The Church Experiment

WELCOME TO THE CHURCH EXPERIMENT

2010-04-05T00:00:00.002-04:00

In 2009, I visited 52 different churches in 52 weeks. Once a week, every week, beginning January 4 and ending December 26. That’s a lot of church.

It may seem like a crazy idea, so in order for this experiment to make more sense, I want to give you a little bit of my church history.

I grew up without religion, mostly visiting church on Easter and a handful of other times before the age of 22. In graduate school, I became a heathen. Well, I suppose my heathen ways began long before graduate school, but I definitely ramped it up a notch. I was never a “bad” kid, just insecure. In order to feel better about myself, I needed attention from women. Lots of attention. Lots of women.

Couple my desire to manipulate women with a fear of commitment, and it was bad news. My life hit rock bottom when I developed a fascination for engaged women. After breaking up my second engagement in less than six months, I knew I was in trouble. By that time, my spiritual mentor had been meeting with me for almost two years. He shared the Good News, and I mostly ignored him. But his patience eventually paid off. After realizing I had no hope of making my life work on my own dysfunctional terms, I began attending Vineyard Community Church in northern Cincinnati. The next eight years were a whirlwind of spirituality.

I became a Christian at age 23, started working at the Vineyard after I turned 26, left to help plant a church before turning 28, and shortly after my 31st birthday in March of 2008, I decided to stop attending church for a variety of reasons. Mostly, I was burnt out, but I also began to seriously consider the purpose of church.

In other words, I went from no church, to attending church, to working at a church, to starting a church, to leaving the church in less than ten years. Whew!

When I first announced my decision to leave the church, most of my Christian friends had the same response: What are you going to do without church? How are you going to learn, grow, serve, and get accountability? But I was skeptical of their feedback. Most of them sounded like they were reading the questions off of a script, as though they didn’t really believe what they were saying, but they knew it was proper etiquette to ask the questions. After all, if you are a Christian, you have to go to church, right? It’s on the Christian checklist, isn’t it?

Don’t curse, don’t get drunk, read your Bible, don’t have sex, get engaged after dating for three months so you can have sex, pray, tithe, and go to church. It’s all there in black and white.

And I agreed with them. I kept reiterating that I was only taking a short break because I was burnt out. I thought I would eventually end up somewhere. And I believed that. But then something happened without church. My life was pretty much the exact same. In fact, my life was actually better. I had never been happier. I seriously considered permanently walking away from the church.

But that didn’t seem like the right answer either. I had seen too much “good” in the context of spiritual community to completely dismiss the discipline.

There was a problem. Admittedly, I had a very limited view of church (through my experiences at the Vineyard and D’VINE) and God (because I am a skeptic), so I found myself criticizing a system I knew very little about.

I don’t know if God has ever audibly spoken to me. In fact, I can’t recall a time I actually heard his voice. But I do believe God nudges us. I do believe he can place words and images in our minds that become divinely-inspired thoughts. I am fully convinced I was nudged by God in December of 2008. I felt like God wanted me to make myself available, see what is out there, and then write about what happened.

My goal was to attend a different church every week of 2009 (that is 52 churches) and write about the variety of experiences—good, bad, and ugly. I tried my best to keep an open mind as I took part in the unique customs of each specific church and denomination. I had a few places in mind, but I tried to stay open to reader suggestions and God’s promptings.

I had no idea what I would encounter. From an Anglican Church in Savannah, Georgia, to the Church of Scientology in Cincinnati, Ohio. From a Muslim Mosque to a Hindu Temple. Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, and non-denominational. I was the only white person in an all black church, and one of twenty people in a Church of God. I had a pastor try to knock me to the ground with prayer, and a pastor who probably wanted to knock me to the ground with a swift right cross. Each week, I waded into uncharted waters, but I always looked forward to the adventure. Well, almost always.

I could have never been prepared for what happened. I invite you to travel the long path with me on this blog. I am certain God has something to teach all of us along the way.

A couple of disclaimers before we begin. First, my original mission for this experiment was to broaden my horizons by experiencing new and diverse churches. If God is everywhere, then he’s also in a Muslim Mosque, right? He’s in the Church of Scientology, right? I wanted to experience God all over the spiritual spectrum and maybe learn a few things along the way.

I wasn’t church-shopping. I repeat, I wasn’t church-shopping. I walked into this experiment as a Christian, and I was pretty confident I would walk out as one. The odds were slim that I would begin attending a Hindu Temple. If I found a church home along the way, then great, but it wasn’t part of the original mission.

Second, the decision I received the most criticism for throughout the experiment was my lack of research. I intentionally tried to walk blindly into each new church. I didn’t want to know everything about the Hindu service before I walked through their doors. That seemed a little silly to me. I wanted to experience exactly what an average first-time visitor would experience. If some ritual was confusing to an outsider, I wanted to be able to write about that. I believe strong leaders want to know how to strengthen their churches, and an outsider’s view is one way to get valuable information. Plus, it would have been exceptionally boring to spend hours on the Internet researching when I had the opportunity to conduct real-life experiments every week.

Luckily, something pretty amazing happened along the way. Pastors found my blog. Church members found my blog. Hindus, Muslims, and Mormons found my blog. I asked questions, and they provided answers. The conversation was tense at times (no one likes criticism), but usually, it was respectful and educational. Dialogue is a beautiful thing.

Third, I tried my best to be honest. If a ritual was great, I wrote about it. If a message was meaningful, I wrote about it. If I met nice people, I wrote about it. But if my experience was uncomfortable or unfulfilling, I wrote about that, too. I wasn’t out to get anyone, but all I could offer during this experiment was my honesty.

Of course I was biased. We all are. Churches that closely resembled my previous experiences were rated well. Churches that were way out of my comfort zone took some punches. I tried my best to be fair, but I am a flawed human being. For that, I apologize.

Finally, I want to thank all 52 churches. I met so many kind people along the way. Hospitality was the rule, not the exception. More than anything else, I was influenced on this journey by people, not buildings or organizations.

This has been such an unbelievable experience. I am forever indebted to you guys for making the experiment come alive. There wasn’t one huge moment that changed my whole life, but as I edited the manuscript, I had to go back and reread everything I wrote. I realized there were dozens of moments along the way that God used to refine me. Every church left an impression on my life. Every person who commented challenged me to become a better person. Even the critics. Heck, especially the critics.

I’m most proud of the little community we built in the cyber world. I hope you guys stick around for the Social Experiment on my personal blog, but if not, I have enjoyed our time together. Thank you so much. God bless.

Church #52: Old St. Mary's Church

2009-12-27T00:00:00.003-05:00

Wow. This is it. Almost one year ago, I walked into Solid Rock Church to begin this journey. Today, I write my final reflection about Old St. Mary's Church.

I put a lot of pressure on myself to end the Church Experiment with a bang. The finale always has to be bigger and better than the opening act, right?

The weekend of my final visit, I decided that mentality was silly. In an effort to purposefully create an anti-climatic experience, I chose a simple, gorgeous Catholic church in downtown Cincinnati (more specifically, Over the Rhine).

I love old churches in big downtowns. There's something about knowing that people worshipped God in those same pews hundreds of years ago that is awe-inspiring. I can't imagine what it must be like to attend church in European cities. So much history. Residents in Cincinnati are lucky to have many amazing churches in our city. I recommend checking them out.

As Sunday evening approached (I attended the 7:00 pm mass), the scene couldn't have been more majestic. Dark skies. Snow falling. A beautiful church. Christmas decorations still hanging in the sanctuary.

I won’t bore you with many details. Three of my fifty-two churches were Catholic, so you can go back and read those reflections if you want to learn about the rules and rituals of Catholicism.

There were only thirty people in the mass, but to be fair, St. Mary’s has four services each Sunday, including masses in Latin and German. One family actually constituted about 20 percent of the total congregation. Off to my right, there was a young couple with five small children! They literally looked zero (newborn), one, two, three, and four years old. That uterus needs a day off. Can you imagine being pregnant for five straight years?

Lord, thank you for making me a man.

Sunday was a very personal experience for me. I prayed a lot. I stayed after mass to talk to God about this year. I decided not to participate in official confession before the service, but I did use my time at St. Mary’s to ask God for forgiveness for my past sins.

Five days before my visit, I asked Liz to marry me (she said yes), and I really feel like 2010 is an opportunity for me to start over. I can’t change my past, but I can be a great husband. I can become a better teacher and friend. I felt like I needed to cleanse myself in order to step into the future with a clear conscience. Confession is good for the soul.

About thirty minutes into mass, I realized why God led me to St. Mary’s for my final stop. The priest gave a short message about growth. He compared human growth to boiling water. When you boil water, it looks like nothing is happening for many minutes. But then, the water suddenly swirls. Then bubbles. Then boils.

It looks like nothing is happening. But something is happening. And then, you see the results.

As the priest spoke, I teared up. I don’t cry much, but I was dangerously close on Sunday. His words summed up my whole experience. I am fully immersed in a culture that loves to criticize. Americans, Christians … heck, humans. We love to focus on flaws. Ever notice how uninterested people are in others’ charity work, but how obsessed they become over scandals?

I make mistakes. I have been a messy guy for a very long time. Critics enjoy taking shots at me. But God has been working behind the scenes. Change has been a slow process in my life, but the process has always been in motion.

I am engaged. If you don’t know me well, that may not mean much. If you do know me, you understand getting down on one knee to propose has been a quite a journey. God had to perform a miracle in my heart to break down some very thick walls.

If you can’t see God at work in my life, that’s your problem, not mine.

Please hear me when I say this. If you’re moving in a healthy direction … if you consistently follow Jesus, even though there will always be messy roadblocks along the way, you will continue to grow, and you should be proud of that growth, even if it’s slow. If other people can’t see God working in your life, that is their problem, not yours. Your job is to keep moving forward, keep learning from your fans and critics, keep being humble, keep asking good questions, keep walking the path God has asked you to travel, and keep trusting that God will honor your commitment to pursue him.

I am far from perfect, but I have never stopped passionately pursuing God. And I only have to answer to him. Not my friends. Not my critics. Not one person wandering this planet.

God will also hold you accountable. Keep fighting to follow him.

A Søren Kierkegaard quote kept running through my head Sunday: “Now, with God’s help, I shall become myself.” It is my prayer for all of us as this journey comes to an end.

Now, mostly because I love this version of the song, I leave you with this …

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #51: Atheist Meeting

2009-12-15T00:00:00.004-05:00

My visit to Free Inquiry Group turned out to be one of the most interesting stops on this journey. I could write many pages about the experience, but I'll try to keep it within reason.

First, I'll give some background and details.

Local atheists erected a billboard in Cincinnati about a month ago. It read, “Don’t believe in God? You are not alone.”

Not surprisingly, the billboard sparked a bit of controversy in Cincinnati, and the landowner eventually took it down because he received multiple threats.

My friend, Brad, saw the story and forwarded me the information. I decided it would be interesting to visit an atheist meeting (by the way, there was a debate during the meeting as to whether or not the word “atheist” should be capitalized). The best choice seemed to be a group called Free Inquiry Group (FIG) that meets once a month. In December, they brought in a professor of philosophy from New York, so I thought that might be interesting.

They met in a small conference room at a local hotel. Approximately fifty people showed up, which based on reactions, seemed to be higher than normal. No one really greeted me when I walked in, but throughout the meeting, most people seemed very friendly. I was surprised that almost everyone in the room was older. There were a couple of kids, a couple others around my age, but the average age had to be over fifty. Also, there were more men than women, which is probably the first time that has happened during the experiment.

There were announcements to begin, including an update on the homeless family FIG adopted over the holiday season. They also introduced a couple of other atheist groups in the area and asked for a sponsor to help lead an atheist group starting at Conner High School in Northern Kentucky.

Also, the person sitting behind me blew his or her nose at least one thousand times during the meeting.

Then, Tim Madigan spoke (the philosopher from New York). His presentation lasted about an hour, and it was okay overall. Some of it was over my head, some was interesting, some was boring, and other parts seemed self-promoting. Overall, Dr. Madigan tried to address the question, “What is the new atheism?”

Some people in the room actually got upset with the question. One of my new favorite people, Edwin, argued vehemently that there is no “new” atheism. Edwin was a funny dude. An argumentative, funny dude.

The question and answer session was much more interesting. It was good hearing from the people sitting in the room. I wish “church” was more like that. The idea that one or two people have all the answers, so they teach us every week, is kind of silly. I believe real learning happens when everyone have a voice. Multiple perspectives lead to true understanding.

Here are my key reflections about what happened at the atheist meeting:

1) Many atheists don’t celebrate Christmas. I thought this was super-weird. Most religious folks who celebrate Christmas barely acknowledge Jesus, so it’s not like Christmas is some super-religious holiday in our culture. Atheists celebrate Winter Solstice instead. Where do you find a Winter Solstice tree?

2) Atheists like making jokes about religion. I heard a Princess Diana joke, a Mother Teresa joke, and an Adam and Eve joke. I mean, what isn’t funny about Mother Teresa, right?

3) Atheists think people who believe in God are stupid. No one came right out and said it, but it was implied over and over again. And that leads to an arrogance that is very ugly. I have seen multiple videos of Richard Dawkins portraying a lack of humility that seems to be the norm with atheists. For example...

4) During the Q&A, I actually raised my hand to make the following point: I believe atheists have much more in common with liberal Christianity than either side is willing to admit. I didn’t identify myself as a Christian (I honestly didn’t know how people would react), but I did mention my experiment to the group. So many of the complaints about faith (bashing gays, violence, hate messages from people like Pat Robertson, anti-scientific beliefs like the planet being 6,000-8,000 years old) don’t describe my faith at all. Obviously, the God issue is a big divider, but practically, atheists and liberal Christians are probably closer in ideology than liberal Christians and conservative Christians. Not sure what to make of that.

5) Atheists lump almost all religious people together in one big, intolerant pot. I honestly don’t know any people of faith who condone violence in the name of God. I don’t know anyone who condones the actions of religious fundamentalists. I know lots of Christians who support gay marriage. Lots who aren’t Republican. Lots who don’t watch Faux News. And lots who don’t have any problems with atheists. Their billboard didn’t bother me. I read a couple of books by Richard Dawkins and Sam Harris. When I suggested to the group that their rise in popularity might have come from people of faith who think atheists make some good arguments, they suggested Christians might be buying the books in order to create counterarguments. Maybe, but that’s not why I bought the books. I like to learn.

6) Everyone in the meeting was pleasant. The couple I sat next to was very friendly, and we ended up talking during the break and after the meeting. Which got me thinking …

7) People on this planet have more in common than we like to admit. Yes, I know I believe in God and most people in that atheist meeting do not, but we had a lot in common. When I went to the Muslim Mosque, the Jewish Temple, the Church of Scientology, the Buddhist Center, the Hindu Temple, the atheist meeting, and all of the Christian churches, I found a lot of really nice people trying their best to make life work. Why do we focus so heavily on our differences? Why do we have to create enemies? Why do we judge people without knowing them? So silly.

8) As I listened to others talk, I wondered how many people in that room stumbled upon atheism because of the pain they experienced from a religious background. Did the church convert them to unbelief? A lot of people seemed angry, or bitter, or something. Are Christians out there really attacking atheists? Is there some war going on that I didn’t get drafted into? It seems like there are millions of people recovering from toxic faith. Some decided there was no God, so they ended up in atheism. Most couldn’t walk away from God, so they launched the non-denominational, emergent church movement. But as I stated earlier, the pain is similar, and I believe atheists and hurting Christians have a lot more in common than either side is willing to admit.

9) People need to believe in something. Even if that “something” is “nothing.”

10) Atheists like to debate. Most seemed to be philosophers, and honestly, a lot of the philosophical debate was over my head. I am a very logical person, but I have learned over the years that faith isn’t a head thing; it’s a heart thing. Not completely, of course. There is evidence out there if people want to look, but relationships aren’t about logic; they are about love. Did you get married because it made sense, or did you get married because there was some unexplainable “magic” that wasn’t there with anyone else in your life? I am definitely not someone who shuts off his brain, but I do want to be someone who opens up his heart.

11) But okay, I’ll play the logic game. Here is my best logical argument for belief in God:

Let’s say I lead you to a room, open the door, and present an intricate system of machines, tubes, gadgets, levers, pulleys, and wires that work together to create a complex mechanism. You stare in amazement and ask, “Wow, who made this?” If I answer, “We just opened the door one day and it was all there,” you would think I am nuts. Life is simply too complex to be an accident. Studying a simple process like pollination makes my head spin and logically leads me to believe an intelligent being had to create this world.

My work here is done.

Honestly, debating God’s existence kinda bores me. I believe in freedom, and atheists are free to believe whatever they want.

I don’t feel the need to defend my belief in God. There is evidence out there, but I have experienced God in ways that I can’t describe. I don’t need others to validate those experiences. You don’t have to believe me. It’s doesn’t bother me one bit.

But I also appreciate intelligent people in the world debating both sides. God gave us brains for a reason. Pursuing truth through logical reasoning is a worthwhile journey. Science is not our enemy.

One week left. It’s hard to believe I am almost done with this experiment.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #50: Buddhist Dharma Center

2009-12-13T00:00:00.001-05:00

My back hurts. Lots of uncomfortable sitting during a Buddhist service. But more on my sitting problems in a moment.

I have been interested in Buddhism for a long time. One, many experts believe Jesus was heavily influenced by Buddhist practices and traditions. Two, meditation has always intrigued me. I have a hard time shutting my brain off, and meditation could be the answer to my overactive mind. Finally, Richard Gere is dreamy.

An unfamiliar context is always nerve-racking because I have no idea what to expect. Even if a Christian church is out of my comfort zone, I still understand most of the rituals. Not so at a Buddhist Temple.

Walking into the Buddhist Dharma Center, I quickly realized the gathering would be small. Approximately fifteen people were in attendance. No one really greeted me, but someone did suggest I put on a nametag. Someone else handed me a sheet of paper that included that morning’s chants. Everyone had to take their shoes off before entering the meditation room. Cushions were scattered throughout the room, and there was a small “altar” near the back wall.

One of the most interesting things about the Buddhist service was that they locked the doors at precisely ten o’clock. If you arrive one minute late, you’re locked out. I like this system. I get frustrated when someone interrupts you in the middle of worship because they are ten minutes late and need to scoot by to find a seat. It’s disrespectful. In college, a professor of mine used to lock his classroom door the minute class started. If you were late, you were absent. And guess what? People made it on time. My students wander in whenever they feel like it, disrupting class in the process. Maybe I need to toughen up next quarter.

When it was go time, we all grabbed a pillow and walked into the meditation room. I took a seat, but my eyes were constantly scanning the room to learn from others. I had no idea what to do, and there were no explicit instructions.

The service began when a young girl walked to the back of the room and lit a candle. Then, we chanted for a few minutes. It all seemed like gibberish to me. Next, the leader rang a bell three times, and we entered into a period of silent meditation. I didn’t have a watch, but I’m guess this went on for at least six days. Kidding, of course, but it felt like a really long time. My legs began falling asleep. My back was aching. In the silence, stomachs growled. I was really hoping for peaceful music to fill the dead air, but it didn’t happen.

I was definitely the worst sitter in the room. So bad, in fact, that the leader approached me after the service to offer some advice. It was a very kind gesture which I appreciated, but I felt like an idiot. Who doesn’t know how to sit? Well, me, I suppose. (By the way, if you ever need tips on how to sit during meditation, I’m now your man with the answers.)

After forty minutes of silent meditation (which is a long time), the leader rang her bell again, and we all stood up. That’s when we began the walking meditation. We all slowly walked around the room in a large circle. Each step was very deliberate. After about ten laps, the guy in front of me clapped his hands, and we all went back to our seats. That’s when we transitioned into another forty minutes of meditation.

This time, the leader read a passage while we sat. It was actually quite good. I can’t remember specifics because I couldn’t exactly take notes, but here was the gist:

The expectations we put on ourselves and others is crushing us. When we find joy and happiness in things that can be taken away from us, we will always be disappointed.

It was interesting timing.

Liz and I watched It’s a Wonderful Life the previous night, and it helped me solidify something I have been feeling lately.

I am tired of being critical and being criticized. Of putting unrealistic expectations on others, and working so hard to live up to others’ ridiculous expectations of me.

What I’ve noticed is this: Criticism is our default mode. It’s so easy to look at someone’s life and notice all of his faults. Even if there are a thousand positives, we’ll focus on the one negative.

I do the same thing.

But in the movie, Clarence chose to focus on George’s positive influence on the world. Sure, there was bad, but the good won out.

Why can’t we do that? Why can’t we overlook the flaws? Are we so insecure that we have to tear others down in order to feel better about ourselves? Are we so unhappy that we have to make everyone around us miserable too?

I want to be a Guardian Angel for others. I want to highlight the good. I want to ignore the one negative voice in order to turn up the hundreds of positive voices.

As I meditated Sunday, I thought and prayed a lot about becoming a Guardian Angel for others. And while I don’t want to completely tune out the critics (because constructive criticism does help us grow and mature), I refuse to give significant power to the critics in my life. There aren’t enough hours in the day to obsess over my shortcomings. We all fall short, but we all also have a lot to offer the world. How different would life be if we focused on the good? If we began each day feeling encouraged instead of discouraged?

As Christians, I believe we often berate one another for sin without also congratulating one another for achievements. This creates an unhealthy imbalance.

How often do we applaud people in church for being great parents? Or great teachers? Or great neighbors? Why are we so afraid of people feeling good about themselves? Are we scared people won’t need the church anymore? Won’t feel compelled to give? I get that pride can become a hindrance to a sacrificial life, but people are capable of experiencing humility without being abused.

Negativity has poisoned my soul for many, many years. My dad is a loving man, but he was a hyper-critical perfectionist throughout my childhood. And what I have learned in church is that my Heavenly Father is similar. God sits around waiting for me to screw up so he can pounce.

But that isn’t truth. And that isn’t God. For the first time in thirty-three years, I’m done with toxic religion that tears people down. Life is too short and too important to obsess over my flaws. God’s plans are bigger than my imperfections.

The service closed with another chant, and then the little girl blew out the candle.

The Buddhist Dharma Center wasn’t my style, but there is definitely something to be said about prayerful meditation. Numerous thoughts about expectations and criticism have been swimming around my brain lately, and it was good to have some quiet time with God to sort through them. Although I won’t be returning to a Buddhist Temple, meditation will definitely become a bigger part of my life in the future.

Two weeks left. Can you believe this journey is almost over?

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #49: Thinplace and Maproom

2009-12-06T00:00:00.001-05:00

I'm concerned. A little over nine years into my faith journey, I'm afraid I can no longer connect with God in a supernatural way.

Sunday evening, I decided to attend an event at Taza Coffee Shop in Clifton called (Thinplace and) Maproom. I went because I knew the event would be experiential. No message or choir. No tithing or announcements. Simply an environment to experience God. Something I desperately needed.

I walked in and found low lighting and peaceful music playing in the background. Throughout the building, there were a dozen stations set up, all involving a unique meditative experience. A handful of people were wandering around the first floor, and a couple more were upstairs. I made my way from station to station (these were all individual activities). Some were pretty cool. Some weren't my cup of tea. I participated in about half of the exercises.

First, I wrote the name of the people group that I have a hard time loving and hung the “ornament” on a Christmas tree. I chose the group I am most critical of—other Christians. (Pittsburgh Steelers fans were a close second.) I prayed God would soften my heart towards Christians, and I haven’t punched any in the face since, so that’s a good start.

My second stop was a station that included a large world map.

I was instructed to place small bows on areas of the world and then pray for those regions. I sponsor a child from Colombia, so I placed a bow on her town and prayed for Luisa. I placed six additional bows on six different countries. All six regions included entrepreneurs that my class invested in through an organization called Kiva.

The third station asked me to write down a gift of mine on a piece of wrapping paper. This gift was supposed to be something I wanted to better utilize for God in the upcoming year. After writing it down, I had to fold the scrap of paper and place it in a small manger.

I wrote, “My relationships.” Meaning, I have pretty good rapport with people. Mostly students. Too often, I use those relationships to stroke my ego. I want students to like me, to think I’m cute and funny, and to speak highly of me. But what if I used that rapport to help them instead of helping myself?

The fourth station had more bows. Bigger bows. I was supposed to write the names of specific people that have been gifts in my life and stick the bows on a large gift box. I didn’t write any names, but I did think of all the people who fall into that category as I attached my bow. My parents, Evan, Liz, and all four golden girls topped my list.

Station five required sitting in a “sticky chair.” Christopher Day denies reports that the chair is from his bedroom. They actually turned duct tape upside down so each person “stuck” to the chair and then had us write down major problem areas on slips of paper. I wrote, “Lack of trust and unbelief.” I had to drop the slips in a larger manger.

Upstairs, I sat in silence for a few minutes and had a heart-to-heart with God. The previous thirty minutes were perfectly fine. I said some good prayers, reflected on some important stuff, and enjoyed a very cool atmosphere. But I didn’t connect with God in any profound way. I couldn’t connect with God. I got to thinking … I haven’t connected with God in a really long time.

I don’t ignore God. He and I chat frequently, but our relationship resembles two best friends. We laugh, make plans, argue, watch television, eat Pringles, and have a great time overall. (By the way, God and I especially enjoy watching football together.)

But a supernatural being? The Creator? My Heavenly Father? The spotless lamb who died for my sins? I have been worshipping a very practical Jesus for a very long time. Prayer and worship feel like a waste of time. Miracles, signs, wonders, and healings seem more ridiculous than ever. I worship a logical God, reacting with the supernatural the way oil and water coexist.

If these types of experiential services are in your wheel house, then I highly recommend you follow Thinplace and Maproom on Facebook and check out their next event. It was incredibly well done.

For me, perhaps more than anything, this year has really opened my eyes to my strengths and weaknesses, and the experiment has forced me to spend significant time differentiating between the two.

While there are still many unanswered questions, here is what I do know: I’m looking forward to reconnecting with a church home to continue learning and growing. Wandering from church to church only gets a guy so far, and then it’s time to make a commitment.

Yuck, the C-word. Could this be a sign of maturity? Am I actually growing up? God help me.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #48: City Gospel Chapel

2009-11-29T00:00:00.001-05:00

God has a silly sense of humor.

Lots of backstory this week.

First, my friend Jason spends a significant amount of time interacting with Cincinnati's poor and homeless. He introduced me to City Gospel's Chapel service. Basically, every evening, City Gospel provides a meal at 7:30 pm for those in need. Before that meal, everyone is required to attend a forty-five minute Chapel service. Various churches in the area take turns leading the service. Jason mentioned it might be an interesting stop for my experiment.

Second, last week opened my eyes to one unavoidable fact: I am uncomfortable around the poor and homeless. So, this week, I wanted to stretch myself. Sunday evening, I attended City Gospel's Chapel service. I honestly had no idea what to expect, but I was very nervous. It was dark, the service was located in a fairly rough part of Cincinnati, and I am a crazy germaphobe.

I am not proud of most of what I will say in this post, but it's reality. I was scared of catching something. Every time someone coughed or sneezed, all I thought about was germs filling the air. I even left my gloves on in case anyone shook my hand. I know, I know … it's super-lame, but it's the truth.

Third (and here's the silly part), I helped plant a church a few years ago in Clifton. One of the first attendees was named Doug. Doug eventually became a leader in the church. We were in a small group together, hung out on occasion, and I even visited a strip club with his wife (long story … not as creepy as it sounds). Doug developed a friendship with a guy named Anthony. Because of that friendship, Anthony eventually began attending our church. While there, Anthony committed his life to Jesus and got baptized. Doug and Anthony continued hanging around that church until the summer of 2009. They left in order to help plant another new church in uptown Cincinnati. That church happens to be another Acts 29 church. And … that church happened to volunteer the week of my visit to lead City Gospel's Chapel service.

It had been a long time since I’d seen Doug and Anthony. When I parked my car outside of City Gospel, I looked through its glass windows and saw both of them standing in the foyer. I believe my exact words were, “You've got to be freaking kidding me.” (I'm trying to eliminate cursing from my vocabulary, even while sitting alone in my car.)

I thought about going home. Not because I didn't want to see Doug and Anthony, but I thought it might be awkward. Then, I realized my presence couldn't be a coincidence. What are the odds? So, I got out of my car, and the adventure began.

The service at City Gospel is clearly meant to serve a specific population. I assume no one attends the service unless they are looking for a free meal, so I wasn’t expecting the red carpet treatment. I quickly realized I couldn’t get in through the front door, so I had to go around back. I felt stupid because I was scared of getting mugged. I even left my wallet and phone in the car in case I did.

Once inside, I made my way to the Chapel. It was a fairly small room with about seventy-five chairs. Almost every seat was filled. At first glance, it was obvious almost everyone was poor and/or homeless. I could easily pick out the people from Doug and Anthony’s church (Christ the King Church). I immediately spotted a seat near the back of the room.

That’s when I realized Anthony would be speaking.

Basically, Anthony stood up and told his story. Not my place to repeat the details, but Anthony has a great story of finding hope through Jesus. Lots of junk, an encounter with Jesus, and a changed life. More on that in a minute.

It was a tough crowd. A large percentage was high, drunk, or asleep. Those who stayed awake talked a lot. One guy shouted “Green Acres” at the top of his lungs when Anthony shared part of his country upbringing. He yelled so much that someone had to tell him to be quiet. Later, a phone rang, and someone shouted to answer it. The people to my immediate left talked to each other almost the whole service. At one point, I heard the woman say, “I prefer not to have sex with you tonight.” Ouch. Another guy in front of me snored so loudly that I could barely hear Anthony’s talk.

After Anthony finished, Doug prayed and asked everyone to meet in small groups. A member of Christ the King Church sat with each group and asked a handful of questions. In my group, the interactions went fairly well. The leaders did a good job. The group members talked a lot. Jason and I were texting about the experience Sunday night, and I wrote, “I think homeless people say what they think others want to hear. Well-intending Christians can get taken advantage of.”

And that’s what makes serving the homeless population so difficult. I never know if I’m being taken advantage of. I’ve experienced those meaningful conversations that turned out to be a scam. I’ve handed over money that I know bought the next bottle of liquor. Do most of us simply enable others with our feeble attempts to help?

I did enjoy hearing Anthony’s story. Partly because I witnessed a good chunk of it firsthand. Watching Doug’s friendship with Anthony was a good example of loving people the way Jesus loved the lost. Watching Aaron interact with Anthony was an inspiring example of pastoring. And watching Anthony get baptized was proof that no one is beyond God’s grace. Stories resonate. I am reminded of one of my favorite Bible verses from 1 Corinthians 3: “You yourselves are our letter, written on our hearts, known and read by everybody. You show that you are a letter from Christ, the result of our ministry, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.”

Bingo. Anthony is a living letter that others can read without ever needing to pick up the Bible. A changed life is almost always more interesting than words on paper or a carefully constructed sermon.

I am so thankful for the life I have been given. Good family, good friends, good job. I have a warm bed and lots of nutritious food. I never have to worry about going hungry. As I edit these words, I’m using my new laptop computer, watching a college basketball game on my high definition television, checking text messages on my Google Phone, eating a bowl of cereal, and looking forward to curling up in my soft bed. I don’t deserve any of it. Luck of the draw. These past two weeks have shown me how uncomfortable I am with poverty and homelessness. I prefer to ignore the problem and hope someone else takes care of it.

But that doesn’t seem very Christlike.

So, what do I do with that? What do you do with your blessings? What does the church do with its blessings? And how do the fortunate leverage our wealth and influence to help the less fortunate?

Why is it so tempting to hide out in my neighborhood and ignore the world’s problems? Comfort has become my mistress. Security is our illegitimate child. And apathy is our dog that keeps humping the neighbor’s leg.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #47: The Oaks Community Church

2009-11-22T00:00:00.001-05:00

If my relationship with the Acts 29 movement were represented on Facebook, it would be listed as, “It's Complicated.”

I used to listen to Mark Driscoll's podcasts. Driscoll is smart, and he likes to tell people about it. Our core beliefs (somewhat) align, but his perceived arrogance pushed me away. Matt Chandler was another Christian leader I admired. Again, an intelligent dude. Less arrogant than Driscoll, but Chandler likes to yell at his congregation … a lot. Someone never learned to use his inside voice. (By the way, as I write these words, Matt Chandler is still recovering from surgery that removed a tumor from his brain. Please pray for Matt and his family as he continues the recovery process.)

I am a huge fan of Tim Keller. He's not part of the Acts 29 network, but most of the Acts 29 guys worship Keller. Their beliefs mirror one another, but Keller is a very humble man. Most people aren't the smartest person in the room, but they want you to think they are. That's Driscoll. Keller actually is the smartest person in the room, but he doesn't advertise it.

There aren't many Acts 29 churches in the Cincinnati area. I knew Middletown was home to The Oaks Community Church, led by Kevin Jamison. I had never met Kevin in person, but we hung around each other's blogs a couple of years ago. I had heard many good things about Kevin, and I was hoping he leaned more toward Keller than Driscoll.

On the surface, The Oaks Community Church felt like a nice mix of relevance and reverence. Worship began the service and was quite good. The congregation mildly participated, but the band sounded great. They had a subtle country vibe that worked. Before the service officially started, one person came up to me and introduced himself. Nice guy named Brian. The main room had a very cool feel to it and sat around two hundred people. (I have since learned that The Oaks moved to a new building in 2010.) I estimated approximately 125 people were in attendance at their second service of the morning. All white (except for one black man who came in late and sat next to me). Almost all young (in their mid-twenties to mid-thirties). And everyone seemed to have that “cool vibe” about them. That, “I’m an artist who hangs out in coffee shops and is passionate about social justice” vibe. Which is fine, but sometimes I feel like I don’t fit in with that group.

Overall, everything was very casual, but there were some rituals woven into the service, including an official call to worship, a corporate prayer of confession, communion (with an excellent explanation of the process), an offering, a closing prayer, more worship songs, and a benediction. The entire service lasted approximately ninety-five minutes.

Two things struck me about my time at The Oaks:

1) The message. Jamison was outstanding. The Acts 29 messages resonate with me more than anything else I have encountered. It’s not a bland Bible teaching. Driscoll, Chandler, Keller, and Jamison have a way of making the message applicable to life. But it’s also not a watered down self-help seminar. They dive into the Bible and bring the scriptures to life. I feel challenged, entertained, and educated all at once. That is a difficult combination.

Some quotes that stood out:

“We make the Kingdom of God us-centered.” Jamison went on to explain the promise of eternal life is so popular because it answers the ultimate question, “What’s in it for me?”

“What sins are you nurturing in your life? Be killing sin, or sin will be killing you.” Man, that is true. Every time I let my guard down, I fall back into old patterns and behaviors that poison my soul and sabotage my life.

“I need people in my life who care more about my relationship with God than my opinion of them.” I can honestly say that I have this in my life. In fact, I just had an intense conversation with a friend of mine because he called me out on some junk in my life. He was exactly right about some of the stuff he said, but he was also mistaken about other stuff. The beauty is that it didn’t matter. God was able to use the conversation to challenge me. Because my friend was willing to call me out, good things happened. He risked our relationship because he cared about me. If you surround yourself with people who tell you what you want to hear, you’re doomed to stunt your growth.

“You have to be healed before you can serve. If you’re serving in order for God to heal you, you’ve got it backwards.” Interesting thought. Actually, I think both are always happening at the same time, but Jamison’s point is well taken. We don’t earn God’s gifts by working really hard. They are gifts because they are given freely. We only need to accept them.

“If you’re bored, or lazy, or passive, you don’t understand the full implications of the Gospel.” I fully admit I have a difficult time wrapping my mind around the Gospel of Jesus. More on that later.

2) A few minutes into the service, an older man sat next to me. He was probably the oldest person in the room. He was also the only black person in the room. He may have been homeless, and he was certainly mentally challenged.

My first thought was, “Why me? Out of everyone in attendance, why did the crazy dude have to sit next to me?”

Then, it hit me. The problem with church is that they let anyone in, including challenging people who require tons of emotional energy. What I really want is a cool social club where I can hang out with my friends, be awesome, and ignore the crazy loons. It’s probably the quality I possess that most conflicts with the character of Jesus (there are many to choose from). I don’t think it was an accident that the man sat next to me. God used the moment to slap me across the face with my hypocrisy. The man kept mumbling to himself and shouting comments at inappropriate time, and I kept thinking, “This guy is going to ruin the service.” Can you imagine Jesus thinking that?

I walked out of The Oaks Community Church with two primary thoughts:

1) I have a plan for my life, and I’m working like hell to make that plan work. If God wants on board the Steve Express, great. If not, I believe I can make my life work without him. Deep down, I really do believe that. Of course, our plans overlap at times. I have meaningful moments and help others, but where God and I butt heads, my plan always wins. This is problematic.

Of course, God hasn’t e-mailed me a detailed game plan for my life, so I’m doing the best I can to pursue my passions while following God’s will. At least, I think I am.

2) I still have a hard time grasping the Gospel. It makes sense in my head, but its application feels almost impossible. All fall short. We all need Jesus. Trying harder gets us nowhere. God isn’t keeping score. The price has already been paid. Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. Love.

If I could just wrap my heart around the Good News. If I could just look past all of the religious dysfunction in this world to see Jesus himself. It seems like it should be so easy, yet it’s the hardest thing I have ever tried to do.

The folks at The Oaks (cute) look more like Keller than Driscoll. That’s a good thing. Arrogance is a bad thing. If Acts 29 churches can operate in humility, they can be a force in this world. I have a feeling The Oaks Community Church will be.

My prayer for today: “God, help me understand the Good News.” If that ever happens, the possibilities are limitless.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #46: Gathering Place Church

2009-11-15T00:00:00.001-05:00

It's interesting. Forty-six weeks into my experiment, I thought I had seen it all. In the process of going back and editing my earlier entries to prepare a manuscript for publication, I noticed it was so cute how I approached those early churches with wide eyes and a bushy tail (my clippers broke last winter).

People danced in church! How scandalous!

I was such an adorable kid.

