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Why Men Don’t “Cheer” in Worship

I’m tired of the analogy, but I admit that I have used it in times past. When discussing the worship of God in the church context the question is often put — usually in a not-so-subtle gotcha tone — “How come men can cheer so loudly and without inhibition at a football game but not express the slightest amount of excitement in worship?”

It used to make sense to me. Sometimes I’d feel righteously superior in my clear-cut analysis of unspiritual men. Other times I’d feel a ping of guilt because the question defined both my sports-loving persona and my church-going personality. Sometimes I’d feel both guilt and moral superiority at the same time. At least I had the spirituality to discern my own inconsistency and an acute sense of how things ought to be, I’d subconsciously rationalize.

But I don’t buy the argument anymore. And I’ve rejected the guilt. I love sports and I love the corporate worship of God. I holler my fool head off in a game and give high fives all around when my side scores. I’m very restrained in worship, demonstrative only occasionally. But I’m entirely engaged.

This has caused me to reflect on why it is that the average man is unjustly charged with spiritual aloofness and why it may be that he is, in fact, spiritually disengaged in corporate worship in ways that are remarkably distinct from his behavior in the hockey rink. I will comment on just one reason here.

Sports is an objective experience and most church worship is subjective.
A man cheers loudly over an objective reality. The nose of the ball crossed the line by inches. BOOYAH! You can measure that. Everyone sees it. Some hate it, others love it. But it’s obvious. There is an objective reality with clear winners and losers.  On the other hand, evangelicals have turned the worship experience in church into a subjective soup, often emotionally manipulative, wherein spiritual realities that are, in fact, objective are hidden under a cloud of subjective experiences. We all know that God is good (objectively), but must I weep about it or applaud? The worship leader decides. And it’s usually according to his or her subjective determination. And it’s clear that we are all supposed to share in the same subjective response to the objective reality. Or just stand there awkwardly. Hands in pocket.

Men who are already inarticulate in matters of the soul are forced to stand for forty-five minutes in a darkened room while artsy musicians croon emotion into their faces. They have an emotional shut-down experience similar to the failed interactions they’ve had with the significant women in their lives who tried unsuccessfully to rouse the emotional responses of their men to the pitch of their own feelings when discussing issues. They are loyal to their wives and deeply love them but they feel frustrated because too often their wives walk away from the talk with hurt feelings, believing that their husbands simply do not care about what they care about because they didn’t respond with the same emotional intensity. Defeated, most men simply start to retreat from emotion-laced conversations even before they start. How did a discussion get so dramatic? They mumble out the necessary phrases they hope will be the key to escaping the cloud of feelings they feel engulfing them. But they’re looking for the exit even before they’ve fully stepped in.

This is what most evangelical worship is doing to me. It’s calling for an emotional response that rises to the pitch of the worship leaders’ experience or desired experience. It’s attempting to get the audience to realize a feeling about God as if the realization of that feeling is the ultimate goal of corporate worship. It’s openly saying that to fit in you must enter into emotional lockstep with the subjective experience of the men and women on stage. This is what led C.S. Lewis away from religion as a young boy. He simply was too intelligent to be emotionally toyed with, even if it was by his own subjectivism. “You will remember,” he said,  “how, as a schoolboy, I had destroyed my religious life by a vicious subjectivism which made ‘realizations’ the aim of prayer; turning away from God to seek states of mind, and trying to produce those states of mind by ‘maistry’.”

“Realizations the aim of prayer.” Feelings the aim of corporate worship. I go to lots of evangelical churches and I’m tired of being manipulated. It’s a huge turn off. I retreat emotionally and start just mumbling the lyrics in a desperate attempt to stay engaged with the high drama in front of me because I know that’s where I’m supposed to be. I then chastise myself for twenty minutes for not being able to participate with all God’s blood-bought people because of my pride and just as I am humbled enough to overlook the subjectivism of the worship leaders being foisted on my soul some inane cliché that has lost its power since the first time I heard it thirty years ago is crooned into the microphone with the same cliché worship soto voce that American evangelicals seem to think is the only tone allowed for worship leaders. The irony always jars me: they want me to engage with the same intensity that I cheer at a football game while they murmur in a bedroom voice sweet little worship nothings about Jesus.

