Gospel Centered Worship

 

For most of my life,

The sermon was the most important part of Sunday morning worship. 

Everything led up to the sermon 

And everything ceased shortly after the sermon.

The sermon was determined by whatever was on the pastor’s heart and mind, 

Which could be from the Old or New Testaments, the Psalms, the Gospels,

One verse or a whole passage. 

Sharing the table was reserved for once every three months so that it would remain special. 

Music was programmed for comfort and emotional connection. 

Prayers were said extemporaneously. 

And the pastor, music minister, and choir/praise team were the worship leaders while the congregants were there primarily to listen. 

 

This style of worship is often celebrated for its freedom to allow the Holy Spirit to move.

 

More recently, 

The Gospel has become the most important part of worship. 

The whole service centers around The Word, the central reading of which is the Gospel text. 

We read aloud together a passage from the Old Testament, the Psalms, the New Testament, and the Gospels.

The passages are determined by the Lectionary,

A three-year scripture cycle read by many churches around the world.

The sermon is the first response to the gospel reading and the remainder of the service allows congregants to respond.

Sharing the table occurs every Sunday so that everyone will know they have a place at God’s table of grace.

Music is programmed to coordinate with the Gospel.

Prayers are written and read aloud together.

And the pastor, musicians, and congregants are all involved in leading and participating in worship.

 

This style of worship is often criticized for not allowing the Holy Spirit to move.

 

For most of my life, I fit within the former style of worship.

Now, I do not.

Now, I find my home in the latter,

And I can honestly say that I wish more people could join me there.

Yes, it’s an adjustment.

But there is something to reading scripture together, praying together, confessing sins together, and sharing the table together every Sunday.

Worship becomes less about one person’s thoughts,

And more about God in God’s fullness.

There is something to reading the difficult parts of scripture as well as the ones that comfort and inspire.

There is something to reading prayers for the earth/environment, the world/leaders, the church, the sick/hurting/oppressed, and ourselves.

There is something to seeing the words on the page that really brings congregant home.

The Holy Spirit makes the words alive and

Reminds us that we’re part of something bigger.

It reminds us that we can and should do better.

It reminds us that the gospel of Jesus Christ is so much bigger than we make it.

And it reminds us that we are often the answer to our very own prayers.

 

I am thankful that there are different types and styles of worship.

And I am thankful that God can speak through them all.

But for me, for now, I am most especially thankful

For worship that focuses on the richness of God,

And challenges me to be more like Christ,

In all that I say and do.

 

Amen.

The Great Thanksgiving

 

I grew up in a faith tradition that didn’t much believe in written liturgy.

Even though we had a set order of worship that rarely changed,

We believed, at our core, in the spontaneity of worship.

The welcome, announcements, transitions, prayers, and sermons,

Were all led by the Holy Spirit.  

 

As I’ve gotten away from the faith tradition of my youth,

I’ve discovered the beauty in written liturgy

And I’ve become a fan of writing out my words before saying them when leading worship.

I’ve also become a fan of the predictability of written liturgy.

There is comfort in knowing the words that come next—

The confessions, the songs, the prayers, the creeds—

They hold rich meaning and depth

Just as they hold me in the safety of their routine.

 

Some of the liturgy also makes me stupidly happy!

Every week that I’m in attendance at my church,

Without fail,

I begin to grin when we come to The Great Thanksgiving.

 

The pastor sings:

The Lord be with you.

We reply:

And also with you.

P: Lift up your hearts.

C: We lift them to the Lord.

P: Let us give thanks to the Lord our God.

C: It is right to give our thanks and praise.

 

And then, at least in one version of the liturgy, she continues:

It is our duty and delight

That we should everywhere and in all things

Give thanks and praise to you O Lord

In Jesus Christ….

 

And then she continues with something that I don’t have memorized. Yet.

But I have the whole conversation above memorized,

And I burst into song with it a couple of times a week,

Singing both parts to myself,

Or singing it with a friend,

And finding hope and encouragement and happiness

Each time that I do 😊.

 

God: May we be a people who worship through both spontaneity and plan. And however we find to worship, may we simply do it. For you are good. And you are working with us to create good. And that deserves a Great Thanksgiving. Amen.  

First Year Of Teaching All Over Again

It feels like my first year of teaching all over again, Sort of. Everything is new, Only I know a lot of things feel Old. Everything is uncertain, Only I know what it’s like to feel Certain. Everything is out of control, Only I know that I’ve had a taste of Control. And so I’ve worked this week to gain control— To accomplish one thing in many parts and have it Under my belt— Even if it’s not due for Months… Because, friends— It’s the best I can do this week: I who am grasping for something Tangible, Certain, and Controllable In a world that is anything but so. Maybe you’re there with me, too? And maybe that’s okay. Because maybe we’ll be okay. Because we made it through our “first year of teaching” The first time. We can do it again.

Who Cares?

If you were at Antioch yesterday morning, then you heard a somewhat diverse set of music. We started with a modern praise song, led by the praise team, and then we went directly into a congregational rendition of “Victory in Jesus.” Next we moved to another congregational favorite of “Just A Closer Walk With Thee,” followed by a very unique, somewhat high church, full of intricate, sometimes dissonant harmonies, choral arrangement of “Abide With Me.” We ended with one verse of “Blest Be The Tie.”

While I was very pleased with the choir’s rendition of “Abide With Me”—it was tough and we had worked really hard to prepare it for worship—and while I always enjoy singing “Victory In Jesus”—after all, it was one of the title songs of my former band—and while the girls of the praise team did a good job introducing a new song—what really hit me yesterday was “Just A Closer Walk With Thee.”

As I was standing in the pulpit singing, I suddenly caught myself smiling and thinking, “Yes!! This!! I hope everyone in the congregation and the world is listening!! This is so important!! Did you hear it, people?! You just sang something HUGE!!”

And what was it that evoked double exclamation marks after every thought?

“Through this world of toil and snares,
If I falter, Lord, who cares?
Who with me my burden shares?
None but Thee, dear Lord, none but Thee.”

Did you catch that?! Really catch that?!