Those details didn't mean as much to me by week forty-six. As I neared the finish line, I was getting more desperate to experience God. This week, I crossed the river into Kentucky to visit The Gathering Place Church. Someone recommended it on my blog a few weeks prior. I thought I would be walking into a charismatic church that valued miraculous healings, signs, and wonders. That may be true, but I didn't witness any evidence during my visit.

I assumed I was in trouble when the first worship song had a line saying, “I am souled out for Jesus.” Yeah, I used the correct spelling. There is nothing more lame than Christians using son instead of sun, souled instead of sold, and so on.

But that was the low point. Things got much better as the service progressed.

There were approximately 150 people in attendance, and almost every seat in the room was filled. A high percentage of the congregation was white, and ages varied. A couple of people stood out. First, the man next to me kept watching me take notes. But then, he pulled out a slip of paper and a pen and jotted down a few notes of his own! A fellow seeker? Someone obsessed with his grocery list? I may never know.

Second, one of the girls in the worship choir looked exactly like Blossom’s friend from that television show back in the nineties. I believe her name was Six. (As I did a Google search for a picture of Six, I discovered Jenna Von Oy posed semi-nude later in her career. There went an hour I’ll never get back.)

Focus, Stevie.

After twenty minutes of worship, Pastor Joyce came on stage and began her message. I assumed the worst, but I was surprised by how much her sermon affected me.

She titled the message, “Life is what you make of it.” The theme centered on attitude. As Pastor Joyce spoke, I realized my attitude is crappy. I’m a happy guy. I’m also a fairly grateful guy. I realize I have been blessed with an amazing life, and I thank God for that often. But I’m also critical and pessimistic. When I root for the Bengals or Bearcats, I’m always waiting for something bad to happen. (Of course, until recently, something bad usually does happen.) When I walk into a new environment, I look for flaws.

Pastor Joyce said, “No matter where you go, you take your attitude with you.” A light bulb lit up over my head. I have been visiting these churches ready to attack. I saw the word “souled” on their screen, and I wanted to bail out two minutes into the service. That attitude keeps me separated from God and others. I look for flaws in churches, leaders, girlfriends, friends, and myself. I focus on the bad. Not always, but too often.

Pastor Joyce also said, “When you’re self-centered, nobody can do anything right.” Bingo. Bull’s-eye. Booyah. And other words that begin with the letter B.

That sentence sums up my whole life. And not to point fingers, but it sums up the lives of almost everyone I know. When you’re self-centered, nobody can do anything right.

My default mode is “jerk.” It just is. I don’t think I’m a bad guy, but I have to work hard to be kind and gentle. It’s easier to be mean or sarcastic. Making a joke that puts someone else down comes naturally. I’m really good at it. But I don’t want to be that guy.

I don’t want to be fake either. I don’t want to lose my sense of humor or dispense phony joy. That’s not my personality. But I can work harder to control my attitude. There is a nasty arrogance that comes from thinking my way is superior to everyone else. I’m not smarter or better than anyone. Well, okay, I’m smarter than Carrie Prejean.

Dang … there I go again. I’m going to stop being a jerk starting … now.

Pastor Joyce seemed like a very genuine lady. My guess is that she really cares about her flock at The Gathering Place Church. They never did have a “ministry time,” so I definitely struck out on my attempt to experience miraculous healings, but I believe I found my way to Gathering Place for another important reason. Attitude is everything.

After taking an offering, shaking a few hands, and listening to announcements, the service wrapped up in eighty minutes.

As devastating catastrophes affected millions in 2009 and the early part of 2010 (most notably the earthquake in Haiti), it’s important to keep in mind that a healthy perspective is critical to a content life.

We take our attitude with us wherever we go.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #45: Personal Church

2009-11-08T00:00:00.007-05:00

As I spent time reflecting on last week's emotional roller coaster, I realized something. My readers have become part of my spiritual community. I specifically mentioned my Vineyard family in that chapter, but this experiment has morphed into much more than words on paper. It would be strange if many of you suddenly disappeared. There are too many names to list, but you guys have become another form of spiritual community for me. We've laughed, cried, debated, and bonded. If this was only a book, I would have quit months ago.

This experiment hasn't just been about visiting churches; it's been about the dialogue you guys have created. Perhaps more than the visits themselves, that dialogue has helped me learn and grow. I am so thankful for that.

I definitely experienced an emotional hangover this week. After my “epiphany” that the purpose of church is to experience spiritual community in ways that resemble our biological families, I wasn't excited about showing up at some random church. Next week, things will be back to normal, but this week, I decided to organize my own personal church experience.

Last year, I argued that most church functions could be accomplished outside of church membership. I can read my Bible, serve my neighbor, pray, listen to an inspirational message, and donate to charity without ever stepping foot inside a church building. So, I put that theory to the test. If I were to create a personalized church experience inside the comfort of my own home, here’s what it would look like (I am including details so you can experience the exact process if you would like):

1) Three “worship” songs. I put worship in quotes because I branched out from traditional Christian music. I have been struggling lately with falling back into some old habits (Bea Arthur and I have renewed our love affair since my cable reinstallation), so I chose three of my favorite songs:

“Ain’t No Reason,” by Brett Dennen:

“Hurt,” by Johnny Cash:

“Brand New Day,” by Joshua Radin:

Great, meaningful music speaks to my soul, even if God isn’t mentioned by name. These Johnny Cash lyrics always smack me across the face: I hurt myself today to see if I still feel. I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real.

But as Joshua Radin sings, today is a brand new day. And when the sun is shining, how can you not feel optimistic about the future?

2) A story from the Bible. After much deliberation, I chose to read the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. You can read the whole thing here. What struck me from the story was this exchange:

When Mary reached the place where Jesus was and saw him, she fell at his feet and said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled. “Where have you laid him” he asked. “Come and see, Lord,” they replied. Jesus wept. Then the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

There is a ton to unpack in those few verses, but I’ll focus on two points.

One, Jesus wept. Last week, as I screamed at God for letting Charlie die, I got a picture of Jesus sitting with Charlie’s friends and family, weeping with them. In my vision, God’s heart was broken. And my very next thought was, “God, if you are so heartbroken about Charlie dying, why didn’t you heal him?” Almost the same exact question some of the Jews asked two thousand years ago.

That story ends with Jesus healing Lazarus. Not so with Charlie. I don’t have any answers for God’s inaction, but I do know this: God was there with Charlie up until the end. And he has been comforting Charlie’s friends and family ever since. I can’t explain God, but I do know he cares. He is a God that weeps with us.

3) A message. I used to listen to podcasts like it was my job. Literally, three or four per day. Mark Driscoll, Matt Chandler, Erwin McManus, Rob Bell, John Ortberg, and others. I scanned the list to see if any recent messages stood out, and I decided to go with John Ortberg’s message called “Imagine.” Click here to watch his full sermon.

More than ever, I am confronted with life’s frailty. One of my favorite quotes from the movie Insomnia is when Robin Williams says, “Life is so important; how can it be so f@#king fragile?”

Ortberg’s message hit home. In fact, I have to be honest. My selfish nature is warring against the desire to live sacrificially. It sounds too difficult. It sounds too boring. I want to have stuff, and be popular, and pursue the spotlight. I want to live by my own rules. I want to be the god of my own life.

I know this is my key battle.

When faced with personal mortality, people typically move in one of two directions. We either realize time is short, so we need to acquire more—more money, more stuff, more fun, more women/men, more security. Or, we realize time is short, so we choose to give more away. To create a legacy of love and generosity that will live on after we are gone.

I am fighting that battle this week. Acquire more, or give more away?

The right answer is obvious, of course, but living that answer is difficult.

I claim to believe in God. I claim to put my hope in him, but my life doesn’t always reflect that claim. I know very few people who believe in God and place their trust in him. Instead, we trust our human relationships. Can you imagine how your faith would be rocked if your spouse died at age thirty-seven, leaving behind two young children? We trust our stuff. Real estate, retirement funds, material possessions. We trust our political system. People worship Rush Limbaugh the way they should be worshipping God. People are relying on Barack Obama for deliverance the way they should be relying on Jesus.

A question I asked myself a lot this week: Do I really believe? Do I really believe there is some existence after death called Heaven, or is it just a nice bedtime story to keep us sane? Do I really believe in a supernatural God, or did humanity have to create a grandpa in the sky to keep us civilized?

John Ortberg finished his talk with this prayer: “God, help us to die to small and petty dreams.”

4) A closing prayer. I have been yelling at God a lot lately, but I haven’t really taken time out of my life to meaningfully pray. I finished off my Sunday by having a heart-to-heart with God. I was completely honest with my doubts, my fears, and my conflicting desires. I don’t want to pretend with God anymore. He knows my heart. He knows how screwed up I am. He knows my mixed motives. And he chooses to love me anyway.

Amazing grace, indeed.

I still believe you can worship alone in a room. I believe people can read scripture and pray alone. And there are lots of great messages online. But life was never meant to be lived in isolation. That wasn’t God’s original plan.

In the movie, Into the Wild, Christopher journeys into the unknown. He’s fed up with his family, with society, and with life. On his journey, he meets many interesting people and learns a lot about himself. Perhaps this loner’s greatest lesson was his last. Christopher died by himself in the Alaskan wilderness, but before he starved to death, he wrote these words in his notebook: “Happiness only real when shared.”

I think Christopher was on to something.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #44: Mason Vineyard

2009-11-01T00:00:00.004-04:00

I write this week with a heavy heart.

I am confused, angry, and in shock.

Saturday, October 31, 2009, Charlie Matthews passed away. Charlie was the lead pastor at Mason Vineyard Church in Cincinnati, Ohio. He served in various roles at Vineyard Community Church for many years. One of those roles was Director of Alpha. I was a speaker at Alpha. While in that position, I worked with Charlie for over a year.

But I knew Charlie long before that. He was a star volunteer many years ago when my ex-girlfriend helped lead outreach at the Vineyard. That was Charlie—he loved the church; he loved people; he loved serving.

I was incredibly conflicted this week. I had planned on visiting Mason Vineyard before hearing the news. Charlie had been sick for about a month, and I was curious how a relatively new church was functioning without its leader. But I also didn't want to exploit Charlie's tragic death. No matter where I ended up, I knew my thoughts would be with Charlie, his family, and the Mason Vineyard.

Bottom line: Charlie's death has rocked me in ways that took me by surprise. We weren't close friends, but Charlie was a part of my Vineyard family. I talked to him just a few months prior. Honestly, I needed to be with “family” this week. I needed to see people from the Vineyard. I needed to hug old friends. I wanted to celebrate Charlie's life and mourn his death with those who knew him best.

Charlie Matthews was a good man. He is survived by his wife and two children. And, in whatever platform I have been given, I want to speak about Charlie's legacy.

There are no easy answers when someone dies long before his time. When that person leaves behind a wife and two young children, it’s infuriating.

God, seriously, what the f@#k?

This makes no sense to me. Saturday night, I screamed at God … a lot. I dropped many f-bombs. An army of Christians prayed for his recovery. You’re telling me God heals headaches and sore elbows, but he allows a father of two to die just as his church is launching? Ridiculous.

I am incredibly confused, so I went to the Mason Vineyard on Sunday to look for answers. I followed that up with a visit to Vineyard Community Church. A number of things happened:

First, I was able to laugh and cry with some folks who love Charlie dearly. It was quite therapeutic.

Second, I had a hard time worshipping God. “God is great, God is holy, God is amazing, God is so loving, God is awesome.” I don’t want to be blasphemous, but I felt none of that this weekend. What is awesome about letting Charlie die? There may be some bigger purpose that I can’t see, but on the surface, it seems like a really stupid plan.

Third, I was challenged by Kent Odor and Dave Workman to really consider the rest of my life. No one is guaranteed anything. Not one more minute. How will I spend the rest of my days? Kent spoke about Charlie’s character. Am I living a life of integrity? Is my character strong?

Fourth, I was surrounded by my spiritual family. I got to hug a handful of folks, shake hands with many more, and process with some old friends. It was especially good hanging out with Duane, Shirkie, Sean, and Suzanne.

Through it all, here’s what God taught me:

I said this way back in week thirteen, but I really felt it this week. Church is family. Yes, there are other reasons for going to church, but as I’ve mentioned before, a lot of the functions of church can be met elsewhere. What you can’t reproduce in a vacuum, or find online, or get from reading a book, is the sense of community that happens in church.

Unfortunately, churches are dysfunctional, but whose family isn’t? There are freaks, and jerks, and flawed human beings, but that’s what makes the experience genuine. I’ve never met a perfect family, but when the shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.

Similarly, I’ve never met a perfect church, but when the spiritual shit hits the fan, you can always go home again.

God, I’m really pissed off that you took Charlie long before his time. I’ll keep processing, but your ways make no sense to me. What’s the point of prayer? Why heal some people and not others? Do you heal anyone, or do people just pretend? So … freaking … annoying.

Charlie, you left quite a legacy behind. I saw it in the faces of your friends and family. You have already inspired me to become more of the man God created me to be. You will be missed.

To everyone else, I am guilty of taking my life for granted. I assume I can goof around for a while and always put off living until tomorrow. I waste time. I allow my character to slip. I ignore significant relationships. I get angry about the wrong stuff and remain apathetic about the stuff that truly matters.

I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and be perfect. I’ll still struggle with everything I mentioned above. But I’m going to get better. I’m going to keep fighting.

This is mind-blowing, but a few weeks before Charlie got sick, he planned a series at Mason Vineyard called the, “One Month to Live Challenge.” Charlie died a little over a month later. Mason Vineyard is currently in the middle of that series. Are you freaking kidding me?

When someone like Charlie dies, it forces everyone to take a step back and ask, “Am I really living?” I hope we can all take some time this week to ask ourselves that question.

The lyrics from “When I Go,” by Brett Dennen, seem appropriate to close:

Oh, the thought of death has yet to make me afraid, ‘cause I will march right off of this world into the next like it’s a grand parade. But if you feel lonely just like you want to run and hide, then I’ll wrap my wings around you and give you strength, and I won’t leave your side.

Please keep Charlie's family in your thoughts and prayers.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #43: Virtual Church

2009-10-25T00:00:00.001-04:00

I have been trying to follow God's lead during this experiment. This week, a handful of coincidences led me to Virtual Church.

First, Jim Henderson (from Off the Map) commented about Virtual Church on his Facebook page. Next, my friend, Aaron, e-mailed me about the church. Then, I had a conversation with my friends, Jason and Bradley, about spiritual miracles and wonders (healings, God giving people gold teeth, jewels falling from the sky, people being covered in gold dust, etcetera).

So, I decided God might have a message for me at Virtual Church. Because a strange path led me to their virtual doors, I expected my experience to directly address our “miracles and wonders” conversation from Saturday.

Before we get there, I'll pause to explain Virtual Church.

There is a church in Atlanta, Georgia, called The Ark of Salvation. That church has created a Web site where people can experience “virtual church.” Basically, you go to the site and pray, “God, please send me exactly what I need,” click on a Start Service button, and sit back to enjoy approximately forty minutes of a church buffet.

The service is made up of ten parts: (1) An opening prayer; (2) A scripture reading; (3) Two worship songs; (4) A greeting; (5) A second prayer; (6) A message; (7) A third prayer; (8) An altar call; (9) An invitation to join the church; (10) A closing prayer.

But here’s the thing. Each of the ten parts is completely independent. I assume the system works like this …

Ark of Salvation loads hundreds of prayers into their system (these all come from actual services they hold in Atlanta), hundreds of scripture readings, hundreds of messages, hundreds of altar calls, and so on. Then, each of the ten parts is chosen randomly from their database. For example, the opening scripture reading during my service had nothing to do with the message. They were two independent parts of the experience, which obviously created a very disconnected service.

Because of the seemingly endless combinations, Virtual Church claims 365 billion possibilities. In other words, you’ll never hear the exact same service twice. And because of all those possibilities, Virtual Church really believes each service is meant for the person who stumbles upon it. That’s why you’re supposed to pray before the service begins … to make sure you get the experience meant only for you.

Needless to say, I was anticipating a service focused on spiritual wonders and miracles. That, of course, would have been perfect timing. Unfortunately, it didn’t happen. Oh well.

My scripture reading was Ephesians 1:3-10. My two worship songs were “Lord, I Lift your Name on High” and “Hold On.” As a first-time visitor, I was asked to sign their digital guestbook, which I chose not to do. Then, we jumped into the sermon.

By the way, every part played on my Windows Media Player. There was no video. Only audio.

I actually liked the message. The pastor read Ephesians 5:15-17 and then talked about how people need to get better at using their time wisely. The overall message had a very “self-help” feel to it. The pastor planned to list ten points, but ran out of time after seven. I suppose the downside to this type of system is a very strict time limit. He just basically stopped talking after twenty-five minutes and said he would wrap up next week (they do give you the sermon series in case you want to listen to the rest of the messages in that particular series).

The seven points he mentioned:

We should be spending our time …

1) In planning. He quoted one of their other pastors who always says, “Small minds talk about people. Average minds talk about events. Great minds talk about ideas.” I wonder how much time we waste in pointless conversations.

2) In preparation. He explained that preparation gets us ready for great things, minimizes fear, gives us confidence, and ensures that we have fewer regrets.

3) In prevention. Fill in the blank. What are you doing to prevent _____? Your marriage from failing. Your kids from becoming psychopaths. Your health from deteriorating. And so on. Lots of people want stuff, but they do nothing to get it. I’m reminded of something my mentor always asks. “What do you want, and what are you willing to do to get it?”

4) In things that advance your life’s purpose. In other words, identify your goals and work to achieve them.

5) Building sustainable relationships.

6) In self-development.

7) In things that add value to other people. This one stung a bit. Years ago, I heard John Maxwell say that no matter where he is or who he’s talking to, he always wants to add value to their lives. I made a commitment to follow his lead back then, but I’ve failed miserably. Usually, I prefer to put someone in his place. Point out his ignorance. Beat someone down instead of building him up. What a sad legacy that leaves behind.

After the message, there was a button to click if you wanted salvation. A button to click if you wanted to join the church’s membership. A button to click if you wanted to tithe. A final prayer. Then, it was over.

Virtual Church is an interesting and unique idea. If someone can’t make it to church for some reason, or if they are disabled in some way, I suppose it’s a nice alternative. I believe God is big enough to put the right combination of parts together to create a message designed for a specific visitor.

The problem, of course, is that the whole service is very disconnected. Usually, the parts flow together in church to make a cohesive whole. Not at Virtual Church. But it is what it is. You know that going in, so if you don’t like it, it’s probably not the best idea to visit.

It was an interesting experience this week, but definitely not one I’m looking to repeat any time soon.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #42: St. George Russian Orthodox

2009-10-18T00:00:00.001-04:00

Whoa. Why didn't anyone warn me that exotic orthodox churches are nothing like Catholic churches?

First, I almost walked into the wrong building. There is a Korean Baptist Church within a stone's throw of St. George Russian Orthodox. Speaking of which, who knew there was a Korean Baptist Church in Cincinnati?

When I finally found the correct building, I was shocked to realize the room was small and the congregation was smaller. I expected a huge, old building with lots of people. I was so surprised that I almost turned around and left. I normally have a pretty good idea what I'm walking into, but not this week.

After a brief hesitation, I decided to stay.

The room was overwhelming. It was small, but filled with pictures of Jesus, Mary, and other Biblical characters. There were candles everywhere, and the front of the room had an altar with a fake wall that separated the congregation from a back room. That back room is where the “priest” hung out most of the service, chanting and performing rituals. His back was to us a majority of the time. There were three doors that led to the back room, but the doors were almost always closed.

Everyone was standing except for an old guy sitting on a bench. I joined him. The men stood on the right side of the room, and the women stood on the left. By the end of the service, there were approximately thirty-five women, twenty-five men, and ten children. Almost every woman (and girl) had her head covered.

There were four women singing. They were positioned in the back right corner of the room. They sang throughout the service. In fact, they sang everything. They sang scripture. They sang songs. They sang introductions. I was afraid to say hello to anyone without checking my pitch first. Literally, nothing was said without it being sung.

The songs were actually quite beautiful. Very similar to the “chanting” I heard during Compline in Savannah.

One thing I learned: Russian Orthodox folks love making the sign of the cross. I am not exaggerating. In eighty minutes, each person averaged well over a hundred. It was wild. And they added a new twist … bending over and touching the ground after making the sign. No idea why.

Up front, there were separate shrines dedicated to Jesus and Mary. People lit candles and placed them near their pictures (while making the sign of the cross a dozen times). They also kissed the pictures, which of course, is a great way to spread the Swine Flu.

The priest kissed the Bible after his scripture reading. And what a Bible it was. Large and fancy with gold trim. He read the verses in Russian and English, singing both.

At one point, I thought we were going to take communion. The priest came out front with two chalices, but then took them both behind the altar, closed the door, and even closed a curtain so we couldn’t see anything. He chanted for a long time while the “choir” sang more songs.

I was fascinated with the old man sitting next to me. He had a prayer book filled with his personal notes and pictures. He pulled out a picture of a saint and kissed it, then prayed for a while. The book looked worn, and I wondered if he’d been carrying it around with him for fifty years. There is something pretty cool about religious traditions when people are really passionate about the rituals instead of just checking them off of a list.

Unfortunately, the room was so small, it was so crowded, there were so many candles, it got so hot, and so much incense was burned, that I could barely breathe after eighty minutes. I was sweating, my head hurt, and I felt trapped. I know faith isn’t always about being comfortable, but Sunday was rough. Near the end of the service, I had to step out of the room to get some fresh air. Once I noticed things were winding down, I left.

This had to be the most ritualistic service of them all. It wasn’t bad, but unless you understand the rituals, it’s sort of pointless. I can’t imagine someone could walk in off the street and feel comfortable. Rituals may mean a lot to the congregation, but they mean very little to guests (at least at first). If people experience God in profound ways by lighting candles, singing Bible verses, and making the sign of the cross five hundred times, that’s great. It just doesn’t do much for me. Especially when it’s eighty minutes of rituals. Maybe mix in a message somewhere along the way.

There was a lot to soak up at St. George. I’m not sure I had any time to just sit back and experience God. After a few stressful weeks of this experiment, I really needed a church where I could just go in, relax, and connect with God. Maybe next week.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #41: Church of God of Prophecy

2009-10-11T00:00:00.001-04:00

A couple of months prior, on my way home from visiting Montgomery Community Church, I passed a van that read Church of God of Prophecy. I had never heard of that denomination before, but I knew I had to make it a stop on my experiment.

I have six quick points about Cincinnati Church of God of Prophecy, and then I’m going to let you guys out early.

1) There were less than twenty people at the service. If you’re a guest, those numbers are intimidating. Everyone in the room knew I was a visitor. I kept waiting to get called out by the pastor, but thankfully, that didn’t happen. Everyone was white. Most were older. There were a couple of kids and one woman around my age. At one point during the service, the pastor said, “Church quality has little to do with church size.” That may be true, but it’s also a convenient ideology when your church size is hovering around twenty members.

2) Why do pastors of small churches with names like “Church of God of Prophecy” always look exactly the way you would picture a pastor from a small church with the name “Church of God of Prophecy” looking? I don’t mean that as an insult. It’s just odd how they all seem to fit the TBN mold. Almost like it was programmed from birth.

3) Perhaps my favorite Church Experiment moment yet …

Before I walked into the building, I sat in my car and literally asked God, “What am I doing here?” It was one of those moments (I have had a handful of them along the way) where I questioned the point of this whole experiment. I wanted to turn around and go home.

Once inside, those feeling remained. The small congregation and lackluster worship music weren’t helping my mood. I asked God to show up during the service. I asked him to show me why I ended up at the Church of God of Prophecy. And that’s when it happened.

I stood behind an older gentleman. Probably in his late 50’s or early 60’s. During worship, his wife showed up. He stepped into the aisle to let her pass, and when he did, he noticed me. Being a church veteran, he also realized I was a guest. He looked at me and extended his right arm in a welcoming gesture. As I reached for his hand to shake it, my eyes glanced down and watched his right hand clench into a fist. I wish you could have read my mind as I realized he was greeting me with a fist bump. I am pretty sure I blacked out, but I have vague memories of actually giving this guy a fist bump (and no, I didn’t blow it up).

I laughed for five minutes. I know this will sound strange, but I truly believe it was God’s way of saying, “I’m here.” God wanted to deliver a message, and he used a language I could understand. After that, I relaxed and enjoyed the pastor’s message.

4) Speaking of the pastor’s message, he spoke about our response to God’s offer of grace through Jesus. Pretty good stuff overall. He asked one question that really stood out. “Has following Jesus been the top priority in your life?”

I thought about my answer as I sat there. Honestly, I think I can say yes … overall. I think about Jesus, write about Jesus, talk about Jesus, and try to pursue Jesus as a general rule. But practically, I’m not sure. I have lots of other priorities that divide my focus. Sports, writing, hanging out with friends, watching movies, reading fiction, etcetera.

It’s not that any of that stuff is evil, but they can all become distractions. I expend so much energy during Bengals games that I am exhausted once the clock expires. I drop so many f-bombs on Sunday afternoons that NASA could use them to blow ice off of the moon. Not my finest, most Christ-centered moments. (P.S. Who Dey.)

5) This was the first week I left a church service early. I simply couldn’t deal with what happened after the pastor’s message. I got nervous early in the service when the pastor asked us to place our hands on the person sitting next to us and pray for them. Then, he started praying intensely. Then, everyone in the room started praying in tongues. I had no one sitting next to me, so I just sat there and trembled in fear.

During the altar call, things got wild. First, a couple of people went forward for prayer. Then, the pastor started calling members of the congregation up front by name. Soon, everyone started going up front. On her way, one woman stopped and asked me if I wanted to join them. I said, “No, thank you,” and stayed in my seat. A few minutes later, I was basically the only person left in the pews. Up front, I witnessed a spiritual cluster(f-bomb). The pastor was screaming, people were praying in tongues, and the whole scene was out of control.

I couldn’t deal with it. So, I left.

6) Here’s the good news. Over the past few weeks, God has been solidifying my beliefs about faith. I have to thank Bobbyb and Christian for asking some good questions on my blog that helped me clarify my thoughts on the Bible. For the first time ever, I can finally articulate my thoughts about scripture.

The same thing happened Sunday concerning my thoughts on prayer, healing, speaking in tongues, etcetera.

Some of it is real; some of it is fake. I think we can all agree with that. For a long time, I have obsessed over figuring out which is which so I could call out the phonies. What a waste of energy.

I experienced what happened at the Church of God of Prophecy as lunacy, but maybe it was legit. Who the heck am I to question their genuineness? That kinda makes me an arrogant jerk.

At the same time, I don’t need to flop around on the ground and speak in tongues to experience God in profound ways. For the first time, I’m secure with that. My insecurities were causing me to question and criticize anyone who experienced God in charismatic ways. I tore them down because I didn’t understand them. How immature of me.

If the right opportunity presents itself, I’ll practice opening myself up to the Holy Spirit in a safe context with people I trust. Until then, I’m going to stop blasting people willing to take those leaps of faith. Sure, some of them are faking. And others are subconsciously pretending in order to fit in. But that doesn’t mean God isn’t showing up.

Maybe when we become more secure with ourselves, we can stop judging everyone else. At least, that’s what I have been experiencing over the past few weeks, and it feels very freeing.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #40: Isaac M. Wise Temple

2009-10-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

My previous experiences with Judaism have been limited. Mostly, one of my best friends from high school converted when he went to college, and I was the best man at his Jewish wedding (which was quite lovely, by the way) in 2003.

Isaac M. Wise Temple is a Reform Jewish Temple. I had no idea what that meant, so I offer this explanation from Jewish Virtual Library:

"We Reform Jews are heirs to a vast body of beliefs and practices embodied in TORAH and the other Jewish sacred writings. We differ from more ritually observant Jews because we recognize that our sacred heritage has evolved and adapted over the centuries and that it must continue to do so. And we also recognize that if Judaism were not capable of evolution, of REFORM, it could not survive."

Based on that explanation, and what I witnessed firsthand, I'm assuming Reform Temples are equivalent to nondenominational Christian churches. More relaxed, less ritualistic, but still holding to the same core beliefs.

If Reform Temples are less ritualistic than other Jewish Temples, I'm not sure I could handle the more conservative option. The service lasted about an hour, and almost the entire sixty minutes was filled with rituals.

Oddly, I didn't mind. In fact, it was actually fairly moving. Christianity is like visiting Boston—old city, lots of history, pretty cool place. But Judaism is like visiting Paris, Rome, or London. People have been practicing Jewish traditions for thousands of years. Since the beginning of recorded human history. Christianity has many beautiful traditions, but we're the new kid on the block. There seemed to be a reverence in Wise Temple that is missing from most Christian churches. Not all, of course. Many Catholic churches have a similar feel, but the atmosphere was somehow different. Maybe the novelty grabbed my attention.

My first mistake was walking into the main room of Wise Temple without picking up a prayer book. Big mistake. The whole service centered on that book. There were prayers and songs and readings and verses, and I was completely lost. The guy next to me kept looking over. I’m sure he was thinking, “Where the mishugina is that guy’s book?”

About fifteen minutes into the service, I decided to walk back out to the lobby and pick up a prayer book. It definitely helped, but half of it was in Hebrew. (And why was the book backwards?) It seemed like almost every person in attendance could recite the Hebrew passages except me, which was fine because they also repeated almost everything in English. Perhaps that is one difference between a Reform service and a traditional Jewish service.

Either way, Stevie likey the English.

This week was Sukkot, which I understood to be a Jewish festival ushering in a season of rejoicing. Not sure if this happens every week, or if it was a special Sukkot experience, but a live band played a lot of music throughout the service. Definitely not a rock concert, but it was pretty lively. Again, some songs were in English, some were in Hebrew, and others were mixed. There wasn’t a “worship time” like in Christian churches. The music was spread throughout the entire service. One song here, another there. Probably ten songs overall.

During Sukkot, I was informed that Jews are supposed to build Sukkahs. This explanation of the Sukkah comes from jewfaq.org:

“In honor of the holiday’s historical significance, we are commanded to dwell in temporary shelters, as our ancestors did in the wilderness. The temporary shelter is referred to as a Sukkah. The commandment to ‘dwell’ in a Sukkah can be fulfilled by simply eating all of one’s meals there; however, if the weather, climate, and one’s health permit, one should spend as much time in the Sukkah as possible, including sleeping in it.”

Wise Temple built a small Sukkah in their main room and a much larger one outside the building:

After the service, people were encouraged to spend some time in the Sukkah. I would have dropped by, but I had Jesus in tow, and I wasn’t sure if the bouncers would let him in. Honestly, I didn’t want to do anything disrespectful. I was even afraid taking a picture would be rude. Maybe it was.

You can read more about Sukkot and the Sukkah at www.jewfaq.org.

The congregation was mostly older and all white. There were approximately one hundred people in attendance, and we gathered in a room that sat three times that. Some men wore Yarmulkes, but most did not.

At one point, we were asked to read a silent prayer from our prayer books. The prayer read, “My God, guard my tongue from evil and my lips from deceit. Help me to be silent in the face of contempt and humble in the presence of all.” After last week, it seemed like a fitting prayer.

The female rabbi (I hope they are called rabbettes) gave a short, but interesting message. She used a dialogical approach, which I have been advocating for in the church for a long time. By dialogical, I mean she basically had a conversation with the congregation. She asked questions, encouraged audience participation, and waited for answers. This interactive approach definitely engages the audience and keeps them more involved than if she lectured us for forty minutes.

She read from Ecclesiastes and then gave a brief history lesson on Jewish festivals. For a newcomer, it was super helpful. I felt like I walked away with a much greater understanding of Sukkot.

Her overall point was that there is a season for everything, and no season is better or more sacred than another. The Sukkah will be taken down soon. Like every season, it is temporary. Autumn has arrived in Cincinnati, but it will soon be winter, then spring, summer, and back to autumn.

Every season of life is similar. There are ups and downs. School, work, retirement. Single, dating, engaged, married. Childless, children, and empty-nesters. Brainstorming, writing, editing, and publishing. I could go on and on.

I believe the best way to live is to embrace and enjoy each stage of life. I also believe people become frustrated when they spend their whole lives impatiently waiting for the next stage.

You’re only in college once, so enjoy it. Stop racing to graduate. Someday, you will be married, and you’ll spend the rest of your life with that person (hopefully). So, for now, enjoy the dating process. Your child will never be five years old again, so make some lasting memories while you can. Think how much better life would be if we could just enjoy the moment.

This was an important slap across the face for me. I was losing steam on the experiment and was already looking forward to 2010’s 52 in 52 experience. That meant I could have easily gone through the motions and wasted the next three months. How sad would that have been?

I had twelve more churches to go, and I wanted to make each one count. Heck, I want to make today count. Stop worrying about tomorrow. Tomorrow has enough worries of its own. Today is life.

And speaking of life, here’s my last point. I loved going to church on Friday evening. It’s the perfect time for a church service. I left work at 4:00, so it’s not like I had to stop doing something exciting to attend. I got to the Temple at 6:15, participated in the service, and was home by 7:30. I still had the rest of my Friday night open, and I could enjoy the whole weekend without worrying about church.

Winner, winner, chicken dinner. It might be time to convert.

Until next time, Shabbat Shalom.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #39: Zion Temple First Pentecostal

2009-09-27T00:00:00.001-04:00

I knew Zion Temple First Pentecostal Church was going to be outside of my comfort zone (most weeks of this experiment have been), but I have been concerned that my visits are actually fanning the flames of bitterness and resentment I feel toward other Christians. That was not one of my original goals. I figured a Pentecostal church is about as far away from my personal ideology as I can get, so this Sunday was sort of a test. Am I really maturing through this process? Is God really softening my heart? Or am I just full of hot air?

I knew Zion Temple was a predominantly black church before I arrived, but I didn't realize I would literally be the only white person in attendance. (I estimated there were about two hundred people total.) That didn't bother me, but I definitely stood out, which made me feel like everyone was watching me, which made it a little awkward. I encourage all church leaders reading this book to visit a church way outside of your comfort zone at least once a year to remind yourself how newcomers feel when they walk into your building.

The entire service lasted two hours and fifteen minutes, and much of what I saw was familiar. Worship, an offering, a message. But the whole experience felt like church on crack. Not necessarily in a bad way. The worship was amazing. So loud, so much energy, and so moving. Tastes vary, and that’s great, but Zion Temple had my kind of worship.

Tithing was interesting. Instead of passing a collection plate, everyone formed two lines and walked up front to drop their offerings into a box. It was interesting how much accountability this created. If you stayed seated, people knew you didn’t tithe. I began my visit in the balcony, so I got a free pass. About thirty minutes into the service, I decided to join everyone else down on the main floor.

And it was just in time.

It’s hard to explain what happened before the pastor began his message, but it was wild. First, a couple of ushers walked down the aisles and passed out paddles. For fanning themselves? Was it some worshipping device? Do they spank the bad kids? No idea. Then, all holy broke loose. People jumped up and down, and danced, and screamed at the top of their lungs, and … it was chaos. Attending a Pentecostal church is a workout. One woman literally waved her arm the entire service. Over two hours of arm waving. If I raise my hand for ten seconds, my muscles burn.

It was hardcore worshipping. I tried to capture some of it on video (because there really are no words to explain it), but I couldn’t get my camera out in time.

The thing about Zion Temple was that everything felt genuine. I don’t think anyone was putting on a show. They actually record the service and broadcast it on public television (times are listed on their Web site if you want to watch the service next Sunday), so who knows how much of what I witnessed was spontaneous and how much was manipulated for television.

Of course, not everyone stood and jumped around. Lots of people sat quietly in their seats. Just like any church, there was a mix of personalities and preferences. The pastor’s message definitely had lots of energy, but I had a hard time following him. Often, it just seemed like he was screaming to get the congregation fired up. I think his overall point was that God builds our faith through daily tests so we’re ready for life’s big tests. He used the story of Abraham to help make his point.

Near the end of the service, Zion Temple had a baptism (using their super-cool baptismal), an altar call, and time for one-on-one prayer.

A few things stood out:

1) In Pentecostal churches, “Amen” is like a period. They literally say Amen after every sentence. Even during the announcements.

Next week we are having our fall picnic. Amen. We need someone to bring potato salad. Amen. And cornhole sets. Amen. Directions are posted outside on the bulletin board. Amen. I hope it doesn’t rain. Amen. Anyone want to carpool? Amen.

2) Two seats in front of me, a woman breastfed her baby during the service. Ewww …

3) I love old, black women who wear amazing hats to church. I wanted to take pictures of every single one, but that might have been rude. It seems like such a fun ritual to bust out your newest, loudest hat every Sunday morning and show it off to the congregation.

Overall, I am not a fan of church services that last longer than two hours. I’m just worn out by the end. Zion Temple’s style isn’t exactly my cup of tea, but low-energy churches can definitely learn something from high-energy churches like Zion, especially regarding worship.

For some reason, it is a very specific type of Christian that seems to push my buttons, and the folks at Zion Temple Pentecostal didn’t fit that profile. They just seemed like they wanted to love Jesus, and it’s hard to argue with that.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #38: KingsWay Church

2009-09-20T00:00:00.001-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, a reader informed me that a church north of Cincinnati was officially launching this weekend. I was hoping to find a brand new church in the area so I could attend their first service, and that's exactly what happened Sunday.

KingsWay Church definitely had an energy that has been missing at so many other churches I have visited this year. That is to be expected. Complacency sets in over time, but the early stages of anything we do are novel, fresh, and exciting.

I wonder if there is a way older churches can tap into that energy. Maybe mixing things up every once in a while? Taking risks? Stepping outside of their comfort zones? It's really easy to play it safe when you're “established,” but how lame is that? Before you know it, safe becomes boring, and churches begin to die.

Maybe veteran pastors could identify new churches in their community and go visit sometime. Get motivated by the energy and spread it to their own congregations.

Just a thought.

KingsWay uses the gymnasium at Little Miami Junior High School. If you’re keeping score at home, that’s two school gyms in the last two weeks. Similar to LifePoint Vineyard, I was impressed with how good the setup looked. Clearly, volunteers are working hard at KingsWay to unload and reload every week. (Well, I suppose just the one week so far.) As I said last week, I think that’s a smart way to build servant hearts among your congregation.