But sports is different. Many men love to play or watch sport precisely because of its objective and inflexible definition. The rules are fixed. Within the lines there is room for plenty of artistry and creativity, for sure, but the joy of involvement and the subjective impact it has on them are contained within a fixed paradigm. Win or lose, artistic or functional, there is pleasure in having been there for the experience because the goal is not to make the participants or spectators cheer. The goal is simply to play the game and win.  But evangelicals have taken sport and determined that cheering is the objective. Or, to use another analogy, they are making art and insisting that we all be subjectively impressed in perfect unanimity when we can hardly tell what the painting is all about.  Evangelical church worship music is akin to forcing non-artists to be impressed by impressionist art. They subconsciously feel what the first critic of impressionist art felt (and, supposedly, where the term comes from) when he scornfully said, “Impression—I was certain of it. I was just telling myself that, since I was impressed, there had to be some impression in it … and what freedom, what ease of workmanship! Wallpaper in its embryonic state is more finished than that seascape.

Ah, yes. This describes most evangelical worship music in church. The men listening to the band are trying to tell themselves that since what they are forced to do is worship it must be worship. But they don’t see anything finished or definitive in what they are doing. While artists have their worship orgasms in full display, moved by their own art and willing the audience to feel as they feel about what they are doing, to have emotional “realizations”, most men internally recoil and think, “I’ll just stand here awkwardly until this flush of drama has receded.”

The average Christian man goes to church like a guy goes to have drinks with friends. To him, going to have drinks with friends means going to have drinks with friends. It doesn’t mean going on a wine tasting tour and becoming a poseur. He doesn’t like pretending he can tell the subtleties of different wines, swooning with others he suspects are pretenders too as they ooh and aah over the sommelier’s soliloquies about the fine finish of well-aged Bordeaux. He prefers the beer in front of him simply because it’s, well, the beer in front of him. And he thought that putting one or two of them down was what he had come to do.

Men need to know that they come to church to do something, not to feel something. I love corporate worship now because I don’t worry about feeling. When I go to a ball game I don’t tell myself, “Man, I hope I get some good cheering in!” Nor, do I worry about whether I’ll cheer or not. It simply never crosses my mind. In the same way I go to church now. I’m not thinking about the feeling I may or may not have. I’m going to do something with the team and people who share the same interest I have in God.  And I’m fully engaged. And when I get there I recognize the objective framework that corporate worship is supposed to have and has had for millennia and I relax.

It’s objective corporate worship that moves me most precisely because moving me is not the objective. Worship is. And corporate worship is not about personal feelings. It’s about corporate behavior in the presence of God, a defined response. There’s a call to worship, a confession, moments of consecration, communion, and the benediction. All with substantive words, denotative significance, objective realities, and my participation in them is as objective as  my catching a pass from my teammate and taking a shot. And I love it. Sometimes –often —  I miss the shot. Often I don’t score an emotional high. But I get it. I’m involved. I feel passion aroused. I’m stirred. Because there are lines, rules, goals, and everyone following the same framework. Some may shout, others may whisper. Some my feel deeply, others may participate with undemonstrative routine zeal. But we all were there, we liked it, and we’ll be back again.

Why do men cheer at a ballgame? Because it’s not about cheering. It’s about the objective game. Why are they often aloof and uninvolved in corporate worship? Because we’ve made corporate worship about cheering and not about corporate worship.