The world is full of toil and snares, speed-bumps and potholes, obstacles and heartaches, failures and heartbreaks, injustice and bigotry, judgment and condemnation, mean people and meaner people, and all kinds of other mayhem that will trip us up. With every feeling of safety. With every risk we take. With any attempt at anything at all, we run the risk of success or failure. And guess what? We’re going to mess up as many times as we get it right! We’re going to goof as many times as we reach near-perfection. We’re going to falter as many times as we experience clear-sailing! But…who cares?!

Really? Who cares?!

What does it matter?!

We’re still alive.
We’re still human.
We’re still able to move forward on life’s journey.

So who cares if we falter??
Really? Who cares?!

Because, in the end, the God who created us and loves us is the same God who never leaves or forsakes us—faltering or not. The same God who created the universe and offers redemption to the world is the same God who shares our heartaches and burdens—willingly surrendered or not.

I don’t know about you, friend, but this all makes me smile and sets a little part of me free.

Worship Despite Ourselves

Sometimes I have no direction. I have a theme. I have a scripture passage. I have a sermon title. And yet I have no direction. Songs play in my head, but they don’t feel right. Songs fall under the right category in the hymnbook index, but they don’t feel right. The words aren’t what we need. The melody isn’t familiar. The message, tune, and/or tempo don’t fit with the mood or flow of the service. And so I find myself at a loss.

Sometimes I ask my mom for help. Sometimes my dad. The truth is that my mom knows more about the hymnal than I’ll ever know and that my dad knows exactly what he is hoping a worship service will convey. Sometimes their suggestions directly pull me out of my rut. Sometimes they give me a directional tug. But sometimes even they don’t feel right. So sometimes I ask my praise team members for help. And the same thing will happen. Sometimes their suggestions pull me directly out of my rut while other times they give me a directional tug.

Yesterday’s worship service was a combination of all of the above: My mom directly chose what ended up being the Call to Worship and the second and third hymns while Rebecca the Children’s Minister chose what ended up being the special music. The thing that I wrestled with was where to place the songs that we had selected…and knowing that the praise team hadn’t practiced either song that we were supposed to play.

Truth be told, I hadn’t made a final decision about the order of yesterday’s music when I arrived at church. I knew my options, and I had a pretty good idea of what we would be doing when, but nothing was solid. As the praise team’s pre-service warm-up began and the members began to rag-taggedly arrive, I quickly determined that we would do the special music and settled into practice.

Here’s what happened, though: The first time we practiced the song that Rebecca the Children’s Minister had suggested, it was me, Rebecca, and Ethan the Bass Player and Vocalist. We figured out the vocal arrangement, and then Rebecca had to go do something else. Then David the Keyboard Player arrived. So Ethan and I practiced with David. I tried to figure out which guitar style sounded best with the song—strum or pick. Then Leslie the Vocalist and Guitar player arrived. So I handed her my guitar, showed her the strum part, shared with her what we had decided for the vocalists, got out my other guitar, and began playing the pick part. The combination of everything together sounded good, but Leslie’s guitar wasn’t coming through the sound system. Then Jeff the Vocalist and Sound Guy showed up. So I shared with him what we had decided for the vocalists, practiced one verse, and then asked him to see if he could figure out what was wrong with Leslie’s guitar pick up.

By this point, quite a few people had gathered in the sanctuary for worship. The rag-tag nature of how everyone had arrived was evident in how we were set up; Jeff and I were having to yell at each other to figure out the problem with Leslie’s guitar (the sound booth is at the back of the sanctuary in a room above the sanctuary); and the choir was waiting on me in the choir room. As soon as we got the guitar amplified and our equipment set up in such a way that it did not reflect chaos, I went to the choir room to get the choir ready for the service. After a quick warm-up and a prayer, we entered the sanctuary for worship.

The choir sang the Call To Worship. It was literally a musical version of the scripture reading of the day and led perfectly into the first hymn. The praise team sang the special music. One more member of the praise team showed up to sing. Just before we began, Rebecca quietly shared with her the vocal arrangement and then we sang…

There are times when the choir and/or praise team will work on a song for weeks. We will practice long and hard and wait for just the right time to offer our song in worship. And then no one will say anything in response…or if they do then it will be a complaint—the most common of which is that the praise team is too loud and the instruments unbalanced.

Then there are times like yesterday when the choir pulls out an old song and the praise team does the same…and things are a bit scattered and crazy like the episode chronicled above…and then numerous people tell me that the music was absolutely beautiful—the harmonies, the balance, the volume, and the message. When this happened yesterday, all I could say was, “It was God.” Because surely it was. You read about the morning and the uncertainty that led to it all. What else could it have been?

Thank you, God, for using us despite of ourselves. And help us to become the prayer that we sang. Amen.

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Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Where there is hatred, we will show his love
Where there is injury, we will never judge
Where there is striving, we will speak his peace
To the millions crying for release,
We will be his instruments of peace

Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Where there is blindness, we will pray for sight
where there is darkness, we will shine his light
Where there is sadness, we will bear their grief
To the millions crying for relief,
We will be your instruments of peace.

Lord, Make us instruments of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let your love increase
Lord, make us instruments of your peace,
Walls of pride and prejudice shall cease
When we are your instruments of peace.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whispered words of wisdom, let it be

Lost in Wonder, Love, and Praise

My parents and I led a candlelight service together last night. As we were discussing worship plans, my dad raised the all-important musical question: Are we going to sing all of the verses of the hymns or just the first and last? I said, “One thing I’ve learned this Advent Season is that we miss a lot of really good words when we don’t pay attention to or skip over the verses of familiar songs, so we’re going to sing all of them.”

On the first Sunday of Advent to fit with the theme of hope and during yesterday’s Advent service centered on peace, we sang “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.” Other than the words of the first verse that always resonate with me—Peace on the earth, good will to men, from heaven’s all gracious king—the words that have been speaking to me this year are the second and third verses:

Yet with the woes of sing and strife the world has suffered long,
Beneath the angel strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong.
And man at war with man hears not the love song which they bring;
Oh hush the noise ye men of strife and hear the angels sing.

