It has been about two weeks since I have returned from my excursion in the wilderness. But being in a canyon so far removed from the hustle and bustle of society is not something that is easily displaced in the mind. The memories are still very vivid, as I should hope they would be, and will be for quite a long time, at least until, God-willing, I can return to a place like that again.
In my last post, I wrote of silence, about my need for it, about the Church's need to rediscover it, about a need I believe dwells deep inside of all of us to seek it, let it manifest itself from the outside in (when possible) and from the inside out (hopefully achieved with time and practice). It is in the same vein that I write today, but concerning something else of imperative importance in both my life and the Church; it is a topic containing both similar and different implications. It is a second condition I observed in the canyon at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert.
Solemnity. The art or condition of being solemn. Such was everything that took place in that canyon, from four AM Vigils to stacking wood during the work hours, to eating lunch, to taking the time, as students, to study the assigned readings given to us by Dr. Gloer. From sunrise to sunset, there was a peace - a calmness unlike any I have experienced in recent memory - that pervaded every aspect of life at the monastery. There was never a rush, even in the few times I found myself treading quicker-than-usual up the dirt road in an effort to attend an hour of prayer on time. I realized from an early point during my stay in the canyon that this quality was one of the reasons why I initially felt so out-of-place, as if I was not a good fit to this place, even as a mere guest.
At every hour of prayer, the monks would enter, robed in whatever specific garb was considered appropriate to the hour, in no rush to begin, nor with any desire to pass the moments leading up to prayer by shooting the breeze with their fellow monks or the guests. Silence settled upon the chapel like a falling veil. What was utmost in importance during these moments was the condition of the heart, and the manner in which each person prepared himself to come before Almighty God. The monks would pad softly in, kneel obediently to what I called "the Bureau," which was a large chest that contained the elements of the Eucharist, and then bow humbly to the altar as they made their way to their chairs. Likewise, as we, the guests, entered, we bowed respectfully to the altar and took our seats; once seated, I found it worthwhile to focus on clearing my various thoughts and concerns in some way or another, as if allowing my mind and heart to take their own deep, calming breaths, preparing my whole self for worship. Out of such deliberate action, I found a greater recognition of reverence for God before, during, and after the times of prayer, and it seemed I was able to comprehend, at a stronger level, the specific psalms, hymns, and prayers being chanted to God.
I don't believe it can be denied that everything we do in worship is, in essence, prayer to God. It is all communication, on both individual and communal levels - at least, it should be considered in this way. Unfortunately, I notice a disease pervading much of the American Church, and that is this habit of structuring worship like a production, or a concert, or a self-help seminar, or any manner of programs not fully and simply devoted to communing with the God of creation, the God of us. When I visit my hometown church, I find many things distracting about it, and I am not just referring to their gaudy, electronic sign out front that makes them look like a bank or a very exquisite gas station. I mean no disrespect to my hometown church, but, while attending the Sunday morning worship service, I am puzzled at the presence of six vocalists flanking the music minister as he leads the choruses and hymns. What in the world are they doing up there? Are they suppose to be assisting the worship leader, or just helping him guide me through the songs? Because I must say, I am not in need of any assistance, let alone six extra singers, nor do I think is the music minister. Instead, they look uncomfortably to me like an overpopulated vocal group minus the choreography (though I've heard of some churches that aren't missing the choreography) and without the "brooding, sexy" group member. The stage (which seems to get bigger and bigger the more a church grows) has replaced the altar, and in so doing the church service has become more and more like a concert from some vocally uncoordinated pop group. We are production-oriented people these days, and I believe the Church is in a bad way because of it. It is hard to gaze out at the massive wave of technology and cultural progressiveness and not view it as a welcomed addition to what many times feels like stale worship. However, I fear that this wave is more of a tsunami (and not in the exciting way Leonard Sweet, the Emergent Church representative describes it) that will cause more destruction than we suspect. It already has.
Please do not misunderstand my feelings about progressive culture and the American Church. I am pleased with much of what we can do these days, with video, audio, ect. I believe there are many ways to accentuate worship - to make it more relevant to the culture. However, I believe many of us, in an attempt to do this, are running so excitedly ahead that we have become like Wile E. Coyote spinning his wheel-like feet out into nothingness - we have found ourselves set up for a fall. Some of us have not noticed yet - some of us have. Some of us have already plummeted, our heads remaining suspended in the air, only recently realizing what went wrong.
I give the concert description as simply an example of the condition of the church today. There are many other elements that have lost their central purpose, their captivating point. What matters is that all speak to a greater problem - that is, the loss of solemnity in worship. We have misplaced the mystery; we have lost the mysticism. This is a problem parallel with many of us in our individual life as Christians. Our worship is decadent and gluttonous. We desire the newest bible study, the latest praise song, the most extravagant musical arrangement or sleekest worship band riff. The largest congregation, the most successful mission trips, the most exciting youth/children's camp, the most technologically advanced building. The most relevant staff. The most impacting preacher.
Some people, in many different ways, both subtle and blatant, have accused me of being a snob of sorts on this topic. Because I'm a seminary student currently emersed in the study of church history, specifically that of worship traditions, I obviously loath the advancements of our modern culture. Such is not the case. I believe there is a worthwhile goodness in each of these desires I have listed; there is nothing wrong with any of them, to an extent. The problem is, many of us in the Church want all these things, but rarely do we add to this list the simple reality of the presence of Christ. In fact, I suspect that if many of us were honest with ourselves - truly, deeply honest - we would not trade these desires for Christ. God alone is rarely, if ever, exciting, and being production-oriented, excitement-driven people, the simple presence of Christ just is not going to fill our need - or so we believe.
The simple presence of Christ, however, is truly all we need. The experience of God in his fullness - the love and guidance of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. It will fill us up in ways that the greatest combination of all these other spiritual desires will leave only stark emptiness. In the last post, I encouraged us to turn off all the noise in our lives long enough to realize the wonder of a God who speaks to us in sheer silence. I believe we must put aside all the rushed glitz and glamour that we have welcomed into our churches in the name and hope of relevance and progressivism. It is extremely important to structure our services toward cultural relevance, but not at the expense of the age-old need of communion with God. To be solemn before the Almighty, to be quiet and reverent, is what he requires of us.
At the end of almost every psalm and prayer we prayed at the monastery, we would chant a doxology: "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit. As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end. Amen." Everytime we said this, we would once again bow to the altar, which signified the sacrifice of Christ. At this moment, heads and torsos bent to the floor, everything and everyone else was blocked out. Our recognition was only of the holy God.
And it was enough. It was more than enough.
Inside the chapel at the Monastery of Christ in the Desert
The altar (representing the sacrifice of Christ) is in the foreground, and the bureau-like cabinet, containing the elements of the Eucharist (representing the presence of Christ), is directly behind it.
Sacrifice and offering you did not desire, but my ears you have opened; burnt offerings and sin offerings you did not require. Then I said, "Here I am, I have come - it is written about me in the scroll. I desire to do your will, O my God; your law is within my heart." - Psalm 40:6-8
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