Parenting is a Boring Blessing

Throwing the ball back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. The endless repetition, the can-you-read-the-same-story-one-more-time. There were times I just thought, Give me a gun. [Father of small child quoted in “All Joy and No Fun” by Jennifer Senior]

In her fun and informative book, Jennifer Senior talks about how parenting, particularly of small children, disrupts flow and makes concentration harder for busy parents. Children are the last permanent relationships in our society, she says, “the last binding obligation in a culture that asks for almost no other permanent commitments at all.” New parents who have experienced years of autonomy suddenly find themselves trapped in a world of sleeplessness and boredom punctuated by moments of sheer panic,”lurching back and forth between  those two poles — boredom and anxiety –rather than being able to comfortably settle somewhere in the middle.” To be sure, it is joy and it’s all worth it. We know that and truly feel the truth of it. But it’s not often fun! Mercifully, there are often “bursts of grace” when the child presses her cheek to mommy and time stops, or suddenly dad gets an eight-year-old bear hug with no rational explanation available to the adult world for the exact timing of said hug.

I read Jennifer Senior with Christian and pastoral eyes. I know the value of children. The joy. The responsibility. And I love my children very much. But, face it, sometimes the disinterest I have in doing something with my kids makes me feel downright evil.

I admit it. When I go out to throw a ball with my son I sometimes have to tell myself I will throw fifty passes before I say, “Dad’s got work to do.” And I do exactly fifty throws. I count them! And, worse, when the kids were smaller, I have to admit that the dreaded jobs I’d avoided for months sound exciting and irresistible compared to reading the same little story for the three hundred and sixty-first time.

But I’m reminded of G.K Chesterton, someone I read when I didn’t have to read Dr. Seuss. In the child’s incapacity to be bored with the same action over and over and over again, he saw the glory of God. “Children are pashas of excess,” says Senior. True, but  G.K. Chesterton observed,

“. . . children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.”

I didn’t have children for the first ten years of my married life. And it took me almost ten years of having children before I started accepting the fact that I needed children more than children need me. In children I find out that I don’t have the capacity to endure in joy. My endurance is growing as I get more childlike in my faith. Because to be childlike is to see things with different eyes.

The toddler that visits my house wants to play the silly game I started playing with her the first time she came to my house, touching the dangling lights and choosing our favorite color. Every. Single. Visit. It’s as funny and intriguing and interesting and pleasurable to her as it was the first time we did it many times ago. Another toddler wants to play with my flashlight every time he visits because when he first came I set precedence by letting him play with my flashlight.  But my adulthood and individualism and selfishness and the allure of something more important have stunted me and shriveled my spirit so that the thrill of a thrown and caught ball, the pleasure of a silly story, and the fun in a senseless activity vaporize after a few repetitions.  My big-people-ness misses out on the the intriguing fact that flashlight toddler can come to my home and not ask for the flashlight until he sees me. Why?

Because he doesn’t just see the flashlight. He sees me as part of his flashlight world. I think I’m bored because I am thinking about the wrong thing when it comes to activities and things that children like and do. I see the book, the light, the game, the ball, the flashlight. I’m focused on the action, the thing; a child is involved in the action or thing. It’s a world to live in. It is a pleasant context wherein they live out certain joys.

Someone asked me if I got bored with the good weather in California. I thought it was crazy, but I’ve heard about people who think that the constantly good weather is boring! But that’s because they think about weather all the time. I don’t think about weather every day. If I did, I’d be bored. Instead, I relish all the things I can do and enjoy in the same weather day after day. So, I’m never bored with the weather. In the same way, the action or thing becomes a world, a context, and, for the child, it’s a thousand times better if that world and context is shared and owned with someone. Games and activities and books and films are all contexts for joy and pleasure. Each activity becomes a home for certain joys.  All my children friends have relationships with things and actions, involvement with these things, into which certain people can enter and relate with as precedence and opportunity dictate. My little toddler visitors don’t do the touch the lights game with anyone else. That’s their way of relating to me. I am the touch the lights and pick our favorite color person. That is where they enjoy me. That is the world that I can be involved in with them. It’s their way of saying, “Welcome to our joy place.” My son wants me to throw the ball to him. It’s not about a ball to him. It’s about sharing involvement with him. And the reason I feel guilty when I finally quit is because I’m not just ceasing to throw a ball and moving on to more important things even though that is what my adult logic is telling me. I’m stepping out of his world. Separating.