All ye, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow,
Look now for glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road and hear the angels sing.

On the second Sunday of Advent, to fit with the theme of love, we sang these unfamiliar words to a familiar hymn-tune (Bring a Torch):

Love has come, a light in the darkness!...

Love is born! Come share in the wonder. Love is God now asleep in the hay. See the glow in the eyes of His mother; what is the name her heart is saying? Love! Love! Love is the name she whispers. Love! Love! Jesus, Immanuel.

Love has come—He never will leave us! Love is life everlasting and free. Love is Jesus within and among us; Love is the peace our hearts are seeking. Love! Love! Love is the gift of Christmas. Love! Love! Praise to you God on high!

And these:

Love divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven to earth come down. Fix in us thy humble dwelling, all thy faithful mercies crown. Jesus, thou are all compassion, pure, unbounded love thou art. Visit us with thy salvation; enter every trembling heart.

Breathe, oh breathe, thy loving Spirit, into every troubled breast! Let us all in thee inherit, let us find the promised rest. Take away our bent to sinning; Alpha and Omega be. End of faith, as its beginning, set our hearts at liberty.

Come, Almighty, to deliver, let us all thy grace receive…Pray and praise thee without ceasing, glory in thy perfect love.

Finish, then, thy new creation; pure and spotless let us be. Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee. Changed from glory into glory till in heaven we take our place. Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love, and praise.

Oh God, music is such a powerful thing.
So help us as we sing, this Advent Season and beyond,
To pay attention to the words of longing and confession that have been sung by
So many people throughout the years from throughout the world.
Help us to hear—to really hear—your words of compassion, freedom, and grace and
Help us to get lost in your wonder, love, and praise.
Always.
Amen.

I'm Ready Now

If you would have walked into the Fellowship Hall around 7:45am yesterday, then you may have wanted to turn and leave. The praise team was getting ready for the early service and we were sounding and looking rough after a little break. After I hit the ceiling with the guitar while picking it up for the first time, I popped my left hand in a painful way while changing chords on the first song. During a perfectly natural, “Ouch I just hurt my hand” hand-shaking-out motion, my ring flew off my finger and my pick fell on the floor. Neither me nor my keys-player could remember what key we were supposed to play our songs in and my keys-player didn’t remember that he was supposed to have his keyboard set to a trumpet sound on one of the songs. Our vocalist was doing fine until I tried to break into harmony and then she went into the harmony part with me, leaving no melody to be heard. At this point, all three of us of us just stopped and laughed because there wasn’t much else to do.

Before calling the rehearsal quits, though, we decided to run our last song. We’d introduced it as a special music two weeks before and had scheduled to follow-up with it as a congregational song yesterday.

“I just let go and I feel exposed, but it’s so beautiful—cause this is who I am,” we sang. “I've been such a mess, but now I can't care less—in you I rest.”

As we sang, the silliness quietly turned serious, and I found myself singing from a place I hadn’t sung in quite awhile.

“I was so caught up in who I'm not. Can you please forgive me?”

Tears began to fill my eyes—as they are filling them as I write this tonight.

“I've nothing left to hide—no reasons left to lie. Give me another chance.”

Tears began falling from my eyes as we continued to sing:

“Lord I'm ready now, all the walls are down, time is running out, and I want to make this count.
I ran away from you and did what I wanted to, but I don't want to let you down. Oh Lord I'm ready now. Lord I'm ready now.”

When we finished the song, my goofy little praise team and I shared a powerful moment of silence during which all three of us recognized God’s presence in the room.

God truly is amazing, you know? In the middle of what was a purely unintentional not-so-spiritual time of worship preparation, God made God’s presence known in a way that I did not expect. As I spontaneously poured out my heart and released what I think may have been the final bit of residual hurt from a cut-off that had cut me to the core, I knew that God was listening, that God was forgiving me—and that God was giving me another chance—daily giving me another chance.

God does the same for you, too, friends—for all of us. Listens, forgives, and daily gives second chances.

And you want to know something interesting? We didn’t even end up singing that song in worship. The guest preacher, my dad, ended his sermon in a way that absolutely did not lead into the feel and message of the song. He ended on a high note of praise. We decided to, as well.

“My heart is filled with thankfulness
To Him who walks beside
Who floods my weaknesses and strengths
And causes fear to fly
Whose every promise is enough
For every step I take
Sustaining me with arms of love
And crowning me with grace”

Amen.

God's Kindness To Us

I learned something today: Minneapolis, NC, is also known as Dog Run. This makes sense…because there are a lot of dogs roaming free up here—yet they’re all very friendly and the way the kids respond to them makes me even more passionate about figuring out a way to get a therapy dog to school.

For those of you who don’t know, I have been leading worship for First Baptist Aberdeen’s children’s camp for the past nine years. A mutual friend from divinity school introduced the children’s minister and me and the partnership that was formed between us has been wonderful. The camp is held at Candlestick Retreat Center in Minneapolis, NC, and each year is like a one week family reunion with the chaperones and kids that I’ve grown to love. I’ve even watched some of the kids grow up to be on the staff and crew.

It’s interesting to see how each year’s group is different. Last year’s group was very into relationships and the girls spent a lot of time primping. This year’s group is very into being kids—running around and playing—going head over heels over the dogs and rabbits and any other animal they see. Personally, I have enjoyed this year’s group better.

Since the kids have expressed such a deep interest in animals, I decided to share an animal story with them at campfire worship tonight. I’ve been reading a series of books that contain stories of unlikely animal interactions. In one of the books, Unlikely Heroes, there is a story about a llama named Little Man who put himself between a herd of sheep and the fire that was consuming their barn in an effort to save them. Because of the injuries he sustained, Little Man soon died. He sacrificed his life to save thirty others.

Naturally, I made a connection between Little Man’s sacrifice and Jesus, so I did something I don’t normally do and focused tonight’s message on Jesus’s sacrifice for us—to save us—not just from hell—but from the chains of every day darkness and fear.

