Temporary Incompentence

What is this?  A sheep?  I think so.  It's a Biltmore sheep.

I'm still working my way through Five Practices of Fruitful Living.  Schnase asked this question, "Are we willing to experience the feeling of 'temporary incompentence' in order to attain a sense of confidence?"

Approaching something new -- whether it is a new job, a new hobby, Bible study, a new place -- you name it -- takes courage.  And because it is new, we may not be very good at whatever it is at first. 

That may mean we need practice in order to develop particular skills.  It may mean we need time in order to adjust to the people with whom we are now working.  It may mean that we need classes in order to gain the knowledge necessary.  Whatever it is, at first, it is going to feel awkward, and we may not be very good at it.

In our society, patience isn't always forthcoming.  We want success, and we want it now.  We want to feel good, and maybe (gasp) we want it to be easy.

The truth is, though, it is not always easy.  Sometimes something new is hard, but the payback is that with time, learning, adjustment, practice and a new set of skills, we will gain a sense of confidence in what we are doing.  Worth it.

Through the idea of God

The view out my office window this morning -- snow!

I was writing yesterday about expectations, and how we make God in the image of our expectations, instead of allowing God to make us into his own image, into the potential he created us to be (in his image).

This morning as I read another piece of Bishop Schnase's book (Five Practices of Fruitful Living), I was struck by this:

The fruit of Intentional Faith Development is not merely to know more about God but to know God, to see through the idea of God to God himself. (underlined emphasis mine)

Have you ever had that experience of Bible study?  I wonder if that  describes those Ah Hah moments we all sometimes have -- those times when a piece of God's word, either read from scripture or spoken to us by someone else, or ... and the list goes on -- but those times when God's word finds root in our lives, and allows us to see God, not our idea of God.

Are those the times when God is able to change us, to re-create us?

Connected to Worship

The piece of a chapter I read this morning from Bishop Schnase's book was near the end of Passionate Worship. I was struck by this quote:

People who practice Passionate Worship let music into their souls. They lift their voices in praise to God. They let themselves sing.

I attended a funeral a few weeks ago for a pastor in our Annual Conference. He had been a District Superintendent and was currently pastoring a church. He was only 52 when he suddenly died. The church was filled to overflowing for his funeral. We ended up sitting in one of the nursery areas that had a window overlooking the Sanctuary and speakers to hear the service. It was somewhat like watching the funeral on TV (although that was available, too, in the Fellowship Hall). I felt disconnected from the worship taking place beyond the glass window.

When it came time to sing hymns, those of us in this little room stood up and sang. We weren't really adding our voices to those below -- the singing from the Sanctuary was rather muffled over the speaker system. We were just (timidly) singing.

I wonder, sometimes, if that is an analogy to how we approach worship. Do we sometimes feel as if worship is taking place somewhere apart from us, and we are separated from it by glass, with the sound muffled through speakers? Do we sometimes feel disconnected from worship?

What is our response? Do we "let ourselves sing?" Do we let ourselves sing, even though it feels awkward and timid?

When we did, in our little nursery room, we felt as if we were more a part of what was going on -- connected through the music. Participants.

If we will let ourselves sing (whatever singing might mean), will we breakdown the glass, unmuffle the sound, and become participants in worship? If we will do that, then will our griping about what is happening around us cease? Will participation connect us? And if it will, will we take responsibility for the choice?

Passionate Worship

Consider passion. With a capital P -- as in the Passion of Christ. I've always thought of that to mean the suffering of Christ. I avoided the movie by the same name. My theory was that if I allowed myself to be put to death because of love for my children, I would not want them to watch.

But, anyway, Passion of the Christ -- suffering.

This morning, I read about Passionate Worship in Bishop Schnase's book. He says, "In theology, the Passion refers to the complete outpouring of Jesus Christ, the offering of himself, even to death on a cross in order to complete our relationship with God through Christ." I like that, because it focuses on the purpose rather than the pain. The love of God is evident in a definition such as that one.

We often speak about worship -- what we like and don't like -- why we do certain things -- should worship be traditional or alternative.... We were having such a conversation in Sunday school a couple of weeks ago. JtM said that worship is about what you bring with you rather than what you get out of it. What do we bring with us to worship?

Passionate worship. Worship that is a response to the love of Christ as expressed in his own Passion. Do we bring our love of God with us to worship? Does it seem like our worship is an acceptable response of love?