I estimated one hundred people showed up for the launch. We sat in padded folding chairs and wood benches. I was greeted by a handful of people as I walked in. At least five. When I walked into the gym, I noticed a couple of things. First, they had coffee and treats in the back. Jackpot. The muffins hit the spot. Second, there was a huge trophy case in the back:

I’m not sure how the church won all those trophies, but man, that’s impressive stuff after one week. I didn’t even know God handed out an MVP trophy. You know, Most Valuable Prayer.

And … you’re welcome. (By the way, just so we are clear … that was sarcasm. I know God wouldn’t actually hand out the trophies. He would have an angel do it.)

Besides the energy, the other thing that stood out at KingsWay was the message. It was one of the best I’ve heard all year. Top five, without a doubt. Dynamic speaker, funny, great examples, and a solid theme.

Pastor Adam Metzger is only twenty-eight years old (he looked eighteen), but he seemed like a pretty solid guy.

His message focused on the myths we believe and the assumptions we carry around with us. Assumptions that sabotage our faith.

The primary assumption Pastor Metzger discussed was the idea of being “good enough.” If you aren’t a Christian, this message applies to you. Before I began following Jesus, I believed heavily in being “good enough.” I was a good guy, so I deserved God’s favor and VIP-seating in Heaven. But, as Metzger eloquently pointed out, what is good enough? Whose definition of good enough do we use? Is there a point system? How many points did I lose when I stole that one thing from that one place I worked? (I would be more specific, but I’m not sure what the statute of limitations is.) It has to be a huge deduction when I … never mind, this isn’t going anywhere good.

Everyone falls short when we play the good enough game.

Of course, even when we become Christians, we still play the good enough game. And that’s what I’m trying to work through at this stage in my life. I still think I have to impress God to earn his favor. Every day, I wonder if it’s good enough. That mentality is my default mode, but we all know it’s a prison.

Everyone falls short when we play the good enough game. Even Christians. Even really, really good Christians.

I wonder how different life would be if we all just finally accepted that. What if all Christians signed a contract acknowledging we’re all decent people who ultimately fall short? Even if you don’t curse or drink, you fall short. And if you do curse or drink, you fall short too. All of the virgins out there, you fall short. Fornicators (what a great word), you fall short too.

Here’s the thing. Waiting until marriage to have sex is wonderful, but if you’re holding out because you somehow think your chasteness earns you favor with God, then your goodness is a prison. When things go wrong in life, you’re angry and bitter. Right?

Okay, maybe not you, but I am. When I do the right thing, but God doesn’t reward me, I get angry. And when other people do the wrong thing, and God doesn’t punish them, I get bitter.

It’s finally starting to drill into my skull that this is everything. It’s what separates those Christians who live joyously and those who become grumpy Pharisees. We all fall short, so instead of pointing fingers, how about we love God, love one another, and start sharing the Good News through our words and actions?

KingsWay reminded me of the Vineyard. Twenty minutes of great worship (talented band, but most people didn’t engage very well), announcements, a message, a couple of prayers, communion, and an offering. At the end, the pastor set out two boxes—one labeled “good enough” and the other labeled “forgiven.” People were supposed to go up front and move a slip of paper from one box to the other. Not many people did, but I remember those types of activities from my days at D’VINE. We were big on symbolic experiences. Any D’VINE peeps still have their poker chip?

Overall, I was really impressed with KingsWay. For a launch, the service went off without a hitch. I have seen tons of technical problems at churches that have been around for years, but KingsWay seemed to have all the kinks worked out.

In fact, there was only one moment that bothered me. I only mention it because it really got under my skin. During the experiential activity, an adult jokingly grabbed a kid (around seven years old) and playfully pushed him toward the boxes. The adult was obviously joking, but it wasn’t funny. Maybe I’m overly sensitive to that kind of stuff, but kids have super-negative experiences in churches all of the time that scare them away for decades. I’ve heard stories about “hell houses” that make me want to puke. Never, ever, ever, ever, ever force a kid into church participation, even if it’s a joke. It could really backfire.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #37: Lifepoint Vineyard

2009-09-13T00:00:00.001-04:00

LifePoint Vineyard is a fairly new church (around two years old). As someone who helped start a church, I always find it interesting to check in on other church plants. From what I witnessed Sunday, business is booming in Monroe, Ohio.

This was the first weekend LifePoint hosted two services, so that's a pretty clear sign of growth. At the 11:00 am gathering, I estimated there were about two hundred people. LifePoint meets in an elementary school gymnasium, so we sat on folding chairs, but overall, it was quite a comfortable atmosphere.

I want to stop and make my first point about LifePoint. Clearly, they are doing something right with their volunteers. It looked like a potential nightmare to set up that gym every week, but LifePoint gets it done. From the four hundred or so chairs, to the band (drums, speakers, etcetera), the two projection screens, the lights, and so on, it was unreal. The dedication of their volunteers must be intense. When we first planted in Clifton, we had a building, so volunteer participation was a luxury, not a necessity. Our leadership team always wondered if that was actually a bad thing because it created a culture in which people could be lazy and Sundays would still happen. Maybe it’s better to be in a scenario that requires hard work and sacrifice early in a church’s history. Maybe it builds character and camaraderie that positively influences the culture of that church for years to come.

LifePoint seemed to be a typical Cincinnati Vineyard church. Twenty minutes of worship to begin, a few minutes of lighthearted announcements (delivered by the associate pastor, Andy Rainey—dressed in shorts, sandals, Cincinnati Bengals gear, and eating an ice cream cone), an offering, a thirty minute message, and a prayer to close.

What wasn’t typical was the “Mobile Cone” outside of the building. If you are from Cincinnati, you probably know all about The Cone. Well, LifePoint gave away free soft serve ice cream all day. My friends, when you walk away from church with a chocolate-vanilla swirl, that is a Sunday morning well spent.

They also had hot dogs and drinks, but I wanted to save room for my ice cream.

And, trust me, LifePoint needed to win me over with ice cream after I ended up at the pastor’s house instead of the church, causing me to be fifteen minutes late. Allow me to explain.

I have a Google Phone (which makes me a better person). When I need directions these days, all I do is pull up a church’s Web site on my phone’s browser and click “get directions.” My Google Maps App automatically charts the course from my current location to the desired destination. It’s a beautiful thing.

Well, when I accessed LifePoint’s site, the wrong address showed up. On the Web page itself, they have the correct address for the school, but Google brings up the pastor’s house (where I assume they met before their official launch). So, Google led me to his home. After realizing the mistake (and peeing on the side of Andy’s house), I eventually made it to LifePoint, but like I said, I was fifteen minutes late. I basically missed all of worship, so I assume they were good, but who knows.

The service itself was very typical Vineyard stuff—good speaker, interesting message, moments of humor, and a laid-back atmosphere (the senior pastor, Andy Ransdell, was also wearing shorts). But what Andy said did strike a chord with me.

The message focused on the importance of scripture. And, I must say, it was well-done. Not a typical angle in discussing the Bible, but I think it worked. At least, it did for me. Reading the Bible has always been the toughest spiritual discipline for me. I pray a lot. I read good books. I love to discuss my faith, but I always seem to find an excuse for not picking up my Bible.

Andy did a good job making the Bible seem important, relevant, and readable. He used a few personal examples of scripture speaking to him, and he challenged the congregation to dive in and see what God might be saying through his Word. So, I’m diving in.

Confession: I have been teeeeeerrible at reading my Bible this year. In fact, I’ve read more of almost everything else out there—blogs, Facebook status updates, fiction novels, non-fiction books, online news, magazines, and so on. I probably spent more time in 2009 reading bumper stickers than scripture. That seems silly, doesn’t it? But there has always been some mental block with me and the Bible. I mean, I’ve read it. I’ve studied it. I feel like I understand the narrative, but I don’t feel compelled to consistently dive in and let God speak to me through his Word.

But yesterday inspired me to make a change. So, here is my commitment from today until the end of 2009: I will read at least one verse from the Bible every single day. Even if it’s just one verse, it’s better than nothing. And I don’t have any excuses because I even have a Bible App on my Google Phone. It has every book in every translation. I spend so much time wasting life’s precious moments … if I can’t find a couple of minutes per day to open my Bible, something is wrong with me.

Well, we already know something is wrong with me, but you get my point.

(And something was wrong with me. For the record, that commitment lasted about one week before I gave up and closed my Bible. It continues to be a huge struggle for me today.)

Here’s the last observation I want to make about this week’s visit. I’m not trying to be mean here, but I need to express how I feel. That’s the point of this experiment, right?

Last week, when a man named Eric commented on my blog, I wanted to give up. I’m sorry to be harsh, Eric, but people like you make me want to walk away from Christianity. Not walk away from Jesus, because Jesus is way bigger than any one person’s influence on my life, but I have a hard time being associated with a religion that produces such a toxic faith in so many lives. People like Eric push me away from God. They make me want to quit. Their “smell” is pungent to my spiritual nostrils.

LifePoint, however, was a breath of fresh air. Getting around people who love Jesus deeply, but can also laugh and have a good time, while challenging me to be a better person—that kind of church has a pretty sweet smell to it.

Last week, I never wanted to pick up a Bible again. This week, I am looking forward to diving into the scriptures every day for the next four months. One of those outcomes seems better than the other.

What I saw from Eric reminded me so much of the Pharisees. What I saw from LifePoint reminded me so much of Jesus. One of those also seems better than the other.

Pharisees make me feel like I can never be loved by God because I believe gays should have the right to marry, or because I voted for Barack Obama, or because I don’t have the Bible memorized, or because I think Rob Bell is an okay dude. When you make people feel that way, it’s nothing but Pharisaical bullshit. And it drives people away from the redeeming love of Jesus. And it’s infuriating.

Deep breath.

I want to be around people (and churches) that remind me I’m loved in spite of my voting record, my doubts, and my sins. Because that’s what Jesus did. And that’s what Jesus still does today.

Go sell toxic religion someplace else; what people need is grace.

I don’t care who you are, what you’ve done, who you voted for, how often you read the Bible, or what your political stance is on gay marriage or abortion. I don’t care if you are gay, straight, or bisexual. I don’t care if you’ve had sex with a thousand people or you’re forty years old and saving yourself for marriage. I don’t care if you are Methodist, Catholic, Muslim, or you sat next to me at the Church of Scientology. GOD LOVES YOU. Not because of what you can do for him, but because he’s freaking God, so he doesn’t need you to do a damn thing. He loves you because he made you. He created you to be the jacked up person you are, and he loves you in spite of your flaws. You’re the Prodigal Son. So am I. And God is running toward us with open arms. Nothing else matters except his desire to welcome us back home. And he’s waiting. Despite the thousands of rules Pharisees will lay on you to convince you that you’re unworthy of God’s love, God says you are worthy because of the sacrifice Jesus made two thousand years ago. Period. Bottom line. End of story.

It’s only when we understand God’s true nature, and it’s only when we understand why Jesus died on a cross, that we’ll ever be set free from religion.

Freedom from life-draining rules. Freedom from empty rituals. Freedom from fear. Freedom from anger. Freedom from arrogance. Freedom from performance. Freedom from the games. Freedom from the facade. Freedom from pretending. Freedom from hiding. Freedom from other peoples’ expectations. Freedom from self-righteousness. Freedom from death.

And when you experience that kind of freedom, then your life is transformed to become more like Jesus. If you’re trying to become more like Jesus without allowing him to free your heart from toxic religion, you’ll always feel inadequate, you’ll always feel separated from God’s plan for your life, and you’ll always feel like you’re sitting outside a playground watching all the other kids have the time of their lives. It makes you bitter, and that bitterness seeps out of your pores.

Jesus didn’t come to punish you for being a bad kid. And he didn’t come to make you feel like crap all of the time. He didn’t come to make your burden heavy. Paul said it better than I ever could:

Christ has set us free to live a free life. So take your stand! Never again let anyone put a harness of slavery on you. I am emphatic about this. The moment any one of you submits to circumcision or any other rule-keeping system, at that same moment Christ’s hard-won gift of freedom is squandered. I repeat my warning: The person who accepts the ways of circumcision trades all the advantages of the free life in Christ for the obligations of the slave life of the law. I suspect you would never intend this, but this is what happens. When you attempt to live by your own religious plans and projects, you are cut off from Christ, you fall out of grace. Meanwhile we expectantly wait for a satisfying relationship with the Spirit. For in Christ, neither our most conscientious religion nor disregard of religion amounts to anything. What matters is something far more interior: faith expressed in love.

Take your stand, my friends. Take your stand.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #36: Grace Bible Presbyterian

2009-09-06T00:00:00.003-04:00

This week, I visited Grace Bible Presbyterian Church.

A few similarities with the Presbyterian Church: They love hymns. Before I began this experiment, I had no idea so many churches still sang hymns. I naively thought most churches had a worship band. Me so silly.

Most of the basics were the same … announcements, prayers, an offering, the message, and so on.

The main room sat about four hundred people in traditional pews (they also had a balcony), and I estimated it was about 75 percent full. Most attendees were older. The majority of the congregation was over fifty, but there were also some younger couples with small children. Very few people around my age or younger. And unless the balcony was diversity central, every single person in the building was white.

A few things that seemed different from other denominations: They had a “Pastoral Prayer.” Basically, the pastor prayed for a significant amount of time. Maybe five minutes. This church prayed a lot, but this prayer was different—more formal and intense.

Also, Grace Presbyterian took up an offering without saying a word. I thought this was interesting. No teaching about tithing. No plead for sacrificial giving. Just passing the plate and letting people give as they felt led.

I also saw my first baptism of the year! (Not including my extra trip to Vineyard Westside to watch a friend get baptized.) I didn’t realize I had gone thirty-five visits without witnessing a baptism until Sunday. I can’t decide if I think that’s weird. Obviously, not every church baptizes new people every week, so I have probably just missed those special baptism Sundays. But what if I haven’t? What if most of the churches I have visited haven’t baptized anyone all year? Interesting thought.

I’m not even sure the baptism at Grace Presbyterian counts. It was a baby. A sleeping baby. That child will have no memory of his baptism. His parents made the decision for him, so … does that count?

We stood during the scripture reading. I am pretty sure that is a first. I have seen this happen before, but not sure I have ever been part of a church service where it happens.

I heard Grace Presbyterian was a very conservative church, and they didn’t disappoint. In the first ten minutes of the service, they mentioned their attendance at Saturday’s “Tea Party” in West Chester (a suburb of Cincinnati). They followed that with an impassioned plea against abortion. The Reverend said, “I don’t mind being close-minded. My mind is very closed to what scripture says.”

Which, honestly, I don’t understand. The Bible isn’t a rule book, so I don’t understand why people use it as one. It’s a story. A narrative about Jesus. That narrative teaches us so much about life, but it’s not black and white. Two intelligent people can read the Bible and have two very different understandings of complex social issues. I believe we have to keep open minds, using the Bible as a guide, but also using common sense, logic, and our prayer lives to discover God’s will.

A very intelligent, thoughtful friend of mine spoke about the Bible last year at Recycle Your Faith:

I don’t necessarily agree or disagree with Justin, but he raises lots of interesting points that Christians must consider when they claim to live by the Word of God.

The Reverend, Tim Miessler, was a great speaker. Very dynamic and lots of energy. His message focused on 1 Peter 4:7: “The end of all things is near. Therefore be clear minded and self-controlled so that you can pray.”

Basically, he summed it up like this: Christians don’t have much time on this planet, and while we are here, we will be persecuted. His question: If that is the case, then how should we live?

The Reverend gave three options:

1) Hide. Go to church seven days a week, hang out with your church friends, and keep your faith hidden to outsiders. Clearly, not a good option. If you don’t know one non-Christian, this might be you.

2) Pick up the sword and fight. In other words, argue, debate, yell, throw your Bible at strangers, etcetera. Also not a good option. You might be passionate about sharing Jesus with others, but you’re using a bulldozer.

3) Pray. And be serious about your prayers. Really seek out God as we live.

Reverend Miessler and I may disagree on execution, but I think his message was solid. Too many Christians hide in their safe churches, and too many are abrasive in their evangelizing. We need more people willing to follow God’s lead. Jesus spoke truth, but he always spoke the truth in love. All of the Bible stories about him being a badass were directed toward religious people, not “sinners.”

In other words, stop hiding, and stop being a jerk. Jesus did neither.

A final thought about prayer. Reverend Miessler likes prayer. A lot. There had to be at least ten separate prayers during the service—a couple of them were multiple minutes long. His sermon was about prayer. His core message was that we need to pray more often and with more gusto.

It makes sense, but man, sometimes prayer drives me nuts. Even Jesus said, “And when you come before God, don’t turn that into a theatrical production either. All these people making a regular show out of their prayers, hoping for stardom! Do you think God sits in a box seat? Here’s what I want you to do: Find a quiet, secluded place so you won’t be tempted to role-play before God. Just be there as simply and honestly as you can manage. The focus will shift from you to God, and you will begin to sense his grace. The world is full of so-called prayer warriors who are prayer-ignorant. They’re full of formulas and programs and advice, peddling techniques for getting what you want from God. Don’t fall for that nonsense. This is your Father you are dealing with, and he knows better than you what you need. With a God like this loving you, you can pray very simply.”

It drives me nuts when people ramble on in their prayers using religious language that doesn’t even make sense. Praying simply seems better. At least, that’s what Jesus said to do. And he was a pretty smart dude.

I did like Grace Presbyterian. The message was good. The atmosphere was nice. It just seemed so serious the whole time. In fact, the Reverend must have used the word “serious” a hundred times. Prayer is serious; communion is serious; faith is serious; life is serious. It seemed like a very serious church, which is fine, but Stevie likes to laugh.

What’s the old line? “God is a comedian playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.”

Sounds about right to me.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #35: Norwood Wesleyan

2009-08-30T00:00:00.002-04:00

Yesterday, I took a walk in the park. Shortly after arriving, I realized I had to use the restroom. Once inside, I noticed most of its walls were made of glass. I feared people outside could see me urinate, but luckily, I’m pretty confident the windows were tinted on the outside.

So, everything was a go. Unfortunately, my shorts got stuck around my hips, and I couldn’t pull them down. I couldn’t hold it any longer, so with very few options left, I started peeing all over myself.

That’s when I looked up and realized the bathroom had transformed into a church. The park ranger (who looked exactly like actor Richard Jenkins) walked in and started preaching. From what I remember, he said some pretty good stuff, but I was the only person in the congregation, so it was hard to focus.

Suddenly, the park ranger’s wife appeared in the room with us, and the two took turns preaching. Out of nowhere, his wife turned into a blue, ghostly-looking hologram and said, “God loves you,” in a very strange voice.

Then, Cammie Stinchcomb walked in and took a seat behind me. She didn’t even acknowledge my presence. (Cammie and I went to elementary school together. She was one of the first girls I ever had a crush on.) Frustrated by her snub, I looked at my program and realized there was a second service scheduled at 12:40 pm.

Then, I woke up.

I was immediately reminded of a scene from Waking Life where some dude says, “Did you ever have a job that you hated? Worked really hard at? A long, hard day of work, and finally you get to go home, get in bed, close your eyes, and immediately you wake up and realize the whole day at work had been a dream? It’s bad enough that you sell your waking life for minimum wage, but now they get your dreams for free.”

Fifty-two churches in fifty-two weeks is plenty. If I start dreaming about church visits, I might snap.

Now, on to my waking experience.…

I knew I was in trouble when, an hour into the service, the pastor of Norwood Wesleyan Church said, “Most churches would go home right now, but we're just getting started!” It's been a while since I visited a church that broke the two-hour mark, but Norwood Wesleyan did just that on Sunday with their 130-minute churchathon.

Norwood Wesleyan hosted a “Round Up” on Sunday, which seemed to be the culmination of a four-day revival. Everyone was encouraged to wear clothing from the Old West (which I did not partake in). Out of the eighty attendees (in a room that sat about two hundred in traditional pews), approximately 20 percent dressed up.

Here’s the thing. A lot of stuff happened in 130 minutes, but I don’t care. I don’t care about being greeted at the front door, or that they started five minutes late, or that the pastor asked new people to raise their hands, or that Norwood Wesleyan hands out Bible tracts to people in the city, or that approximately ten ex-cons were sitting around to me (from what I could tell, attending church was part of their probation).

I don’t care that the pastor stopped one of the worship songs to tell us it’s Biblical to clap, or that the worship leader said, “Let’s get this out of the way,” when the church collected tithes and offerings, or that a woman stood to “testify,” but at the end of her testimony, seemed to get angry and scream (to any non-Christians in the room), “You just have to open your heart!” Nothing like being scolded to make my heart open like a blossoming flower.

I don’t care because I’m bored with all of it. I no longer care about all of the details that fueled this experiment over the first few months. All I seem to care about now is what God is doing in the lives of each church’s congregation, and selfishly, what God is doing in my life.

So, here is what I gleaned from this week:

1) Worship is powerful when the entire congregation participates. The music and lyrics were lame at Norwood Wesleyan, but the worship touched my heart. Almost everyone in the room seemed to be singing (and singing loudly), and I found myself getting swept up in the moment. There is so much energy in a room when people actively worship God through song. The same thing happened last week at Concordia Lutheran and back in March at Christ Church Savannah.

2) Churches like Norwood Wesleyan make me uncomfortable. I felt like the kid in class who doesn’t know the answer, so he bows his head to avoid eye contact with the teacher. But you just know the teacher is going to call on you. I didn’t want to be called up front or pointed out to the congregation. When “ministry time” is happening, and people are being prayed for, I always want to make a run for it. Thankfully, Norwood Wesleyan didn’t force anyone to do anything against his or her will.

Church often becomes a personality issue. I’m just not a guy who will ever dance in the aisles of church or shout Amen while the pastor preaches, but that doesn’t make me “less Christian.” In charismatic churches, I feel awkward because my personality isn’t extreme and super-spiritual, but I’m finally okay with that. It’s not a character flaw; it’s simply how God designed me. And, as long as it’s genuine, it’s not a character flaw for other people to be super-spiritual. That’s how God designed them.

3) I wanted to hate Norwood Wesleyan, but I couldn’t. Heck, I picked Old West week because I knew it would be an easy target! I assumed the “evangelist” would be a fraud, but I couldn’t bring myself to hate the place. Norwood Wesleyan seems to be filled with genuine people. Goofy? Maybe. Certainly not my style. But they are genuinely trying to love God and others. Which is interesting because these are the types of folks I need to learn to love. I don’t have much compassion for religious jerks who manipulate innocent victims (i.e. Robert Tilton), but can I embrace genuine Christians who look and act way different? I hope so. I think my heart is slowly opening up, but I still have a long way to go. I’ve never had problems loving non-Christians because they remind me of myself. It’s always the weird Christians that push my buttons, but we’re all just regular people trying our best to make life work, right? Even Robert Tilton, I suppose.

Pastor Ken (the evangelist who traveled to Cincinnati to lead the revival) actually seemed like a good guy. I am always cautious of self-proclaimed “evangelists,” but again, he seemed genuine. At one point, one of the tough-looking ex-cons went up front for prayer. Pastor Ken prayed for him, and on his way back, the dude was sobbing. The guy’s equally tough-looking buddy was also in tears and gave him a hug. I watched Pastor Ken walk back to his seat and saw him cry “private” tears. It wasn’t a performance he put on in front of the church … simply an emotional moment between him and God.

4) Pastor Ken used the story of David and Goliath to make a simple point. In life, when faced with overwhelming odds, most people see Goliath (the huge obstacle). David was able to look into Goliath’s eyes and see God, thus empowering him to slay his giant. I am a very logical person, so it’s easy for me to see all of the reasons why a plan will fail. (If you have ever worked with me before, you’ve experience my unique brand of “realism.”) When we rely on our own strength and abilities, failure is a likely possibility when facing a personal Goliath. But when we rely on God, anything is possible.

And that, of course, is how we become beacons of Good News. When people look at our lives and realize our accomplishments are otherworldly, they start wondering what that “other world” is like.

This week, I’ll ask you the same question Ken asked us: When you stare into the face of your Goliath, do you see failure? Or do you see God?

I challenge you to see God.

Thirty-five weeks into this journey, here’s what I have learned: People don’t choose a church home because of coffee or ample parking. They don’t pick the church with the most talented worship band. It doesn’t matter if a service is sixty minutes or six hundred minutes. I mean, of course, all of those things do matter, and church leaders should pay attention to details.

But what people really want is a meaningful experience with God, a community of people who love them, and an opportunity to create positive change in the world. That’s what we’re all hungry for, right? Give people that and everything else fades into background noise.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #34: Concordia Lutheran

2009-08-23T00:00:00.001-04:00

I felt incredibly conflicted going into this week's visit. A few months ago, a member of Concordia Lutheran Church e-mailed me to say she had been following the Church Experiment, and sadly, her church had just dispersed a letter saying they would be closing their doors after 160 years.

She thought a church's final service might be an interesting experience. I agreed.

Then, last week, she wrote me again saying August 23, 2009, was the day. After 160 years, Concordia Lutheran was gathering as a church body one last time. What first seemed interesting suddenly became sad.

The last thing I wanted to do was exploit a church in its darkest hour. But from the beginning, I committed to following God on this journey, and too many signs were pointing in the direction of Concordia Lutheran to ignore the nudge.

So, this week's stop is a little different. Instead of critiquing Concordia Lutheran, I decided to experience their final service through the eyes of its members. I want to tell their story, not mine. Through a few hundred words, this is my best shot.…

In 1849, Concordia Lutheran opened its doors in Over the Rhine (a historic community near downtown Cincinnati). That first service welcomed fifty-six people. Over the years, thousands were influenced by both the church and its school. Concordia moved from Over the Rhine to its current location on Central Parkway (a couple miles north) in 1970. In May of 2009, the current congregation of less than one hundred members voted to close Concordia’s doors forever. On Sunday, over five hundred people showed up to pay homage to a cornerstone of Cincinnati’s spiritual history.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to spend your entire life in one church, but I am sure many of the people in attendance on Sunday did just that. There were young people in attendance, but most were older. Most were in tears. Many were saying goodbye to the only church home they had ever known. The place they first heard about grace and mercy. The place they met friends and future spouses. The place their children were baptized.

There was an energy in the room that had undoubtedly been missing at Concordia Lutheran for years. (If they were packing the house every Sunday, there would have been no need to close.) I have written numerous times about how little I enjoy hymns, but Sunday’s hymns were inspired. Five hundred men and women singing a farewell tribute. It was powerful.

Why does it take a church closing for people to realize how much they care for the church? Why do we only appreciate what we have when it’s on the verge of leaving us?

After worship, a pastor asked all those who had been baptized at Concordia Lutheran to stand. About a third of the room stood up. Hundreds of people. Then, we sang a baptism hymn. The same happened for confirmations. Another third stood up.

He asked all those who attended the school or a Bible study to stand. Over half the room did.

He asked those who buried a loved one at Concordia to stand. About a quarter stood up. Another quarter stood when he asked about marriages. And that’s when I saw her.

I don’t know her name. I didn’t take her picture (seemed like it would have been in bad taste), but an older woman (probably in her late seventies) stood with tears flowing down her cheeks. She was sitting alone to my right. It was obvious she had been married at Concordia, and somewhere along the way, her husband passed away. She sat alone and wept … tears of sadness for her lost love … tears of joy for the memories they made together. And that’s when it hit me.

Churches are so much more than buildings. They are so much more than outreach programs and prayer teams. They are about more than worship music or wise teachings. Churches are simply a collection of people trying their best to love God and one another.

In week thirteen I wrote about “spiritual family.” When a church closes its doors after 160 years, it’s not just about finding a new church; it’s like losing your family. I still have dreams of the house I grew up in. I still long to be back in those good old days of my youth. Just a couple of nights ago, I wished my parents still owned my childhood home because visiting them would be like stepping back into a simpler time of my life.

I wonder how many people who attended Concordia Lutheran Church or Concordia Lutheran School felt like they lost a little bit of their past on Sunday. Change is necessary and exciting, but sometimes, it feels like a punch to the gut.

More than ever before, I finally realize the value of having a church home. No home is ever perfect, but it’s the place we grow and mature. It’s the place we learn to take our first steps. And it’s the place we can always retreat to when life crashes down around us. I can’t imagine having my “home” taken away after 160 years.

Pastor Otto Brillinger spoke. In 1951, Concordia Lutheran was the second church his family attended after moving to the United States from Germany. They ended up there because Concordia held a German service. Years later, Otto attended seminary and became a pastor. As he spoke, a few quotes jumped out:

“The Church of Jesus Christ never goes backwards.”

“We have a new beginning. You have a new beginning.”

“It’s not the building you have to maintain or the grass you have to mow; it’s the people that have a new beginning.”

And then, he asked a question of the congregation:

“What’s going to happen in the next 160 years?”

I liked the theme. People fear failure for lots of reasons. We all know that, so I won’t go into details. But with failure comes the opportunity for something new and exciting. When a flower dies, its seeds are scattered, and new buds emerge. It is incredibly sad to see a church close its doors after 160 years, but imagine the potential possibilities as Concordia’s seeds scatter all over the city of Cincinnati, all over the United States, and all over the world.

Concordia Lutheran had a big impact on the city of Cincinnati. But let’s always remember that churches accomplish nothing. Only people can change a city. Church buildings simply sit and look pretty. So, let’s all pray the people of Concordia Lutheran keep pursuing God and continue loving others.

In a bit of irony, I was in my car ready to pull out of the parking lot when I decided to go back in and take some pictures. That’s when I met the woman who initially invited me to Concordia. It was fun to chat with her and her boyfriend. They’re now searching for a new church home, but they seemed like good people, so I’m sure they will land somewhere new very soon.

It reminded me that part of this experiment has been about visiting lots of churches and experiencing interesting new cultures, but one of my favorite parts has been the people I have met along the way. A pastor prayed for me in Savannah, Georgia. I was touched by a young mother at the Mormon Church. Hundreds of e-mails and thousands of comments from you guys. Running into old friends at Vineyard Westside, Vineyard Community Church, Crossroads, and the Leadership Summit. Building a relationship with another spiritual seeker named Sarah. Running into Randie and her boyfriend Sunday. The list goes on and on.

Thanks for making this journey a helluva good time.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #32: Mennonite Fellowship

2009-08-09T00:00:00.001-04:00

This week is going to be a little different. In a divine act of coincidence, Sunday's visit to Cincinnati Mennonite Fellowship aligned perfectly with my experience the previous week at Willow Creek's Leadership Summit. Because everything lined up so perfectly, I'm going to discuss both.

My only previous experience with Mennonites involved a home I lived in for almost three years. A different Mennonite Fellowship in Cincinnati sold that house to two of my friends. (In fact, when my friends purchased the property, they were given a sweet deal because the Mennonites were excited to see the home passed to a group of people wanting to positively impact their community.) The house was huge, so after we renovated it, a group of us moved in and split costs. The Mennonites called it the Peace House. We renamed it the Piece House.

The church itself was pretty straightforward. I was greeted at the front door and given a program. The main room probably sat about 150 people in wood pews. I estimated about sixty people were in attendance. Most were older; some were kids; very few people were around my age. The service reminded me of what I have seen in other denominations—Methodist, for example. A half dozen hymns, prayers, an offering, announcements, scripture readings, etcetera. Like the Methodist service, they also had a children’s portion where all the kids went up front, and someone from the congregation read them a story about praying trees. My least favorite part of the service was when the pastor turned off the air conditioner so everyone could hear. Ummm … Stevie likes his AC when it’s 90 degrees and humid.

This particular Mennonite Fellowship seemed very liberal. I spoke to the pastor after the service (young guy … very nice), and he mentioned it would be rare to find a Republican in their congregation. (Do you know how badly I want to make a joke right now? Is my resistance a sign of maturity?) They spoke a lot about nature and the environment. Freecycle was mentioned, which is a pretty cool organization if you aren’t familiar. The most intriguing part of my visit was learning about their passion for social justice, which leads me to the reason I wandered into that particular Mennonite Fellowship on that particular weekend.…

Pastor Joel’s message focused on our connectivity as the Body of Christ. And, to take it a step further, our connectivity as a human race.

This is a concept I have struggled with for most of my adult life. In two ways:

One, I don’t connect with many people in general. I am fiercely independent. A loner. Self-sufficient. And I kinda like it that way. Honestly, one of the reasons I left church in 2008 is because being part of a community forces you to build relationships with people you don’t like. I know that sounds offensive, but I would rather spend my time alone, with close friends, or with strangers outside of the church. I don’t have the time or energy for high-maintenance Christians. There simply isn’t enough time in this life to waste it with the wrong people.

So, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to be a close family with a church body because churches are filled with crazy people. Of course, the rest of the world is also filled with crazy people, but no one is forcing us to become best friends with those groups. As Christians, the only group we get a guilt-trip about joining (or avoiding) is a church community. Right?

That’s been my complaint for a long time. I have a family (which I don’t see enough as it is). I have friends. I have a whole campus filled with students who are searching for meaning and purpose. I don’t want or need hundreds of fake friends just because we share a similar faith.

Two, I have ignored the world’s problems for far too long. Let me be clear. I haven’t been called to serve as a missionary. My passion isn’t traveling the world to minister to the world’s poor, sick, and dying. I love my country, my city, my community, and my campus. I believe I have been uniquely gifted and divinely positioned to serve a particular group of people, and I don’t make any apologies for that. Serving in Africa is no better or worse than serving at a university in Cincinnati. It’s just different. Both are important, and both please God.

But …

I am a citizen of this planet. As someone who has been blessed with so much, it would be absurd to withhold those blessings from people in need throughout the world. I have sponsored a child named Luisa in Colombia through World Vision for the past three years, and while that is good, I recently felt called to do more.

A couple of years ago, I saw an interview with Nobel Prize winner Muhammad Yunus. He introduced me to microfinance—a concept that keeps reappearing on my radar screen. The most recent blip happened a week before my visit to the Mennonite Fellowship when Jessica Jackley spoke at the Leadership Summit about KIVA, an organization that helps lenders like me and you connect with entrepreneurs all over the world in desperate need of financing. These aren’t handouts; they are empowering investments that change lives. Not for a moment, but for generations.

As Bill Hybels mentioned during the Summit, life-saving gifts of compassion are wonderful (giving food to a starving child), but life-changing gifts of empowerment are also necessary. We can either feed a man for a day or teach him how to fish, providing a lifetime of nourishment.

I was moved when Jackley spoke. I spent all weekend processing my next step. Then, Sunday morning I walked into a small Mennonite Fellowship and heard Pastor Joel speak about connectivity, social justice, and he even quoted Bono (who Hybels interviewed during the Summit).

I think God might be trying to tell me something.

I registered at KIVA an hour after I got home. Now, I can search hundreds of opportunities all over the world and invest in small businesses. You can give as little as $25, which means every single person reading these words can make a difference. Once a group is fully funded, they open for business, and over time, pay back your investment. No interest, of course, but Jackley mentioned 98.5 percent of investors get their money back! That is a crazy statistic. From there, you can either withdraw your money or reinvest in another opportunity.

I created a group called Prestige Worldwide (if you get the reference, we would be great friends). You can search for my group and join. In September of 2009, I got my students involved and we donated $450 to six different entrepreneurs. It was a blast.

The Mennonite service lasted approximately eighty minutes. Afterwards, I stuck around for another ten minutes to chat with Pastor Joel. Funny thing … all the stuff I normally comment about—boring hymns, silly skits, awkward moments, confusing signage, etcetera—none of that seems to matter this week. This week is about what God is doing in my heart, and more importantly, what God is doing in this world as a generation of people who love Jesus are standing up and saying, “We are one world, and regardless of politics or religion, we refuse to sit back and do nothing while innocent people suffer needlessly.”

Many have been fighting this good fight for so long. (Including my friends Aaron and Brooke Wright, who have been doing amazing work in Colombia.) After thirty-two years of sitting on the sidelines, it’s time for me to get in the game.

One final thought for this week. Pastor Joel mentioned a former member of their congregation named Margaret. Recently, Margaret was diagnosed with cancer, had an operation to remove the tumor, and is currently enduring chemotherapy. She is blogging about the experience here. You’ll notice that she named her cancer Grazelda. If you are the type who prays for others, send Margaret some positive thoughts. And I’m sure she would appreciate a kind note on her blog if you happen to stop by.

Lots to process this week.

A man wins the Nobel Prize for microfinancing, and I happen to watch him give an interview. A woman begins an organization to promote microfinancing, she gets invited to speak at a leadership conference, and I just happen to watch her give an interview. Three days later, I wander into a Mennonite church, and the pastor speaks about world connectivity. Now that feels like the Body of Christ at work.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #33: The Leadership Summit

2009-08-06T00:00:00.002-04:00

I didn't go to church this week. Sunday morning, I woke up and realized one of the year’s most significant spiritual moments happened outside of a traditional church setting. And since this experiment is primarily about reconnecting with God, it would have been silly to ignore the revelation simply because it didn't fit within the constricting box of my experiment.

In other words, this is the post I believe I am supposed to write this week (even though you’ll notice this week’s date is actually before last week’s date), regardless of official protocol, so here we go.

In early August, I attended The Leadership Summit—hosted by Willow Creek Church in Chicago; satellite-hosted by Vineyard Community Church in Cincinnati. It was my eighth Summit in a row. I highly recommend you attend. It's the one Christian event I put on my calendar every year. Renewing, educational, inspirational. In a word, it's Fergasmic (inside joke). Bill Hybels is a wise dude with excellent leadership insights, and he always invites a solid group of men and women to share unique leadership principles.

Last week, I mentioned how much Jessica Jackley's interview concerning KIVA stirred me up. This week, I want to discuss how Tim Keller's message at the Summit absolutely shook me to the core, and how I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the implications of his message.

Two new words have entered my spiritual lexicon. And they have the potential to change everything about my relationship with God:

Elder Brother.

(This post is heavily inspired by Keller’s original talk concerning Elder Brothers. You can click here to listen to that message. It will be forty minutes well-spent.)

First, take out your Bible and read the story of the Prodigal Son from Luke 15. Even if you have read it before, take a minute to reread the parable.