As parents we have to ask God to give us the strength to be child-like. Not childish. Not immature. But godly and wise and patient and joyful. And that means becoming strong in the childlike joy of doing the same thing over and over and over again and enjoying it like it is the first time we’ve ever done it. It’s a boring blessing. Boring because we have to grow up and be childlike. A blessing because time stops and we make friends with pure and undefiled little people who remind us that life is not so much about what we do but with whom we do what we do.

I partake in the ordinance of Holy Communion every week. I am not bored with it even though it is the same thing over and over and over again. But it is not about bread and wine, a religious ceremony. It is about a shared involvement. My childlike faith understands it clearly. When I am not childlike in my faith, I’m bored. When my faith is warm and alive and childlike I hear my heart saying, “One more time, please, one more time.”

That’s why I need the boring blessing of parenting. My children need me, true. But I need my children.

Focus on the Preached One, not the Preacher

While it is true that many Christian preachers tend to allow their morality (moral weakness) shape their theology, it is equally true that many are inclined to let their self-righteousness (moral strengths) shape their theology. Both preachers invoke the character of God. The one invokes his love, the other his holiness. But both too often tend to make their theology the vindicator of who they NATURALLY are. Both moral failure AND moral outrage are base human characteristics ingrained in all souls. 

Both men need Christ. Because saying no to our righteousness is just as hard, even harder, than saying no to our lusts. All sincere Christian preachers and pastors fall into one of these two categories as far as their inclinations go. Listen to them any amount of time and the direction to which they are vulnerable becomes discernible. Listen to both of them. Don’t choose one over the other. Don’t try to balance them. Instead, let them cancel each other out. Instead of putting one on a pedestal over the other, high and lifted up, let them blend together deep down at the foot of the Cross. Because both point to Christ.

I am Rachel Dolezal

Rachel Dolezal comes from a fundamentalist Christian home. There are many things that I want to say about her background and the ideology of her family that I believe contributed to the miserable outcome that is Rachel right now. Though her lying and pretending are inexcusable it does not exonerate her family for any harm they may have done to her. That discrediting her seems very convenient to protecting an alleged sex abuser in their home seems, sadly, very likely.

I pity Ms. Dolezal. I feel sorry for her.

But why did she have to pretend to be someone that she wasn’t? Why does she feel so compelled to embellish her story, to color over the bland white with tales, exaggerations, and outright lies? It reminds me of a fundamentalist Christian pastor that was exposed four years ago for claiming to have been a Navy Seal. Jim Moats graduated from Bob Jones University in 1974, pastored a rural KJV-only church and, per the church website, associates with the far-right elements of Independent Baptist Fundamentalism. The story is very sad, but it is telling.

Former Navy Seal Don Shipley suggests that part of the problem is just being clergy. You could almost hear the disdain in his voice:

“We deal with these guys all the time, especially the clergy. It’s amazing how many of the clergy are involved in those lies to build that flock up,” Shipley said. (source)

Why do we crave a good story about ourselves?