Here’s what super cool, though. Today’s Bible study was on kindness. I had a scripture passage about kindness in mind to share early in the tonight’s worship service, but I couldn’t find it. So I looked in the concordance. After looking in the concordance, I was led to a passage that I’d never fully paid attention to…and it was perfect for tonight…because tonight was not only the story of Jesus’ sacrifice for us but also the wrap-up of a week about being available (using our gifts for God), dependable (being someone that others can count on), honorable (living a righteous life), and kind, and in so doing living lives of spiritual acts of worship:

And God raised us up with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms in Christ Jesus, in order that in the coming ages he might show the incomparable riches of his grace, expressed in his kindness to us in Christ Jesus. For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this was not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared for us to do.

I love Candlestick. I love how every year is something different yet wonderfully the same. God is here. In the old school building that houses the retreat center. In the river that runs by it. In the laughter and wisdom of children. In the steady presence and love of the adults. In the Bible studies and in worship. And in how God never fails to show me the exact songs and words that need to be shared.

I am always sad when Candlestick ends, but I always rejoice in the beauty of the week. This week has been good. And God’s kindness through Christ has been shown. And we are God’s handiwork surrounded by God’s glory. Thanks to be God. Amen.

Not My Proudest Moment, But...

A good friend recently shared with me a conversation that she had with her youngest son after visiting a zoo. I giggle every time I think about it. The conversation went something like this:

Son: Did you see the size of the balls on that tiger?!
Friend: Yes. He did have large testicles. Your brothers would have probably appreciated seeing those.

She went on to say to me, “Not my proudest moment as a mother, but…”

I don’t remember what was after the “but” because the statement that I hear is this:

Not my proudest moment, but there is laughter…

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A few weeks ago, on the very day that my church voted to make me the permanent part-time music minister, I threw a little fit after worship. The Sunday night before, the praise team and I had spent a couple of hours moving our equipment to the sanctuary and setting it up for the summer’s blended worship services. I knew that a wedding was scheduled in the sanctuary for the next week and I knew that we would need to remove my guitars and other things from the stage, but I didn’t know that we would have to move everything and undo the hours of work that we’d just done. As a team of good-hearted men swarmed the stage to help clear all of the equipment, I got really frustrated. In my frustration, I became mean. In my meanness, people began treading lightly because they knew that I was frustrated. And…yeh…it was ugly.

Not my proudest moment, but there is grace…

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Yesterday, while we leading the first hymn, “Come All Christians, Be Committed,” I had the thought: “Wait. This hymn-tune sounds very familiar. Wait. I think it might be the same tune as ‘The Servant Song,’ and we’re singing that next. Is it the same tune?!” Yes. Yes it was. Eek! On the night that I’d planned the music for yesterday’s service, I’d paid so much attention to song lyrics and incorporating both the choir and praise team that it hadn’t occurred to me that I’d chosen the same hymn-tune. Oops.

Not my proudest moment, but there is faith…

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The rental house that my family and I rented at Hyco Lake last week was on a lane that had a roller coaster-like hill. My oldest nephew, Jack, absolutely loves roller coasters. In fact, if given a choice at this point in life, he would be a roller coaster designer and operator. Naturally, I decided that it would be fun to put the car in neutral as Jack and I descended the hill while going to the store on Tuesday. I used to do this all the time at the camp where I worked. What wasn’t so natural was deciding to leave the car in neutral and let it roll back down the hill upon our return. But. I did. Then we rolled back up. And down. And up. And down. Until the car ran out of momentum. Like the Pirate Ship. Or some other amusement park ride. Jack was grinning. I was, too. It was really fun.

Not my proudest moment, but there is joy…

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And through it all,
Through all of our non-proud moments of humanity—
When being a mature role model goes out the window,
When acting as a Christ-like minister is impossible,
When planning ahead messes up—
There is laughter and joy and grace and faith…
And love.
Yes, through it all:
There is love.

Officially

If you are an introvert who does not like physical touch, then I don’t suggest a big ordination service. If, however, you are an extravert who craves physical touch, then go for it…because the touches you receive and the words that you hear will propel you through the exhaustion that ensues after months of waiting.

I’ve had a lot of people call me Rev. this week. I’ve smiled.
I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I’m still floating from Sunday night. I am.
I’ve had people tell me that I was glowing at Sunday night’s service. I was.
I’ve had people joke that I suddenly have healing powers. I don’t. Yet parts of me have been healed…or least taken steps closer to redemption.

It’s hard to describe. These thoughts and feelings that I have.
Nothing extrinsic has changed.
I’ve still gone to work at school each day this week and done my best to be patient and loving with my coworkers and students. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I’ve still gone to church a couple of times this week and done my best to be encouraging and spirit-led with my coworkers, choir, and congregation. I’ve succeeded. I’ve failed. I’ve landed in between.
I did those things last week, too.
Yet I feel different this week.
I think it’s partly because my love tank is full to overflowing.
But it’s more than that. It’s just hard to explain...

I don’t know how long the line was for people to pray for me. And I don’t know how many people the line held. But I know that I saw a lot of faces and felt a lot of hands and I know that I heard a lot of words that came from people’s hearts.

One sentence really sticks out to me, though, and it’s from one of my dearest friends from high school. “This is what you’ve been doing all along,” she said. “Now it’s just official.”

I guess maybe that’s it.
It’s official.
Called out and affirmed by hundreds of people.
Publically declared that my greatest desire in life is to love and show God’s grace to the world around me—
Wholeheartedly, in great and small tasks, through music and words, by simply showing up…

People have shown up for me. They showed up Sunday night.
And those who couldn’t show up Sunday night were still there with me.
My dad’s parents were with me in the necklace that I wore around my neck.
My mom’s parents were with me in the ring that I wore on my finger.
Kay was with me in the angel plaque that lay on the altar in the sanctuary.

People have shown up for me.
So I want to show up for people.
Officially.
Wholeheartedly.
With everything that I am.
Extraverted, craving of words of affirmation, needing hugs and all.

My People

“This is a bit overwhelming,” I said. “But it’s good. It’s really good. I’m so glad that my people are finally getting to meet my people.”

