May 20, 2012

Great service. Thank you.

Astro Time Lapse
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We think of liturgy as the trappings of worship — the prayers, the hymns, the more ritualized part of worship.

But a more ancient (and, I think, deeper) meaning of liturgy is “work of the people.”  The word liturgy is of Greek origin (lēitos, “public” and ergos “working.”)

Yesterday’s service was quite remarkable.  It was a moving and emotional account of the passion and death of Jesus.  And several people came up to me, and I’m sure to Pastor Lisa, after worship and said:  “great service.”

We’re human and it’s tough not to like a compliment but, honestly, we had very little to do with the actual worship yesterday.

Yes, there was preparation.  Pastor Lisa wrote the script.  And I helped Bob Hall, our percussionist, bring in several of the four hundred and three drums he uses.

But the worship?   That was the actors, the choir and the congregation.  I had an unusual view yesterday, off to the side.  I was able to participate in worship, something that almost never happens.  I saw, and felt, the congregation’s attentiveness mix with the actors performance and the choir’s music.  It reminded me why we worship together:  to re-fire each other’s spirits.

I’m sure I speak for Pastor Lisa when I say to all who were in the sanctuary yesterday:

Great service.  Thank you.

 

The end of all our searching.


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I’ve been re-reading The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton this Lent.  The last time I read it, sometime in the 90s, was pre-social media.  Pre-blog, pre-Facebook, pre-Twitter, pre-Pinterest.

What strikes me now is how Merton’s journal anticipates so many of these social media trends.  (Certainly not the only thing he was out in front of.)

His journal is a like a scrapbook of status updates to friends (Facebook), little one-line thoughts (tweets), short essay-like longer entries (blog), and pictures (Pinterest.)  (Merton was an outstanding photographer.

I’d like to start sharing some of my impressions of this journal, a piece of work that could keep any one of us busy for years.

Today’s thought:  Merton didn’t think he had any answers.  (A cautionary tale for those of us who look to him for answers.)

His journal begins on his plane flight to Tokyo.  He writes:

 [I am] at last on my true way after years of waiting and wondering and fooling around.  (sic)

 May I not come back without having settled the great affair.

Well, he does.  In a way.

Things I forgot to say yesterday.

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When I get home on Sunday, I file away my notes — notes I won’t see for another three years. (The lectionary cycle.)

I found two lines in the sermon notes that didn’t make it to the actual sermon.  But I wished had.

One was (an attempt at) humor:

On Jesus showing up in Jerusalem:  Think Kevin Costner in Robin Hood showing up at the arranged marriage of Maid Marian to the Sheriff of Nottingham  — that might put the incongruity of Jesus in Jerusalem in perspective.

The other was a serious point about the cross we’re constructing for Lent:

This is why the cross we have created is so powerful:  we don’t have an established pattern for writing down our fears, our guilts, our despair — so it all flows through unimpeded.

This is raw and true and unfiltered.

Paste those in, if you feel so inclined.

A riddle or a contradiction?

Riddle
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“The abbot told this story of Buddha and Sariputra.  Buddha asked Sariputra:  ‘Do you believe in me?’  Sariputra answered: ‘No.’  But Buddha commended him for this.  He was the favorite disciple because he did not believe in Buddha, only respected him as another, but enlightened, man.”

The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi; and on the way he asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say that I am?’ And they answered him, ‘John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.’ He asked them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered him, ‘You are the Messiah.’ And he sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

Mark 8. 27-30

Scribbling toward Sunday: Monday morning quarterbacking.

A few notes on the service yesterday:

The final hymn, “Where Restless Crowds Are Thronging,” is being put on the disabled list.  Just for the record, I don’t pull these hymns out of thin air;  they are used to reinforce, or to work with, some other part of the liturgy.  I tried this at home on the piano and … well, it seemed okay.  In the sanctuary, not so much.

To paraphrase an old Broadway quip,

“I came out humming the paraments.”

On the other hand, the  kids were great.  Singing and rhythm.

Silence before the prayer of Confession and silence before the Pastoral Prayer was long and sweet.

Suggestions?  Comments?