I'm going to be honest with you. On Saturday afternoon when I
power-walked into church late, during song #1 in the worship set, I wasn't
surprised that we were singing "Only Your Love," as song #1 for the
zillion-billionth time. I've been a bit annoyed that my church has turned a
song #2 into a song #1. It kinda goes against the praise/worship protocol that
the pastors have ingrained into us worship leaders over the years. So, while I
was settling in my seat, I composed a Facebook status update in my head that
would have gone something like: "You know you have PMS when... you
seriously consider bribing the worship leader to lead a hymn instead of what
they picked for song #1." (If you know me, you know I hate hymns.)
But I'm glad I didn't post that, because there would have been so much
wrong packed into that snarky statement:
1) God's presence was there during that service, regardless of the songs that
were picked for the set list. God doesn't care as much for the quality of a
song than He does for the expression of a heart -- a song is merely meant to be
a vehicle for just that.2) I probably would have hurt the songwriters' feelings.
3) I would have totally overlooked the fact that the worship pastors and leaders considered and prayed about which songs to include in the set list.
4) It's so obvious: My church isn't singing any of MY songs. Hello, jealousy, good to see you again.
5) I totally would have sounded like those old-fogey religious jerks who criticize everything. Maybe to a degree, I still am one.
Maybe God has been working overtime to squeeze more of that junk out of
me.
Meanwhile, on Saturday afternoon, I did remember a random conversation I
had with a stranger many years ago. I was at a wedding, and I sat at a table
with some of either the bride or the groom's family. They had traveled into
town for the wedding, and one of the men was asking me questions about my
church. I think we ended up talking about the church's music, because he asked
me if we sang any Maranatha! Music. Then he went on and on about how much he
loved Maranatha! Music. (Um, OK, but that music was written like 30 or 40 years
ago. When you read the Bible, do you skip the verse that says to sing a new
song to the Lord?)
I also remembered how I went on YouTube a few years ago to listen to a
Hillsongs song that I really like -- incidentally, it was an updated hymn. I
remember scrolling down and reading some of the comments that people had left
on the video's page. One of them said something like, "Hillsongs should be
writing new songs instead of updating hymns." (Um, excuse me? 1) It's
excessively rude to give a blanket criticism about an entire artist's
repertoire on one of their YouTube videos and 2) If someone like ME actually
likes the song, then mission accomplished.)
I guess everybody has an opinion. And there's certainly nothing wrong
with having an opinion. I have freedom of speech just as much as any other
songwriter does. God gave each of us a brain, a heart, and a gut for a reason. But I'm
learning that sometimes it's appropriate to share an opinion -- in an
appropriate way -- and other times it's best to just save it for when you're
alone with God. (He always likes to hear what you have to say, even though He
already knows what's floating around inside your brain, your heart, and your
gut.)
I'm kinda learning a lot of stuff right now.
"Knowledge puffs up while love builds up." (1 Corinthians
8:1b, New International Version)
"Take heed and beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and the
Sadducees." (Jesus talking in Matthew 16:6)
"Your glorying is not good. Do you not know that a little leaven
leavens the whole lump?" (1 Corinthians 5:6, quoted out of context)
"A little leaven leavens the whole lump." (Galatians 5:9, so
there)
Heh, heh. OK, so maybe I'm having too much fun quoting Bible verses
that are actually pretty serious. I grew up in a Pharisee's house, with
Pharisee DNA, in a Pharisee family, breathing in Pharisee attitudes, which were
constantly reinforced by Pharisee survival techniques. Pharisees are very
puffy, critical know-it-alls who invent backbreaking rules for people to
follow. Jesus pretty much yelled at them in the Bible and called them
whitewashed tombs.
I am an ex-Pharisee. I remember being a Pharisee. It was extremely hard
work keeping up a façade all the time, keeping the anxiety at a rolling boil in
my head, not really being able to do what I really wanted in front of everybody
and therefore developing all sorts of secret sins behind everyone's backs. (I
have discovered that religious spirits and lust issues often go hand in hand.)