Gentry, Erwin, Johnsonville.
Camp Mundo Vista, Camp La Vida.
Friendship, FBC Erwin, Antioch.
Harnett Central, Meredith, Campbell, Wake Med.
Friends, family.

My people got to meet my people. To see each other. To put faces to names. To hear each other. To worship together. And short of my getting to see all of my people myself, hug lots of necks, and sing with my friends again, it is the thing I was most excited to happen at my ordination last night.

To those who were there in person: Thank you.

And I’m curious: What words from last night’s service spoke the most to you? Have any words been going through your mind today? (And I’m not necessarily looking for words about me. I’m genuinely curious as to how the Spirit spoke to you.)

To those who sent words and prayers in your absence: Thank you.

For everyone: Here is the program order.

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Order of Worship
for the Ordination of Deanna Deaton
March 29, 2015, 6pm

Welcome
Presentation of Candidate
Call to Worship
Congregational Hymn #235: When I Survey The Wondrous Cross
Invocation
Special Music: You Are
Scripture Reading, Isaiah 55: 8-12
Homily and Prayer
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 1 and 3): The Servant Song
Scripture Reading, Romans 12: 1-8
Charge to the Church
Litany of Affirmation and Support
Special Music: A Follower’s Prayer
Scripture Reading, John 15: 9-17
Charge to and Prayer for the Candidate
Laying on of Hands
Congregational Hymn #384 (v. 2), The Servant Song
Deanna’s First Ordained Communion
Presentation of Church Gift
Benediction

It Feels Nice

I’m a pretty good teacher on Mondays. Even when I wake up every hour the night before and have angst filled dreams of not being able to get to my classroom even though I know that a class is waiting or of being called out for not being at duty on time because the bell rang ten minutes early or of having a fire drill that’s not really a drill because an oven in the kitchen is on fire during arrival time in the morning (all of which happened last night), I’m still a pretty good teacher on Mondays. I realized this fact at the end of the day today as I looked at the evidence of a day of focused teaching. There are many days when I feel like a terrible music teacher. I very well may feel like a terrible teacher tomorrow—especially if I don’t rest better tonight. But today I think I might be a pretty good teacher. And, truthfully, it feels nice.

…

It also feels nice to make music with my best friend again. We once recorded two CDs, performed quite a few concerts, led quite a few worship services, and spent countless hours practicing together, but for the past eight years our music has been silent. Life has gotten in the way. But tonight, we sang together again. We prepared for my ordination in two weeks. Our aging voices blended perfectly and we transformed simple songs into something beautiful. I’ve always been amazed at how the two of us are able to make something beautiful.

…

Honestly, after a day of focused teaching and beautiful music making on the tail of a terrible night’s sleep, I’m a little tired. All cylinders aren’t firing. I have no wisdom to offer. So I’ll simply end with the lyrics of the song that Angela and I are preparing for my ordination. Come to FBC Erwin at 6pm on Sunday, March 29th to hear it performed live…and to hear slightly updated lyrics. [Yes. That is an invitation .]

…

I sit all alone in this beautiful place
I fall on my knees but I stand on your strength
Jesus, You, You Are
I don’t understand why you’ve brought me here
To a place I’d run from, year after year but
Jesus, You, You Are

All my days full of motion, running from here to there
Split devotions, I don’t know how to bear
Yet you’re the way and the truth and the life on this path
The loving creator, the first and last

Jesus, you are the life of me
You are the light I need
You are the great I Am
The Prince of Peace and the Son of Man
You Are

I look around all at this crazy world
Even your children go against your Word but
Jesus, You, You Are
How can just one person make a difference that lasts
When so many people are stuck in the past but
Jesus, You, You Are

Running round in circles trying to bridge the gap
But the weight of humanity is stronger than that
Yet you’re the rock I can build on, you’re the image of grace
The holy redeemer, Love’s relentless face

Jesus, you are the life of me
You are the light I need
You are the great I Am
The Prince of Peace and the Son of Man
You Are

Defining Event: Kay's Death

It’s been a rough week, folks. Not necessarily at work—though I’ve had my fair share of rough patches. But inside my head and on the shards of my broken heart.

Those of you who have been reading my notes for awhile will know about whom I speak when I mention Kay. I write about her each year around the second week of November, yet this year’s writing is early because of how heavily she’s been on my mind this week.

It started Sunday night. As I prepared to go to my dad’s associational meeting that evening, I found myself filled with unexplainable anxiety. I wasn’t late. I wasn’t on the program. I wasn’t scheduled to see anyone new. I was just deep down, butterflies in my stomach, back quivering anxious.

As I stood in line to register, though, I realized where the feeling was coming from: The last time I went to an associational meeting at that church and stood in that same line, I was standing in line behind Kay.

The first wave of deep grief hit on my way to praise team practice that night. In addition to remembering Kay’s death, I realized that most of the people who were in my life at that time are gone, too—not to physical death but to time’s natural passing.

That wave of grief colored much of my Monday, and then another, much deeper, wave of grief overwhelmed me on Tuesday. I remembered every vivid detail of the last moments I saw Kay, the phone conversation that told me something was wrong, the hours that I stood outside her apartment waiting for the rescue squad prepare her body for transport, the minutes after I got home, the days I spent helping clean her apartment--the sights, the smells, the confusion, the hurt. I sobbed on the way to counseling. I sobbed in counseling. I sobbed on my way home from counseling. I sobbed as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. And I woke up yesterday feeling like I’d been run over by a truck…

Sunday is homecoming at church. The choir is singing “Find Us Faithful” for our choral anthem:

We're pilgrims on the journey
Of the narrow road
And those who've gone before us line the way
Cheering on the faithful, encouraging the weary
Their lives a stirring testament to God's sustaining grace

Surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses
Let us run the race not only for the prize
But as those who've gone before us
Let us leave to those behind us
The heritage of faithfulness passed on through godly lives

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
May the fire of our devotion light their way
May the footprints that we leave
Lead them to believe
And the lives we live inspire them to obey
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

After all our hopes and dreams have come and gone
And our children sift through all we've left behind
May the clues that they discover and the memories they uncover
Become the light that leads them to the road we each must find

Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful
Oh may all who come behind us find us faithful

For some reason, the choir has struggled with this anthem. As we practiced last night and I listened to their hesitation in singing, I thought about the message of the song—the message of single-minded devotion to God that I’ve been trying to get the choir to share—and I thought about…Kay.

