginning, we entered (what likely was for many) an extended period of silence. This is something we haven't practiced very often in the past, so I was I little worried how it would be received. But it ended up being a blessing to people.

Well! I guess there's hope for this ancient-future Free Methodist pastor after all! If you're interested in reading through the Vespers service I composed for Holy Wednesday, you can download it here.

This year's observance of Holy Week was, personally, the most powerful one I've ever experienced! Like always, it was insanely busy (nine services in six days), yet the times of prayer, contemplation, and multisensory experiences really impacted me. It's kinda hard to admit, but this isn't always the case. Sometimes it's easy for me to become so consumed by the challenge helping others "connect" with the Lord in meaningful ways, that I end up missing-out somewhat myself. This normally doesn't bum me out too much, because long ago I decided that I had chosen a life in full-time ministry not for what I can get, but for what I can give. But lately I've been reminded that I can only "give" others what I have received myself.

It was on Tuesday of Holy Week that a small group from the church I pastor traveled into the Cajon Pass, on the boundary of the Angeles National Forest (45 min. away), to pray through the Stations of the Cross. This all took place at a place we call Prayer Mountain, although it's official name is "All Nations Holy Mountain" -- an amazing prayer retreat created by a Korean Presbyterian pastor. Prayer Mountain is in fact, nestled in the mountains. And one of the prayer venues they've created there is a "Via Dolorosa" -- a paved prayer path that winds its way up and along the mountainside to it's final destination: a 70' cross. Along the way, the "stations" of the cross are housed inside what look like "shuttle-bus stops." If you'd like to see a quick video clip, click here. Each "station" is appropriately numbered, and contains a plaque engraved with a scripture passage that corresponds to that particular station of the Cross.

The group that participated this year was awesome. I was deeply moved by the way we all opened up with God and with each other as we prayed through each of the fourteen stations. Wow! The prayer guide I put together for this journey was adapted from prayers written by Mike Clay -- many of them real butt-kickers! Plus, we all sensed the amazing way that God's Spirit was weaving our "discoveries" through prayer together -- incredible! Click here if you'd like to download our prayer guide for the Stations of the Cross (in Microsoft Word).

About half way up the mountainside, we stepped off of the Via Dolorosa path in order to enter one of Prayer Mountain's amazing prayer caves. These were hand-hewn from the rock by the founding pastor, and are designed in a distinctively Eastern/Asian way. Once you've removed your shoes, you step onto a wooden floor, take one of the provided mats, and choose a place to sit down and begin to pray. Believe me when I tell you that there is NOTHING like praying in one of these prayer caves. There's just something about being "in the bowels of the Earth", combined with a profound sense of holy silence, that has made these caves one of my favorite places to pray over the past 5-6 years that I've been going to Prayer Mountain. For a quick video peek inside the cave, click here.

When we finally made it to the top, and to the final station -- the view only added to the wonderful experience of journeying to the Cross of Christ in this way. Click here
for a video clip.

Despite how rewarding this experience has been for us over the past two years, I'm still blown away by how few people are interested in juggling their schedules around in order to give God some special time for the purpose of prayer during Holy Week. I guess our overly individualized, self-justified practice of faith convinces us we don't need to make such sacrifices. Heck, why should we? Especially since God accepts us just the way we are, right?

Well...Holy Wednesday was also a wonderful experience -- the first "Vespers" service that many of my fellow Free Methodists had ever experienced. More about that later...