Next, notice something in Luke 15:1-2. Jesus is telling this parable to two groups of people—sinners and Pharisees (religious leaders of the day that cared more about rituals than people). While most Christians have focused on the younger brother (which is a great story about the way God welcomes all people back into his arms, no matter how much you have screwed up in the past), Jesus also wanted his religious listeners to learn from the elder brother.

So, what happens in the story?

Two sons. The younger brother resembles the sinners listening to Jesus. He wants to go his own way. He wants God to fulfill his desires, but he wants to play by his own rules. The younger brother essentially says to his father, “I want your stuff, but I don’t want you.” So, he takes an early inheritance and runs away, eventually squandering everything. Then, having nowhere else to go, the younger brother comes back, and his father runs to him with open arms, welcoming his lost son home.

It’s a beautiful story of God’s unconditional love for us.

The elder brother resembles the Pharisees listening to Jesus. He stays home and plays by all of the rules. He is good. He also wants God to fulfill his desires, but he is willing to go through the motions in order to ensure his inheritance. When the younger brother comes home, the elder brother is furious. The elder brother essentially says, “I want to control God through my morality.”

Jesus says to both groups, “You’re missing it.”

As Keller said, “The red states think the blue states are the trouble, and the blue states think the red states are the trouble, and Jesus says, ‘You’re all in trouble, and I love you.’”

We probably understand why younger brothers are missing it. When you want to make your own way, it’s usually not going to work out very well. It didn’t for me. That’s why I follow Jesus. I know my own way leads to an unfulfilling life.

But do we understand why elder brothers are missing it? Because I made a very scary realization recently—I have become an elder brother. Most likely, so have you. And if we don’t figure out why our elder-brotherness is keeping us separated from God, we’re all in big trouble.

Elder brothers become lost because of their righteousness. Not in spite of it, but because of it. Younger brothers are lost because of their badness; elder brothers because of their goodness. They are moral and righteous; they read their Bibles and say their prayers; they attend church and tithe every week. And all of it can potentially separate them from God. When you follow all the rules in order to control God and other people, you aren’t really interested in God; you’re interested in what God can give you.

Keller brilliantly said, “Religious people obey God to get things. Gospel people obey God to get God.”

Let that bad boy sink in.

Keller went on to say, “The gospel of Jesus Christ is not religion or irreligion; it’s not morality or immorality; it’s not moralism or relativism; it’s off the scale. It’s not half way in the middle; it’s something else.”

Do we get that? Because everywhere I look—including my own bathroom mirror—I see religion. Angry, religious folks more concerned about being “right” than experiencing God. More concerned about younger brothers getting punished than being welcomed home by our Father.

Wrap your mind around this quote from Keller: “Everyone repents for what they have done wrong. The difference between a Christian and a moralist is that a Christian has also learned to repent for the reasons they did right. They recognize the reason for the right things they do is self-justification and the desire to control God and others.”

Ka-boom.

Does that quote make sense for you? If not, keep rereading the words until it does. Because, honestly, once you grasp what Keller is saying, it will rock your foundation.

In terms of my life, the reason I am doing the Church Experiment (a good, right thing) is self-justification and the desire to control God and others.

Bingo.

Practically, elder brothers are judgmental and angry. They look down on others. As Keller said, they “loathe.” I have been living as an elder brother for a very long time.

There have been a handful of Christians pass through my life that, in my limited view, do very little for God. No ministry leadership position, no conversions, no consistent platform to share Jesus. And yet, they are loved by God and others. That drives me crazy. I work hard serving God. I produce. People read my blog. I have notches on my Christian bedpost. I went to the Church of Scientology! Other people have none of that, but they are loved just as much as me? It seems incredibly unfair, and it makes me resent anyone who doesn’t play by my rules.

I have always wondered what the heck is wrong with me. Why do I have so much anger and resentment toward those who don’t live like me? Then, it became so clear at The Leadership Summit. I am an elder brother. EB Disease. I am infected.

What’s sad is that I used to be a younger brother (and still am in many ways). Through the years, I have become what I always hated. I now judge what I once was. What a sad realization.

It explains why Christians get so angry about “immoral behavior.” It explains why Christians seem more interested in telling everyone else how to live. It explains why Christians are so filled with hate. EB Disease. We are infected.

I don’t want to be an elder brother. I don’t want to be filled with hate. I don’t want to be angry when a younger brother is embraced by the Father. I want the “something else” Keller spoke about. Not making my own way. I have been down that road before, and it was a dead end. But also not religion. Both of those paths lead away from God.

My brain is still trying to process Keller’s message. I fear my words did it very little justice.

If the link to his message isn't enough, Keller has also written eloquently about this subject in his book, Prodigal God.

If you are a younger brother, maybe it’s time to come home. Your Father is waiting. If you are an elder brother (like me), maybe it’s time to let go of the resentment. Maybe it’s time to set aside religion and embrace the Gospel. Life is too short to be angry all of the time.

As Keller concluded, “Lay your deadly goodness down at Jesus’ feet and stand in him alone, gloriously complete.”

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #31: Southland Church

2009-08-01T00:00:00.001-04:00

Remember how shows for kids always had a word of the day, like “ball?” Then, they would spend the whole episode discussing balls.

This week's word for stop thirty-one of the Church Experiment is “contradIcTion.”

I'm going to contradict myself multiple times. Including a huge contradiction at the very end, so no matter how judgmental I may sound throughout this chapter, you have to keep reading until the very last sentence. Second, I'm going to discuss my visit to Southland in a way that highlights many of their contradictions (from an outsider's perspective). You'll see what I mean.

First, a little back-story. A young lady from Kentucky began following the Church Experiment months ago. As I recall, from the beginning, she wanted me to come visit her church in Lexington. The only thing I know about Lexington is that I loathe University of Kentucky basketball, so a trip seemed unlikely. Then, a while back, she gave me an update about “IT.” Southland Christian Church began a summer-long marketing blitz for a series beginning August 1, called IT. No one knew what IT was, only that IT was going to be huge. My interest was piqued, so Saturday night, I made the ninety minute drive from Cincinnati to Lexington to experience IT firsthand.

When I first pulled into Southland’s parking lot, I was overwhelmed (in a good way). I had to park so far away from the main building that I expected an airport shuttle to go racing by. Although I arrived on Southland’s campus five minutes early, I walked into the building one minute late. That’s how far away I had to park.

Once inside, I was blown away. I have never seen anything like it before in my life. As worship music blared from up front, I was confronted with a sea of people. I am almost certain Southland uses a converted basketball gymnasium for their services. On the gym floor were hundreds of seats, almost every one filled. In the bleachers (which had been renovated to individual seats instead of hard benches), there were thousands more. My best guess is that at least three thousand people were in that room. Probably more.

On a Saturday night. Unreal.

One explanation is that people were so eager to hear about IT that they went to the first possible service instead of waiting until Sunday. Maybe the Sunday celebrations were light. The other explanation is that lots of people who normally don’t attend Southland showed up because the church blitzed the city of Lexington with an intense marketing campaign. Either way, mission accomplished.

The first thing I noticed was the vibe of Southland. It felt like a party. Fun vibe in the room, people were dressed up (not in suits, but more like clothing for a night on the town). I saw three black faces in the sea of thousands, and there were hundreds of young people. Some were older, but the main demographic was between eighteen and forty. (The lead pastor is thirty-five.) The whole production definitely felt like an “event,” which I think is great. If you’re going to gather thousands of people in one room, you might as well have a good time and make the evening memorable.

A quick structural rundown before I dive into the good stuff: They opened with a couple of worship songs, played a video hyping IT, and then played a third song before the pastor, Jon Weece, came on stage. After his message, there were a few more worship songs (the congregation stood for the first time with about three songs left), someone painted a picture of Jesus on stage, the whole church took communion, the lead pastor came back on stage to do announcements, ushers collected tithes, the service ended, and people flooded out to their cars. We all know the only thing more important than Jesus is avoiding traffic.

Okay, so what happened between the masses flooding in and flooding out? This is IT …

Jon Weece is an excellent speaker. Funny, intelligent, charming, good storyteller, young, good-looking, clean shirt, and I assume he smelled nice. He looks and acts almost exactly like Daniel Tosh, who happens to be one of my favorite comedians, so that didn’t hurt. I have to give Pastor Weece tons of credit. He has either built or been an integral part of building and leading a church of ten thousand people. Impressive stuff.

Weece had me hooked from the beginning. Started with a funny story, used great quotes from people I admire (Erwin McManus, John Ortberg, Brennan Manning, and others), and then he said this:

“The way I was doing the work of God was destroying the work of God in me.”

That resonated deeply—both for me and for other Christians I know. (I can provide a list of names upon request. Just kidding.) He talked about how church leadership damaged his relationship with his wife, kids, and friends. So, about nine months ago, he began a journey of radical transformation. Jon began praying Psalm 139 every morning (search me, O God, and know my heart), going to counseling, meeting with church leadership, and so on. Then, on Saturday, July 25 (one week before my visit), the pastor of Southland got baptized. I assume he had never been baptized before, so that was his way of making a final, symbolic commitment to Jesus.

I loved it. (Even though he “teared up” while he spoke about his baptism—but there weren’t any actual tears—which always seems fake and lame to me. Especially if he cried on cue at exactly the same point during all three Sunday services.)

But then, things got weird. And here is where our word of the week—contradiction—comes into play.

Weece explained, “IT is a radical commitment to a radical mission.” Okay, I’m with you so far.

Then, he announced the new church mission: “To make Jesus famous.” Okay … interesting choice of language, but I get the point. We make Jesus “famous” when we love people, serve the poor, and invite friends and family to explore a relationship with him. Just not sure Jesus would ever describe his own mission by using the word famous.

Next, the pastor announced the new church strategy: “Do what Jesus did.” Okay, that seems reasonable.

Finally, he transitioned into the practical plan, announcing that IT actually stood for “information technology.”

IT is a plan Southland is calling “10-7-5.” Ten thousand new people over the next seven years through five new satellite campuses, which if memory serves me correctly, is exactly what Jesus did. Or maybe not.

Huge contradiction number one: They played a funny video of the pastor’s wife and kids sitting around the kitchen table while Weece interacted with them on a video monitor. (Eat your peas, sit up straight, etcetera) Then, Weece playing a game of catch with his son via satellite. Then, Weece’s image on a television screen in bed with his wife. It was definitely funny, but didn’t the video actually highlight the main reason for not doing satellite campuses? (Satellite campuses meaning five new churches in Lexington will watch a video feed of what happens at Southland’s main campus. It is a trend sweeping the Christian nation. Instead of planting new churches, you technologically distribute your church to various locations.)

The video’s message seemed to be that relationships suffer when we have a satellite feed instead of a real person, and yet, that’s the plan? I’m not saying Satellite campuses are bad; I just don’t get how the video helped Weece’s argument. It seemed like the video a leader would have played in opposition of Satellite campuses.

The new tagline: “A new church like the first church.” Okay, sounds good. But then, Weece said, “We need to eliminate and eradicate the consumer mindset from the Christian Church.” That sounds lovely, but I watched him say the words on one of Southland’s four giant screens positioned at the front of the room. Again, I get the point, and I’m on board, but I was sitting in a giant auditorium on a huge church campus surrounded by people dressed better than what you would find at most nice restaurants in downtown Lexington. I kept thinking, “Am I in the Twilight Zone?”

Of course, maybe that was the pastor’s point. That Southland had become far too materialistic, and they needed to change. Just curious to see if anything actually does change over the next few months.

I liked Southland a lot. Keep that in mind. (Which is why I said this post would be one giant contradiction.) Stay with me. I promise this is going somewhere.

Weece mocked “church shopping” (which probably means he would hate my experiment), but wasn’t the huge marketing blitz in Lexington essentially asking people to come “shop” Southland?

I know Southland is not my home church, and I know I only saw week one of an extended series meant to further unpack IT, but honestly, IT sounded like a lot of empty rhetoric. He literally said they were starting a new church … that Southland was closing, and they were starting over. Weece was resigning as pastor of Southland and beginning a new church (also called Southland) with new people (the same people, just “new” in the way they approach church).

Really?

Jon Weece was a pastor struggling with his faith. He took nine months to unpack and process those struggles, had lots of wise, mature Christians advising him, went through counseling, and then stood on a stage and blindsided his people with, “You suck, now change.” Seriously, who doesn’t want a radically changed life? Who doesn’t want to experience freedom and help friends and family do the same?

But a creative marketing campaign doesn’t make it so.

If I was a new person lured in by the marketing campaign, Saturday evening at Southland would have sounded like more of the same Christian rhetoric. If I was a member of Southland Church, I would have felt blindsided by a new mission that I had no part in influencing. Every time the pastor has a crisis of faith, can they expect another resignation, another new church, and another lecture?

Of course, many people at Southland are excited about the new mission, including the young lady who originally invited me. She is thrilled, and as she explained why, it became clear that my frustrations weren’t with Southland or Jon Weece, they were with myself.

What bothered me most about Saturday …

It’s exactly the kind of talk I would give in Weece’s position. I would be funny, charming, tell good stories, fake my way through emotional moments, be strategically vulnerable, use amazing rhetoric that sounded like I had been the architect of the next great spiritual movement, and then walk off stage and change nothing. Because words are just words. Action requires more than clever rhetoric.

So, I’m projecting onto Southland and Jon Weece. Maybe his emotion was real; maybe his words were more than just words; maybe his mission is truly from God. I wish them the best in that mission’s fulfillment. Seemed like a good guy and a strong leader. Who the heck am I to judge him or his calling from God? Especially when I live ninety miles away, visited once, and will never step foot back in his church.

Maybe I am the one full of crap. And maybe that felt all too real Saturday night.

The scariest thing about the Church Experiment? If on January 1, 2010, I’m the exact same dude I was on January 1, 2009.

In the end, this whole chapter was really about myself, which isn’t a big surprise. Pretty much everything I do is about myself in the end.

Thirty-one churches down. Twenty-one churches to go.

God, help.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #30: Hindu Temple

2009-07-26T00:00:00.004-04:00

For some reason, I felt super anxious about attending the Hindu Temple. I hadn't felt that nervous since the Church of Scientology back in February. Not completely sure why, but here are a few factors that I know added to my angst:

1) The Temple was in the middle of nowhere on the east side of Cincinnati (at the end of a long, narrow, winding gravel road). It was the stuff of horror movies.

2) The property had a gated entrance. Any building with a gated entrance makes me nervous. Why do they need to keep people out? Or do they want to keep me trapped inside? Either option seemed ominous.

3) When I pulled into the parking lot, there were five other cars. I sat in my car for fifteen minutes wishing the lot was full so I would feel much more anonymous inside.

So, I prayed. I know that sounds like a no-brainer, but for whatever reason, I almost never formally pray before I walk inside the churches I visit. But the prayer helped me relax, so I got out of my car and walked toward the building.

As a white, middle class, heterosexual man, being a minority is offsetting for me. Walking into the Hindu Temple definitely put me in that role. Probably a good lesson for anyone used to being in the majority.

I strolled up to the front door and saw a line of shoes outside, so I took mine off and walked in. The foyer had one sign telling me to take off my shoes and another informing me photography was prohibited inside the main room. That was unfortunate because I wanted to take a thousand pictures. Here is what I saw after I entered the main room:

Along the front wall, on a long platform/stage, there were approximately twenty life-size statues of gods, adorned in colorful clothing and fake jewels. People left decorative offerings at their feet, and incense burned in front of two of the gods. (Okay, so I did sneak a picture. It’s blurry because I was trying to be all covert spyish when I took it, but it makes the point.)

To my right, a family of four was walking around a table (which was decorated with smaller statues and other religious artifacts) chanting something. They circled the table a few dozen times before going back to their rug.

Speaking of rugs, they were covering the tiled floor. No chairs. Everyone sat on rugs.

Up front, a family was standing in front of one of the gods as the Hindu “priest” (I think they are called Pandits) chanted something and fanned the god. Then, he put the fan down and started ringing a bell. A few minutes later, the family left the stage and sat down. Then, they took lots of pictures of their little girl. I think I witnessed the Hindu version of a baptism, but I’m not 100 percent sure about that.

To my right, a different family sat together and listened to music (really bad music) while a different Pandit chanted.

There were two large (and loud) bells near the entrance of the main room, but only four people rang them upon entering. Not sure about the significance or why so few people rang them, but bells were a big part of the day. Lots of bells being rung during prayers and rituals.

Most men were dressed casually, but many of the women wore ceremonial robes.

I immediately sat Indian style on a rug next to a fourth family. And I waited. And waited. But nothing happened. I’m not sure there is such a thing as a Hindu “service.” People were in and out throughout my ninety minutes there. There were a few small ceremonies going on throughout the room, but there was no central service. (At least none I witnessed.) I saw about seventy-five people total while I was there (including lots of kids), and maybe as many as forty-five at any one time. No one spoke to me, although many did make eye contact and nod in a friendly way.

There were so many rituals going on all around me, but I had no idea what any of them meant. For example, people walked up front, and the Pandit put something in their hands. They smelled it, tasted it, and wiped it on their heads. Then, the Pandit picked up a pot-looking thing (like a huge candle snuffer), and placed it on their heads. Finally, he gave them a banana.

Seriously.

It made perfect sense. It was the old Hindu banana prayer. A classic.

At one point, I walked up front to look at all of the gods, but I felt like I was doing something wrong every second I was there. Like if I made eye contact with the wrong god, I would unknowingly curse everyone in the Temple. Or I would undo the Hindu baptism I witnessed earlier and sentence that poor child to a lifetime without bananas.

I was impressed with the elephant god and the monkey god. (The banana connection? Do they eat peanuts on elephant god day?) Many of you know about my love of monkeys. I could watch them all day at the zoo. Planet of the Apes is one of my favorite movies of all time. I even like the Marky Mark version, so you know it has to be love.

Near the end of my time at the Temple, one of the Pandits sat on the carpet to my right (near a large cluster of people) and started chanting. I thought maybe it was the beginning of an actual service, so I stuck around for another thirty minutes. By the time I left, he was still chanting.

Overall, it was an interesting experience. In the Christian world, it felt a lot like “prayer stations” or “stations of the cross,” which you often find around Easter. More of a personal reflection than a corporate service. Which isn’t a bad thing. And people were social with one another. In the midst of the serious rituals, people chatted, kids ran around and played, and there was laughter. It wasn’t a boring, depressing atmosphere. Just confusing for a first-time guest with almost no knowledge of the Hindu culture.

For some reason, I kept thinking a Hindu Temple would be similar to a Buddhist Temple, and I would get some quality meditation time. But Sunday, I realized they are quite different. I’m not sure I learned a lot about God or myself during this week’s visit, but it was definitely educational. And that’s enough for me.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #29: Montgomery Community Church

2009-07-18T00:00:00.001-04:00

This week, I chose Montgomery Community Church because I attended a couple of years ago (an old friend—and someone I deeply admire—is on staff), and I enjoyed my previous experience. It had a very “Vineyardy” feel to it. Also, I needed a Saturday night service because a friend of mine was getting baptized Sunday at a church I already visited, and MCC is one of the few churches in Cincinnati that meets Saturday evenings.

First, I must say, Montgomery Community Church frustrated me before I ever stepped through their doors. One thing I always try to do when I select churches is visit them on a good day, meaning I look for a sermon series that seems interesting and try very hard to attend when the lead pastor is speaking. If a church doesn't have a Web site, no big deal, but MCC does. It just wasn't updated this week, so I had no idea what the message was going to be or who would be speaking. I wanted to get MCC at its best, and that simply didn't happen Saturday evening.

I was greeted at the front door and handed a program. MCC’s main room is fairly large, seating around eight hundred people (just an estimate. It’s hard to tell when the room is that large). Approximately 125 people were in attendance, but the pastor did mention a normal weekend draws over two thousand, so I’m guessing all three Sunday services must be pretty full. Most people were white, and overall, it was an older crowd.

The service began with worship, which was actually very good. I’m not sure people really got into the “worship” part of the experience (which I suppose is missing the point), but the band was extremely talented. The music was loud, which is a bonus for me. For some reason, I have always enjoyed loud worship music (as long as it’s good). The set had the feel of a rock concert, which I actually prefer, but one glance around the room revealed a small percentage of the congregation participating (singing, dancing, raising hands). Again, not a problem for me. I prefer hearing talented performers over the tone deaf dude standing next to me shrieking his broken lyrics to the Lord.

After twenty-five minutes of worship, they took up an offering and prayed. Then, Pastor Kim walked on stage to speak. The first thing she did was ask us to turn to our neighbor and say, “There is a leader in you.” I loathe when pastors ask people to do this kind of stuff in church. It is lame and makes me feel uncomfortable, so please stop it. Plus, my neighbor refused to tell me there is a leader inside of me. I was crushed.

Pastor Kim (Kim is a first name. She is a woman, not an Asian guy) was the youth pastor, so she had lots of energy, but man, that was a tough room. Seriously, even recalling what happened in order to write about the experience is making me sleepy. Maybe it had something to do with being an evening service, or the number of empty seats, but there was absolutely no energy in the room at all. Pastor Kim made some pretty good jokes that fell flat. She literally made one joke where not a single person laughed. Not one.

The dude in front of me kept falling asleep. I know it’s a pretty popular joke that people fall asleep in church, but I’m not sure I have ever seen it before.

It may have been the message’s content. The talk focused on leadership and definitely felt more like a classroom lesson than a sermon. Which isn’t always a bad thing. I am perfectly fine with getting quality practical information in church, but most of the content simply wasn’t connecting with people.

Pastor Kim tied all of her leadership principles to the story of Nehemiah, which I already listened to Mark Driscoll do a couple of years ago on a podcast series. She also mentioned Bill Hybels’ idea of a “Holy Discontent,” which I heard Hybels himself do a few years ago at the Leadership Summit. I even wrote about it on my blog.

As she wrapped up, Pastor Kim told us to turn to our neighbor and say, “There is a modern-day Nehemiah in you.” Again, my neighbor was silent.

Speaking of my neighbor, this week was the only time someone other than my girlfriend joined me on a visit. There is a back-story to her participation, but it’s going to be rapid-fire, so strap in.

In 2000, I became a Christian. In 2002, I began dating a woman named Pamela. Pamela connected me to Randy, who was leaving Cincinnati and needed someone to fill his role leading Alpha at Vineyard Community Church. I interviewed for the job and didn’t get it. A man named Tim also interviewed for the job. He got it.

Someone told Tim I was a pretty good speaker and should be given the opportunity to speak at Alpha. So, he invited me into the rotation. Pamela started working for Tim. I started working for the Vineyard in a different role, but I continued to speak at Alpha. Tim and I became friends. In 2005, Tim and I left the Vineyard around the same time to plant churches. Mine was in Clifton. His was the Vineyard Westside. We stayed in touch.

Over the past few years, Tim and I have run into each other from time to time. When we do, it’s always a fun reunion. Earlier this year, I visited Vineyard Westside as part of the Church Experiment.

Then, a couple of months ago, Tim’s wife, Joanne, e-mailed me about their teenage daughter. She decided to step out of her father’s church and explore other places of worship in Cincinnati. Because Joanne knew about the Church Experiment, she asked me for suggestions. I gave a couple and offered to chat with their daughter, Sarah.

I was immediately impressed. Sarah is intelligent, a deep thinker, and a talented writer. And even though she calls me “gramps,” Sarah is a great girl. Over the past year, she has become like a little sister to me (especially the way she mocks me … a lot), and since Sarah was also in a seeking stage, I thought it would be fun for her to join me one week. She agreed, and we planned to visit Montgomery Community Church because I hoped she would connect with the service, which led to a couple of the most awkward moments I have experienced in a very long time.

Awkward Moment #1: I wrote Sarah’s father (remember, my friend, Tim, who is only a few years older than me) an e-mail asking permission to take his daughter to church Saturday evening. How do you write that letter?

Dear Tim, can your teenage daughter go to church with me this weekend? P.S. I am not creepy.

Awkward Moment #2: I picked Sarah up at her house. It was the first time in ten years I have picked a girl up at her house. I resisted the urge to stop and buy a corsage. Joanne answered the door, and I felt sixteen again. It’s super weird how that context takes you right back to being an insecure kid.

Despite the awkwardness, Sarah and I enjoyed our visit. She also wasn’t impressed with the service, but at least she was willing to explore.

Pastor Kim closed by saying she loved us, which is nice, but odd. She doesn’t even know me, so I didn’t really take the words to heart.

And that was all she wrote. Sarah and I were out of there in a little over an hour.

When I got home Saturday night, something kept gnawing at me that I couldn’t put into words. Then, Sunday morning, I attended Vineyard Westside to watch one of my best friends get baptized. I already attended the church in March, but Sunday was an absolute treat.

It helped me figure out what was happening Saturday night at MCC. The service Saturday seemed to be devoid of life. No energy. No enthusiasm. Sunday morning at Vineyard Westside was a party. (Or, as Tim said, a par-tay.) Of course, I may have caught MCC on a bad night and Vineyard Westside on a great morning. After all, it was a Saturday evening in the middle of summer with a relatively small crowd. I didn’t have a ton of energy myself, so I’m willing to give MCC the benefit of the doubt.

With that said, I have spent way too many weekends sitting in churches that felt like funerals. Christians have to get over themselves. Church should be fun, right? Maybe not every moment of every week—there is serious business that needs to be addressed from time to time—but let’s remember that church is a celebration. A victory party. The war is over. Not sure if you’ve made it to that chapter of the Bible yet, but we won! Despite of the crappiness of this world, we won. When we gather together as a Body, shouldn’t we be celebrating that victory?

I know it’s rare in Cincinnati sports, but have you ever won a championship? There are parades, and parties, and people take off work, and overall, it’s a good freaking time. As a Christian, every day we win. Every day we should be celebrating that victory. And yet, we walk into church like robots and walk out like zombies.

Does anyone else find this behavior strange?

I’m not saying we should fake happiness. Pretending is lame. You will have bad days. We all do. And when life goes wrong, we’re allowed to mourn. But if your life is one nonstop wake, well, good luck with that. I prefer to party. I prefer to celebrate my freedom. And I want a church that knows how to have a good time. A church that knows how to laugh.

The baptisms at Vineyard Westside were simply amazing. Over forty people shared their stories and got dunked. And man, there were some unbelievable stories. It was a good reminder that God is in the business of redemption. No matter how messed up you are, no matter how many times you have screwed up, no matter how ugly your story is, God is ready to step in and restore you.

And he’s definitely ready to par-tay with you. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trapped in religion. But Jesus didn’t come to bring religion; he came to bring life.

The serious business of loving Jesus should be a helluva good time.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #28: Beth Messiah Synagogue

2009-07-11T00:00:00.002-04:00

Going into the Saturday morning service, I believed one of two things to be true of Messianic Jews:

1) They were Jews who believed in Jesus.
2) They were Christians who still practiced Jewish traditions.

After the service, I'm more confused than I was going in. In two hours and fifteen minutes (which is a long time to be in a synagogue), Jesus was never mentioned. Not once. They talked about God a lot, but no Jesus. Or, if he was mentioned, I missed it, which means he wasn't a centerpiece of the service. (I know they use Yeshua, but I didn't hear that either.)

So … moving on.

For the first time in a long time, no one really spoke to me during my visit. The greeter barely said hello, and that was the only time someone addressed me. The main room sat about three hundred people, and it was probably about half full at its peak. People dressed business-casual, and many (but not all) of the men wore prayer shawls and the little Jewish hats. The congregation was mostly white, and there was a fairly wide range of ages. The service started a few minutes late, and as I mentioned, lasted over two hours. In all fairness, Beth Messiah did host a guest musician, Jimmie Black, who played for over an hour, so maybe this was a long service for them.

The service officially began with a prayer, specifically asking us to, “Bathe in the presence of Hashem.” I hope Hashem is God, because I knew a guy named Hashem, and I don't want to take a bath in front of him.

Next, worship began, and Beth Messiah’s version of worship is definitely unique. Once the music started, a dozen people went up front and started dancing. It looked like a Jewish two-step. Or, as I wrote in my notes, a Jew-step. Get it? Yeah … I was pretty proud of that one.

I actually liked it. The moves were complex (and I later saw online they have classes in case people want to learn the steps), so I didn’t participate, but the dance seemed lively. Nothing weird or goofy. It reminded me of what happened at Christian Life Center. Just a group of people having a good time dancing for God. The energy was definitely high during worship. It felt like a cross between a wedding, a church service, and a ho down. One woman even had a Star of David that she fashioned into a tambourine. Nice.

The third worship song was in Hebrew, and I must say, it was quite beautiful. Sometimes you don’t even have to understand the lyrics to feel the song’s soul.

What really blew me away was the fourth song, called Moshiach. In Hebrew, the worship leader sang, “V’af al pi sheyisma’mei’ah, im kol zeh achakeh lo bechol yom sheyavo.” To me, that looks like someone fell asleep with his head on the keyboard and woke up to find gibberish on his screen, but she made it sound amazing.

After worship, they transitioned into fifteen minutes of singing/reading prayers—first in Hebrew, then translated into English. There was Shema, V’a hav ta, Amidah, Kaddish, and so on.

For some reason, those ancient Jewish traditions were fascinating. The Catholic traditions never seem to resonate with me (maybe because I have more experience with them), but the Jewish rituals really had my attention. Especially the Torah Ceremony.

The scripture reading was from Numbers 25, but the wild part was the Torah Ceremony. First, two men walked up to a large armoire in the corner of the stage. (Keep in mind, there was praying and singing going on all throughout the process.) They took out a giant cloth covering with a royal crown on top:

Instead of taking the Torah out of its container, one of the guys carried it around the entire room. As he walked, people lined up behind him to follow (only like a dozen or so, and mostly children). As he passed people, they touched the cloth and kissed the hand that touched it. Because I was sitting in an aisle seat, it passed right by me, so not wanting to look like a sinner, I touched it, but I forgot to kiss my hand. Oops. Sorry, God. I did kiss my hand later in the service just to cover my rear end, but it may have been too late.

After everyone had a chance to touch the Torah covering, he took it back up front, and they removed the actual Torah, which was a huge scroll. Where does someone get such a large Torah?

Torahs-R-Us?

(For the record, I have never been prouder of myself. What can I say … I have a great sense of Jewmor. That one ruined it, didn’t it?)

After the Torah was unrolled, the process of reading the scripture began. I couldn’t keep up. A woman read something at the podium, then someone else read from a book, then someone else read from the actual Torah (all in Hebrew), and then someone else translated into English. The whole process took at least fifteen minutes to read a couple dozen verses from scripture, but it did sound pretty sweet.

My favorite part was when one guy was reading, and he said, “Gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, Cosby, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish, gibberish.”

Wait, Cosby?

It was the only word I understood, and it was crystal clear. I thought someone was playing a joke on me until I realized he was reading the story from Numbers that involved Cozbi, a Midianite woman put to death for wearing crazy sweaters. But I’m sure Bill is also in there somewhere.

After the scripture readings concluded, there was another big ceremony to put the Torah back in the armoire. And that was it. No message, just readings from the Torah. The Rabbi went up front and did some announcements, took up an offering, asked new people to raise their hands (I decided not to raise my hand, but about seven other people did), and introduced Jimmie Black, a Messianic musician, who played a set for the congregation.

Mr. Black had a good voice, but his whole performance was basically another worship set. More dancing, more singing, and this time, a conga lined formed that sashayed right by me. A few people got down on their hands and knees to pray, and a couple of women up front started howling. I enjoyed the service up until that point. Nothing “bad” started happening, but man, it just went on forever. We already had about twenty minutes of worship, and Jimmie Black did over an hour more! It felt like the service was never going to end. I totally tuned him out at one point and just sat there thinking about the Church Experiment.

In the midst of the conga line passing a second time, and those two women still screaming on the floor, I realized I’m in box-checking mode. No wonder people hate church. When attending every week becomes a duty or chore, you’re bound to dislike the experience. As I sat there, annoyed that the music felt like it was never going to end, I desperately wanted to get through the service so I could get on with my life.

Church has become a dentist appointment for many—something you don’t look forward to, but you have to get a checkup, so you suck it up and go anyway.

But I don’t want church to feel like a root canal. I’m not blaming Beth Messiah, or Jimmie Black, or any of the other churches I have attended. It’s something that was probably unavoidable when I set out to visit fifty-two different churches in fifty-two weeks. I am having a difficult time connecting because I am disconnected.

But I think I have an answer … at least within the structure of the experiment. From now on, I am going to work harder to connect with people instead of simply visiting a service. Instead of waiting to be greeted, what if I introduce myself? Instead of bolting right way, what if I stay afterwards and talk? What if I invite someone to coffee? The Mennonite Church in Cincinnati has a pot luck on the second Sunday of each month. Mennonites, I’ll see you August 9 with my potato salad!

I’m gonna get myself, gonna get myself, gonna get myself connected! I ain’t gonna go blind for the light that is reflected!

Sorry.

I did enjoy Beth Messiah. The Jewish traditions were very interesting. It actually made me excited to visit a Jewish Synagogue to learn more about some of their ancient rituals. But Messianic Judaism definitely isn’t for me. Although, there was that conga line.…

Until next week, Shalom!

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #27: LifeChurch.tv

2009-07-05T00:00:00.001-04:00

Sunday, I experienced the perfect storm of laziness.

It was the day after the 4th of July, which meant I enjoyed a few adult beverages with friends the previous evening. It also meant I stayed up pretty late and had a difficult time waking up in the morning. The weather was chilly and rainy in Cincinnati—an odd combination for early July. My gas tank was on empty, and I really didn't feel like stopping to fill up. I had exhausted most of the churches within walking distance of my apartment. The Hindu Temple I plan on attending at some point in July is almost a thirty minute drive. And so on.

The perfect cure for a lazy Sunday afternoon?

Church online.

I have known about LifeChurch.tv for a few years. An acquaintance worked there for a brief stint, and I was always fascinated with its online church experience. Basically, they have twelve actual campuses—eight in Oklahoma, and one each in Florida, New York, Tennessee, and Texas. From what I understand, all twelve campuses use the same live feed for their services. If I go to church in Albany, New York, I watch the pastor from an Oklahoma campus give the message. As their tag line states, “One church. Multiple locations.”

About five years ago, LifeChurch.tv decided to open an online campus. That means people all over the world can log on and watch the same service at the same time, complete with worship, an offering, announcements, and a message. (Communion was a little tougher.)

This isn't a videocast. Many churches allow you to visit their Web site and watch video from the previous week's service. I used to listen to many podcasts on my MP3 player (Matt Chandler, John Ortberg, Mark Driscoll, Erwin McManus, Rob Bell), but this is different. It’s like going to church, only in your pajamas. How often do you attend church in your underwear?

I did exactly that yesterday. (You are welcome for that visual.)

Right off the bat, getting to the service online is pretty easy. You start at www.lifechurch.tv. From there, it’s fairly simple to access the online church community (you can’t miss it). Entering the church experience is pretty straightforward, but Saturday night, I had a difficult time figuring out when it started. All times were listed as GMT or CDT. I didn’t even know what CDT was. (Central Daylight Time?) From what I found through a Google search, sometimes CDT is EST and sometimes it’s CST. After a decent amount of research, I finally realized there was a service at eleven o’clock in the morning.

Once “inside,” I noticed a number of details:

First, a small screen that feeds the service directly to your computer. Second, an additional window off to the right of the screen that gives four options: (1) Chat; (2) Global Users Map; (3) Message Notes; (4) Facebook Connect.

The Facebook Connect wasn’t anything useful. Just a way to tell people through a Facebook status update that you are watching LifeChurch.tv online.

The Message Notes were … the message notes. Scriptures, talking points, etcetera. Pretty basic stuff.

The Global Users Map showed dots representing where in the world people were watching from. Most viewers originated in the Midwestern or Northeastern regions of the United States, but there were additional dots scattered through the country and the world.

The Chat Room is what really stood out. Like any real-time chat (instant messaging, Facebook chat, AOL chat rooms), as a visitor, I could interact with my fellow viewers. All I had to do was create a nickname (I chose “TheSeeker”), and I was ready to go. I will be talking about this feature throughout the post, so more on chatting later.

At precisely 11:00 am, the service began with a brief welcome by the worship leader and then moved directly into worship. The band was pretty good. Okay songs. Okay talent. Pretty typical stuff. The problem was the chat feature. I knew right away attending an online church was going to be filled with distractions. Not only would I have felt weird about standing, clapping, singing, and raising my hands in my living room, but because people were chatting throughout the entire worship set.

Imagine you went to an actual church building, and during worship, you sat with a couple dozen friends and carried on a conversation during every song. At one point, I even asked the room, “Just curious … how do you guys experience worship if you chat at the same time?”

One person answered, “Church isn’t just about music and the message; it’s also about relationships.”

Someone else said, “Sometimes we use chat as a worship response.”

Interesting.

Either way, I was distracted. I kept reading the screen instead of paying attention to the music. Of course, I could have ignored the conversation or clicked out of the chat option, but that’s like saying I could simply ignore a group of people behind me talking during a church service. You’re compelled to eavesdrop.

Some people actually did say they were clapping along and raising hands as they worshipped, but considering they typed out those words, I was skeptical (but also impressed).

After watching many people say, “Hello again,” and, “Welcome back,” and other greetings of familiarity, I added to the noise by asking this question: “Do you guys come back every week to this service? Do many of you know each other from this experience?” I was curious about the online community being developed.

Many answered yes. One said she meets with an online small group (or life group, as they call them). Another said he actually leads a church in his home, and they use the live feed every week as their service. Fascinating.

After worship, a man named Kevin Thomas from Australia said a prayer, greeted online viewers, and gave brief introductions.

Then, Brandon Donaldson (who I believe is the online campus pastor for LifeChurch.tv) took up an offering. Seriously! A button popped up on the screen that I could click to donate online … right there … in the moment. Wild.

Craig Groeschel, the senior pastor at LifeChurch.tv, came on screen next to say hello and ask viewers to invite friends and family to next week’s service, the beginning of a series called “At the Movies.” He said it was designed for people who don’t normally attend church, and it sounds like they are going to talk about movies, so I am officially inviting you to check it out. Sounds like it might be interesting.