I thought about her cheering on the faithful and encouraging the weary. I revisited those moments of literally sifting through all she’d left behind. And I stopped rehearsal and leaned against my podium and shared some of the burden that I’d been carrying all week.

My choir listened. My choir heard. And then they sang the anthem the best they’d ever sung it shortly afterward.

I imagine Kay would have been happy had she been sitting in the sanctuary with us last night. I imagine she would have sat on the front pew with her eyes closed, hands in receiving position, smiling as she listened—just as she listened to my band play on the last morning of her life. And I imagine she’d be smiling with me now—the day after the day after completely falling apart—celebrating just how far I’ve come and just how much farther there is to go.

Come To Me...And Rest

One of my biggest accomplishments of all of my years at camp was laying the foundation for my friend Humphries to learn to play the guitar.

A couple of years after we first played together, I drove to Humphries house to visit. Naturally, we busted out our guitars and began to play. A little while later, we’d written a song.

It’s a simple song. The words come from scripture. I honestly don’t remember why it emerged that day. But it did. And it’s a song that I often find myself singing…especially when I’m tired…which is a lot…because working two very public jobs while also trying to be a good friend and family member, responsible citizen, and healthy self is tiring.

Yesterday’s sermon was on the importance of rest—for both the body and soul. We are our best selves when we are our rested selves. We are only able to project peace and joy when we are our rested selves. We need rest. After all, God created rest through the very act of resting.

And so…during yesterday’s early service…I sang that little song that Humphries and I wrote…and it’s been the calming earworm in my mind ever since…and while you can’t hear the music right now, I pray you take comfort in the words…and remember to rest.

Come To Me
7/3/10
Matthew 11:28-29
with Amy Humphries

Come to me
All you who labor and are tired
Come to me
And I will give you rest

Take my easy yoke
And learn from me
For I am gentle
And humble in heart

Yes, you will find rest
For your weary soul
Just come to me
My burden is light

Come to me
My burden is light
Come to me
Come to me

Defining Moments: (Motorcycle) Helmet of Salvation

On Tuesday afternoon, I put a Carolina Tiger Rescue sticker on my car. After visiting the facility in July and learning what the Rescue does, I decided to become a member and supporter. I toured the facility with my aunt, my sister-in-law, and my nephews, and we had a great time while learning a lot. We also enjoyed a lovely meal in downtown Pittsboro afterward and found an interesting thrift shop near the restaurant. One of my nephews bought a gift for his grandmother; another bought a motorcycle helmet for himself. Does he ride a motorcycle? Nope. Does he have use for the helmet? Nope. But he thought it was cool, so he bought it.

Six years ago July, I was sitting in the outdoor chapel at my favorite camp listening to one of my friends speak during worship. My friend was speaking about putting on the armor of God and making that armor accessible to girls today. The passage she read was from Ephesians 6:
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God. And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord’s people. Pray also for me, that whenever I speak, words may be given me so that I will fearlessly make known the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains. Pray that I may declare it fearlessly, as I should.
Her entire message was good, but the part that deeply impacted me was the part about the helmet of salvation. No. She didn’t suggest wearing a motorcycle helmet as a reminder of God’s salvation—although that image definitely provides one of great protection—especially when the helmet sits so large on the body like it did on my nephew—but she did offer a suggestion: brush your hair.

Profound, huh? For me it was.

I am a hair farmer. I grow my hair. I give it away. I grow it again.
I wash it. I let it dry naturally.
I wear it down until it starts to bother me. I pull it back. I put it in a ball when it’s long enough.
And that’s about it.

For awhile there, I was putting up my hair immediately after getting up. I was leaving it up all day, taking it down at night, and going to bed. There were many days when I didn’t brush it at all because I didn’t really need to.

But then my friend spoke. And she suggested that every time we brush our hair, we imagine putting on the helmet of salvation. And I thought the idea was brilliant. So I started brushing my hair (almost) every day.

Just this morning, I was running late, so I considered just pulling back my hair and leaving. But then I looked at my brush and thought about how anxious I’d been feeling at work and decided that I needed that helmet of salvation—a helmet of protection from the anxiety of this world—from stress, fear, negativity, jealousy, anger, frustration, and more. So I intentionally stopped and brushed my hair, and I prayed for God to surround and protect me with light, grace, and salvation.

Will you do the same with me tomorrow and in the days to come?
Will you wear your helmet of salvation?
Not your thrift-store motorcycle helmet of bulk—
but your prayers for hope and the mind of Christ—
your breath for peace and the heart of God…
which is, my dear friends, the heart of love.

Defining Moments: The House That Love Built

Proper worship planning takes quite a bit of work.

The goal, for me, is to try to create a safe space for congregants to worship, and I believe that safety comes in comfortable flow, coherent theme, and opportunity to sing, pray, reflect, and respond to God both corporately and independently.

Worship planning takes time and discernment and happens most effectively when planned with a team, so when you physically can’t plan with a team because scheduling doesn’t line up, it’s extremely helpful to have a pastor who plans his sermons in advance.

Before I even started serving as the interim music minister at my church, I have known what Patrick was going to preach in advance. While he doesn’t have his sermons written in detail, he has an idea of his sermon topics and scripture references weeks in advance…because he preaches sermon series.

[Which, for the record, they are amazing.]

And so…tonight, dear friends, I am beginning my own series. Not a sermon series. But a note series.

I’m not as experienced as Patrick with series planning, so I don’t have an outline written for the next couple of months of notes, but I do know my series title: Defining Moments.

I’m going to begin writing about those moments in my life when something clicked into place—when a piece of my life’s puzzle found where it belonged and thus changed the landscape of my existence.