  • Americans love a rags-to-riches story. It’s part of our cultural DNA to highlight the impossible odds that athletes, businesswomen, and celebrities have overcome to get where they are.
  • American evangelicals in general (particularly conservative/fundamentalist evangelicals) put such a premium on “personal testimony” that they are much more likely to respond uncritically to someone’s claim of “God’s working” and embellish their own story of “God’s working” in their life.
  • Stories of heroism and victimization are even more appealing when combined with Christian testimony. I remember hearing fantastic Vietnam stories from fundamentalist leaders when I was a kid and when I began to read military history assiduously as a young man I started developing a suspicion about the credibility of some of the stories that I had heard. I felt I had been tricked into adulating a spiritual leader on the basis of stories that, because of my voracious reading in military history, were becoming increasingly unbelievable to me. I also heard amazing missionary stories that could never be fact-checked of deliverance from wild animals, walking on fire, and intense persecution. Victims — genuine victims — would exaggerate what had happened to them because it was only when it got gory and gruesome did the story arouse compassion in the hearts of hearers.
  • Fundamentalists, particularly, are prone to yarn-spinning leaders because of a distorted understanding of the Gospel.
The reason we embellish our stories is because we cannot embrace the reality of our nothingness. But it is our nothingness that makes God’s grace so amazing. The pastor who was publicly embarrassed four years ago was caught in a story that he let develop and then ultimately promoted because it met a deep personal need in his life. He needed to feel like he was somebody.  Rachel Dolezal is an interesting case study, but why is it that Christian pastors and missionaries and leaders feel so inclined to tell amazing stories about themselves? What kind of gospel do we proclaim when our leaders — our leaders! — are so afraid to admit error, be real, and be nothing? Are we not missing out on a better understanding of the Gospel that would free us from such empty pursuits of security and self-acceptance? Why is image so, so important? Why do we cherish self-promoting anecdotes and why must we invest so much in displaying evidence of our specialness? Why do clergy especially desperately inflate their pasts?
We are nation of people given over to superlatives. If we do not have the best of something, we have the very worst. If we cannot canonize, we demonize. God forbid that we should be regular folk, just average. And as parents we dread the possibility that our kids are just, well, kind of normal.
Here’s something to mull on: My wife does not think I’m the best looking dude in America. And I don’t think she’s the prettiest woman in America. We both know that if we were better looking we’d be working for Fox News. But we really love each other and delight in each other’s looks.  Exclusively. Jennie and I rejoice together about how the gospel has slowly delivered us from the tyranny of the “-est.”

In a culture that doesn’t understand grace and love, superlatives are essential to survival. Superlatives are necessary to get attention. Even if they’re not true.  Sometimes it’s cute and funny. When I was a little boy I remember my Dad singing out in the car as we were traveling somewhere, “Who has the prettiest mommy in the whole-wide-world?” And we kids would all chime in, “We do!” But, I distinctly remember feeling a bit conflicted as an overly-analytical boy because I thought that one of my friend’s mom was actually prettier! I loved my mom more, but facts are facts.
Then I went to a small bible college and watched our lousy basketball team get slaughtered on the court while my classmates chanted, “We’re #1!” Again, it was a little bit of a conflict for me because I clearly wanted our team to win, but by the evidence in front of me they were at the very most #2, not #1!
Why the craving for the superlative? And why do the public servants of Jesus seem to cling to them, especially in the fundamentalist world?
It is because they are not fully understanding the gospel of grace.
College chapel after college chapel we got treated to stories about the best, the worst, the godliest, the holiest, etc.  (One notable exception was when the graduation speaker preached a message entitled, “Nothing.”) Perhaps I was and am too analytical, but I started listening carefully and earnestly when I was a young man, and little by little it began to dawn on me that when a preacher told his story he was the baddest boy on the block, the meanest thug in the Navy, hung around the worst crowd, had the godliest mama, the saintliest grandpa, went to the best college in the land, etc.
Superlative after superlative.
And so, as a young minister, I started doing the same thing.
I started my preaching career in the heart of a legalistic fundamentalism that adulated the “man of God.” I only had a few stories because I was so young, but I told them with vigor. And I embellished them. A good story gave me the right to stand in front of all the other people with boring lives, untouched by the power of God. A good story was proof that God’s blessing was on my life. A good story separated me from the pack and gave me a sense of worth. A good story garnered hearers and helped me get my message out. Plus, I was a missionary that often basked in the admiration of supporters.
Somehow — slowly — grace arrested me. Somehow I couldn’t get away from the nagging reality that I was always less than what people thought of me. And certainly less than my own stories implied. None were lies, but many were more plain and mundane than my story-telling suggested. I felt enslaved to having something interesting to say! In addition to my own sinful grasp at significance came the unasked for suppositions about the quality of personhood that people in Christian circles heap on “the man of God.” And my struggles in my marriage, my temptations to lust, my boredom with the Bible, my intellectual weaknesses, and my failures in ministry all daily reminded me that I was not what my image was.
Worse, I wasn’t that bad either! Just kind of regular. I was neither the most rebellious or the godliest. Not the smartest or the dumbest. My life was amazingly superlative-free and I found this very difficult to accept. How could I be a servant of God with no dazzle?
So I tried to credential myself somehow. Honestly. I drove myself to work harder and read more and push more so that I could at least have an authentic “-est” in my resumé. But gradually I came to realize that I have no “-est” to really be proud of. I can’t even boast of being the plainest or the boring-est.
But grace suffices.
One day in glory billions of nothings will surround the Throne and celebrate the Lamb. In that moment we will finally see with perfect clarity that the election of nothings has transformed us into exalted beings. And we’ll be ashamed that we ever sought to inflate our resumes.
The real former-Navy Seal is right to disdain a clergy that steals valor for credibility, especially when we purport to be preachers of grace. Rachel Dolezal grasped at so many things, inflated so many stories, to be significant. Now, in the glare of judgmental society she may start to pine for the anonymity of insignificance. I hope so. But it is scary, this place of insignificance. It is only when we have our nothingness filled by Jesus, our God, that we are truly liberated from the need to tell a good story about ourselves.
I am Rachel Dolezal. But Jesus has saved me. And now I’m just bland, white, average me.
We can find peace in our averageness and say, “I am what I am by the grace of God.”
“I am what I am by the grace of God”?