Finally, the speaker appeared on stage. Interestingly enough, Pastor Dino Rizzo actually spoke from his home church in Louisiana, but since LifeChurch.tv is beamed all over the world anyway, it really doesn’t matter where the pastor is speaking, as long as the video feed is working.

Okay, so here is where things got … ummm … strange.…

Pastor Rizzo seemed like a nice guy. His message was probably pretty good. The parts I heard were interesting. The theme was, “God is here and anything can happen.” Good point. Something I need to become more aware of each day. I often limit God (as in, if you have cancer, God isn’t going to heal you). Do I really believe anything can happen with God? I want to answer yes, but my gut always screams out no way. I put God in a box, but I’m working on that.

With that said, I barely heard anything Pastor Rizzo said because I was so distracted by the conversation in the chat room. (Also, I left the room at one point to get a bowl of Banana Nut Cheerios. You can’t get those at church!) People kept chatting throughout the entire message. And not just casual conversation, but deep stuff.

It got crazy when someone named Red joined the room and immediately asked, “Does God hate me?”

Everyone pounced. I’m sure they were trying to help, but man, everyone had something to say in response to Red.

Red followed up the initial question with, “I tried to die,” and, “But I self harm,” and, “I was raped.” It kept escalating from there.

Needless to say, Red dominated the whole conversation. It might have been real, but it felt fake, like someone was online screwing with everyone. Honestly, there is no way of knowing in that environment. A few people encouraged her to click on the “Live Prayer” button, but she didn’t. Others encouraged her to listen to the message (which applied to her circumstances), but she seemed more concerned with telling her wild story.

This created a super-bizarre dynamic. A codependence of sorts. Red was looking for people to tell her everything would be okay, and it wasn’t her fault, and she’s a good person, and God loves her. And the Christians in the room got off on helping her. It seemed like a competition—who could give the most obvious Christian response to Red’s (supposedly) serious problems. One person even offered the classic, “Let go and let God.”

If I ever got raped, and in response, someone told me to, “Let go and let God,” I would punch him.

What Red needs is in depth counseling from a professional, not cliché religious sayings. In fact, many people were giving her some terrible advice. I’m not saying prayer isn’t involved in the process of healing, but God created professional counselors for a reason. You are not equipped to deal with complex emotional disorders because you love Jesus. Often, you will make things worse if you try to help without the proper training.

It’s not enough to be well-intentioned.

People did start praying for Red in the chat room, which seemed a little odd, but was probably the healthiest response. Your prayers for someone in need are probably going to be good; your advice is probably going to be bad. Stick with the prayers.

There were a few people who came into the room to cause trouble, but they seemed few and far between. I assumed there would be more problems with anti-church folks. One guy asked if there were any sexy women in the room. Another guy named Boobs wrote the word “boobs” and then disappeared. I giggled at that one. During worship, someone named CT Dan asked, “With the worship set … are we preparing our hearts for worship or selling albums?” For every song, a little banner ran beneath the screen with details, including a link to the artist and CD.

Overall, minor stuff compared to what people could do in that environment. Maybe they have a way of filtering out graphic language and obscene comments.

At the very end of the service, the Australian pastor was back on the screen explaining the connect card and “What’s Next” kit. He even led an altar call! He told people to electronically raise their hands (there was a button you could push) if they wanted to accept Jesus. I could see the tally of hands going up, and it reached a couple dozen before the number disappeared.

The service was exactly one hour long—twenty minutes of worship, a thirty minute message, and ten minutes of other random stuff I already described. Once the service ended, the screen went blank, but people could still hang around and chat until the next service began thirty minutes later.

I stuck around for a couple of minutes, but I signed off once the conversation slowed down.

Online church was a fascinating experience. As someone who has been around the Internet for almost twenty years (including AOL back in the day), I am familiar with how chat rooms can simultaneously build and hinder community. I still see it happening with communities like Facebook and Twitter every day. There is good; there is bad. Then again, that probably describes almost everything in life.

I don’t think an online church is right for me (mostly, I get too distracted), but I can see how others might enjoy it. And it’s not a bad replacement if you can’t make it to church for whatever reason. Part of me is just nervous that we are moving closer to the day where we won’t ever have to leave our homes again. That seems like a scary direction to be moving.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Independence Day. I know I speak for all of us when I say thank you to all the men and women who continue to fight for freedom today. Your courage, strength, and character encourage so many.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #26: Duck Methodist Church

2009-06-24T00:00:00.004-04:00

I found one of my favorite churches this week.

As I mentioned last week, Liz and I traveled home from North Carolina on Sunday, so in order to make the trip less stressful, I decided this week's church visit would happen Wednesday night at Duck Methodist Church in the Outer Banks.

And what a night!

The service can be broken into three distinct parts: The music, the message, and the details. Let's get the details out of the way.

I originally chose Duck Methodist because their building is on the sound (sorta like being on the beach), and I thought we might get a glimpse of the sunset as we worshipped. Unfortunately, they didn't use their main sanctuary (which Liz and I snuck into after the service. Very cool room). Instead, the Wednesday evening service took place in a rec room type of area.

We were greeted outside by the pastor and inside by an official greeter. Both men were very friendly. Immediately, I could tell the atmosphere was much more laid back than what I am used to. Maybe that had something to do with being in a vacation spot; maybe it was simply the nature of a midweek service. Either way, I loved it.

It had the vibe of a church plant. Not polished, but relaxed, friendly, and fun. Here is my advice for church planters (feel free to take it or leave it): Don’t try to be Willow Creek. Don’t try to be flawless or perfect. You will fail. Play to your strengths. Keep a sense of humor. Don’t apologize for being rough around the edges. Use the messiness to your advantage. Build relationships and make newcomers feel like welcomed guests.

The service had all kinds of flaws. Lots of little bumps in the road. But for some reason, I didn’t mind. The people were incredibly friendly. No one panicked when something weird happened. And the pastor seemed like a great guy.

The room sat about one hundred people (in cushioned folding chairs), and it was packed full. In fact, one of the snags was that they ran out of seats, so they just went and got more in the middle of the service. No big deal.

Pastor Ray welcomed people, and since I told him we were from Ohio when he greeted us outside, he asked everyone in the room from Ohio to stand up. There were about eight of us. Next, a handful of people from Pennsylvania were asked to stand up. Then, people from Ghana! I suppose there were a couple of women visiting from Ghana. Normally, stuff like that would have annoyed me, but it didn’t that night. I did feel singled out at first, but since there were so many new people, I didn’t feel alone.

I even liked how their sign out front specifically told people to, “Come as you are.” Duck Methodist went out of their way to welcome newcomers. Of course, being located in a vacation hot spot, it makes sense to be incredibly welcoming, but why did I have to travel seven hundred miles to feel like a church wanted me to show up at their service? Even churches in Cincinnati can, and should, go out of their way to create that welcoming atmosphere (and some do … just not many like Duck Methodist). There, they expected new folks to show up, so they didn’t treat me like I had two heads when I walked through their doors. Do you anticipate new people at your church anymore, or is it a shock when an unfamiliar face appears? Because when everyone is shocked to see a new person, that new person can tell.

After introductions and greetings, the band led worship. Which leads me into part two.

Wow. I am having a hard time finding the words to describe the worship experience. Is incredimazingtastic a word?

It started pretty normal—a couple of electric guitars, drums, singers. Average stuff. Talented folks, but nothing overly special. Then, song two began. They played Stand by Me.

Oh, I thought, this is kinda cool. I was just talking about playing secular music in church, and here we go. Sweet!

But things turned sour very quickly. Stand by Me turned into this (to the same beat):

“So Jesus, Jesus, stand … by me. Oh, stand, by me, Lord. My Lord and Savior, stand by me.”

And so on.
And then, How Sweet It Is to Be Loved by You, turned into:

“When the Lord has come, and I know He’s near … I wanna stop and thank you, Jesus. I wanna stop and thank you, Lord … How sweet it is to be loved by God.”

I applaud the effort, but please don’t do that to a cool song. Remember last week when I realized God is everywhere, all of the time? Well, he bolted for the car during those two songs.

Then, just when things couldn’t get any more amazing, during the How Sweet It Is song, they kept flashing a picture of a giggling Jesus on the screen:

Amazing, right? But not nearly as amazing as when they starting flashing pictures beside his head of banana splits, chocolates, and baked goods.

Simply amazing.

I’m still not sure if it was real or a joke, but either way, kudos, Duck Methodist.

The band also played God of Wonders, which might be my favorite worship song. Not sure why, but the melody and lyrics combine to always get me:

The prayer following worship was great, they collected an offering, and then we moved on to part three of the service: The message.

Someone read from the Book of Job, and then Pastor Ray stood to discuss God’s answer to Job’s questions. (If you don’t know the story, basically, Job was as close to perfect as someone could be, but bad stuff started happening to him. God and Satan watched to see how he would respond to living a blameless life, but suffering terrible tragedies.)

Pastor Ray’s message was one of the best I have heard all year. I really liked him a lot. He seemed genuine, kind, and very wise. He focused on answering the question, “Can I trust God?” Which, for most of us, is really the key question, isn’t it? I know it is for me. Almost all of my issues can be boiled down to that one question. Do I trust God, or will I continue to rely on my own strengths and abilities?

He talked about how we grow up being taught people should be rewarded for doing good and punished for doing bad. Remember when you would bring home an A on your report card? Ice cream and new toys surely followed. But when you brought home an F, it was a different story. Chores, no dessert, maybe you even got grounded. We grow up thinking, “If I can just do everything right, God will reward me. And if I avoid screwing up, God won’t punish me.”

So, we get pissed off when life isn’t fair. “Why me?” we cry out. “What did I do to deserve this?” we scream.

I didn’t deserve to lose my job, or watch a loved one die from cancer, or get cheated on. Ever asked the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

Pastor Ray said, “The problem was, Job’s question to God (why me?) was about justice. God’s answer was about omnipotence.”

In other words, we are limited in our ability to see the big picture. God is not. How many times have we cried out for immediate answers and heard nothing? But then, years later, the story makes more sense. Three years after a relationship ends, you think, “Thank God I didn’t marry that person.” In the moment, we rage against God because it feels like he doesn’t care or is out to get us. But time gives us perspective.

Pastor Ray asked an interesting question. “Why else would we be good if we didn’t expect things to go our way?” Think about it. Are we so conditioned to seek rewards and avoid punishment that our actions are based solely on outcomes? What if you knew there would be no punishment for cheating on your wife? Would you remain faithful? What if you knew there would be no accolades for volunteering at church? Would you still show up? I know people who advertise every positive thing they do. I struggle with that constantly. Do I act only to get rewarded?

The problem with that mentality should be clear. What happens if you stop getting rewarded? What happens to your faith if you volunteer at church every week, and then you get cancer?

My faith plummets when life doesn’t go my way. A lot. When I struggle financially, I think, “Well, screw it, I’m going to stop being generous.” When I struggle relationally, I think, “Fine, I’ll just go sleep with a hundred different women.” When I get a bad course evaluation, I want to quit teaching. When people criticize my writing, I want to give up. When someone with less talent gets more attention, I shake my fist at God. (As if I’m going to hold God hostage or something. How silly.)

“What happened to fairness?” I scream.

But if life really was fair, I would be screwed. Royally. Because, to be completely honest, I am a bad dude. Evil. Conniving. Some of the thoughts that run through my brain … disgusting. Some of the things I have done … dreadful. Some of the things I will do today … twisted. Some of the things I will do in the future … morbid.

If life was fair, my life should be in shambles. And maybe it will someday. For now, I can’t rage against God when life doesn’t work out perfectly and ignore him when I reap his undeserved blessings. It’s childish to do so.

This really struck me Thursday when Michael Jackson died. Many people focused heavily on the ways in which he had screwed up, as though his mistakes should have kept him from the world’s love. Or, more importantly, God’s love. That is a scary thought. I didn’t know Michael Jackson. I do know he had some issues. Not because of what I saw on television, but because he was a flawed human being. Just like me. Just like you. I don’t condone criminal activity, but I also can’t condemn people because they fall short of perfection. Correct me if I’m wrong, but the reason Jesus died on a cross is because we all fall short.

When we begin to forget that simple fact, we’re in some serious trouble.

As Saint Thomas Aquinas said shortly before his death, “All that I have written seems to me like straw compared with what has been revealed to me.”

The seventy minute service concluded with communion and one final worship song. Then, Liz and I did get to watch the final few minutes of the sun setting. Not a bad way to spend a Wednesday evening in the Outer Banks.

Twenty-six churches down; twenty-six churches to go. We having fun yet?

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #25: Jesus Christ University

2009-06-21T00:00:00.001-04:00

I debated for a long time what to do this week. I never actually considered quitting the experiment. Last week, I said I wanted to quit, but that was just a feeling. I committed to fifty-two churches in fifty-two weeks, and I don't believe it's right to quit just because something gets difficult.

Whatever I decided to do had to qualify as “church” in my mind. Since I am in the Outer Banks all week, I tried to convince myself sitting on the beach with my Bible was church. And maybe it is, but my brain wasn't buying it.

There are a few dozen churches around the Outer Banks, but nothing stood out. I never did find that elusive church service on the beach. I had no idea what I was going to do until we were driving along Friday night, and I noticed a sign that read, “Jesus Christ University.”

Saaaaaaaaay whaaaaaaaaat?

I bet the frat parties there are laaaaaame …

I was intrigued, so when we got home, I did a quick Google search and realized Jesus Christ University wasn't actually a college; it was a church.

Sold.

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit a church that came up with a name like Jesus Christ University.

I drove forty-five minutes to attend the 12:30 pm service. When I arrived, I found a very large warehouse, but no cars. I walked to the front door. It was locked. I walked to the back door. It was locked. I climbed onto the roof (nah, just kidding).

Somewhere along the way, their Web site must have listed the wrong starting time (I thought 12:30 sounded a little odd.) Oh, JCU, you big tease! With a name like that, I thought I was in store for something special. Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.

I walked back to my car, sat in the driver’s seat, and wondered what the heck I was going to do. Because it was 12:30 in the afternoon, there were no more church services to attend. I was stuck with nowhere to go and no reflection to write.

After what happened last week, I was feeling a little tense. And then …

I have never heard God speak in an audible voice. Maybe you have, and that’s great, but for me, I believe God speaks in nudges … in thoughts that originate in my brain, but they aren’t fully mine.

As I was sitting in my car, a thought hit me. Perhaps from God. Perhaps not. I wrote it down, so I will simply relate it as I originally recorded it:

You keep running around trying to find me, but I’m right here. And here. And here. I’m in this car with you right now. I’ll be sitting next to you later when you type this. I’m right beside every person reading these words. Church rituals don’t conjure me up like some séance. I’m there no matter who leads worship, who speaks, or how many people are in the congregation. I’m not a magic genie whose lamp is hidden in the sand. You are the one shutting me out, so stop blaming the churches you visit.

I have known all of that for years. Logically, I know God is everywhere, all of the time. And I know “church” is about much more than what happens Sunday morning. But yesterday, my heart finally felt what my brain knows.

Maybe the name is right on the money after all. Jesus Christ University. Sunday, I learned a valuable lesson. I have new lenses moving forward. I have been searching for God the way a mother looks for her lost child. But the child has been sitting right by her side the whole time.

Later that afternoon, I walked along the beach. It was quite a walk. I am not the best gauge of wind speed, but it had to be gusting at 30-40 miles per hour. Only a handful of people were on the beach. Sand was swirling around so fast that it felt like little needles poking at my skin. I had to walk near the water where the sand was wet and harmless.

Walking along, I watched the violent waves make their way inland. I felt the warm water wash over my feet, the wet sand fill the spaces between my toes. I stopped and marveled at God’s masterpiece. His wind, his ocean, his beach.

Later that night, I stood outside staring into the night sky. The stars were simply breathtaking. Thousands of them. Because I live in the city, I haven’t seen a night sky that beautiful in a very long time. What an artist.

God is big. I am small. And he wanted to remind me of those truths this weekend.

Who knows what would have been waiting for me inside the doors of Jesus Christ University. Probably the same thing that was waiting for me outside their doors.

There’s nothing like a walk on the beach to reconnect with God and get me motivated. I have felt dirty these past few weeks, but now I feel cleansed and ready for the next chapter of this story.

It’s time to visit another place I experience God—soaking in the hot tub. What a great day reconnecting with my Abba on Father’s Day.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #24: Northside Church of Christ

2009-06-14T00:00:00.004-04:00

I really want to quit.

I'm not writing that so a bunch of people beg me to keep going. That's not my style. I'm not going to quit because actually quitting at this point is just not an option in my world (for multiple, complex reasons). But I really want to.

Mostly, I'm getting bored. Doing anything every week for fifty-two weeks is draining. I have been a Christian for almost nine years, and I've never gone to church twenty-four weeks in a row. I would love to take a few weeks off, but the subtitle, "48 Churches in 52 Weeks," would seem silly.

To make matters worse, I spent this weekend at a friend's lake house, and I’ll be spending the next two weekends in the Outer Banks. It was super annoying leaving the lake house to find a church in Hillsboro, Ohio.

So, if this week's reflection is grumpy, you have some background information. With that said …

I desperately wanted to find a snake-handling church on this journey. I thought I might be able to track one down near Hillsboro, but it didn't happen.

The next best option was to locate the smallest, scariest looking church I could find and hope they at least handled nightcrawlers.

On my way to Northside Church of Christ in the heart of Hillsboro, I stumbled upon Hillsboro Church of Christ in Christian Union. That was the name. It looked scary. And the name seemed odd.

“In Christian Union?” What the heck does that mean? Whenever a church denomination adds one of those extra phrases to its official name, it worries me.

“Cincinnati Church of Jebus … that likes to eat human flesh.”

You had me at Church of Jebus, but then you had to add the flesh-eating part. Frankly, eating human flesh sounds like the exact opposite of how I want to spend a Sunday morning. It sounds bizarre. As does the phrase, “In Christian Union.”

But two things were true. One, I wanted to visit a Church of Christ. Two, I thought it might be entertaining.

So, I waited around, took a stroll through downtown Hillsboro (which took about thirty seconds), and at 10:25 am (the service began at 10:30), there were exactly three cars in the parking lot. I started to wonder if the time on their sign was wrong, or if the church had closed, or if the congregation had some secret backdoor entrance … which would have been pretty sweet.

I walked up to the front door, peeked inside, and saw … three people. I assumed one of them was the pastor. The other two were women and had a combined age of one thousand.

Three people.

I didn’t think I could handle it. I have done small churches before (New Spirit Metropolitan Community Church had about twenty), but three? I closed the door, jogged back to my car, and then drove to Northside Church of Christ about two minutes down the road.

In retrospect, I wish I would have gone inside and experienced how it felt to be 33 percent of the congregation. I would have basically been the choir. And the prayer team. I would have also lowered the average age from 134 to 100. Oh well … I can’t turn back time.

As I previously mentioned, I ended up at Northside Church of Christ.

From an outside perspective, many of the Christian denominations are starting to blur. Honestly, I have no idea what separates the Church of Christ from lots of the other places of worship I have visited.

Same hymns, same communion, same bible, same message, same prayers.

In fact, the only thing that differentiated the Church of Christ from any other experience was the lack of musical instruments. From what I understand, musical instruments are a no-no. Glad I left my penis flute at home.

The sanctuary sat about 250 people, and approximately 150 were in attendance. Every single person was white (which is probably more a reflection of Hillsboro than the church), and there was actually a pretty healthy mix of young and old, including a couple dozen incredibly loud children. Similar to the Mormon Church, parents seemed to let their children run wild. Which is fine, but it makes listening to the message nearly impossible.

Here is the riveting play-by-play of what happened during the seventy minute service: Hymn, communion, tithes & offerings, hymn, hymn, scripture reading (by the least enthusiastic person I have ever encountered), hymn, message, hymn, closing prayer, adios.

I met the pastor after the service, and he seemed like a nice guy, but seriously, does church have to be so boring? I wrote this in my notes:

Is this it? Is this my faith? Is this God? Bad music? Super lame? Boring? Is this what we have to offer the world?

I know not all churches are bland. I have been to a handful this year that are interesting and creative (especially the Vineyard and Crossroads), but the majority are not. I never had the experience of being forced to attend church as a child, and thank God I didn’t. I looked around at all those young kids at Northside Church of Christ and thought, “They will get older, make their own decisions, and never come back.” Why would they?

I’m not saying church has to be entertaining. It’s not the circus. I don’t expect pastors to juggle. But I do expect churches to represent the true nature of God, and if that true nature is bland, boring, and predictable, then we are reading two different Bibles. (Mine was written by Dan Brown … that’s the correct version, right?)

The Bible is a thrilling adventure. Church services should at least be tolerable.

And don’t just take my word for it. I looked around a lot while the pastor spoke, and at least half of the audience was engaged in some other activity. Many talked to the person sitting next to them. Kids were making all kinds of noise. Some were falling asleep. And I’m pretty sure one guy fell into a coma. It was rough.

The most interesting part was when the pastor said (when talking about who Jesus is), “Some people can’t get past the Babe in the manger. They see Jesus as nothing more than a little baby.” Helloooooo! Talk about the perfect setup for this:

Northside Church of Christ didn’t play the video, so I had to act it out in my head, which was still pretty amazing.

It’s not that the pastor said anything wrong or bad, but please, church leaders, don’t just read the Bible and give your congregation a lesson from Christianity 101. Tell us stories of how Jesus has transformed lives—especially your life as a church leader. Make the words come alive. Help us to see Jesus as the revolutionary rebel he was and still is, not as a Sunday school lesson. Use your platform to stir my heart and soul, not to repeat trite clichés.

Please.

After one more hymn and the weekly announcements (including a 94th birthday party at the Ponderosa, which was strangely alluring), the service ended, and I was cruising back to the lake house.

Experiencing Northside Church of Christ the week after the Vineyard was like chasing fillet mignon with a McRib sandwich. Hopefully, a week on the beach will get the taste of that rib sauce out of my mouth. I desperately want to find a church that has a beach service. How about worshipping God with my toes in the sand? Now that would be the ultimate dining experience. The Banana Nut Cheerios of church.

Thankfully, not all was lost this weekend. I did get to see Bradley Wise shirtless. Speaking of fillet mignon …

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #23: Vineyard Community Church

2009-06-07T00:00:00.003-04:00

A couple of months ago, I attended the Vineyard Westside and spoke about church as “family.” Because of my relationship with Tim (Westside's lead pastor), visiting his church was like reconnecting with a brother.

This week, visiting the Vineyard Community Church was like going home to mom and dad.

My spiritual journey began at the Vineyard more than ten years ago. I attended church a handful of times as a kid and even less as an adult (I went to my brother's church a few times so I could play on his basketball team). After I met Evan Griffin in 1997 and reconnected with him in early 1999, I agreed to start reading the Bible, hanging out to discuss life, and visiting his church … the Vineyard.

I don't remember specifics of my first visit, but I do remember feeling comfortable in church, which was a first for me. Every Sunday felt like a little slice of home, so I kept going back. By the fall of 2000 (my second year of graduate school), I was at an incredibly low point in my life. I hadn't been to church in months. I basically told Evan I had no interest in becoming a Christian. My relationship problems were out of control. I was committed to trusting my own abilities and charting my own course. It didn't matter that the previous six months had been a disaster. I wanted to make life work on my own terms.

Then, on November 26, 2000, Dave Workman stood on the Vineyard's stage and gave a very simple talk that stirred my soul. He spoke about the greatest commandment: Love God with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength, and love other people.

It was just that simple. For the first time in my life, I thought, I can do that. Don't drink? Don't have sex? Don't curse? I had no idea if I could control my behaviors. Dance during worship music? Read the Bible? Pray? I didn't know if I had it in me.

But I could love God. And I could try like hell to love other people. So, I was sold. Two days later, I asked God to change my life. Evan Griffin and Dave Workman played huge roles in my story, and I know I wouldn't be the man I am today without the Vineyard.

I met my ex-girlfriend there, and even though it didn’t work out between us, we influenced each other heavily. I worked there with some of the best people I have ever known—Susan Carson, Scott and Claire Oppliger, Tim Urmston, Sharon Karns, Mark Stetcher, and Garry Shirk (among others). It was where Aaron Wright and I crossed paths, beginning a friendship that led to our future church plant in Uptown Cincinnati.

But my relationship with the Vineyard became strained over the years.

I worked there for eighteen months writing curriculum for the Vineyard’s small groups. Had some amazing times. In the end, I felt “wronged” by the way my position was eliminated. I continued to speak at Alpha until I publicly announced my stance on gay marriage (I’m in favor). As a direct result of that blog post, I was told I wouldn’t be speaking at Alpha anymore. (For the record, about a year later, I was asked back.) Shortly after that incident, a friend of mine was badly mishandled by Vineyard leadership, leaving me incredibly frustrated.

I resented the Vineyard for a long time. When you see so much of the inner workings of a place that played such a huge role in your life, it can be disheartening. To be fair, most of my frustrations were due to my lack of maturity at the time. People at the Vineyard made mistakes, but I held the church’s leadership to an impossible standard.

I could write thousands of words about the rollercoaster ride I have been on with the Vineyard in the last ten years (like how I had to stop attending for a while because my ex’s new boyfriend was the drummer, and I couldn’t sit through worship without freaking out), but there is one thing I have never doubted: Dave Workman’s heart to follow Jesus and care for hurting people.

Perfect? Nope. Genuine? Yep. And in the spiritual landscape, I’ll take that any day of the week. Especially on Thursdays.

Because I have so much history at the Vineyard, a number of people have asked why I made it a stop on this journey. One friend even joked, “Wow, you really stepped out of your comfort zone this week.” My short answer:

I have had so much fun doing this experiment. I love that I have been able to visit the Church of Scientology, a Muslim Mosque, a Mormon Church, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, a gay church, and so on. Heck, I even drove to Savannah, Georgia and found Compline. I love learning about new cultures. And I have been pleased to find that most people, regardless of faith, pretty much want the same things out of life. Black, white, Muslim, Christian, male, female, young, old … we are one people bound by a common history and a shared destiny. Religion may make us crazy, but the craziness of people doesn’t change who God is.

With that said, there was another purpose to this experiment, and frankly, it hasn’t been happening. I haven’t been connecting to God in deep and meaningful ways. My faith isn’t being redefined. Honestly, these past couple of weeks have been rough. My life isn’t falling apart, but in certain areas, my faith in God is being tested, and without a church home to remind me who God is, and who I am, often the wrong voices have been infiltrating my thoughts.

Simply put, I visited the Vineyard because I desperately wanted to experience God this weekend. I needed it. And … I got it.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Vineyard Community Church, it would probably be classified as a “seeker-sensitive megachurch.” The main room is a large auditorium, and I believe their weekly attendance is around six thousand. The 11:40 am service had about one thousand people. Ages varied widely, most people were white, and the dress code was casual. It had been a few years since I sat through an actual Vineyard service, so I was curious to see how things have changed.

Not sure this is typical, but right off the bat, I loved that the worship leader played a Queen song (Crazy Little Thing Called Love). I just wrote last week that I would love churches to loosen up a bit with music, and you can’t get much looser than Queen! After the song, he did say, “Hopefully that didn’t offend anyone.” Come on, seriously? If you are offended by that, please bend over and ask a friend to pull the stick out of your buttock. Opening services with fun songs is … fun, they create energy, and it immediately disarms new people, which is a good thing in church.

Speaking of worship, it was great. Really quality stuff. I’m still not one of those people who is going to go nuts over worship music, but I definitely felt a closeness to God that has been missing for most of this experiment. Pretty good songs, great band, good energy, and Charlie led worship well.

I hate standing during worship. I love to sit, relax, and feel the lyrics. Most churches create unspoken (or sometimes spoken) pressure to stand, but sitting in the balcony at the Vineyard gave me the opportunity to just relax and soak up the vibe. Good stuff. I’m not saying hymns are bad, but man, I can’t imagine people are moved by hymns the way I have seen people moved by the Vineyard’s style of worship. Obviously, to each their own.

The one snag in the service came during announcements. I think they were trying to have fun and capture the theme of the series (carnival vibe), but they played a little game that badly missed the mark. Those moments are always high risk/high reward. If it works, great. If not, major awkwardness. The guy doing announcements called a random person from the congregation on stage to guess her age, asked her two unrelated questions (favorite color and ice cream flavor … her answers were purple and mint chocolate chip), and then he guessed twenty-seven. She said the guess was way off, so he gave her a stuffed monkey. That was it. We never even found out how old she is.

My guess … twenty-two. Now where’s my stuffed monkey?

The jokes just didn’t work. Then, he mentioned his comedy troupe, “The Grapes of Laugh.” Yikes. Was “The Great Laughsby” taken? I cannot think of any book more depressing than The Grapes of Wrath. I have seen attempts at comedy fall short many times before. I have been part of my fair share of such moments. Life goes on.

Next, a crazy bearded man took the stage. At first, I thought a homeless Ray Romano snuck past security, but I quickly realized it was actually the teaching pastor, Joe Boyd.

I was secretly (not so secret anymore) glad Dave was not speaking this weekend. Dave is good, but I have heard Dave teach hundreds of times over the years. I was interested in hearing Joe. From day one, a dozen friends who still hang around the Vineyard have raved about him, and I caught a couple of his talks online about a year ago, but nothing beats a firsthand experience.

Joe was an interesting speaker. I have seen him perform comedy before, but his style Sunday was very unassuming. If it had been anyone else, I think I would have been bored and tuned out, but Joe captivated with his simplicity. Simple wisdom, simple humor, and before you know what’s happening, you’re reeling from a brilliant point that shakes you to the core.

Joe spoke about idols, defining them as any thing that got us to where we are now and will get us to where we’re going. He went on to say idols often begin as gifts from God that we are free to love, but then we turn them into something ugly. I could so easily do that with teaching, or writing, or relationships (and often do).

“Here, Steve,” God says, “I have blessed you with the ability to throw sentences together in a way that interests others. I take great pleasure in watching you use this gift.” But then, I make writing my identity, seek to use the gift for my own gain, and completely forget about God in the process, so writing becomes an idol. Something I worship more than God. Not good.

Joe went on to make a point that I have ignored most of my life. It is actually possible to worship both God and idols. I have always had two gods. In fact, I would classify myself as a part-time follower of Jesus. Too often, we play the either/or game. You either love God or you love money (in fact, there is a Bible verse pertaining to this). But that hasn’t been true for me. I do love God. Deeply. And I also love money. Deeply. And I love a lot of other crap. Deeply. Maybe it’s hard to love both God and money at the exact same moment, but it’s easy to love both in the same lifetime. Too often we make assumptions and judge. If someone has a nice car, he can’t possibly love God, or he would be donating all of his money to charity. Really? Maybe he just has two idols. Or ten.

I’m not saying that’s a good thing. A part-time relationship with God isn’t ideal. We need to work to overcome false idols because they have the potential to destroy our lives. The issue is more complex than some of us would like to admit. The love of one false idol does not exclude a deep passion for God. Someone could be a sexual predator, or a thief, or an adulterer, and still love God, which is messy.

I like it when faith is complex … it makes that faith seem more genuine.

I really do want to worship God only, but it is sooo difficult. I am much more comfortable trusting myself. It feels much more natural putting my hopes and dreams in my own hands. Honestly, part of me is okay with that. God doesn’t pay my bills; God doesn’t write my novels; God doesn’t teach my classes. I do. My own hard work. My talents (although I do believe those are given by God). We can’t just sit back and pray all day, waiting for miracles. If I give none of my paycheck away, you would call me selfish. If I gave all of it away, you would call me crazy. So, what is the percentage that is sane? What is the Godly percentage? Ten percent? Jesus commends a poor widow for giving every penny. What if I gave every penny and couldn’t pay my rent? That would be dumb, right? But what if I gave ten percent to the church and couldn’t pay my rent? Would that still be dumb?

Welcome to the questions that keep me awake at night. I am convinced my brain keeps me from experiencing God supernaturally. But I don’t want a faith that doesn’t also involve logic. I don’t think Joe Boyd does either, which is why I appreciate his teachings.

Joe wrapped up his message, said a prayer, and I was out the door in a little over an hour.

One thing I noticed about the Vineyard was a very different vibe than the church I left four years ago. My impression back then was that things had become stale and predictable. Sunday, the creative vibe was better—younger, fresher, and more polished (the set design was elaborate, fun, and very cool). Worship was better. I always remember Charlie being incredibly talented, but I felt led in worship yesterday. Something I think most worship leaders don’t do well. There was more energy. The teaching wasn’t a scripted PowerPoint presentation. For me, God’s presence was palpable.

So, where did this week’s visit leave me?

Part of me wanted to quit the experiment and start attending the Vineyard again. But another part knew there was more to experience on my journey. (And who wants to read a book called, The Church Experiment: 23 Churches in 23 Weeks?)

So, I kept going. And I kept waiting for Joe Boyd’s call asking me to star in his movie, Hitting the Nuts. That call never came.

If this week was proof of anything, it’s that we truly can go home again. Even if you take the long way.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #22: First Christian Assembly of God

2009-05-31T00:00:00.001-04:00

After three weeks of intense exploration (Mormon Church, Muslim Mosque, and the gay church), I was craving something more familiar. I do love experiencing new cultures, but this experiment is also about experiencing God in significant ways, and because of my background, that's probably less likely to happen in an unfamiliar context.

There is a church near the University of Cincinnati’s campus I have always wanted to visit. I met their lead pastor years ago, and he seemed like a good guy. The church is located off William Howard Taft Road (near UC), so I am constantly passing their building. And recently, a friend mentioned that First Christian Assembly of God played a major role in the lives of a few people I respect. It was a perfect storm that led me to their front door Sunday morning.

Fifteen minutes early.

A big pet peeve of mine is when it's hard to find basic information about a church service, and for some reason, First Christian didn't have their service times listed online. (Since my visit, they have corrected this oversight.) The only information I found was from a third-party Web site (which was wrong). That site listed their second service at 11:05, and it actually started at 11:15. Think of everything I could have accomplished with that extra ten minutes. Ummm … you know, like … ummm … taking a Facebook quiz, or … okay, I guess it's not really that big of a deal.

Anywho, once I got inside, I was greeted by a handful of different people (pretty friendly group overall), including the nicest man I have ever met. Literally. If I needed a kidney transplant, I am convinced Russell would have ripped one from his lower back and handed it over … with a smile. Then, he would have thanked me for the opportunity I gave him to serve a complete stranger. He was that nice.

The main room sat approximately three hundred people, and it was about 80 percent full. The previous service looked equally crowded. It was a high-energy environment—people milling around from the previous and next service, music playing, lots of colors against the plain, white walls. And the crowd was diverse—a healthy mix of young and old, white and black, etcetera. The pastor mentioned the church had been “racially reconciled,” and while I’m not exactly sure what those words meant in that particular context, it was obviously more diverse than most churches I have visited.

The service began with the worship leader asking us to repeat, “I belong to Jesus!” Twice. Wasn’t a huge fan of that activity.

Worship was upbeat. The worship leader had a microphone, three other people were up front with microphones (including Russell, grinning from ear to ear the whole time), and there were about twenty people in the background serving as the “choir.” It wasn’t my favorite style of worship, but it wasn’t bad either. I really appreciated how the experience was energetic, but not goofy. People really got into it without gyrating around like lunatics. At many of the places I have visited, worship was either boring or crazy (from my perspective). First Christian seemed like a nice balance of upbeat, but also genuine.

My favorite part of worship was when the leader transitioned from talking into singing. For example (this is a fictional example, not something he actually said):

“God can always be trusted with who we are and who we hope to become. God will lead us into victory, not defeat. Our God is a God of mercy and grace.” Mercy and grace, mercy and grace. Lord, rain down your mercy and grace as we sing praises to you, our King.

It was something. (By the way, I think that lyric I just made up is pretty badass.)

Okay, so regarding worship: I know I mock the way people worship … a lot. Yesterday, I finally came to terms with the fact that I am messed up. Seriously, I’m not sure what’s wrong with me, but I can’t get into worship at all anymore. I tried really hard yesterday. Part of the reason I picked First Christian was because I needed to experience God this week, but I simply couldn’t connect with him during worship. I think I’m missing that part of my soul that allows me to experience God in any setting that feels “lame” or “religiousy.” I experience God more in secular music (for example, Hurt, by Johnny Cash) than I ever do during goofy worship songs. So, I apologize to every church I have mocked because of your worship style. It is clearly my issue, not yours.

In fact, I feel the need to give a shout-out to two guys—Matt McCoy and Ashley Peacock. They are the only two worship leaders that truly led me into worshipping God. Everyone else … feels like noise. Like bad pop or country. It makes me question the sanity of anyone who could ever experience God in deep ways through listening to exceptionally bad music. I mean, why can’t a band play Hurt in church? Or Ain’t No Reason, by Brett Dennen? What speaks to my soul is good, meaningful music. Why does church music have to be so … churchy?

Worship lasted about forty minutes. After the band finished, someone on stage had members of the congregation raise their hands if they needed prayer. Then, the prayer dude asked people around them to lay on hands as he prayed. Man, I was hoping no one near me raised his or her hand. Actually, that is what I prayed for, and thankfully, God does answer prayers.

The lead pastor came out next and did announcements, then collected tithes, and finally introduced the guest speaker. And here’s where things got interesting.

The guest speaker was Bishop W.C. Martin from a church in Possum Trot, Texas. Over ten years ago, he and his wife adopted some children, and then they encouraged members of their congregation (which is less than two hundred people) to do the same. Years later, approximately eighty kids have been adopted out of foster care. (Google him to learn more … including some not-so-great stuff that wasn’t mentioned Sunday.)

A few thoughts:

1) Overall, cool stuff. Despite some of the criticisms you may read during your Google search of the bishop, it’s very touching that so many children were placed in loving homes because of Martin’s leadership.

2) Maybe I am supposed to adopt. I’m not a huge fan of babies, but I do like kids. I know it sounds weird (and maybe it’s a cop-out), but I’m sure some five year olds could use a family. And I would never have to change a poopy diaper. Sounds like a win-win to me!