I don’t know how many moments I will share. I haven’t even identified what my defining moments are. I don’t know if I’ll jump around or if I’ll write chronologically. I don’t know if I’ll arrive at inspirational points or I’ll just be telling parts of my story.

All I know is this: I’m starting a note series entitled Defining Moments, and tonight’s defining moment is simple:

My mom is a quiet woman. She holds her emotions close to her heart and seldom allows others to see the depth of all that she is feeling. My dad, on the other hand, is an outgoing man. He, like me, wears his heart on his sleeve and everything he owns and freely offers his feelings to those who will listen.

As my dad prepared to go to Armenia, he outwardly expressed his hopes and fears and allowed tears to flow openly down his face. He made it clear that he was both excited and terrified to be returning to Armenia and that he was going to miss my mom, Bullet, and the rest of the family terribly. Through it all, my mom remained steadily quiet.

On the Monday my dad left, my mom had tears in her eyes. Her tears quickly dried, though, and we made our way to Florida where she kept her phone close. Every day, she silently waited for my dad to call and tried not worry when he didn’t. And when we got home, and a friend called to see how things were going, she said, “He’s been able to call almost every day, so that’s made things a lot easier.”

In that moment, as my mom stood at the end of the kitchen bar and I passed through downstairs, I realized just how much she loves my dad and that she feels as much of a hole in her heart as him when they are apart.

I guess that being married to your opposite for fifty years creates a companionship and partnership not easily separated.

As we made our way to the airport today to pick up my dad, my mom remained her quiet self. But man was she excited! And he was, too. And now he’s sleeping soundly on the couch with Bullet and she’s happily preparing his place in bed. And all is well in this house that love has built.

Beautiful Things

I’ve always loved the praise team at Antioch. It’s never been a group of super cool, young male hipsters who represent only one portion of the church’s population, rather it’s always been a diverse group of musicians representing young, old, male, female, student, professional, married, single, academic, athletic, musicians.

Currently, our team is as follows:

P and DD, acoustic guitar and vox
DA, keys
DO, bass
Drummer Boy, drums
J, R, G, M, and C, vox

Last Sunday night, everyone was at practice except for one person (whom I knew wouldn’t be there because of a super busy schedule). We practiced our music for yesterday, including a new arrangement of “Ancient of Days,” revised a version of “Beautiful Things,” during which I play the xylophone instead of the guitar, and left excited for Sunday morning.

On Friday, DA wrote to let me know that he had strep, so I mentally prepared to play keys on “Beautiful Things,” which meant I would play a simple cello part. What I didn’t mentally prepare for, though, was not having a guitar player (which my guitar player didn’t plan for either) and having to play lead…which I couldn’t do on guitar because it was too difficult…so I had to throw out the cello part and try to figure out something on piano…with no practice at all.

But sometimes things happen and plans are thrown to the wind and all you can do is try your best and pray that things don’t fall apart…

Yesterday, they didn’t fall apart.

In fact, the opposite happened and God created something unexpectedly beautiful out of “Beautiful Things.”

As we played an impromptu arrangement of the song in worship, I found myself covered in Holy Ghost Bumps (otherwise known as goose bumps) while playing and singing along in a way I’d never before played or sang.

It’s hard to explain. I obviously didn’t plan it. But I just felt like I needed to sing--which I'm not talented enough to do while playing the xylophone. So I opened my mouth and sang a harmony that blended with the melody that created a moment that words could not explain.

Patrick said, “I don’t know about you. But sometimes something happens and my only response is silence. That was one of those moments.”

It was one of those eyes closed, lost in worship, spirit-led and moving moments that could not be planned with any amount of planning.

It was one of those moments that could never happen again.

It was one of those moments of which I was privileged to bea part.

It was one of those moments when God was doing exactly what we, the ragamuffin praise team, were singing…

All this pain
I wonder if I’ll ever find my way
I wonder if my life could really change at all

All this earth
Could all that is lost ever be found
Could a garden come up from this ground at all

All around
Hope is springing up from this old ground
Out of chaos life is being found in You

You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of the dust
You make beautiful things
You make beautiful things out of us

You make me new, You are making me new
You make me new, You are making me new

Amen.

Old School CD Player

One of my most vivid memories from Thursday Night Bowing League in SC was Boss laughing at me when I pulled out my old school CD player to change my Harry Potter CD. I had no shame, though. I was at a crucial moment in the story and I wanted to know what was going to happen, so I bowled and listened—and imagined the scene of Harry and Dumbledore retrieving a horcrux.

I busted out my old school CD player again today. I was listening to another of JK Rowling’s books and wanted to finish it while cleaning, so I did. I put the player in my pocket—just as I had done that night while bowling—and listened away. Thankfully, my shorts have big pockets.

My jacket had big pockets, too, when I stuffed it with my old school CD player during the Big Snow of 2000. I distinctly remember going out into the snow, all bundled up, listening to my new worship CD’s, walking beside a happy Miss Dog, trying not to resent the fact that we’d have to make up snow days later in the year.

One of the songs that I listened to during those days of walking with Miss Dog was “Above All.”

Tonight, as my praise team boys and I prepared for Sunday morning’s worship, we found ourselves doing some old school favorites: “Open The Eyes of My Heart,” “Here I Am To Worship,” “Trading My Sorrows,” and, yes, “Above All.” We sang:

Above all powers, above all kings, above all nature, and all created things.
Above all wisdom, and all the ways of man, You were there before the world began

Above all kingdoms, above all thrones, above all wonders the world has ever known
Above all wealth and treasures of the earth, there's no way to measure what You're worth

Crucified, laid behind a stone, You lived to die, rejected and alone
Like a rose trampled on the ground, You took the fall and thought of me
Above all

And memories flooded my mind…of walks and books and bowling and dogs…and a theology that has developed over many years but that has, in some ways, stayed the same. I believe now, as I did then, that Jesus lived and died for love. Above all, it was love. But not for me alone. For all the world and all of humanity. Jesus lived and died for love. And so should we…

Kind of like Bullet, who lives his life devoted to us in love. Most recently, Bullet has decided to demonstrate his love by taking me on walks every time I come home and every night around nine. This demonstration of love—the desire to spend quality time with me—began during this year’s snow storms, when I had to go walk with him so that he would pee.