Church-planter as Entrepreneur?

The business model has killed the church today and resulted in a muddled ecclesiology. That and the American post-“Bowling Alone” pathology of community/small group obsession that resembles group therapy more than actual salt-in-the-world fellowship. More on that later. Suffice it to say that I’m not a fan of using business models as an example to the church-planter. Continue reading

A Model Eldership Apology

Matt Chandler (the pastor at the Village Church) preached a good message yesterday and asked the church to forgive the elders with these five questions. I think that they are very well-conceived.
1. Will you forgive us where our counsel turned into control?
2. Will you forgive us where we failed to recognize the limits and scope of our authority?
3. Will you forgive us where we allowed our policies and processes to blind us to your pain and confusion?
4. Will you forgive us where we acted transactionally rather than transitionally? 
5. Will you forgive us where we failed to recognize you as the victim and didn’t empathize deeply with your situation?

Elder Authority, Discipline, Sanction, and the Village Leaders

Yes, the local church is too often like a village with elders. And each village has its dynamic, culture, traditions, and power structure. All the villages have their political dynamic and the unspoken-but-felt vibe of whether one is in or out. Unfortunately, too many villages feel that they are safe from the abuses of a single chief because they have a council of elders and that is enough. But a council of elders is no guarantee against the abuses of a council of elders.

In the space of six months we have seen several high profile churches deal with the public consequences of their elders’ decisions and, in all cases one way or another, retracting previous unanimous elder-decisions.

  • The 14,000 member Mars Hill Church closed its doors. Elders who were unanimous several years ago in their disciplinary actions toward two other elders recanted their decision.
  • The elders of Harvest Bible Church in Elgin, Illinois issued an apology for their unanimously-decided rebuke of dissenting elders.
  • The elders of The Village Church issued an apology for the way they dealt with a particular church discipline issue.

How could a group of elders be so confident that they would actually engage in actions that would hurt a brother and yet a mere few years later be no longer unanimous or confident in their elder action?

These churches have (had) this in common:

  1. A high view of church discipline and pastoral authority.
  2. A strong leader of “celebrity” status.
  3. A plurality of elders.
  4. Autonomy as a local church.
  5. Strong emphasis on the life of the local church and membership obligations to the local church as the central place for their spiritual growth.

This is a recipe for plurality groupthink and the consequences are dangerous, particularly when it comes to the very delicate business of spiritual discipline, rebuke, or issuing some kind of sanctioning action, whether that is advising the congregation to not fellowship with the person charged or by exercising a group policy in relations to any individual (as in “anything that is said to one of us elders about the church will be shared with the whole body of elders”). But this problem is not just a problem in the big churches, but it is prevalent in many small churches where there is plurality of elders.

In the Providence of God, I have been on both sides of the actions of this kind of plurality groupthink that was either disciplinary or sanctioning.

Continue reading


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