3) Southern black preachers can preach! Part of it is inspiring and motivational, and part of it seems a little over-the-top. I think that type of preaching assumes a level of commitment to Christianity that many people may not have. I am not going to shout Amen if I’m visiting. And when I’m asked to raise my hand if I am “born again,” it will probably make me feel excluded if I am not born again.

4) My favorite part of the whole message was when the bishop said there is a difference between talkers and walkers. God needs walkers, not talkers. He said (mocking talkers), “‘Oh, I got to go pray about it. I got to pray about it.’ Stop praying! You done prayed long enough. Go do something!” Amen. I have never understood long, repetitive prayers. Pray simply, pray clearly, and then get to work changing the world.

Of course, the same could be said of writing.

5) At times, it felt like I was being scolded. Maybe I wasn’t called to adopt. Maybe I am already investing my money wisely and giving generously. There was too much yelling and finger pointing. After the bishop finished, the lead pastor went back up front and told us they were going to take a second offering—this one for the bishop and his church. No big deal. But when he gave people a minute to write out checks (or I.O.U’s if they forgot the check book), he said, “I’m not hearing enough paper moving.” Seriously? Do pastors want their congregations to give out of joy or guilt? Because his strategy felt like a giant guilt trip.

To make matters worse, we were then told the bishop’s book was on sale out front. Again, no big deal. The pastor said the book was on sale for $13.99, but since they wanted a nice, round number so cashiers wouldn’t have to make change (at this point, I literally thought, Oh, they are going to drop it to ten bucks), he was going to make it a nice, round fifteen bucks! More than face value. That seemed odd to me. I know the motivation was to help support the bishop, but those moments always feel a little awkward—Christians benefiting financially from serving God. I don’t say that to judge Bishop Martin or anyone else; I say it because it helped me make an important personal decision.

Over the course of many months, it became obvious that this experiment could potentially get published. I debated internally how to handle that process. Do I leave everything online for free so more people can access it? Do I publish and keep all the money? Do I publish and give all the money away?

For a long time, I felt like this journey has been a huge blessing in my life. Not only am I meeting new people and learning so much about myself and other cultures, but reader comments have been excellent. The online discussion regarding last week’s visit was amazing. Lots of people made intelligent, heartfelt comments on both sides of the issue. People were respectful to those who disagreed. And I felt like I learned a ton in the process.

This experiment has been a gift, and the only acceptable response is to acknowledge this is God’s deal, not mine. I am going to leave the blog up as long as humanly possible. All free. And if I ever do make any money off of this project, I promise every single dime I earn will be given away as a gift. I talked myself out of that commitment a hundred times, but after much consideration, I knew it was the right thing to do. So, I’m saying it publicly to keep myself accountable to that decision.

Also, if I am ever asked to speak at your church, all I require is gas money and a warm bed.

Of course, I still plan on using my career in fiction to buy that yacht I’ve been eyeing. So, there’s always that.

Final thoughts: I believe First Christian Assembly of God is a great church for people into that type of church. I loved its energy and people. I think their pastor is a good guy and seems like a great speaker. I love the heart behind adoption and was thankful to hear the bishop’s story. I was very excited to hear the pastor mention the University of Cincinnati partnered with other organizations in Cincinnati to begin a program called HEMI (Higher Education Mentor Initiative). Basically, any high school student who spent even one day in foster care is paired up with a mentor and is eligible to apply for free tuition at the University of Cincinnati. Free. I think that’s an awesome idea, and UC should be commended for making it happen.

First Christian is a good church, but not the type of church that speaks to me. I definitely didn’t have the God experience I was hoping for. Next week, I know how to fix that.

Until then, speaking of music, I have one final recommendation. Back in 2000, as I considered God’s invitation, I used to put a song in my tape deck (remember those?) that intimately spoke to my heart. I must have played it a thousand times that summer, cried a high percentage of the time, and worshipped God in a way that has never happened inside a church (for me). The song has nothing to do with God, but every time I listened, I imagined God himself was singing the lyrics. (Jesus was on piano and the Holy Spirit played the bongos.) The song is called, To Make You Feel My Love, by Garth Brooks. Try it. Especially if you are in a season of questioning your faith.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #21: New Spirit MCC

2009-05-24T00:00:00.001-04:00

We all have agendas. I like to believe I am fairly open about mine. For example, this week’s church will allow me to discuss something I am passionate about.

Gay men and women should have the legal right to marry a same-sex partner. Denying that right is unfair, oppressive, and goes against everything we value as Americans. Churches (and their pastors) can decide on an individual basis whether to perform the ceremonies, but legally, I don't understand how this country gets away with denying a basic right to a select group of the population.

But I don't want this whole chapter to be a platform for the gay marriage debate, so with the admission of my agenda out of the way, let's move on to the church service.

New Spirit Metropolitan Community Church is located in Northside, one of the most popular gay-friendly communities in Cincinnati. Right across the street is a gay bar called The Serpent, whose dress codes requires that, “a major article of leather be worn.” Needless to say, I had no idea what to expect when I walked into the church building Sunday morning. Clifton United Methodist (Church #4) is open to gays and lesbians, but New Spirit MCC is a church basically made up of all gays and lesbians.

That was confirmed the minute I walked inside. One scan of the room and there was almost no doubt that I was the only heterosexual in attendance. To be fair, there were only twenty total people in the room, so I wasn't overwhelmed with "gayness," but I definitely felt like the minority.

Right away, I was surprised by a few things:

1) I was the youngest person in the room (32 at the time). I expected a young crowd, but almost everyone was middle-aged or older. One guy, who sat to my left, was also new, and he was probably somewhere around my age, but there is definitely no need for a youth pastor at New Spirit MCC.

2) Their building was a little storefront in the heart of Northside—a small room that sat about seventy-five people. There were a number of religious symbols, including a few crosses, a stained glass mural painted on the front doors, and lots of flowers. It looked like a traditional service you might expect from any of the more conservative denominations.

3) I really thought youth, creativity, and artistic expression would be high values at New Spirit, but it wasn’t the case. I can’t imagine many young people, gay or straight, attending New Spirit and being excited to come back. Of course, I could be wrong (and you will see proof I am wrong in about one minute), but I got a very typical church vibe from a seemingly atypical congregation.

When I walked in, I was immediately greeted by a nice man who handed me a welcome packet and asked me to supply my name and e-mail address so I could receive their newsletter. I sat and was introduced to the other new guy. (More on him later.)

They began the service with announcements, and then asked everyone to greet the people around them. Since there were only twenty people in the room, I got a chance to say hello to everyone. Hugs and handshakes all around.

Scriptures were read. Hymns were sung. Lots of basic stuff that you can find in other churches.

A few things did strike me as interesting:

1) New Spirit currently does not have a reverend. They are in the process of hiring one, but from what I could tell, they have been without a leader for a long time. The small group of attendees seems to be holding things together. Not sure what has taken them so long, but someone did mention they were about to start interviewing candidates.

2) I have never heard of “Metropolitan Community Churches” before, so I did a Google search and discovered the denomination began in 1968. They claim 43,000 members across the world. Someone at the service mentioned they were developing a regional affiliation with other MCC churches, and soon there would be seven congregations in that particular network.

3) One woman introduced herself as a member of New Spirit since the 70’s. (This woman was the partner of the guest reverend who delivered the message.) She told us God called her into full-time ministry a few decades ago, and she hasn’t looked back. My question: Do you believe God would call a lesbian woman to lead a church? If so, okay. If not, then how do you explain her hearing God’s call for her life? If you believe she misheard, then how can we trust anyone when they claim to hear God’s voice? Do we trust certain people because it fits with what we want to believe, and not trust others because it doesn’t fit with our personal ideology?

I find it fascinating when people say they heard God. Not that I don’t believe them, but it just seems like the ultimate trump card. If I say I’m going to quit my job to pursue a career in the NBA, you would tell me I’m nuts (although I do have a nice jump shot). But if God tells me I’m going to be the next LeBron James, well, good luck arguing with God, buddy.

4) These people we gay. And I mean gay. There were no young people experimenting with their sexuality. There were no secretly straight men or women who just needed Jesus in order to leave their gay, sinful ways behind. For them, being gay was as natural as me being straight. It was so obvious that only someone with an incredibly low IQ would argue these folks could be turned straight. They were born gay. It is part of who they are. Get over it.

I do believe a percentage of the gay population struggles with homosexuality the same way straight people struggle with other forms of sexual deviance. But I also believe some people are simply gay. They were born that way, they have always been that way, they have zero attraction to people of the opposite sex, and they want to spend their lives with a same-sex partner.

What does the mainstream church say to these people? Do we actually have the audacity to lump all gay people into one category, as if all members of any group are exactly the same?

The other new guy spoke up during “Prayers and Praises.” He grew up in the church, was forced to hide his sexuality, and developed a severe anxiety disorder with churches. He told us showing up Sunday was a huge step for him (it was his first time back in church since he was a kid), and actually speaking up in church was barely on his radar screen. But he did speak. He went on to say he felt like New Spirit, and its people, were a huge blessing to him. The way they accepted people made him feel like he could give church another shot.

It was a pretty powerful moment. It felt like the kind of thing that should be happening in churches all over the world.

What made it even more powerful was a little black woman (who said she got hit by a metro bus in early May of 2009, but I didn’t remember that story) who walked in late, sat in front of me and the other new guy, praised Jesus, and then stood to sing us a Bible verse. It was her infectious spirit that ultimately gave the man to my left the courage to stand and speak. It was her first time too, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought she wandered into New Spirit that day with a purpose even she wasn’t aware of.

Some will argue that what he (the new guy) really needs is truth, not acceptance. He got truth Sunday. The truth that God loves him exactly how he is. It’s funny, because I always hear Christians say, “There is nothing you can do to make God love you more, and there is nothing you can do to make God love you less.” Should we add an “unless you’re gay” clause to that?

In fact, I really commend gay and lesbian Christians. I am straight, and the way Christianity treats the gay and lesbian population makes me not want to be a Christian. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I was actually gay. For me, it’s just another indication of how powerful and life changing the love of Jesus truly is.

A guest reverend spoke for approximately twenty minutes. Her sermon was okay. Pretty dry, but a nice overall message—biblically grounded and focused on Jesus.

Near the end of the service, they took an offering, which consisted of one guy walking around with a small basket.

Then, they took communion. People were invited up one-by-one, and I was selected third by the usher. I declined, but the usher said he wanted me to go because it was my first time. I declined again, and he said he would come back to me after everyone else had gone. This was a little awkward, and I definitely felt the peer pressure to go up front, so I did, and it was perfectly fine. Just seemed strange that I was pressured into taking communion.

Now, for a little confession. Usually, people dip the bread into the wine and place it in their mouths. But I have seen places that ask people to drink from the cup of wine. Because New Spirit was such a small, tight-knit group, I was afraid we would be drinking from the cup. I am embarrassed to admit this, but I got nervous at the thought of drinking after a room full of gay people. Can you believe that? It’s not that I thought I was going to catch “homosexuality,” or get some disease, I simply felt apprehensive. I was pretty disappointed with myself. Here I am, someone who speaks openly about gay rights within the church, and I was afraid to drink after gay people. To be fair, I am a germaphobe, so I would have felt uncomfortable drinking after anyone (which all of my friends can attest to), but there was definitely more apprehension in that context. Just more proof that we all have prejudices and stereotypes that we must always work to overcome, no matter how open we are to diverse people and contexts.

I also noticed a lot of kissing on the lips. After people took communion, many kissed the two reverends offering the bread and wine, which I thought was strange. I have never seen that at any church, and again, it was one of those rituals with New Spirit that made me feel a little uncomfortable. I worried someone would move in to kiss me, and I would have to kiss back (which again, I am not a big fan of, no matter who the person is), or refuse (and look like a homophobic jerk). Luckily, no kisses. I assume they respect those boundaries with all newcomers.

Overall, I was bored and uncomfortable at first, but New Spirit won me over with its rare sense of community. I wonder what a church like that would look like if it grew to a hundred, or a thousand, or ten thousand. Whoever gets the job to lead that congregation, their first order of business should be to inject a little life into the service. Invite young people; welcome young leaders; engage the community; invite that little black lady back every week to stir peoples’ hearts.

I won’t likely be going back, but I’m glad a place like New Spirit exists. A place where someone can be told God loves him as is. Where someone who has been away from the church for decades can connect with Jesus, and a community of believers, in a meaningful way.

Visiting New Spirit confirmed in my heart that mainstream Christianity needs to rethink the way we treat the gay and lesbian population. Not just those outside of the church, but the thousands and thousands of folks who love Jesus and want authentic relationships with others.

Now is a good time to begin that process.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #20: Clifton Mosque

2009-05-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

Similar to the Jehovah's Witnesses, figuring out when to attend the Muslim Mosque was half the battle. I couldn't find any Web sites with information about services. I even drove by the Mosque and noticed there were about six different times listed on the front door. But the words weren't English, so I had no idea what any of them meant. I immediately got the sense I really wasn't welcomed because they seemed to make it very difficult to access information about their services.

So, Friday afternoon (May 8th), I called the Mosque to communicate I was interested in visiting, but I didn't know what next steps to take. I never got a call back, so I called again around 4:00 pm. This time, one of the nicest people I have ever encountered answered the phone. Seriously, you know how sometimes you speak to a person, and her kindness almost puts you in a trance? That was her. Our conversation completely changed my first impression of Clifton Mosque.

First, she was able to point me toward their Web site, which was not easy to find through a Google search. Second, she explained all of their meeting times, and when I expressed concern over “offending” them by my lack of Muslim knowledge, she quickly calmed my nerves by expressing how happy they would be to have me visit.

Of course, because their worship service (she explained it was their meeting that most resembled a typical church service) was at 1:50 pm on a Friday (yeah, not the most convenient time), I had to rearrange my teaching schedule to make it happen.

It took a week, but once everything got worked out, I attended Clifton Mosque Friday afternoon.

Keep in mind, as I write this, I know very little about the Muslim faith, so I apologize up front if I use the wrong terminology, or say something ignorant or offensive. I'm simply going to communicate the experience as seen through my uneducated lenses, trying my best to respect rituals and traditions of the Muslim faith.

So, here we go …

I didn’t know how to dress, so I wore a suit with no tie. Once I pulled into the parking lot, I realized I was overdressed. Most men wore business casual type clothing (because they were coming from work?); others wore what looked to be traditional Muslim garb. (That is a good example of me having no idea what to call that type of clothing.) Some men had the Muslim cap on (is it called a Taqiyah?), but most did not. There were very few Caucasians, but a few of us were sprinkled in throughout the room. There were absolutely no women. I did see a separate entrance for women, so I’m guessing they are required to worship in a different area of the building. There were two little girls, but I assumed it was okay because they came with their fathers. There was also a little boy who was the highlight of my visit. More on him later.

The first thing you encounter when walking into the foyer is a sign that asks people to remove their shoes. Luckily, I wore clean socks. Everyone placed their shoes in a large closet before walking into the main room. Their “sanctuary” was a large, open area that was carpeted and had no chairs. Everyone sat on the floor. When I got there (about two minutes early), many people were already seated and praying. Most gathered near the front, but I chose a spot along the back wall with a couple dozen other men.

As the service (called Juma) progressed, lots of men entered late, bringing the final total to somewhere near four hundred people.

I Googled it, and the official title for the “pastor” who delivers the message is “k̲h̲aṭīb.” Riiiiiight. I’m not sure how to pronounce that either. The dot under the “t” is throwing me off. So, I’ll just say the “teacher” came out at the very beginning of the service to begin his message (called the Khutbah). He spoke from a tiny stage with a back door. Imagine a small balcony (at ground level) with a door leading back into the living room.

For the most part, his message was pretty dry. The Muslims seem like a pretty serious group during their services and prayers, so there weren’t any jokes. No clips from Spaceballs to help make a point.

In fact, as I mentioned earlier, my favorite part of the service was a little boy who just kinda walked around and did whatever he wanted. Near the end of the service, when everyone was kneeling and praying, he was walking amongst the crowd having the time of his life. Whenever I see little kids having fun in church while adults are engaged in the serious act of worshipping God, I am always reminded of Jesus saying people need to become like little children.

It seems like religion is always sucking the life out of faith, and sometimes little kids need to show us grownups a better way to approach God.

The teacher focused on the ethnic cleansing that occurred sixty-one years ago in Palestine. I knew nothing of this, so I made a couple of notes and did a little research once I got home. It seems like there is some disagreement over this historical event. Muslims claim Zionists (a Jewish political movement) attempted to wipe them out during Israel’s War for Independence. Jews have a slightly different take on what happened. I have no idea what happened and cannot even begin to speak intelligently on the subject, so I’ll just move on.

The message had many calls to action. They included:

1) Unifying Muslims and fulfilling their responsibilities all over the world.
2) Speaking out against injustice wherever you encounter it.
3) He specifically spoke out against the use of violence as Muslims.
4) Starting to make a difference by learning about Muslim history.
5) Spread peace, tranquility, and harmony all over the world.
6) He concluded by saying, “Only Islam can bring peace to the world.”

People prayed randomly as the teacher spoke. Mostly, it seemed like a ritual when you entered the main room. Before sitting, most men went through a series of prayers that mimicked one another. I wondered if it was the Muslim version of Catholics making the sign of the cross.

Often, the teacher spoke in a different language. Arabic? Not helpful for guests. Unless those guests speak Arabic, I suppose. I speak a little Spanish, but I am pretty sure those two languages have very little in common.

Once the message ended, a formal time of prayer began. This is when I got a little freaked out.

First, there was a long string of prayers led by the teacher, and every once in a while, the group would respond with some word (the Muslim version of Amen?).

Next, everyone—and I mean everyone—got up and moved forward, aligning themselves in perfect rows. The Chinese army would have been proud of the uniformity.

The only people who did not go forward (in a room of four hundred people, remember), were me, an Asian dude, a baby, and two little Muslim girls. (By the way, that sounds like an amazing premise for a sitcom, doesn’t it?) In twenty visits, I have never felt more like an outsider. My body temperature went through the roof. If it wasn’t for the Asian dude, I’m not sure I would have stayed in the room. I felt like I was doing something very wrong by not going forward, but going forward would have felt extremely awkward.

Then, someone started singing in Arabic (which was actually quite beautiful), and when he paused, everyone responded with the same word or phrase and moved into a different prayer position.

They all moved in unison. I was amazed. How many churches have that much solidarity? Muslims seem to take their worship very seriously. No one was text messaging, or chatting with friends, or rolling their eyes. People wanted to be there, and they engaged fully.

With that said, there were only a few young children, but I didn’t notice any teenagers. I suppose most are in school at 1:50 in the afternoon, so maybe there is another service for younger members of the Mosque.

Once prayers ended, everyone stood up and started exiting. Most just walked out the door, but oddly enough, a few walked a very specific path out of the room that circled back to where I was still seated against the back wall. I have no idea why they made such a major detour, but there had to be some significance.

What I do know is that one dude literally stared me down as he passed. Then, after he was about ten steps by, he turned around and pointed at me while whispering something to his friend. Ummm … what was up with that? I guess it’s possible he recognized me from a local newspaper article highlighting my experiment (since it specifically said I was visiting the Clifton Mosque the following week), but still, the stare down was quite awkward.

The whole service only lasted forty-five minutes, but they have many other events that happen at the Mosque throughout the week, so I’m sure people are there more than forty-five minutes per week.

One thing I thought was interesting: Not one person spoke to me the entire time I was there. No greeters in the parking lot; no greeters at the front door; no one said hello inside the main room; no opportunity to shake hands with someone around me. And when the service was over, even when I hung around and watched people exit, not one person said a word. Only the stare down.

I wasn’t necessarily offended. It just stood out.

Visiting a Muslim Mosque was … well, I’m not sure what the word is I’m looking for here. Moving, maybe? My visit came two days after watching a documentary called Religulous, by Bill Maher. His main point of the video was to illustrate the absurdity of religion, based primarily on the fact that religious conflict has led to many wars, many deaths, and far too much conflict.

Bill Maher is right, you know. It’s absurd to think about how many people have been killed in the name of religion. What the hell is wrong with us that we can’t find ways to coexist and get along?

I was a Christian sitting in a Muslim Mosque, and all I could think about was how much fear and hatred exists between our two groups. Throw in the Jews, and man, there has been some major conflict for many years. And where the heck has it gotten us?

I don’t care which group claims rightful ownership over God. Whatever name you want to use for our Creator, he’s got to be pretty pissed off that innocent people are being slaughtered in his name.

I don’t want any part of it.

I don’t believe all religions are the same. Some of their teachings directly contradict one another, so they can’t all be the same. Do they all lead to the same God? I personally don’t think so, but who the heck knows? I do know this: We have to find a way to get along and love one another on this planet, despite our differences, or we’re all going to pay the price.

I have been hesitant in the past, but this week’s visit has encouraged me to finally research the “Coexist” movement. You’ve seen the bumper stickers. Contrary to popular opinion, the group isn’t about saying all religions are equally true; it’s about teaching people that we can respect one another despite our differences. I’m not sure how anyone can argue with that.

No matter what we believe, people with different beliefs have a lot to teach us about our personal faith, the world, and ourselves.

Let’s all keep learning to coexist.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #19: Cherry Grove Mormon (LDS)

2009-05-10T00:00:00.001-04:00

I continue to be amazed by something I keep finding over and over again in the churches I have visited—that which unites them is more common than that which divides them. I had no idea what to expect when I stepped foot in the Mormon Church. I basically knew three things about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints:

1) One of my best friends in graduate school was Mormon, and he was one of the nicest guys I have ever known. Very normal. Very funny. Very kind. And very … Mormon. Mormons get picked on quite a bit, but I have always had a difficult time thinking Mormons were “abnormal” because my graduate school friend was such a good guy.

2) Mormons ride around on bicycles wearing white dress shirts, dark ties, and giant name tags.

3) In preparation for my visit, I did a little research to figure out where to go, what day and time they met, and where I could get one of those giant name tags.

HELLO, MY NAME IS STEVE!

It was then that I learned about “wards.” From what I understand, Mormons are assigned a church based on where they live. If I live in Norwood, then I attend the Norwood Ward. (Say that five times fast.) I could not attend the Milford Ward, even if I liked that service better. I suppose this means Mormons don't really “plant” churches. Locations are strategically positioned to accommodate that area's population.

I attended the Cherry Grove Ward near my parents’ house on the east side of town at 1:00 pm, but interestingly enough, a different ward (the Eastgate Ward) uses the same building at 9:00 am. I have no idea how strictly this rule is enforced, but legality seems pretty important to Mormons.

In fact, when I walked into the building and found my seat, two people approached me. One said hello and shook my hand. The other asked me if Cherry Grove was my ward. Unless I did the research, I would have had no idea what she was talking about. Luckily, I understood the question and told her it was not. She asked if I was visiting, and I said yes. Finally, she asked if I had someplace to go for dinner.

Ummm … was she inviting me to her house for dinner? If so, it was either the nicest gesture ever … or the creepiest. Not sure which.

The main room looked like a conference room with pews. It reminded me of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. No art, no pictures, very little color, and absolutely no religious symbols. There were about three hundred seats, including fiftyish folding chairs near the back of the room (where I sat). Almost every seat was taken. Most men were in suits, but there was one guy in shorts and a polo shirt. 99 percent of the crowd was white, and there was a healthy mix of young and old. Without a doubt, there were more children at the Mormon service than any other stop thus far.

Let’s pause here for a moment and chat.

Children. Cute little buggers. Cute, but loud. Especially in this particular Mormon Church. It was interesting how much emphasis the Mormon Church seems to place on the family. In fact, this Sunday was called “Family Sunday.” (Not sure what it means. Maybe they don’t do their version of Sunday school, and instead, invite the children into the adult service?) Either way, there were lots of kids, and they were so incredibly loud that it became comical.

It seemed like there was a competition to see which child could make the most noise. And there was a fifty-way tie for first place. More on that later.

For me, the service had two layers. Layer one was what happened on stage, which is probably similar to what happens every week.

The service (called Sacrament) began with announcements from a man who could not have had less enthusiasm if he tried. Pretty basic stuff. Pretty boring.

Next, a hymn and a prayer. During the second hymn, two teenage boys prepared communion while we sang. Ushers came forward to collect the bread and pass it out to the congregation. After everyone had their bread, then came the … water? Pause button.

Water? What’s up with that? I understand that many churches offer grape juice, but water? I have never understood the idea of taking communion with anything other than wine. Especially in denominations that are so strict about religious rituals. Jesus used wine, so we use … water? Or grape juice? Odd.

It was also odd to not have any music during communion. This might have been the first time I have ever experienced that, and it was awkward. Instead of the sweet sounds of a piano or guitar, I was serenaded by the chorus of a few dozen whiny children. (I like kids. I really do. But I could barely understand what anyone was saying because it was so loud.)

The message was from one of the Elders—a young guy that looked no older than twenty. He was about to leave for a two-year mission trip to California (which I believe all Mormons must do). His message was extremely dry. He pretty much just read from a piece of paper, stumbling over many words along the way.

It got much better near the end when he talked about his mother. He even shed a few tears as he discussed how much his mom loved and supported him growing up. The emotion seemed genuine, and it was nice feeling like the Mormon Church emphasizes family.

But …

A woman spoke later in the service and mentioned she had “lost” her son because he rejected the Mormon Church and his family. I wonder how often religion tears families apart. I thought about the irony of “Family Sunday.” Is the family unit only strong when children believe what their parents believe? When religion splits families apart (regardless of denomination), it must break God’s heart.

That leads me into the second layer of my visit.

While everything was happening up front (which, frankly, was pretty boring), there was a mother and her young child sitting directly in front of me. She was the third person to greet me when I sat down, and from that moment forward, her interactions with her little boy mesmerized me. They were the reason I ended up at Cherry Grove’s Ward of the Mormon Church on Mother’s Day. While other children cried and screamed, for the most part, her son was well-behaved. Not because she was forceful or demanding, but because she seemed to have a loving rapport with him. From the stage, people talked about loving mothers. Two feet in front of me, I got to witness it firsthand.

I later learned their names were Marie and Jake. Jake held up four fingers to tell me his age. As he squirmed in his seat, he also fell backwards into my lap, forward onto his head, and made exactly one farting sound that I am pretty sure the people around us thought originated in my bowels.

Marie was so good with him—patient and gentle. Her actions were more a message of God’s love than anything said from the stage. Or written in this book. Or, for that matter, any book.

It helped me realize the most important thing I could do on Mother’s Day had nothing to do with the Church Experiment. My mom was waiting for me, and I wanted to spend a few hours with the woman who sacrificed so much so I could live such a blessed life.

The service closed with a hymn and a prayer. Seventy-five total minutes. With a few exceptions, it sounded no different from a regular Christian service. Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon were mentioned a few times. I don’t know much about either, other than Smith supposedly walked into the woods one day and had a spiritual encounter that led to the beginning of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I have heard lots of bad things about Mormons, but Sunday, I encountered many decent people just trying to make life work. It reminded me of the other eighteen churches I have visited thus far.

You realize that which unites us is pretty strong when you get to know people instead of stereotypes.

I knew going in that after the regular church service, Mormons have a Bible study, and then (if I read it correctly), they split up into same-sex groups to discuss … who knows what. The meetings were scheduled to last about forty minutes each, but at the end of the service, no one gave any directions for guests. I had no idea where to go or what to do. They didn’t even mention the existence of a Bible study or men’s meeting. That, coupled with the idea that I could spend two more hours in church or two more hours with my mom on Mother’s Day, and the choice was easy. I said goodbye to Marie and Jake and bolted for the door. My Mormon experience came to a close, and I was off to eat lunch and watch baseball with my parents.

A few closing thoughts:

If you are neglecting your family to spend more time at church, stop it. If you have lost relationships with loved ones because of your religion, now is a great time to reconnect.

Literally, as I typed that last sentence, I am watching The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, and these words were just spoken by Benjamin:

“For what it’s worth, it’s never too late or, in my case, too early to be whoever you want to be. There’s no time limit; stop whenever you want. You can change or stay the same; there are no rules to this thing. We can make the best or the worst of it. I hope you make the best of it. And I hope you see things that startle you. I hope you feel things you never felt before. I hope you meet people with a different point of view. I hope you live a life you’re proud of. If you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

I couldn’t have possibly said it better myself. That feels like a good way to end this week’s reflection.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #18: Clifton 7th-Day Adventist

2009-05-02T00:00:00.001-04:00

Whoa … talk about seeing what your brain is conditioned to see.

I visited the Clifton Seventh-Day Adventist Web site at least three times to check on the church’s starting time. Each time my mind saw Sunday at 10:50 am. I even went back and looked again after multiple people mentioned I would have to attend church on a Saturday.

“No, no,” I wrote, “this particular church meets Sunday at 10:50 am.”

Friday night, I checked one more time, and there it was, plain as day—Saturday at 10:50 am. Half of me thought someone snuck in and changed the day to screw with me, and the other half thought we can be so conditioned to see what we are expecting to see that we miss out on what is actually in front of our faces. Could this be analogous to our lives? To our church experiences? To our perceptions of people who are different from us?

You betcha. (Channeling my inner Sarah Palin.)

Either way, I luckily realized my mistake in time and attended Clifton Seventh-Day Adventist Church Saturday morning. And I’m glad I figured it out because it was a life-altering experience.

The forms and functions of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church were similar to many Christian denominations I have visited. I was greeted with a “Happy Sabbath” at the front door and handed a program. I was greeted again in the lobby by a super-friendly older gentleman. The main room sat approximately five hundred people, and it was probably half full. This might have been the most racially diverse church I have attended. The ratio of black to white had to be near 50-50. Some old, some young, and a high population of children. The service kicked off with greetings—people wandering around hugging and kissing friends. I stayed in my seat to see if anyone approached me to say hello. Two people did.

So far, pretty normal. But then, the experience took a turn for the … unexpected.

The whole service was led by a group of young people (it looked like a Boy Scout troop) called the Cincinnati Stars Pathfinder Club. The group had a few adult leaders, but it was mostly a couple dozen kids dressed in uniforms. They led the opening prayer, sang the worship songs (it felt like I was watching a school choir perform at the local mall), read scripture, prayed in Latin, put on a skit from the story of Esther for the kids at the church, and prayed some more.

I have no idea if this is what happens every week or if it was a special performance, but it was equal parts inspirational and awful. Fun to watch the kids involved (and cute to hear little kids lead simple, heartfelt prayers), but letting children lead a church service results in lots of kinks and awkward moments. The whole thing had the feel of something you would experience at church camp. The interior of the building even looked like a stereotypical Christian retreat center.

I do want to dive in a little deeper with the prayer that a very young boy led (he was four or five years old). He said, “Dear Jesus, help us be strong and brave.” The end. I loved it. That’s all you need, right? Nothing drives me crazier than when people ramble on and on in their prayers with religious mumbo jumbo that doesn’t even make sense. Jesus even made a special point to instruct us not to pray in public with many words, and yet many Christians blab away, seemingly more concerned with sounding impressively pious than truly speaking to God. Letting kids pray simple prayers filled with power and truth seems like the way to go. Quite refreshing.

After the prayer, all of the little children walked around with plastic cups collecting loose change from everyone. Then, the older kids walked around with collection plates collecting cash and checks. Finally, adults walked around with buckets collecting jewelry. (Okay, I made that last one up.)

After that, there was a special ceremony for a girl who was named “Master Guide.” No idea what this is, other than someone who has completed training classes and read lots of books in order to step into some type of leadership role. The pastor invited all Master Guides on stage (eleven total) and honored them.

Next, he invited a group of people on stage running the Flying Pig (Cincinnati’s annual marathon) the following day, and that led us into the morning’s message delivered by a guest speaker.

The message itself was pretty bland. Seemed like a nice guy, and I’m sure he’s a wise dude, but not the best speaker. His thick accent probably didn’t help. It was hard to understand a lot of his words.

But there were some interesting parts—moments that have really caused me to reevaluate the way I currently structure my life.

First, they played a short video clip from a National Geographic report. Journalists traveled around the planet to find communities where the average lifespan defied world trends.

Common themes emerged. Communities lived longer when they experienced less stress, connected with family on a regular basis (I know those two contradict for many of us!), shared life with good friends, and had a compelling reason to wake up in the morning (in other words, a life mission). Makes sense.

What they also found was a particular religious group in the United States that, on average, lived ten years longer than other faith-based communities. Any guesses?

Seventh-Day Adventists.

The journalists’ explanations? Seventh-Day Adventists are often vegetarian, don’t smoke, don’t drink, promote exercise, and preach the value of taking a weekly Sabbath.

The Sabbath discussion really got my attention. We exist in a culture (especially in the Midwest of the United States) that places a high value on hard work. We brag about how busy we are. Ever notice yourself trying to “win” the busyness game?

I slept two hours last night, worked a fourteen-hour day, painted my house, changed the car’s oil, planted a garden, negotiated world peace, and took my six kids to six different dance recitals.

Ummm … congratulations, you’ve won high blood pressure and frequent panic attacks! Enjoy your early grave.

As I sat in the church, I was reminded that God worked hard for six days and then rested on day seven. God needs a day off, but we don’t? How arrogant of us.

After the pastor finished speaking, the service closed with a song and a prayer, and I was out the front door and off to see Wolverine.

I don’t know exactly how the Sabbath is supposed to work, but in honor of the folks at Clifton Seventh-Day Adventist, I decided to keep the Sabbath this week (with the limited knowledge I have of its rituals and traditions). I did not work at all for 24 hours—midnight Saturday to midnight Sunday. I slept in Sunday morning. (Okay, so this was weird. I have been waking up at the same time every morning for the past few weeks. Often, when I do wake up, I wake up in a panic … as though I slept in and was running late for something. But Sunday, I slept soundly until 11:00 am. It’s like my brain and body knew I was taking a day off.) I went for a jog (for the first time in months), took a long shower (for the first time in … well, nevermind), watched cartoons, played Frisbee golf with a friend, read a book, watched a movie with Liz, and didn’t even turn on my computer until I plugged back in after midnight to post this.

Twenty-four hours of peace and relaxation.

And I learned a few things:

1) I don’t even know how to relax. I need to figure out how to turn my mind off. We are so conditioned to work hard in this culture that taking a day off reeks of incompetence and laziness. How ridiculous that we have forgotten how to enjoy life in this country without feeling guilty. (And I mean really enjoying life … not the fleeting pleasures we get from all the unhealthy crap we become addicted to.)

2) The world didn’t end without me. Believe it or not, the globe is still spinning after my day off. God didn’t panic. The Internet didn’t implode. The University of Cincinnati is still operational. People didn’t stop reading my blog or drop me as a friend on Facebook. I rested, and everything was okay. Imagine that.

3) It felt sooo good to unplug. In fact, when I turned my computer back on at midnight, I felt a little depressed. And when the Internet was running slow, I felt my stress level shoot up about a thousand percent. It’s like we’re addicted to chaos and stress, and even when we know it’s healthier to unplug, we keep coming back for more. Absurd.

I’m not sure a Seventh-Day Adventist Church is the place for me, but they did teach me a very important lesson. One that Ferris Bueller tried to impart twenty-three years ago:

“Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

Amen.

So many of us do it. We escape from the secular rat race only to jump into the Christian rat race. Instead of making tons of money and being successful in the world, we opt to impress God and people with our religious devotion. There are a million excuses to justify the fatigue, burn-out, and disregard for friends, family, and even our personal health. In the end, our obsession with performance—either secular or spiritual—is killing us. Literally.

Take a day off. You deserve it.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #17: Seven Hills Church

2009-04-26T00:00:00.001-04:00

For the first time in seventeen weeks, I didn’t want to attend church on Sunday. The weather was beautiful in Cincinnati, I stayed up late Saturday night, and I really just wanted to sit on my balcony and write.

It felt like old times.

One of my biggest church complaints is that regular attendance always seems to get in the way of life. Especially when the weather is nice. It always feels more “holy” to enjoy the gorgeous day than to sit inside and mouth the words to some lame worship song. There were always a hundred other things I would rather be doing, but I showed up every week out of obligation, causing bitterness and resentment to fester in my soul. Clearly, not healthy.

This week, I couldn’t deal with an exhausting church. I half-jokingly (and half-seriously) mentioned a snake-handling church last week, but I wouldn’t have been able to deal with the ridiculousness of the whole thing. (Plus, I doubt there are any near Cincinnati.) I needed a place I could go, relax, and enjoy the show. That led me to Seven Hills Church in Florence, Kentucky.

Before I get into the details of my visit, my desire to just chill out got me thinking. I wonder if it is a good idea to have a backup church. In your main church, you serve, and sacrifice, and give yourself away, but at your backup church, maybe you go to escape.

Hear me out: One of the reasons I got so burnt out at my old church is because I had to perform every week. And not just when I spoke or did announcements, but every single week. Even if I was feeling crappy, or especially introverted, or frustrated, or emotionally drained, I had to walk in, put on a happy face, greet people, have conversations, answer questions, and be an all-around lovable guy.

At a lot of the smaller churches I have visited, you couldn’t be anonymous if you tried. The pastor at Passion and Fire Church called me on stage; the Quakers asked me to introduce myself; I had to raise my hand at Solid Rock Church and stand up at Union Baptist so the congregation could greet me. Churches mean well when they extend a welcoming hand to guests, but sometimes you just want to escape. If I ever find a new church home, I will definitely also identify a backup church—a place big enough to get lost in the crowd and relaxed enough to not get dragged on stage for an impromptu healing.

Okay, now on to the show. Seven Hills is a fairly large non-denominational congregation that markets itself well. I have heard radio commercials and seen advertisements at a local movie theater for Seven Hills. Arriving was a treat. They had at least a dozen volunteers in the parking lot directing traffic. I was literally greeted six times before I even made it to my seat—twice at the front door, twice in the lobby, and two more times at the entrance to the auditorium.

Their main room sat about eight hundred people (I think. It’s hard to get a good estimate with that many seats), and I am guessing it was 65 percent full. Maybe five hundred people. 99 percent were white, but there was an impressive mix of young and old. Probably the youngest church I have attended to this point. There were also tons of women, so if you’re a single, Christian guy in the greater Cincinnati area, you’re welcome for the intel.