God has set me free from all that Pharisee junk, but of course the
recurring problem with the ongoing healing process is the leaven. You can't
just chop off a piece of dough and say, "Hey, all the leaven is in this
piece over here, and now it's gone. You're free!" In a real piece of
dough, the leaven is mixed evenly throughout. So, in a metaphorical piece of
dough, removing every tiny piece of leaven is often a long, painstaking process.
In my life, I thought God was done squeezing out the leaven. But I think
He's found some more stuff, and He's been slowing wringing it out.
I heard my pastor once say, "Once a Pharisee, always a
Pharisee." In terms of getting rid of all the leaven, I can agree with
him. But in terms of repenting, I disagree.
Some Pharisees repented in the Bible, but I think God had to be really
drastic and shake their worlds to get their attention. (How else are you going
to soften a stubborn person?) When Nicodemus came to Jesus in John 3, Jesus straight
up was like, "Hey, man, if you want to be like Me, you need to be born all
over again." When Paul was traveling to Damascus to hunt down some
Christians, Jesus suddenly showed up and basically blinded him for three days.
I can't speak for everybody, but speaking for myself, taking Freedom
classes at church hasn't always helped me. God has had to reach down, slice me
open, rearrange some stuff, blow my paradigms to smithereens, be my Friend in a
way that no one else could ever be, and love me to death. That has seemed to help me the most through the years.
Lately, His way of squeezing out any remnant of leaven has been during the
current format of my "quiet times," which is just a few minutes every
night -- just me, God, and my phone on the couch. (This photo is an example of
what I usually see during those times.) No guitar. No keyboard. No library full
of printed books. No intercessory floor-pacing. Just a smartphone with more
than enough access to the Bible and music... and the awkwardness of accepting
that that's all God wants right now. "It's the simplicity that's tripping
you up," He said recently.
Whimper. Yes.
If I've heard Him correctly, this will be our nightly format through
the rest of March. I think I'll get to unplug and regrow my guitar calluses in
April, but we'll see. I might even graduate from Psalm 46 again and jump back
into Isaiah.
But for now, I'm letting Him expose a very deep insecurity that's
lurked in my heart. Remember me talking about the Pharisees who raised me? Dad
didn't want me. I'm sure I felt it even when I was a little embryo inside Mom's
womb and there was a brief little mention of a possible abortion inside a
doctor's office.
God has told me, "You don't know what it's like to know the
security of a father."
Nope. I don't. That old-fogey religious jerk, the one who used to criticize
everything and probably still does -- the guy who raised me and basically only
wanted a kid around so that he could study language development in children --
didn't give me the security of a loving father that many children have.
But God has been giving that to me for many years now. Lately He's been
doing it while I've been nothing but a lump of a couch potato/mouse
potato/phone potato in His presence. I don't have anything fancy to offer Him.
I just have my life.
And I think He's also been letting me offer the security of a loving
mother to a cat who probably should have kicked the bucket a long time ago. But
as long as he's with me, I'll make sure he has everything he needs, and I'll
make sure he knows that I love him and want him -- right to the very last
feline breath.
"Listen, O daughter, consider and incline your ear; forget your
own people also, and your father's house; so the King will greatly desire your
beauty; because He is your Lord, worship Him." (Psalm 45:10-11)
Going back to the worship song situation I mentioned at the beginning
of this post, I need to just shut up and be thankful that my church seems to be
flexible about breaking protocol at all. Maybe someday they'll be like,
"Hey, all those boundaries we set up about new songs being written for the
church suddenly feel silly to us now, and we're now very curious about the ones
you've written. Can we listen to a sound clip on Monday morning?"
All those rigid protocols, boundaries, and rules can often be
hindrances to creativity, anyway. I'm thankful to be involved in a church that
continually submits its processes to God and what He wants.
He's the most creative Being of all. Maybe many of His processes only
begin with an idea. I mean, all He said was, "Let there be light,"
and six days later the entire world was created.
Maybe my dreams will come true when I least expect them to, or maybe in
a way that I won't expect them to. But I certainly don't want some puffy remnant to
get in the way.
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