Don't read in that sentence "equal" or "worthy." I don't believe our worship can ever be equal to Christ's passion, but does it seem to be a response?

When we were discerning our church's mission and vision statements, the one phrase that causes a whole lot of angst was that part of our mission was to "worship God joyfully." Why would that bother people? I think the issue was that joyful was thought to be the opposite of somber -- the opposite of thoughtful. I think it was a reaction to loud worship. We kept the phrase "worship God joyfully" in our mission statement, and I'm glad.

Joyful worship -- passionate worship -- is worship that expresses our love of God. It has nothing to do with volume or instrumentation or the presence or absence of screens. It is about relationship with God and response to God in love.

Be passionate in your worship, and I'll try to do the same.

Image: Some kind of red berry on a tree in Ritter Park (image taken in October).

Presence

I'm still reading Bishop Schnase's new book -- Five Practices of Fruitful Living.

The chapter I'm reading now is about worship. Among other things, he says worship is out weekly appointment with God.

I like the idea of that -- the discipline of that. If it were solely up to me, I might not make it to worship each week. I might sleep late, fix a leisurely breakfast, or knit. The habit of attending worship each week, whether I feel like it or not, is what gets me to worship.

Once I'm there, I usually find that I needed to be there, and I come away renewed. I also come away having worshiped God, and that's the goal.

Not being there would equate to not being there for the worship of God. Presence is paramount.

Image: Leaf in Ritter Park.

Threads of Grace

Prayer casts threads of grace across chasms of disconnection, loneliness, fear and pain. Prayer weaves people back into community and rebinds them to the source of life.

From Five Practices of Fruitful Living by Robert Schnase

He calls prayer "threads of grace." I like that image. I like that prayer ties us to God and that it also ties us to each other.

Do we think of prayer that way? Do we remember that it ties us to each other as well as to God? And do we think of prayer as grace?

Lost

To take a break from my usual devotional routine (if something isn't working, you should stop doing it), and in the belief that I need to read more books for spiritual development, I switched from reading Disciplines in the morning to focusing on reading Robert Schnase's book, Five Practices for Fruitful Living. Each morning I read a section of a chapter -- 3 or 4 pages.

This morning, the section concerned obstacles to the acceptance of God's grace into our lives. One paragraph made me stop and go back, reading it again.

Most people are probably familiar with a series of three parables from Luke 15 -- the Parable of the Lost Sheep, the Lost Coin, and the two Lost Brothers (ie -- the Prodigal and his brother). Schnase took a different look at these three parables, focusing on the why of being lost. As I read the paragraph, I wondered about why we are sometimes lost.

1. Why was the sheep lost? Did it move aimlessly from tuft of grass to tuft of grass until it found itself lost? Do we ever find ourselves lost, separated from God by our own aimless wandering?
2. Why did the woman have to search so hard for the lost coin? Why was it that she had so much trouble finding what was the most valuable to her? Do we ever get lost amid our distractions and busyness? Are our lives too messy to find what is valuable?
3. Why was the prodigal son lost? Did he get lost because of his disobedience? Was his "lost-ness" a function of his own self-destructive decisions? Schnase didn't mention the older son, but I think he was lost, too. Was he lost because of his own expectations of what should be happening? Did he get lost because of his own arrogance and sense of self-importance?

Why are we lost? Is it our aimlessness, our busyness, our disobedience, our arrogant sense of self or our belief in what should be happening? What stands between us and grace, blocking the way?

Struck by Grace

I've started reading Bishop Robert Shnase's new book Five Practices of Fruitful Living. In the first chapter he talks about being struck by grace. He quotes Paul Tillach:

We don't have to promise anything at that time, for in that moment we are fundamentally the recipients of a promise. We don't have to give anything; only to receive what is given. Our only and singular task is to accept that we are accepted.

When we accept that we are loved, we are struck by grace.

We often marvel at a love so profound that God would send his only son to demonstrate that love. We strive to understand the depth of that love.

But what if, even if we could understand that profound of a love, we would only be grasping the edge of it? What if God's love is than that? We can't imagine that God's love could be that deep, because we care barely grasp that kind of love.

I think the truth is that God's love is deeper than we can even imagine. Stronger. Bigger. Even more than the edge of what we can dream of.

Accept that, and be struck by grace.