Overall, Seven Hills was a very “hip” place. The band was great. They opened with a secular rock song (just the music, not any lyrics). It was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. From there, they had six singers with microphones come on stage and perform while the band played. (Not kidding here … one of the dudes looked exactly like Randy Jackson from American Idol. A dead ringer. And he might have been the only black person in the building.) It was more of a performance than a deep worship experience, but they were definitely good.

Side note: What’s the deal with making everyone stand up and mouth the words during worship? I just don’t get it. Let people do whatever they want. I prefer to sit during worship, but I always feel like people will start dousing me with holy water because I don’t stand up and sway to the music. Anywho …

After every song, the congregation clapped. That may not seem like a big deal, but it was the beginning of an applause-o-rama marathon that lasted all service. There must have been a dozen instances where we clapped—after each song, after someone made an announcement, to welcome guests, for random reasons, twice to close the service. These were some appreciative people with tired hands.

Last comment about worship: I decided I hate it when worship leaders tell me to do stuff. Raise your hands, clap your hands, stand, kneel, whatever. I don’t want to lift my hands unless I feel led to do so, and I don’t want my worship experience turning into a game of Simon Says.

Simon says everyone stand up.
Simon says everyone clap your hands.
Simon says raise your hands in the air.
Now tell God you love him.
Ahhh! Simon didn’t say! Loser!

Just doesn’t seem genuine when I’m following a script.

I was impressed with Seven Hills’ commitment to their “Extreme City Makeover.” Basically, they send about 1,500 people into the community to love and serve their neighbors. Can’t go wrong there.

About thirty minutes in, the pastor took the stage and sounded exactly like Matthew McConaughey. When I told Liz, she asked if he also looks like McConaughey. Thankfully, no, he does not. I mean, he’s a good looking guy, but I’d really have to see him with his shirt off before I could compare. Ummm … moving on …

Oh, right, the pastor’s message.

I knew I liked this guy when a guest speaker made fun of him for misspeaking. He said April was Child Prevention Month instead of Child Abuse Prevention Month. When she asked him if there was such a thing as Child Prevention Month, he replied, “There should be.” Amen, pastor.

They began a new series this week at Seven Hills called “Go.” Here are a few moments that stood out:

1) Pastor Marcus mentioned their church leadership takes a particular personality assessment (the name is escaping me), and that one of the measurements assesses risk-taking versus a desire for safety. He said about 85 percent of people who take the assessment prefer safety over risk. Interesting. How about you?

2) Using the story of Joshua as a backdrop, he discussed four battles that tend to keep people from “going”—the battles of rejection, loneliness, temptation, and discouragement.

3) One quote I liked: “Loneliness is part of being out front.” Another: “Temptation is the revealer of the heart.” And finally, he quoted this from a conference he attended last year: “Every person who has fallen into significant sin was preceded by an elitist spirit.” Meaning, of course, we are most vulnerable when we think we finally figured everything out. That was good to hear because, lately, I have definitely been feeling good about where I am in life, and I have probably been letting down my guard.

4) He mentioned the number one sign of having an elitist spirit is a failure to honor others. If all we ever do is focus on ourselves, our stuff, and our accomplishments, it’s probably a bad sign. Hmmm … I wonder if my self-promotion is being balanced with a healthy dose of other-promotion. Or, more importantly, Jesus-promotion.

5) I wonder if the pastor has a degree in psychology. His teaching points weren’t just religious mumbo jumbo; they spoke to the human condition at a high level of understanding. I was impressed. Bible stories are nice, but unless a speaker can connect those stories into our current culture, they honestly mean very little to me. Pastor Marcus did a nice job.

6) The giving was at the end of the service. Pretty standard stuff. Interestingly enough, they also did announcements at the very end, which seems like the worst possible time. People are ready to bolt, and announcements are usually pretty boring. But I really liked how they did their announcements. They were all video clips. One after another, with various people giving the information. It was polished, professional, and you got to hear from the people involved with the event they were announcing. Plus, anything on a huge screen is always more interesting than watching some dude on stage rattle off a checklist.

The service lasted about seventy-five total minutes, and after one final round of applause, I was out of there. Seven Hills was a Vineyard-type church, so nothing too out of the ordinary for me, but it was definitely good to sit back and allow myself to be refreshed on a pretty sluggish day. I know churches need people to get involved, so not everyone can just hang out with no commitment, but it’s nice that places like Seven Hills exist for those of us who are weary and need a place to rest.

Now, wherever you’re sitting, take a minute to applaud yourself. You deserve it.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #16: Quaker Community Friends

2009-04-19T00:00:00.001-04:00

I knew almost nothing about Quakers until I met one in early 2009. Maybe I assumed Quakers were a lot like Mormons (and maybe some are), but her explanation of the religion was way off from my expectations. So, it seemed like a good stop for the Church Experiment.

Plus, I love their oats. (Oh, thank God … I have been dying to write that joke all week. It felt sooo good! That is comedy, my friends. That’s the good stuff.)

After visiting several churches way outside of my comfort zone, I no longer experience much nervousness on my way to each week’s destination. But Sunday, when I pulled up to the Quaker Community Friends building, I realized it was just a big house in the middle of a neighborhood. That had me worried. I have realized over the past sixteen weeks that the smaller the venue, the more nerve-racking the experience is for newcomers.

I was greeted at the door by a couple of nice gentlemen, and then walked inside their “living room” to find my seat. Yes, it was literally a living room with about fifty chairs; thirty of them were filled. Everyone was white, and I was clearly the youngest person in the room (I’m 32). Most were over fifty years old, and a large percentage seemed to be hippie-types. There was a palpable “free love” vibe in the air.

What caught my attention right away is that no one spoke. Everyone in the room was sitting in silence. Some had books, a few had Bibles, and one woman was journaling. Many just sat with their eyes closed, but no voices. And definitely no direction. Luckily, my Quaker friend mentioned this happens because her church is “unstructured.” (Other Quaker services are more structured.) I just can’t imagine walking in with no background knowledge and not freaking out a little bit. There were literally no words spoken until about forty minutes into the service.

But there were sounds—a woman blowing her nose, stomachs growling (thank God I didn’t eat any gassy foods for breakfast), someone snoring, crickets chirping, paint drying, grass growing …

Silence is maddening.

But in the quiet, I got to thinking—why is silence so frustrating? Why do we fill every waking moment with noise and distractions? Why do we crave so much input? (Johnny Five, anyone?)

Need input! Need input!

Even after giving up cable and the Internet (which I did for six months in 2009), I still find a way to fill my life with background noise. I have been renting DVDs from Netflix and watching old movies from my personal collection. I am considering buying a radio. Talk about desperation! I have been reading more, which is good, but even books can be a distraction.

Do we not hear God because he isn’t speaking, or because we aren’t listening? Maybe all the prophets and apostles heard God because there was nothing else to do back then. Maybe it is too “loud” for God these days. I wonder what a “noise fast” would look like—no television, movies, Internet, radio, and books for a week.

Based on the Quaker experience, it would be hell—like solitary confinement, but surrounded by people. Don’t take that the wrong way. The Quaker service itself was perfectly fine; I am the one that is screwed up.

More input! More input!

Time stood still as we sat there in silence. Five minutes felt like an hour. Going in, I had no idea how long the service lasted. What if it was three hours? What if I would never be able to speak again? After thirty-five minutes, I thought I was going to crack. Maybe make a run for it. (I should have brought a book, but even that would be interrupting the silence.) Thankfully, around the time I started my mental breakdown, a man stood up and shared an experience he had on Friday. Something about a six-hour walk in nature, and turtles sunning themselves, and an open field, and the beauty and mystery of the spiritual. I have no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded peaceful.

Still, I had no idea what was actually happening. Was he the speaker? Were people supposed to randomly share thoughts and experiences? Again, no direction for newcomers.

Those questions were answered when other people randomly stood to speak. A different guy quoted from the book he was reading. Then a woman shared something about playing the organ while on a trip to Europe.

Other people shared, and then the group moved into a time of praying for people “to be held in the light.” Although one guy did pray for plants (I personally think plants are doing okay without our prayers), most people shared some really meaningful requests.

The sharing of “joys” was next, and this was probably my favorite part of the service. After so much silence, people became highly energized. (I think the snorer even woke up.) Some of the joys were huge (like a woman being cancer-free for two years), and some were more tame (like the woman who had her first homegrown garden salad of the season), but the positive energy was welcomed. Interesting to see people celebrating even the smallest of joys instead of complaining about life. I wonder how many Facebook status updates celebrate life’s joys, and how many whine and complain about life going wrong? It has to be a 10-1 ratio. Maybe a more positive attitude could benefit all of us. Maybe more time reflecting on life’s blessings and less time obsessing over life’s struggles. Of course, that is always easier said than done.

Overall, the Quaker service was nice—friendly people, positive energy, relaxed atmosphere—but it was completely out of my comfort zone. I realized something Sunday. I am a planner and a doer, not a person who likes to sit around and talk about walking in meadows and watching turtles sunbathe. I appreciate God in nature, but in my world, God is a CEO. He values hard work and results, not hours of (seemingly) pointless meditation. During the thirty-five minutes of silence, I wrote this:

My value is quantifiable to God. How much scripture have you read? How little have you touched your girlfriend? How much money do you give? How many spiritual conversations do you have? How many people read your blog? How big is your church?

I was mortified. I still think God is keeping score. As though my value will somehow increase if I give away an extra hundred dollars this month. Or decrease if I forget to read my Bible today. Or your value somehow increases if you lead a megachurch. Or decreases if you hit a ground rule double with your girlfriend (which is way better than a regular double). I’m pretty sure the thrones in Heaven aren’t handed out based on blog readership. It has something to do with how much porn you watch, right?

Maybe one day I’ll live my life as an overflow of God’s love, not as some desperate attempt to earn his love.

The service lasted about ninety minutes, closing with fifteen minutes worth of announcements. They did ask newcomers to introduce themselves, which I did. That’s always a little awkward to be singled out, but everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming. There was also no collection plate passed and absolutely no reference to an offering. That’s the first time in sixteen weeks money has not been mentioned.

Finally, one reason I have given for participating in this experiment is to discover God in unlikely places. If God is everywhere, then he is present in every church service, no matter what your doctrine, right?

I believe God spoke to me at the Quaker meeting. He helped me realize how performance-driven I continue to be, and how much I distract myself with noise in order to avoid hearing his voice. It was an important lesson, and I thank my new Quaker friends for the opportunity to learn it.

One final thought: The Quakers seemed like really great people with huge hearts for one another and their community. But I think the danger of this type of faith (from what I could tell from one church meeting) is the tendency to make God into who we want him to be, not who he actually is. There was no mention of Jesus (or any specific deities for that matter), just a generic god that seemed to care as much about maple trees as human beings. I don’t know if making God into an amorphous spirit blob is healthy.

In an attempt to combat the angry God that starts wars, and hates gay people, and wants you to stop drinking beer, some people have created an imaginary God that is remarkably similar to … themselves. Go figure. But what if there is a real God out there that isn’t angry, but also isn’t an imaginary friend? What if people have just done a terrible job telling God’s story with their words and actions?

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #15: Holy Cross Immaculata

2009-04-12T00:00:00.001-04:00

In the most anticipated Easter church visit in the last century … Barack Obama attended St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington, D.C.

In slightly less noteworthy news, I chose Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams—one of my favorite Cincinnati communities.

In other words: Catholicism, part two. This time, no hangover.

I wrestled with the decision all week, and then settled on Holy Cross when I realized how fitting the visit would be.

I became a Christian a couple hundred feet from my seat Sunday. In November of 2000, while living in a studio apartment in Mt. Adams, I prayed God would change my life. That first year, I walked up the Immaculata steps (the same ones thousands of people use every year to “pray the steps”) and talked to God. The view of downtown Cincinnati is amazing from that spot. There is also a statue of Jesus nailed to the cross that I stared at for long stretches of time, contemplating my new faith.

In other words, if there is one spot on this planet I would retreat to if I needed time alone with God, it would be Holy Cross Immaculata in Mt. Adams. It felt like the perfect place to spend Easter Sunday during my experiment.

Ironically, I had never actually been inside their building. Thankfully, the interior matched the exterior—lots of beautiful paintings, sculptures, stained glass windows, and statues. Traditional pews sat approximately 350 people, and it was standing room only. In fact, there had to be well over 400 people in attendance.

Obviously, it’s hard to judge any church based on its Easter service. I assume attendance spiked. Almost everyone was white, but there was a wide range of ages. Was this a normal thing for Holy Cross, or did the surge of families on Easter Sunday skew the diversity? Either way, there aren’t many sights more adorable than little girls and boys dressed up in dresses and suits for Easter.

As we (Liz, my girlfriend, joined me this week) walked in, the choir was already singing. It was a nice touch. Quality music in church now holds a special place in my heart. After attending a couple of services without music (Church of Scientology, Jehovah’s Witnesses), I realize I have taken worship for granted all these years. The Holy Cross choir was pretty talented, but one of the soloists sounded exactly like Willie Nelson, which was both distracting and amazing.

Sometimes I wonder if Catholics want new people visiting their churches. Rituals in a Catholic Church are difficult to follow. They make newcomers feel like outsiders. There seems to be a vibe (especially on Easter) that visitors are disrupting a private club meeting. Ritual can be a good thing, but one man’s ritual is another man’s barrier.

In fact, Liz told me a story after the service about a woman from her salon. This woman is Catholic and was complaining that all of the visitors on Easter ruin their service. She even told Liz that she asked the priest if he could reserve seats for the regulars! Yikes. Is there some underlying tension between Catholics who attend church regularly and Catholics who only show up on holidays? Easter seems like the day you would want to be most welcoming, not hyper-territorial.

I needed a cheat sheet to keep up with everything. How do Catholics remember all of the sayings? And when to kneel? And when to sit or stand? It’s exhausting.

Also, could communion be any weirder for someone who isn’t Catholic? I never go up front during a Catholic service because I am pretty sure they don’t want me to. Nothing makes you feel like a bigger sinner than having to scoot out of the way while people in your row pass to take communion. It’s like I was wearing a huge neon sign flashing, “Not a Catholic!”

There were two highlights during the seventy-five minute service:

1) The congregation actually sang the Lord’s Prayer. Holy Cross Immaculata was the first place I have visiting that did this. I loved it.

2) I think I got baptized into the Catholic Church. After the congregation answered “yes” to a bunch of questions (for example, “Do you reject Satan in your life?”), the priest walked down the main aisle flicking water on everyone. That is a Catholic baptism, right? Maybe I could have taken communion after all.

Overall, it seemed to be a traditional Catholic service. I knew nothing crazy would happen. Nothing overly exciting to write about. I had already attended a Catholic Church, so I basically knew what to expect. But none of that mattered, because this week was about worshipping in a place that has been an important part of my journey.

I still remember the nights I sat atop Mt. Adams, Holy Cross Immaculata over my shoulder, the lights of downtown Cincinnati on the horizon. I watched the river rush by and dreamt of possibilities. I was a mess back in 2000, and no matter what you think about organized religion, one fact cannot be debated—Jesus saved me from a lifetime of cheap thrills and empty accomplishments.

I have told my story enough that most people know how true that statement is. The last nine years have been filled with ups and downs, and God knows, I have failed numerous times. I have had some very low lows since that prayer in November of 2000 just a stone’s throw from my seat Easter morning, but I have been consistently moving in a healthier direction. At times sprinting, mostly crawling, but definitely moving.

Despite the flawed man that I still am, I know who I would have become, and I know in my heart who I am becoming.

And this week, being reminded of that truth is enough.

Despite the flaws of organized religion, I hope we all remember how our lives have been forever changed by the man we celebrate every Easter Sunday.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #14: St. John's Unitarian

2009-04-05T00:00:00.002-04:00

I must admit, the only previous experience I’ve had with the Unitarian Church is a joke from The Simpsons. Reverend Lovejoy serves Lisa a bowl of “Unitarian ice cream,” and when she points out the bowl is empty, he says, “Exactly!”

Baaa-zing!

Walking into St. John’s Unitarian Universalist Church—which is right down the street from my apartment—I assumed anything goes in a Unitarian Church. Not that it was filled with a bunch of heathens, but that as long as you believe in some type of god, you’re pretty much good to go. Which I knew would play well in my community. The Gaslight District in Clifton is very liberal and incredibly diverse (which I love). Although my first impressions weren’t completely accurate, what I experienced was pretty close to what I expected.

The reverend began the service with the word “Namaste,” which immediately raised my hopes that I had been transported back to the Dharma Initiative in 1977. Sadly, Hurley was nowhere to be found.

Within the first five minutes, he asked us to introduce ourselves to a stranger and ask that person why he or she was at St. John’s. I met a couple who drives from Colerain (twenty minutes) to attend the service. She told me they grew up Catholic, but their former neighbor used to harass their daughter with threats of going to hell if she didn’t attend church, so they bailed on Catholicism and began searching for a church home that aligned with their personal values. They found St. John’s Unitarian a few years ago and never looked back. She gave me quite a sales pitch, telling me it is the most wonderful, loving, accepting place they have ever been. High praise.

The main room sat about two hundred people, and I estimated 150 were in attendance. Almost everyone was white; most people were older, but there was a scattering of young people mixed in. Like Clifton United Methodist, there seemed to be a fairly high percentage of gays and lesbians.

The service itself was … interesting.

They began with a hymn. (Before beginning this experiment, I honestly had no idea so many churches still sang hymns. Even non-Christian churches! I thought most places had bands. Especially liberal churches. I mean, aren’t they supposed to be liberal?) The title of the hymn was Bring Many Names, and one line read, “Great living God, never fully known.” I could tell right away they weren’t big on attaching a name to God, which I can understand. Certainty can be a roadblock to building a deeper relationship with God. Mystery is alluring. But I believe God can be named and still be a mystery. In fact, his mystery is a beautiful thing. Who wants to worship a God that our feeble human minds can fully know and explain? Not much of a God.

The message was about stewardship. In other words, money. All fourteen churches have been different in significant ways. As a whole, they have not had one thing in common. Except … wait for it … wait for it … money. They all need your money, and they all have a “spiritual” message that justifies this need. Some have been less intense about asking for it (the “seed boxes” at Vineyard Westside, for example), but they all ask. It’s the only consistent theme that has emerged at all fourteen stops. Not making any judgments here. I’m just pointing out a fact.

I clearly attended a week at St. John’s Unitarian that was all about money. In fact, the woman I met at the beginning of the service even apologized before I left. They had three different people speak—the first woman talked about social witnessing, the reverend spoke about supporting their ministries, and the last guy explained the pledge cards people were given near the end of the service. They even took a few minutes for people to fill out their pledge cards and turn them back in. It felt pretty awkward telling the usher I didn’t need a pledge card. I think they knew I was visiting, but it’s always rough when you’re put on the spot:

“Would you like to be selfless and kind, and help poor people, and financially support all this free stuff you get every week?”

“Nah, I’m good. By the way, where’s the free coffee?”

Some interesting observations from the service:

1) Unitarians either don’t believe in Heaven, or they don’t have a very high opinion of Heaven. I couldn’t tell which one. A couple speakers seemed to mock the idea of people “being good enough” to get into Heaven. I think Unitarians put much more significance on the here and now. They tend to live in the present instead of the future. Which again, I am okay with. I think some Christians worry way too much about the afterlife, spending too little time making this life count.

2) They have something called the “Wheel of Life.” Basically, people walk up front and share personal joys or sorrows from the previous week, and then someone lights a candle for them. (I was expecting a giant wheel like at the carnival, but sadly, there were no actual wheels involved.) One person talked about her stepdaughter’s cancer; another shared that his mother died last night; a third mentioned his father-in-law’s stroke, and finally, a woman shared that her son’s best friend’s cancer is in remission. I suppose this is a good way to build community and communicate what is happening in the personal lives of the congregation, but most people seemed hesitant to share from the stage. And isn’t this why God invented Twitter? To streamline church services?

3) There was a giant (like twenty feet tall) tree-looking thing attached to the front wall with hundreds of gold leaves. No idea what that was. Anyone?

4) They had hundreds of colorful paper cranes hanging from the walls to represent the men and women who have died or been wounded in Iraq. Clearly, as a church body, St. John’s is anti-war.

5) Some quotes really stood out for me. It has been odd that so many of the churches I have visited have done messages on, “Why go to church?” They haven’t exactly been labeled as such, but the messages have centered on answering that question. Last week, I felt like Tim’s message could have been called, “Hey, Steve Fuller, Here’s Why You Should Go To Church.” And this week was more of the same. A few direct quotes:

“We need churches like we need museums, libraries, and parks. We need places to go to make and share meaning. Church is my spiritual home base that allows me to go into the world and make a difference. We are not satisfied with the sweet hereafter; we live in the present.”

A spiritual home base—I liked the way that was phrased. It’s like playing tag with a base. The people who stay two feet from the base the whole game are lame. Sure, you’re never “it,” but it’s also kinda boring because you never get to run full speed and feel the wind against your face. No crazy moves where you dodge the guy trying to tag you. Those who run far away from base have more fun, and sometimes they get tagged, but isn’t getting tagged worth it? Of course, we all wear out from running too fast and for too long, so it’s always nice knowing you can retreat to home base and rest before you launch out on another adventure.

Too much time in church—lame and boring. Too much time away from church—you get worn out (and probably get “tagged” a lot). So, you step into the world, and you run, and jump, and have fun, and roam free, but it’s good to stop by home base and rest up, get re-energized, and refuel for the next journey.

I also think it is a pastor’s responsibility to kick people out of church—to push them away from home base to get their hands dirty. I have seen this done well, and I have seen this done poorly, but if we want to live meaningful lives, sometimes that means we run full speed into the scary, unknown world.

They closed with another hymn, and then everyone held hands and prayed. The service lasted approximately 75 minutes, and I was out the door.…

Or so I thought.

On my way out, one of the ushers stopped me to ask if I took some good notes. I was like, “Ummm …” He said I looked familiar and asked if I had been to St. John’s before, and I told him it was my first time. Then, I explained the Church Experiment, the blog, and why I was taking notes. He seemed like a nice guy—genuinely interested in what I was doing—and welcomed me back anytime.

There was so much about the Unitarian Church I liked—seemed welcoming to all people, seemed focused on helping people in the here and now, and didn’t seem caught up in a lot of controversial religious issues that tend to divide people.

There was only one problem. No Jesus. Not even sure if they believe he exists/existed. For that matter, I’m not sure what they believe. The central message seems to be, “Do good stuff; help other people; live a good life.” But as someone who used to believe in God without really defining who God was, the question always remains, “How do I do good stuff, help other people, and live and good life?” Because, based on twenty-three years of experience (the twenty-three years before I became a Christian), it is difficult to pull off without Jesus.

Now, who’s up for a game of tag?

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #13: Vineyard Westside

2009-03-29T00:00:00.003-04:00

This will probably be my most biased review to date. Tim Urmston (the pastor of Vineyard Westside) and I worked together years ago at Vineyard Community Church in Springdale, Ohio. Tim gave me my first shot teaching in a Christian context at Alpha way back in 2002. He started Vineyard Westside right around the same time Aaron Wright and I launched D’VINE. Plus, he’s just a swell fella.

I was actually pretty apprehensive about attending Vineyard Westside. For one, the west side of Cincinnati scares me. It’s like a whole different world over there. Not so much the people or neighborhoods (both are nice). Even though it is technically Cincinnati, it feels like a hundred miles away.

The other reason is because I know people at Vineyard Westside, so visiting in order to “critique” or “judge” seemed weird. I felt much less anonymous than I have up to this point in the experiment. I considered wearing a fake mustache and glasses, but that would have required way too much work.

I tried to hide in the corner, but the pastor and associate pastor both spotted me before the service began. Luckily, they only roughed me up for a few minutes before letting me return to my seat.

I am going to sum up my experience at Vineyard Westside with these three words: Cup Holder Pews.

A few weeks ago, I visited Good Shepherd Lutheran Church and was struck by how awkward the mix of traditional and modern looked. Not that it was bad, but bizarre. I asked if churches could honor the holy rituals of the past while simultaneously connecting with an emergent culture. I was skeptical … until Sunday.

I’m not saying Vineyard Westside does it perfectly, but they do it pretty well. They were able to honor the past while embracing the present and future. But more on that in a few minutes. First, the details:

The main room sat approximately three hundred people, and I estimated about 250 were in attendance. Vineyard Westside owns an old church building, so the inside looked like a modernized Catholic Church. Most people were white, but I did notice lots of young people wandering around. In fact, there was a lot happening throughout the building. It seemed like multiple meetings were happening at the same time, but maybe that’s just my imagination. If I had to guess, there were ministries to the poor and children going on during the main service. Overall, the church seemed “alive” with activity.

From beginning to end, it was a traditional “Vineyard” service (which is my background), so no real surprises for me. They started with worship, which was probably the best I have heard in thirteen weeks. Great band, nice voices, good energy, enjoyable song selection. In fact, it was probably the first time I’ve really been able to worship all year.

Communion was nice, but fast. It felt like an assembly line of people picking up their cracker, dipping it in the wine, and moving back to their seats. I have really enjoyed communion this year (I’ve taken communion more in 2009 than the previous eight years combined), but I’m just not sure how meaningful the experience is when there is very little time to pause and reflect on the significance behind the act.

After worship, the associate pastor came on stage and did the announcements. I’ve met Ryan before (but it’s been a while), and he and I stalk each other’s blogs, but I don’t really know him very well. Announcements definitely aren’t the time most speakers shine, but you can tell Ryan is a personable guy who is well-liked by the congregation. I saw him wandering around before the service talking to random folks. But not in some creepy, fake pastor way. It seemed genuine. As did the sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. Sinner. Just kidding. I don’t really think about that kind of stuff (good or bad), but I’m sure it would make some people feel comfortable and freak others out.

They don’t take a normal offering at Vineyard Westside. Instead, they have a “seed box” that people drop cash and checks into at the end of the service. This was the first time a collection plate or bag wasn’t passed at a Christian church I’ve visited this year. Instead, for some reason, every time anyone says “seed box” from the stage, everyone cheers. And for some reason, whenever someone says “seed box” in any context, I giggle like a teenage boy.

Back to the Cup Holder Pews.

Because Vineyard Westside meets in an old church building, people sit in pews. But because this is a Vineyard church, they have attached cup holders to those pews. It looks funny. Not funny bad, just funny. Like a nun smoking a cigarette. Or an old man wearing jeans. Or the Cincinnati Bengals holding a Super Bowl trophy. The two images just don’t go together.

But that image really sums up Tim and Vineyard Westside. They do a good job connecting the historical Biblical narrative to the modern culture we all live in. Not many places are able to take stale Old Testament stories and make them come alive. Tim has always been someone who can make that happen. I believe reverence and relevance both came together in a special way on Sunday.

I find it fascinating how message-centered some churches are. Well, actually, I find it interesting how unmessage-centered many churches are. I have spent most of my adult life in churches where pastors are superstars. A requirement is the ability to stand up in front of an audience and deliver an eloquent, moving, entertaining, inspirational message. Like any celebrities, pastors become bigger than life. Christians speak of meeting Bill Hybels, or Erwin McManus, or Joel Osteen the same way we speak of meeting Brad Pitt or Tiger Woods.

At the church in Savannah, there wasn’t even a message! At St. Peter in Chains, the message was about ten minutes. At the Christian Scientist Church, the message was just reading from a book. At the Vineyard Westside, the message was the centerpiece of the service. This isn’t a criticism. I am a teacher, speaker, and writer, so I love a good message, but isn’t it interesting how essential public speaking has become in many churches today?

What I liked about Tim’s message was the call to action he gave the congregation. He began with Genesis 12:2: “I will make you into a great nation, and I will bless you; I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing.” I was just thinking about this verse the other day. Paraphrased, “I will bless you so you can be a blessing to others.”

God has blessed me. A lot. I have talents and gifts that other people don’t have. I have been placed in a job and neighborhood in which I have many opportunities to bless lots of people. But usually, I selfishly use my blessings to better my own life. Tim called people (especially the men) to step up and start blessing the world, their families, their coworkers, and their students.

The whole service was about eighty total minutes, and toward the end, Tim really got his preach on. Which again, only added to this interesting juxtaposition. A seeker-friendly environment that challenged people to live a Christ-centered life. I haven’t found that very often on my journey.

I think I was meant to show up at Vineyard Westside on Sunday. And here’s why:

For a long time, I have questioned the purpose of attending a church service. If you read my blog last fall, I wrote a five-part series trying to answer the question, “Why go to church?” By the end, I had very few answers. Part of the reason I’m doing the Church Experiment is because I knew I would have slept in every Sunday morning in 2009 if I wasn’t “forcing” myself to attend church. I was a fraction of an inch away from permanently bailing out on church. Not because I was leaving my faith, but because I truly believe some people can fulfill most functions of the church outside of the church. I can listen to great messages online, read the Bible and pray on my own, give to local charities, share my faith with thousands of people on campus, and build community with friends and neighbors. So, why go?

It hit me on Sunday. Tim traced the roots of Vineyard Westside. He talked about general church history, then Vineyard history, then his history with Steve Sjogren (the guy who started the original Vineyard Community Church in Cincinnati), then planting Vineyard Westside and watching it grow over the years. And that was when it all made sense. A local church is a family. A crazy, messed up, dysfunctional family, but a family nevertheless.

I recently heard the saying, “The church is a whore, but she’s my mother.” Man, that is true.

No matter how crazy the church drives me, we’re family. Hugging Tim on Sunday was like embracing a brother I hadn’t seen in months.

I cannot imagine going through life without my biological family—my parents, brother, sister, nieces, nephews. And I can’t imagine being eight years into this faith journey without my spiritual family—Evan, Workman, Shirkie, Sharon, Scott and Claire, Susan, Stecher, Aaron, Dressler, Tim, and the list could go on for many, many paragraphs. I barely even see most of those people anymore, but if I did, it would be like a family reunion.

I really, really, really miss that. I miss feeling like I am caught up in something bigger than myself. I miss walking into a room filled with friends on a spiritual mission. I’ve always considered myself a lone ranger. Jack Bauer of the Christian world (ummm … I wish). But no one can make an impact on this world as a free agent. I mean, come on, Jesus couldn’t do it by himself! Maybe that should have been my first clue that I need a community of friends to share the journey. Not to hang out with seven nights a week. Not to join three Bible studies. Not to sit around and pray all day long. But a family. A home. A place to find support and be supportive.

Yes, a church is so much more than just that, but being a part of the Westside Vineyard means you are a part of the Vineyard movement, which means you are a part of the Christian movement, which means you are a part of what God is doing in this world. And that’s a pretty cool family tree.

Church #13 means I am 25 percent done with the experiment! Time is flying, but there is still a long way to go. Many more churches on my radar screen. Much to be learned.

I made it out of the west side alive and well … even though some guy in a minivan did honk at me and flip me off for pulling out in front of him. But I didn’t pull out in front of him, so I went nuts and threatened his life. Now that’s a west side story!

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #12: Christ Church Savannah

2009-03-22T00:00:00.002-04:00

This week’s experience is divided into two distinct parts. But we’ll get to that in a minute. First, some background:

When I began the Church Experiment, I committed to visiting a handful of megachurches led by popular pastors. I couldn’t just fly all over the country for a church service, so I also tried to identify churches within driving distance of Cincinnati. Three churches I planned visit before the year ended were Mars Hill in Michigan (Rob Bell), Willow Creek in Chicago (Bill Hybels), and North Point in Georgia (Andy Stanley). All three pastors took this Sunday off. A fourth option, Southeast Christian in Louisville, is a huge church, but their pastor also took a break.

Perfect.

So, I decided to just get in my car and drive. It was the week of my spring break, so I didn’t have to be back in Cincinnati until March 30. I figured there was a church east of the Mississippi that I was meant to visit this week, so I took a leap of faith that I would somehow stumble through its doors on Sunday.

In addition to my search for a church, I also decided to take my time, forgo any structured plan, and just drive around experiencing different people and places.

The overall trip was extremely meaningful, but Sunday was all about Savannah, Georgia. Once I realized I was heading in that direction, I thought it would be fun to visit (I had never been). And once I got into town, I found the most amazing church building I have ever seen (the architecture in Savannah is gorgeous). And once I found the church, I learned about their Sunday night program call Service of Compline.

That, my friends, is why I ended up in Savannah, Georgia. Out of the hundreds of thousands of churches east of the Mississippi, God wanted to me experience Compline. But that is the second part of my story. Let’s begin with part one.

Christ Church Savannah had a traditional Sunday morning service based in the Anglican faith. John Wesley (yes, that John Wesley) actually served as the church’s rector (leader) from 1736-1737. Speaking of old, the church was founded in 1733! Can you imagine? How old is your church? Twenty years? Five? Less than a year? Try 276 years on for size! And their current building was constructed in 1838. Wow.

Speaking of the building … again, wow. There are no words to describe its quiet elegance. The balcony was especially regal. Imagine an old southern courtroom with a huge balcony overlooking the proceedings. Very, very cool.

The room probably sat four hundred, and I estimated three hundred people were in attendance.

The choir stood out more than anything else. They had a conductor to manage the vocalists, violin player, horn player, soloists, and other instruments blocked from my view. They sounded angelic. The first thirty minutes was one amazing song after another—all sung in Latin—producing a breathtaking harmony.

Communion was nice. Very formal, and it took about twenty minutes. Again, there was a ton of ritual—reading the Nicene Creed, prayers, hymns, kneeling, the Lord’s Prayer, repetition.

Pause button. It’s interesting how annoyed I got with the Jehovah’s Witnesses and Christian Scientists for all of their repetition, but I look the other way during Christian services. Cultish repetition seems to pop up in a variety of religious settings.

I thought the prayer of forgiveness was super bizarre. Everyone robotically repeated what was written in the program. I can’t imagine anyone experienced heartfelt forgiveness during the recitation, but who knows. If I cheated on my wife and read my apology from a piece of paper in a monotone voice, I can’t imagine she would be too thrilled. Does God really forgive us when there is no heart or passion behind the repentance? Maybe. Maybe not.

I do have a whole new appreciation for hymns. Instead of trying to follow along and sing this week, I closed my eyes and listened to the chorus of three hundred voices crying out in praise. It was quite moving.

And that leads me into part two—the reason I was in Savannah in the first place. One of the most powerful spiritual experiences of my life.

Compline.

I went to the 10:30 am service, but I also noticed there was a 9:00 pm service called Compline. I had never heard of it before, but I immediately did a little research and realized it’s an old Catholic tradition where the service is actually “chanted” to close the day. Think about the Gregorian Chants of the Benedictine Monks. It is peaceful, respectful, and holy.

I didn’t take my notebook to the Compline service. After so much analyzing, I actually wanted to experience God, not just observe his flawed children at work.

When I walked into the main sanctuary, I was immersed in darkness and surrounded by silence. Only a handful of candles lit the room, and dozens of people sat quietly in wood pews. I could already feel the presence of God in the space created for him.

The choir, dressed in dark robes, walked down the aisle and up the set of stairs to the balcony. Then, moments later, they began their soothing chants. I immediately felt myself connecting with God in ways I forgot were possible.

I kept thinking of the verse, “Be still and know that I am God.” I also kept thinking back to a line from an earlier hymn, “Ye who are weary, come home.” Excellent advice.

This was it for me. Messages are nice, but frankly, I am a pretty smart guy. I don’t need more information, no matter how cleverly it is packaged. I don’t need dancing in the aisles. I don’t need big group prayers that seem to go on forever as people ramble on with hyper-religious terminology. I need space for God. Lots of space for God so I can focus on his voice. That other stuff is fine, but sometimes the religious mumbo jumbo can be a roadblock to what God is actually doing.

I don’t need to go into some creepy Holy Spirit trance to hear God’s voice. And I don’t need to speak in tongues or flop around on the floor like an ichthus out of water to experience Jesus. I just need to be quiet … in a three hundred-year-old church … with an amazing choir chanting in the balcony. Any idea where I can find that in Cincinnati?

One scary thought. It wasn’t easy for me to feel God. If faith is a muscle, I am spiritually flabby. Compline made me realize this year of cynicism has really negatively affected my relationship with God. It’s like being married while surrounded by your kids, jobs, and responsibilities, and thinking the marriage is great, but then going away on a romantic weekend for two and realizing you have grown apart from your spouse.

God and I need a date night.

After the service, I spoke to Reverend Mark, and he was a very nice man. I wanted to communicate how much of a blessing his church had been to me after a couple of rough weeks in the experiment. We had a nice conversation that ended when he prayed for me. Good stuff.

I feel like I’m back on track. I also feel like I learned a lot about myself in Savannah. Specifically, ways I can continue connecting with God that fit my personality. I just need to slow myself down in Cincinnati so I can experience what I felt in Georgia.

I believe it will be critical to my future growth. But no pressure.

After last week’s little shop of horrors, it will be nice finishing my trip through Oklahoma so I can get back to Cincinnati and share my west side story with you guys and dolls.

Awkward silence … awkward silence … awkward silence …

Rent.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #11: Christian Scientists

2009-03-15T00:00:00.001-04:00

After editing the finished chapter, I realize I sound bitter this week. Guilty as charged. The experience was just so … well, keep reading and you’ll see.

Much like last week (the Jehovah’s Witnesses), I knew very little about Christian Scientists. They certainly have no connection to the Church of Scientology, and they are definitely a branch of Christianity (believe in Jesus, use the Christian Bible, etcetera).

From what I could tell, the Christian Scientists have nothing to do with science. I couldn’t find a Periodic Table of Elements anywhere. Contrary to what Jason Boys suggested, communion was not taken from a beaker. Nary a Bunsen burner was involved in the whole operation.

This was a journey of confusion. One that left me with more questions than answers.

But first, some details: The main room was actually nice. Very Catholic looking. Traditional pews sat about 400 people, and there were exactly twenty-four people in attendance. That’s right … twenty-four people.

Let’s pause here and chat.

Twenty-four people? I believe small churches can be wonderful, and spiritual, and meaningful, but shouldn’t it be a sign when you open your doors to the masses and twenty-four people show up? To be honest, I’m being gracious with that number. Three of the twenty-four were up front speaking. I was there. One guy was the greeter. And at least three people stood up to pass the collection bags around. Sixteen is probably a more accurate number.