Through walks and books and bowling and dogs. Through living and dying and resting and remembering. Through old school CD players and new school sound equipment. There is love. Above all. There is love.

Love. Genuine Love.

Amelia and Griffin joined me at church yesterday. After the service was over, as Dana and Amelia returned from the “very nice bathroom” at the church (quote from Amelia), Amelia was flooded by greetings from people she didn’t know but who knew her through my writing and posts. She was told by more than one person just how much her aunt loved her…which caused her to grin from ear to ear…though she hid shyly behind her mom’s leg.

Amelia loves “The Wizard of Oz.” She was Dorothy two years ago for Halloween—complete with Toto—and she forced me to dress in character as well (I was a yellow brick from the yellow brick road). Naturally, I decided to give her a ticket to see the “Wizard of Oz” at the DPAC. She dressed as Dorothy to attend the show—complete with ruby red slippers—and she sat proudly in her seat for the whole show—mesmerized.

Before the show, I noticed Amelia looking through her playbill with focused intensity. If you’ve ever seen a playbill, then you know that it’s not the most kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. So I bought her a souvenir program. If you’ve ever paid for a souvenir program, then you know that it is a kindergarten-friendly piece of literature. Instead of lots of tiny black-and-white words about people, it’s full of colored-photo scenes from the show and simple phrases from the songs.

As soon as I handed Amelia her fancy program, she put down her playbill and began turning the new, shiny pages. We “read” the program together until the lights dimmed and the show started, then we “read” to the point where intermission left us, then she read the rest of the program in the backseat of the car before falling fast asleep. Quite simply, those were some of the best $15 dollars I’ve ever spent.

After the show, some of the actors were in the lobby taking up money for charity. While Dana and I excitedly pointed out each character, Amelia was star-struck and mute. Remember: She was dressed as Dorothy, so she, herself, was drawing a lot of attention. She was very kind and said “thank you” when people told her she looked beautiful, yet she didn’t want to meet any of the characters for the perfect photo-op. Thankfully, however, the tin woodsman wanted to meet her, so before we knew it, Amelia and I were posing for a photo with the human form of the character she had declared her favorite: The Tin Man.

When asked why The Tin Man was her favorite character, Amelia said, “I like the Tin Man because nothing bad happened to him. He was just missing his heart.”

I have absolutely no idea what that answer means, but it makes perfect sense to Amelia’s six-year-old brain—and so that answer stands.

The next day, I wrote my sister: “Good morning. How’s our little Dorothy?”
She said, “ Perky and ready for a bike ride. How about you?”
“I’m good,” I said. “Has she mentioned the show?”
“Yes,” responded Dana. “She talked about the DPAC. She says she’s been thinking about the cowardly lion, too.”
“She’s thinking about him?!”
“That’s what she said :-).”
“Hmm. I wonder what she’s thinking. I’m curious to hear :-)”.

But I’ve never heard.

When I saw her yesterday, Amelia didn’t say anything about the Cowardly Lion, or the Tin Man, or the DPAC, or the souvenir program.

Yet she grinned when people told her I loved her and she lay her head against my stomach in a sweet gesture of love during the blessing and she held on tight as I carried her to the car to say good night.

So I’m pretty sure she understands the point of it all: Love. Genuine Love. Home. Heart. Helping. Soul. Giving. Mind. Brain. Cross. Strength. Courage. Journey. The Yellow Brick Road. Oz.

Love. Genuine Love.

Amen.

Being Human Is Hard

The next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

I woke up yesterday morning feeling sick. Not head cold sick. Not stomach sick. But back quivering, I’m-going-to-be-vulnerable-and-lay-my-life-on-the-line-for-people-to-examine-it sick.

And rightfully so.

I sang one of the most emotional and guarded songs in my repertoire yesterday. And I sang it twice. (The words are at the bottom of this post.)

The first time I sang I was fine. But the second time…well…I got choked up at the end of my singing and found myself in tears after the song was over.

And these weren’t quiet, little tears. They were loud, big tears…only I was sitting in church during a prayer, so I couldn’t really be loud…so my face turned bright red and my veins popped out and I pressed my fingers into my eyelids to hold in the tears…which I’ve never really understood because it really doesn’t work…but I did it anyway because I didn’t know what else to do.

Then my mom gave me a tissue and Patrick said amen and I somehow managed to stop crying…but I started again when a friend hugged me after church…and then I came home so emotionally spent that I had absolutely no trouble falling asleep for my Sunday afternoon nap.

“And what were those tears for?” you might ask.

Broken relationships.
Loss.
Betrayal.
The difficult realities of being human because, as I said yesterday, “Being human is hard.”

Yet being human is exactly what we are...and being human is exactly what Jesus was when he was handed over to be tried, convicted, and punished for crimes he did not commit.

So Jesus understands this being human.
And Jesus cried.
So it must be okay for me to cry, too.

Although… the next time I volunteer to sing a solo, ask me if I can sing it without bursting into tears and having an emotional breakdown. Okay?

Thanks.


--------

You came into my life and you gave me a new song
We were very best of friends but then something went wrong
I compromised what’s right, didn’t always stand for Christ
And it hurts, life without you hurts

But without you I see what true love is meant to be
Not a game we have win, but a path we have to walk
Just like the father of the son, who waited with open arms
To embrace the hurt, he embraced the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t

If I’ve had a thousand friends, I’m lucky to have one
Whose light won’t fade away with the setting of the sun
But as the days come and go, we change as we grow
Though it hurts, growing apart hurts

But grasping to a string in the cold, dark, stale air
Won’t get you very far, it won’t get you anywhere
It’s crying out in the night and standing for what is right
That’ll heal the hurt, it’ll heal the hurt

So you can hate me and curse my name
Run away in silence, write words to shame me
I understand, I understand
I still love you and bless your name
Give Christ the anger, the hurt, the pain
And trust His hand, to take your hand
Because I can’t