And it’s not like this is a brand new church plant. They have been around for years. At least the past fourteen years that I have been hanging around Clifton. That’s about one new person per year. Not good.

The service itself could not have been more boring. They could have tried, but they would have failed. No one spoke to me. Not once. I may have had an, “If you speak to me, I will bite off your ear” facial expression, but still, a friendly hello would have been appreciated.

It began with a hymn, then a scripture reading, then a silent prayer, then the Lord’s Prayer … but let’s pause again to chat.

Here is the key to the Christian Scientists:

They use the Christian Bible. From what I could tell, it was the King James translation. But they have a second book called Science & Health with Key to the Scriptures. This book was written by their founder, Mary Baker Eddy, in 1875ish. Eddy founded the religion when she was healed around that time and realized the Christian faith should be more focused on healings.

Christian Scientists don’t really use doctors or medicine. In their booklet, they said people were permitted to use doctors if they made that personal choice, but one frequently asked question was, “What would you do if you broke your leg?” Their answer: “Some may have a doctor set the bone, but many others have seen bones set and mended by prayer alone.”

False. That is stupid. So, so dumb. No one has ever seen that. Especially not a Christian Scientist. I wanted to break someone’s leg on the spot and ask them to start praying. If I sound a little irritated, it’s because I am. People who refuse to see a doctor to treat a broken leg because they prefer to pray about it should be shot. They can pray about being healed from the bullet wound, and we can see how that works out for them.

Deep breath. Moving on.

Back to the Lord’s Prayer. In her book, Eddy gives (direct quote), “What I understand to be the spiritual sense of the Lord’s Prayer.” The pastor read a verse of the prayer, and then she read the corresponding line from Eddy’s interpretation.

“Our Father which art in heaven” = “Our Father-Mother God, all-harmonious.” And so on.

The “Mother” addition was interesting. As was the fact that all three people leading the service were women. But the Christian Scientists don’t really put much value in pastors or leaders. In fact, a quote from their “explanatory note” informs the congregation that, “The Bible and the Christian Science textbook are our only preachers.” And they were.

The sermon consisted of one woman standing to read a handful of Bible verses, then another woman standing to read the corresponding passages from Eddy’s book. They used about sixty verses of scripture and thirty textbook readings. That was the entire message.

Riveting.

For example, she read Acts 3:1-10, which is one of my favorite stories from the Bible. And then Eddy’s passage was gibberish. Something about God’s mind, and people being spiritual, and nothing is material, and blah blah blah. They believe the Science & Health book is divinely inspired, but man, it was boring and hard to follow. I wish God would have divinely mixed in a couple of jokes.

They also mentioned something about Adam (from Adam & Eve fame) actually dreaming when he imagined the Garden of Eden. Or maybe we dreamt up his story. I am almost positive they regard most of the Old Testament stories as myth, so it might have had something to do with that.

Overall, the Christian Science faith felt so dead to me. There was no joy, no humor, no smiles, no life, no anything. Most of the congregation was old—half were over sixty years old. I just can’t imagine people being drawn to a faith that feels like you’re sitting through a funeral.

Visiting the Jehovah’s Witnesses and Christian Scientists in consecutive weeks was a mistake. These past two weeks made me grumpy. Seeing my faith twisted into some freak show has that effect on me, I suppose.

I’m reminded of a funny clip from South Park. A leader of some ridiculous cult explains his religion (Super Adventure Club, which was actually used to mock Scientology). After the children tell him how absurd his religion sounds, he asks, “Is it any more retarded than the idea of God sending his son to die for our sins? Is it any more retarded than Buddha sitting beneath a tree for twenty years?”

One of the children replies, “Yeah, it’s way, way more retarded.”

Any group that involves one person wandering into the woods or sitting at a desk and creating a religion (L. Ron Hubbard, Mary Baker Eddy, Joseph Smith) is probably not something you want to pursue. Just a thought.

These past two weeks haven’t been good for my soul. Visiting churches outside of mainstream Christianity has been interesting, and I have learned a lot about other religions and myself, but I am not finding God in those places. A big part of this journey is reconnecting with God in a meaningful way. I’ll continue visiting a variety of churches, but I need a few weeks off from the insanity.

This officially ends bitterness week. I’m going to watch Joel Osteen on television. He’ll make the pain go away.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #10: Jehovah's Witnesses

2009-03-08T00:00:00.001-05:00

I have three memories of Jehovah’s Witnesses.

One, I remember attending junior high school in Shreveport, Louisiana, and meeting a student named Ricky Jenkins. Ricky didn’t celebrate Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, or his birthday. He told us it was because of his religion, which I later found out to be Jehovah’s Witness. As a sixth grader, it sounded like the worst religion ever.

Two, I was living in an apartment in Montgomery when I heard a knock on my door. For some reason, I had my shirt off. Don’t ask me to explain why, but I answered the door with my shirt off. (Imagine Lou Ferrigno on steroids. That was me in my early twenties.) Two women stood in front of me. One was around my age, and the other was probably in her thirties. They were both very attractive. They gave me Jehovah’s Witness literature, and I apologized for having my shirt off. The older one said it wasn’t a big deal, but I felt awkward. I am 99 percent sure my sexiness caused them to leave the church. Damn this physique chiseled from granite.

Three, I mentioned my church experiment in class in late February, and a student approached me after class to invite me to her Jehovah’s Witness church. Since I continually tried to follow God’s lead, it seemed like a good next stop.

Now, number four …

My first impression was simple: The Jehovah’s Witnesses seem like they don’t want anyone attending their churches. I searched every square inch of the Internet and couldn’t find one personalized Web page for any Jehovah’s Witness church in Cincinnati. I found addresses, but I had no idea what time a service started. Last week, I drove to two different places, but both services had already started, so I settled for the Lutheran church (which was a great experience).

This week, I knew the service in Kenwood began at 10:00 am, so I was ready to go.

Until …

I strolled inside the building, grabbed a seat, and noticed there were a lot of Mexicans. I like Mexicans, so I just assumed the Jehovah’s Witnesses did a lot of recruiting from the Mexican population. No big deal. Two minutes later, someone walked up to me and asked if I spoke Spanish.

That’s a weird ice breaker, I thought.

After telling him I spoke a little Spanish, but not fluently, he informed me the 10:00 am service was in Spanish.

Son … of … a … gun.

Luckily, their 1:00 pm service was in English, so I went back later in the day. But seriously, how would anyone know that? There are no Web sites with any information, and even the times posted on the building were wrong. The information concerning the ten o’clock service said nothing about being in Spanish, and there wasn’t even a one o’clock service listed. Maybe Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t want people visiting to their churches. Although, in all fairness, the very nice gentleman who told me about the Spanish service did sincerely ask me to come back at 1:00 pm. He didn’t make me feel like I was intruding at all, but nonverbal communication means a lot to people, especially when they are first-time visitors.

No matter how friendly the people in your church seem to be, are you nonverbally welcoming people to your church and making them feel comfortable?

So, three hours later, take two.

Before I jump into the service, here are some details:

The main room was actually very nice. It had a lot of dark wood and comfortable seats. There were six flat screen televisions scattered throughout the room, which sat 150 people. About one hundred seats were filled. It felt like the banquet room of a hotel—a place where businesspeople might give sales presentations. Every single male, including little boys, wore a tie (except me), and women were in dresses.

I knew almost nothing about the Jehovah’s Witnesses, so I expected a freak show. I was shocked to learn the Jehovah’s Witness faith is actually very similar to the Christianity with which I am accustomed. That reminds me that chimpanzees and humans share about 97 percent of their DNA. But that three percent is the difference between writing Hamlet and flinging poop at your siblings.

The service began with a hymn and a prayer. I didn’t bring my Jehovah’s Witness hymn book (I knew I forgot something), and none were provided, so I was lost for the first few minutes. But then a very nice guy behind me handed me an extra book, allowing me to join in. Very kind of him to notice my predicament and come to my rescue.

Next, someone stood up to deliver that week’s message. From what I could understand, he was visiting from the Jehovah’s Witness church in Springdale. Seemed like a nice guy, and his message was fairly straightforward. He basically presented a “court case” (his words, not mine) that proved the United States was Babylon, and we were about to be destroyed. He cited lots of scripture, talked about the collapse of the American economy, mentioned global earthquakes, discussed child molesters in the Catholic Church … okay, let’s pause there for a minute.

The Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t like Catholics. There were a handful of criticisms of the Catholic Church. I mentioned the child molestation, but he also pointed out the Catholic Church’s budget (he claimed it was $270 billion).

In fact, the Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t seem to like any religions. Or our culture as a whole, for that matter. He kept making the point that the current system is collapsing, and people must separate themselves from false religion and the culture’s practices. He specifically called people to not celebrate holidays or join “worldly” organizations.

He closed the message by saying the United States is going to be annihilated very soon. A cheery thought to launch me into the new week. But … if you are a Jehovah’s Witness, you will be given a paradise Earth without crime, or fear, or any other bad stuff. Good for them, but not so great for me.

The service closed with another hymn and prayer. Forty-five minutes, in and out, and I was off to … wait a second.

There was a second meeting—the Watchtower study. Everyone stayed, so I remained in my seat.

There is a booklet called the “Watchtower.” It is released every month, and in that book, there are four lessons. Each week, the church does one lesson together as a congregation. It’s basically a Bible Study that happens immediately after the church service, and everyone stays to participate.

Again, I was without a booklet, but again, a dude in front of me gave me his extra. Very kind of him as well.

The book was a commentary that included scripture references. So, the “pastor” called someone from the congregation up front to read. The reader recited a couple paragraphs from the commentary, then the pastor would ask the congregation questions based on the reading. People raised their hands, someone brought them a microphone, and they answered. This went on for another hour. The reader must have recited twenty paragraphs, and the congregation answered about twenty questions based on the readings.

I sat there terrified the pastor would call on me to answer a question, but he only picked the people who volunteered.

I didn’t find the experience overtly creepy, but the creepiest part was listening to their answers. Every answer was included in the booklet, so people simply raised their hands and read. But they tried to make it sound like an original thought. It felt very strange, as though they had been brainwashed to believe whatever was in the booklet, whether they actually understood it or not. I wondered if the congregation could have answered the questions without their booklets. I especially didn’t like hearing small children answer the questions. There is nothing wrong with teaching your children about faith, but little kids were mindlessly repeating phrases they didn’t understand. Again, it felt like a subtle form of brainwashing.

But here’s the thing: Everyone seemed genuine in their faith. Almost everyone who spoke seemed to love Jesus deeply. They were just so critical of other Christians. I agreed with many excellent points that were made. Some of my favorites:

The main speaker said, “False worship takes people in the wrong direction while making them think they are going in the right direction.” Agreed. The trick is getting people to believe they are doing the right thing. Eventually, most people will stop doing the wrong thing because they know it’s wrong. But if you get them doing a wrong thing that they wholeheartedly believe is right, then they are toast.

Someone from the congregation said, “Before Jesus made the ultimate sacrifice, he made daily sacrifices to build momentum.” I thought that was a great thought.

Overall, the Jehovah’s Witnesses were much more “normal” than I imagined them to be. They seemed to passionately love Jesus, and they put that belief into action by knocking on our front doors with Watchtower books in hand. They seem really bitter towards other religious folks, especially Catholics, but I’m sure they are just reacting to the hypocrisy that frustrates all of us. While I never plan to go back, I definitely have a new respect for the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

Something I have learned since beginning this experiment—I didn’t realize so many religions are rooted in Christianity. I had no idea the Jehovah’s Witnesses are so “Christian.” The same can be said of the Christian Scientists (not to be confused with the Church of Scientology. They are very, very different). That leads me to next week’s stop.

Until then, brothers and sisters, be well.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #9: Good Shepherd Lutheran

2009-03-01T00:00:00.009-05:00

God called an audible this week.

I originally planned to attend a Jehovah’s Witness church, but the Jehovah’s Witnesses don’t market themselves very well. A Google search identified a dozen options in Cincinnati, but none of those churches had a personalized Web site. Everything kept directing me back to a generic site called watchtower.org. I finally found a few addresses, but I had no idea what time their services started. So, I planned to wake up early, drive by a couple of locations, and hope for the best.

Sadly, that plan didn’t work out very well. I drove by two churches, and both had already started their services. I didn’t want to walk in late, so I opted for Plan B—Good Shepherd Lutheran Church.

I had no idea what to expect in a Lutheran church, but it was right down the street from one of the Jehovah’s Witnesses churches, and they had a service starting in fifteen minutes. Sounded good to me.

But here’s the freaky part …

Good Shepherd is participating in the Reset series I discussed last week. On Wednesday, I told a friend I should go to a different Reset church each week for the next six weeks to see how different parts of the church body approach the same theme. I considered the idea, but decided to stick with the Jehovah’s Witness church since I already committed to the choice. Looks like fate had other plans.

There are approximately eighty bazillion churches in Cincinnati, fifty are doing the Reset series, and I just happened to wander into one. Crazy.

But even more crazy … Good Shepherd started their series a week late, so that meant I was about to see their version of what I saw the previous week at Crossroads. In my notes I wrote, “Doing Reset. Holy crap, this should be good!” And it was fascinating.

First, the details. Their sanctuary was beautiful and sat about 400 people in traditional pews. They even had a small balcony to handle overflow. The room was about 60 percent full. The previous service seemed more crowded. Perhaps because it was labeled as “alternative worship” in the program. I am pretty sure every single person in attendance was white. The majority of people were over fifty years old (which is important information for later). The entire service lasted about seventy minutes. Overall, nice building, accessible parking, and friendly people.

On the surface, Good Shepherd was a typical Lutheran church. Hymns, prayers, more hymns, a time of confession, scripture readings, a nice choir, an offering, communion, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, etcetera.

But Good Shepherd was also full of surprises.

Maybe it was Reset. Maybe the other forty-six weeks, Good Shepherd is typical. But this week was a bizarre mix of past and present. At one point, they went from a hymn to a Crossroads video, then a gospel reading to a Doobie Brothers song, then from the Doobie Brothers back into another hymn.

I laughed out loud.

Remember that most of the congregation was over fifty years old. I assume they were pretty traditional folks, and they didn’t seem too thrilled with the Doobie Brothers in church. I sat in the back and watched facial expressions throughout the whole service. Priceless.

Don’t get me wrong—I really liked Good Shepherd. They were too adorable not to like. I know that sounds condescending, but I don’t mean it to be. You could tell they valued ritual, but they also tried so hard to adjust for a new generation. I’ve never seen anything like it. Most churches seem to pick one end of the spectrum and go all out. I have visited churches that use humor, videos, and contemporary music, and everything is flexible. And I have visited churches that prefer traditional rituals. Everything seems rigid. But can both work in the same service? Can you show a funny video and then stand to recite the Lord’s Prayer as a congregation? Can you transition from the Doobie Brothers into a hymn without it being comical? Or frustrating? Or awkward?

Or do we have to sacrifice relevance for reverence? And reverence for relevance?

Do you drive away older folks when the video screen is installed? Do you keep young people away when the pipe organ makes an appearance? Or do you risk losing everyone when a service has both?

I really commend Good Shepherd for taking risks. I assume the pastor got a few phone calls that week from members who complained about the Reset series. In fact, on my way out, I got the chance to say hello to the pastor and his wife. I think the gentleman in front of me (older guy) was giving some negative feedback, so when it was my turn, I made sure to communicate how much I enjoyed the Reset series.

And that’s when I got mugged!

Seriously, he gave me a free coffee mug. The pastor said they give them to all first-time guests. Jackpot! Solid Rock, Christian Life Center, Union Baptist, Clifton United Methodist, Church of Scientology, St. Peter in Chains, Passion and Fire, Crossroads … where were the parting gifts? And don’t tell me it was eternal life. I can’t drink a chai latte out of my salvation.

Speaking of the pastor, Lutheran pastors are the Sammy Davis Jr’s of the church world. Pastor Larry spoke, he sang, and I’m pretty sure I saw him grooving to the Doobie Brothers.

A few more thoughts:

1) It’s official—I love choirs. The harmony, the energy, the robes—it’s such a wonderful tradition that I miss in contemporary churches.

2) I also love communion, but why does it have to be so complicated? I know many denominations don’t want you to take communion unless you are a member of that denomination. Catholics frown upon it, and I am pretty sure Lutherans and Catholics are from the same family tree. So, I wasn’t going to take communion. But they were dismissing each row individually, and I was the only person in my row. I felt like a giant sinner by sitting there, so I went up front, knelt on the kneeling board thingy (communion rail), and partook. I hope I didn’t offend God, but I got swept up in the moment.

3) I really enjoyed reciting the Lord’s Prayer as a congregation. There is something powerful about those verses of scripture, and that power seems to be amplified when expressed in community. Maybe we waste a lot of time and energy blabbing endless prayers. Maybe Jesus knew what he was talking about when he said, “This is how you should pray….”

4) The pastor had us do an icebreaker activity where we had to find someone unfamiliar and spend a minute sharing something personal. I loathe that kind of stuff. Maybe it’s just me, and I know the awkwardness comes from a couple of traumatic experiences as a kid, but please stop doing this stuff, pastors. Please stop putting people on the spot in church. It just makes them uncomfortable and anxious to get the heck out of there (and likely never come back).

I have no idea what happens behind the scenes at Good Shepherd, but I’m glad I found their church. I had a good feeling about Pastor Larry, his flock, and their willingness to take chances. I can’t explain it, but I felt something special at Good Shepherd. Something real. Something that gave me a little hope on a cold day in Cincinnati. That church has a good heart, and I hope God continues to bless them.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #8: Crossroads

2009-02-22T00:00:00.001-05:00

Crossroads is one of the most seeker-sensitive churches in Cincinnati. Perhaps the country. On their “Explore Crossroads” page, they even ask, “Is this really a church?” (I’ll give you my answer later.) In fact, I am pretty sure they used to be called Crossroads Community Church, but I believe the “Community Church” part was dropped to appeal to more non-Christians. After weeks of visiting churches that felt like exclusive clubs for members only, I wanted to experience a church famous for welcoming newcomers. Also, fifty other churches in Cincinnati joined Crossroads yesterday to begin a six-week journey called “Reset.” It is a series designed to help people examine their presumptions and reset their views of Jesus. (And I got a free book in the deal, so … jackpot!)

I had actually been to Crossroads before my visit, but only twice, and it was long before they moved into their new auditorium. Also, Crossroads and my former church have a similar feel, so leading up to this visit, I felt more comfortable than I had all year. I knew what to expect.

Or so I thought.

From the moment I hit Ridge Avenue and saw the line of traffic waiting to get into Crossroads, I felt anxious. That feeling intensified when I turned into the parking lot and became overwhelmed by its size. It reminded me of visiting Kings Island (amusement park near Cincinnati) when I was a kid. I worried I was going to park in the wrong lot. I worried the parking lot was full. I worried I would have to be shuttled to the building from the Boo Boo lot.

There were people everywhere. I have become so used to churches of seventy-five people that I felt really uncomfortable getting lost in the crowd.

When I first stepped into the atrium, I was simply overwhelmed. In fact, I think I said wow about ten times before I finally got my sea legs. The place is gigantic and filled with the latest technology. It felt like I walked into a mall. From what I could tell, there were computer terminals so visitors could get online. There was a huge coffee station with dozens of blends. I was hoping they had hot chocolate, but once again, I was a victim of coffee discrimination. Not everyone drinks coffee, people. I want free drinks in church, too!

There was a large visitor center, a few meeting rooms, a separate chapel (which seats a few hundred people), and the most amazing kid’s area I have ever seen in my entire life. Seriously, if I was a child at Crossroads, I would beg my parents to go to church every week. It took everything I had to not run into the play area myself.

But alas, it was time to enter the auditorium and experience a service at Crossroads. I wanted to sit in the balcony, so I did, but after I sat down, I realized there was a second balcony! This is an estimation, but I am guessing the auditorium seats about three thousand people. And nearly every seat was filled. At least 90 percent of the attendees were white, and based on outward appearances, I am guessing most of Crossroad’s members do okay financially.

In my experience, seeker-sensitive megachurches usually place a high value on production. Crossroads did not disappoint. I counted four videos (all seamless and well-produced), an amazing band, a dynamic speaker, an entertaining message, a relaxed atmosphere, and a creative performance.

Speaking of the creative performance …

You guys know me. I am a liberal Christian. But places like Crossroads always seem to push those boundaries for me. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that their promotional video advertising this Reset series rubbed me the wrong way. Not that it was bad or wrong, it just felt weird. Sunday, Crossroads opened their service by showing a video of a woman walking through a gallery of Jesus paintings. Lots of different depictions—some famous (like The Last Supper) and some silly (like Buddy Jesus).

Then, a team of people walked on stage with canisters of blue paint and rollers. While they painted over a large picture of Jesus, the woman in the video began painting over every picture of Jesus in the art gallery. Again, not bad or wrong. Just weird. Maybe that weirdness comes from a healthy place. Maybe we shouldn’t mock God. Maybe it’s sacrilegious to paint over a couple dozen portraits of Jesus.

Or maybe the weirdness is coming from an unhealthy place. Maybe we are programmed to be uptight about all things Jesus. God knows, I have used Jesus to make many jokes over the years. But I pray daily that I don’t turn into a grumpy, self-righteous, pretentious, religious snob that complains every time Christians poke fun at religion. I wonder if there is a line, and if so, where that line is. And if we cross that line, what does God think about it? No answers for this one. Just curious.

The message itself was good. I have heard Brian Tome speak in the past, and he is a pretty solid guy. The talk centered on the logical argument for Jesus. It seemed like a summary of Lee Strobel’s, The Case for Christ, which really appeals to someone like me. I am a logical thinker, so when I see an airtight argument for Jesus, it is hard for me to deny his existence. Emotion was also sprinkled in here and there, including a touching personal story from Tome, but logic was king in week one of Reset.

They saved worship until the end of the service (not sure if this is common or special for the Reset series). It was a little confusing because no one stood at first, then halfway through the first song, everyone stood up at the same time. If they were cued, I missed it. Very few people sang along with the band, almost no one danced, a number of people left when worship started, and overall, the process was definitely more observatory than participatory. In fact, everyone in my row left (about six people). I suppose I shouldn’t have tried to slay them in the spirit, but new habits die hard.

Worship only lasted fifteen minutes, and the whole service was approximately seventy-five minutes. Once the service ended, people bolted for the exits (maybe to beat traffic?). The room cleared in less than three minutes, and a dozen people hung around to receive prayer.

Overall, I was actually surprised how much the pastor challenged the congregation. I expected the content to be “fluff,” but he came right out and told people Jesus requires them to make a choice. To get off the fence. It definitely wasn’t an altar call, but it also wasn’t fluff. Everything was framed as an experiment … a process.

Crossroads seems to value the journey.

So, is Crossroads a church? Absolutely. A large church that seems to attract lots of people who wouldn’t attend church otherwise. I’m not sure why some Christians find fault with that. Is Crossroads perfect? Of course not. Are they blessing the city of Cincinnati? I’m not sure anyone can defend a negative response to that question.

One thing I found interesting …

I didn’t meet one person while at Crossroads. (I did run into an old friend, but that doesn’t count.) Not one person said hello. Not one person introduced him or herself. I barely even made eye contact with anyone. In fact, the balcony was so dark that I wouldn’t be able to pick the woman sitting to my left, or the man sitting to my right, out of a lineup. I assume that’s the point. People can be anonymous. People can hide out and investigate without any pressure. After being welcomed in some really awkward, uncomfortable ways at other churches, the heart behind that anonymity is appreciated. But I might as well have watched the service on television. If I wouldn’t have run into that old friend, I wouldn’t have spoken during my entire visit.

Overall, a seeker-sensitive megachurch is what it is—an excellent place to blend in with the crowd. An excellent place to experiment with Jesus. An excellent place to invite people who are exploring their faith.

It’s also an excellent place to get lost. An excellent place to check off the box of going to church without ever getting involved in the mission of that church. It’s an excellent place to play the game.

But Christians can play the game anywhere. Or they can seek God anywhere. Maybe we should stop blaming churches for our spiritual ennui and start looking in the mirror.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #7: Passion and Fire Worship Center

2009-02-15T00:00:00.001-05:00

I was very nervous about attending a service at Passion and Fire Worship Center because I have always struggled with Christian “ministry.” Praying in tongues, healing, falling to the ground, violent convulsions, bursting into tears or laughter—it has always seemed staged and goofy. Going in, I knew Passion and Fire valued this type of ministry, and I was curious to see it practiced up close and personal.

I had no idea just how “up close” I would get and just how “personal” it would become.

But before we get to all of that, let’s start with the details.

Passion and Fire was perhaps the friendliest church I have visited thus far. There was seating for about five hundred people, and there were only fifty people in attendance, but almost a dozen of those people introduced themselves to me. (Including the pastor, which I will talk more about later.) Overall, I felt very welcomed.

The service began with approximately forty minutes of worship. Not great, but not bad. I thought the main worship dude was pretty talented. He sang, played the keyboard, and rocked out on the bongos (this was my favorite part of worship). He was joined by five women with microphones. Sitting there, I realized I had visited four churches in a row without this particular style of contemporary worship music. A few people danced, one guy waved a gold flag for a few minutes, and the whole experience was followed by communion, which was nice.

Someone stood up and explained what happened during the previous day’s “soul winning” evangelism outing. The pastor reported that one hundred people were “saved.” Eight of those people were from the same family. Six were Catholics (I thought they were already Christians). After receiving prayer, one guy (confined to a wheelchair) stood up and took eight steps. And another guy received Jesus while standing in line at Wendy’s because one of the pastors paid for his Baconator. These were all stories told to the congregation by the outreach pastor.

Pastor Donna (the senior pastor’s wife) stood up to speak about tithing. And speak, she did … for eighty minutes. Her message was perfectly fine. I actually agreed with a lot of what she said. Some direct quotes I liked were, “We need to take the limits off of tithing,” and, “Giving is worship and gratefulness,” and, “Too many pastors preach tithing out of legality.”

I liked her point, but man, it took a long time to get there. Passion and Fire obviously wasn’t interested in putting on a seeker-sensitive show. The whole program felt more like a business meeting with shareholders. Not slick, polished, or produced. Just a lot of information presented in a pretty bland way. Which is fine. Not my thing, but not necessarily “bad” or “wrong.”

Maybe Pastor Donna doesn’t preach very often. Maybe Pastor Dave is much more dynamic and interesting. Or maybe they just don’t place a ton of value on the “show.” In times like these, I am always reminded of a great quote by Joe DiMaggio, a famous baseball player from the forties. After getting blown out, a reporter asked DiMaggio why he still played so hard in defeat. He replied, “There is always some kid who may be seeing me for the first or last time; I owe him my best.” A church should give it their all every single Sunday. No exceptions. You never know who is wandering in for the first (or last) time.

One thing I actually appreciated was what seemed like a willingness to admit mistakes and check one another against Biblical truths. Pastor Dave spoke the previous week, and Pastor Donna actually pointed out something he said that she felt was Biblically incorrect. And he was okay with it. I like the humility of admitting we are all students in God’s classroom, and no one is perfect. We all make mistakes. We all have moments of confusion. We need to be okay with that and not see mistakes as an opportunity to attack. I have experienced way too many Christians who just sit and wait for you to make a mistake, and when you do, they pounce. It’s almost like they show up just to find opportunities to criticize. Almost like they are doing some sort of church experiment and then writing a book about it. Shameless.

Now, let’s get to the good stuff—the ministry portion of the service.

Two hours and ten minutes into the service, ministry time started. The pastor began by praying in tongues and encouraging others to do the same. He asked people to raise their hands if they weren’t sure they were going to Heaven. I assume he was going to ask them to come up front and accept Jesus, but no one raised a hand, so he moved on.

He then asked people to raise their hands if they were struggling and needed to recommit their lives to Jesus. A couple of people raised their hands and the pastor asked them to come up front. After praying in tongues for a few minutes, he touched his hand to their heads and they fell backwards into the arms of people on the ministry team. Then, the folks “slain in the spirit” lay down on the ground and were covered by a white cloth. (I have no idea why.) They stayed there for a really long time.

Interesting, right?

But then it got way more interesting.

When the pastor introduced himself earlier in the day, he asked where I was from. I told him I was from Clifton (a suburb of Cincinnati). He then asked how I heard about his church. I told him I knew a couple of people who attended on Wednesday nights (which is true). He said, “Oh, Bob and Sally?” (The names have been changed to protect the innocent.) I said, “Yep, Bob and Sally.”

Now, back to ministry time. The pastor was standing up front. I was sitting in the very last row. Two people were lying on the floor covered in white blankets, and the pastor was asking for others to come forward. No one was budging, so …

He looked directly at me and said, “There’s a young man here today that I would like to pray for.”

My heart started to thump hard against my chest.

“Bob and Sally’s friend, I want to pray for you.”

I shouted (because I was sitting seventy feet from him), “You want me to come up front?”

He said yes.

Time froze. Part of me wanted to say no. Part of me wanted to turn and run for my life. But another part of me whispered, “This is what you are here for. If you are going to experiment, then experiment.”

I stood and walked up front. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. I don’t remember all of my thoughts because I am pretty sure I blacked out for a few minutes, but I was nervous. More nervous than being at the Church of Scientology. There, at least I could write everything off as being crazy and fake. But at Passion and Fire, I had to come to terms with the fact that I believe in Jesus. I believe he can heal. And I believe people can have legitimate experiences that seem bizarre to the outside world.

So, why was I resisting? Did I doubt the moment’s authenticity, or did I desperately want to avoid looking like a Jesus freak?

The pastor started praying for me. He said things like, “You feel misunderstood sometimes.” Okay, true, but who doesn’t feel misunderstood sometimes? Those prayers always feel like my horoscope. You will experience moments of great stress this week. Really? Wow … that’s insightful! I mean, if it is real, why didn’t the pastor get any legitimate information on me?

“You need to stop staying up until 2:00 am watching reruns of Frasier and Golden Girls on the Lifetime Network.”

Whoa, now that is some prophecy!

He also told me God wanted to release my gifts in music. The pastor said he got an image of me with an instrument. Ummm … unless he was talking about the “penis flute” two of my friends brought me from Colombia, then that couldn’t have been farther from reality. I have zero musical talent. (I really do have a flute that looks exactly like a penis. My friends thought it was a funny souvenir, and they were right. One of my greatest fears is dying and having my dad find that flute. It’s a flute, dad. I promise, it’s a flute.)

Okay, so it was time for him to make me fall down. I really wish there was a way to record all of the thoughts racing through my brain leading up to that experience. I was trying so hard to be open to what God wanted to do. If God was really in that moment, I wanted to be available. At the same time, I felt so uncomfortable and was so skeptical of what was happening all around me. If God was going to make me fall, he would have to wrestle me to the ground.

The moment came, and …

I won the wrestling match, but I think I figured out why people fall.

The pastor’s voice was low. He was praying. Then, all of a sudden, he simultaneously screamed and pushed me in the stomach (not violently, but firmly). I was so startled that I stumbled backwards. Imagine you are in the dark watching a scary movie, and during an intense scene, someone screams and grabs your shoulder. You are tense. It catches you off guard. And you react. I physically reacted to the moment, but it wasn’t because of God, it was because of human nature.

After my initial stumble, I turned around and saw a chair behind me, so I took a couple more steps back and sat down. Thankfully, they didn’t put the cloth on me. I sat and watched for about ten more minutes before I finally got up and ran for my life. I walked out the door at 1:05 pm—two hours and thirty-five minutes after the service began. Man, I miss the Catholics.

I took a leap of faith. My heart may not have fully been in the moment, but I gave it my best shot. Was it goofy? Yes. Was it real? Who knows. Am I jaded and skeptical? Absolutely. Do I miss out on God’s presence because I push him away? Maybe.

I believe God can do anything, but I also believe people are jacked up. Was God in that room? Probably. Were people embellishing their experiences? Probably. Such is life.

Until next week, I need to get working on that music career. Where’s my flute?

JOIN THE CONVERSATION

Church #6: St. Peter in Chains

2009-02-08T00:00:00.002-05:00

To begin, I need to establish a little background context. I am being completely honest when I say that I rarely drink alcohol. I am over 21 and don’t consider drinking a “sin,” so like many adults, I enjoy a social drink here and there. Every once in a while, I start to feel buzzed, so I call it a night. I almost never drink alone, don’t drink and drive, and avoid drunkenness. I served as the designated driver at a good friend’s wedding reception in December and on New Year’s Eve.

I would like to say this is primarily a spiritual thing. I mean, that’s part of it, but it has more to do with how my body reacts to alcohol. When I used to get drunk, I would get really hung over. Even now, there are days when I have two or three beers (without even feeling buzzed) and then wake up the next morning with a hangover. On Christmas of 2007, I met some friends at a neighborhood bar, had a few drinks, felt fine on my walk home, and woke up the next morning violently ill. While hugging my toilet that day, I decided to never put myself in that position again. And I hadn’t.

Until Sunday.

I had three drinks Saturday night. I hadn’t eaten much that day, so I could tell the alcohol was starting to affect me. I purchased a fourth drink, took a sip, and realized I was done drinking for the night. I walked home, went upstairs, and puked my guts out. Then, I fell asleep.

I woke up Sunday morning and felt terrible. I did get the taste of Scientology out of my mouth, and I replaced it with stomach acid and bile. I don’t remember how many times I threw up, but I do remember getting dressed for church (dress pants, dress shirt, suit jacket, dress shoes) and then yakking at 10:45 am. Fifteen minutes before church started.

I stood up, wiped the tears from my eyes, quickly brushed my teeth, threw a piece of gum into my mouth, and was out the door. I don’t know much about the Catholic faith, but based on all those festivals I attended as a kid, I knew I was going to fit right in. Just kidding. Sort of.

Okay, moving on …

St. Peter in Chains is a beautiful church located on 8th and Plum in downtown Cincinnati. I know comfort and efficiency have become important to Christians. I know we love our stadium seating, and cup holders, and booming sound systems, but man, we lose something special when church gets moved from the sanctuary to an auditorium. Whenever I step foot inside an old Catholic church, I stand in awe of its grandeur. There is something about the “bigness” of a spectacular church building that makes God’s presence more tangible. I don’t feel that in an auditorium, recreation center, movie theater, or coffee shop.

Of course, I assume it is incredibly expensive to build and maintain, but maybe the feeling of being in God’s house is worth the cost.

I was struck by a few things right away. First, the sanctuary was huge. It must seat a thousand people—all in gorgeous pews. They had the back thirty or forty rows blocked off, so everyone had to move toward the front of the room. There were about 125 people in attendance. I was shocked to see people dressed in regular clothes. Jeans are the norm in nondenominational churches, but does anyone dress up for church anymore? Not that I mind, just curious.

Another thing that struck me was how far away the stage was from the pews. I am used to being up close and personal with the pastor. When I spoke in church, I had people sitting ten feet away from me. Their stage had to be twenty or thirty feet away from the first row, and the choir was so far away that I could barely see them.

The last thing that struck me was how somber everyone looked. I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that the Baptist service seemed like a joyful celebration. The Catholic service seemed like a time of mourning. Almost like we were at a funeral. I’m not sure if I saw one person laugh, or even smile, the entire time I was there. There were no jokes from the priest. No funny video clips from Tommy Boy. For Catholics, church seems like a serious affair.

But there was also a simplicity and a holy respect for the divine that I loved. The pastor at Solid Rock Church jumped around like a madman, and looking back, it all seemed so silly. The priest at St. Peter in Chains was calm and respectful, and he was able to communicate truth without being goofy.

This may sound weird, but I don’t think I respect God enough in my daily life. I don’t believe God is the grumpy grandpa shaking his fist at me all day for playing on his lawn, but he did sorta create the universe and everything in it. I tend to mock him way too often. Not in a cruel way, but in a funny, joking way. I wonder if we mock just a tad too much. I was especially jolted when I saw some material used in a church series for a very large church in Cincinnati. Let’s call it “Rosscroads.” The video seemed so silly and mocking. It felt weird and disrespectful on some level. And coming from me, that’s saying a lot.

Again, I’m not saying Rosscroads is wrong, but there was something right about the respectful tone of St. Peter in Chains.

Although I did enjoy my experience at St. Peter in Chains, I felt like I had stumbled into a private club meeting (again). Someone greeted me on my way in, and there was a time to stand up and shake hands with your neighbor, but the language, terminology, and rituals were all very confusing.

There was a lot of standing, sitting, and kneeling (which was perfect for my hangover). There were more hymns. I didn’t realize how much Christians still love their hymns until I began this experiment. There were a lot of lines that I didn’t know. For example, the priest would say something and the congregation said something back to him, but I had no idea what I was supposed to say. Once, he read from the Book of Mark, and people did some strange hand gesture. No idea what it was, but I assume they like Mark. They all took communion, but I knew I wasn’t allowed to take communion in a Catholic church unless I was Catholic, so I just watched everyone walk up front while I stood there like a heathen. They had a pot that some dude swung around, filling the room with smoke. I entered and exited the pews without kneeling or doing the sign of the cross. Later, I realized that may have been offensive. I saw holy water in the back of the room, but I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to do anything with it. Maybe “not throwing up in it” was enough.

My point is that almost every church I have visited has done a poor job welcoming new people into their customs and traditions. I understand churches don’t only exist to attract new people, but man, they actually seem to do a good job repelling new people. St. Peter in Chains was friendly enough overall (and the priest seemed like a really nice guy), but I was completely lost most of the time. Not sure that is the best way to grow the congregation.

I was quite pleased by the sixty-five minute service. The handful of Catholic weddings I have attended had me worried I was in for another marathon. Which would have been terrible, since I threw up the minute I got home. Honestly, making it to church yesterday was a minor miracle. I have no idea why I had such a strong reaction to three drinks (I have a theory someone—Bradley Wise—slipped me a roofie), but lesson learned. No more drinking for me unless it involves a celebration. Who wants to go celebrate Chinese Lantern Festival Day with me tonight?

Now, look at the toilet.
What is it? The toilet.
Where is it? In the present.
What’s inside the toilet? My lunch.
Until next week, peace be with you.

JOIN THE CONVERSATION