Life-struck.

In the middle of my reading for Holy Spirit and Christian Worship, I came across this in Jean Calvin's Institutes of the Christian Religion. It struck me as an incredibly beautiful view of the Eucharist.

"How little confidence can it give you, to know that the Word of God, from which you are at the greatest distance, contains within himself the fulness of life, whereas in yourself, in whatever direction you turn, you see nothing but death? But ever since that fountain of life began to dwell in our nature, he no longer lies hid at a distance from us, but exhibits himself openly for our participation. Nay, the very flesh in which he resides he makes vivifying to us, that by partaking of it we may feed for immortality. “I,” says he, “am that bread of life;” “I am the living bread which came down from heaven;” “And the bread that I will give is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world”" (Calvin, 4.17.8)

Some of you know this and many of you don't, but I've experienced depression in big ways--not only in myself, but in friends and family.  That feeling of inexplicable emptiness, loneliness, and invisibility pervaded much of my teen years.

"...whereas in yourself, in whatever direction you turn, you see nothing but death?"

As a child and teen, I found myself in church (and at camp) a lot, for various reasons. And I heard something very much like this:

"But ever since that fountain of life began to dwell in our nature, he no longer lies at a distance from us, but exhibits himself openly for our participation."

This is what gave me life in those times, those places of utter darkness.  This idea that God became human to give us the fullness of His own life, that we may participate in that life with Him. Knowing this didn't make the sadness go away, or fix anyone else's problems, but above all it gave me hope for life beyond those moments. 

This is not, though, how I was used to hearing the Eucharist described. It's a weekly practice here at seminary, which will now be all the richer for me.

"...Nay, the very flesh in which he resides he makes vivifying to us, that by partaking it we may feed for immortality."

Christ's death and resurrection, in which we partake in baptism, is a big theme in the Church and in the Eucharist (as it should be!)  But where is the talk of Christ's 'vivifying' body? Where is the talk of the Holy Spirit that brings us the life which we so cherish?

Or is it, perhaps, that we do not cherish our lives enough to think of it this way?

What are we doing here? (Discipleship, worship, and how we do life)

I've asked myself this question billions of times in the last two years. Why am I doing what I'm doing? What in the world possessed me to make me even think about seminary?  Why do I even go to church?

The answer, I've found, is always the same: "because God calls me to." 

But what would be your answer?

I'm taking two separate classes on worship theology and practices this semester: The Holy Spirit in Christian Worship and Contemporary and Emerging Worship.  The two don't cross paths as much as I would like them to, but they are by far my favorite classes of the year. 

Contemporary and Emerging Worship focuses on 'alternative' churches--places that purposely do worship in crazy, odd, and sometimes just plain weird ways.  (Think drum circles, pop-up tents in the sanctuary, and banks of TV screens.)  We've found, though, that these people aren't just doing worship differently to be different: they're thinking of new ways to express the same timeless truths that the 'traditional' church proclaims.  They're doing worship really, really well.

For that course, I get to (read: have to) write a book review on James K. A. Smith's book Desiring the Kingdom, which focuses on spiritual formation in the postmodern era, and how churches are doing a terrible job of being counter-cultural.  (I'll rant about this later.)

And you know, I just realized something.  I love studying worship not because I love thinking about what goes on in church, but how that worship should affect the rest of our lives.  If we as Christians proclaim a God that is both completely above and other than us, yet is present in our very souls and guides us through this ridiculous maze that is life, then shouldn't our actions outside of church match that?

I'm not talking about standing on corners with signs or broadcasting to the world "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near!"  I'm talking about a transformation in the way that we think about the world. Seminary, I've heard from several people, is like drinking from a fire hydrant.  You're never going to get it all.  But everything I do learn simply blows my mind.  I can see and feel myself being transformed and changed by the concept of reconciliation--that God is working in and through the world (and God's people) to reconcile the entirety of creation to Himself.  We as Christians are called to be a part of that reconciliation--that healing of old, deep wounds.

And that. changes. everything.

So how did I go through my entire life in the Reformed Church in America and NEVER hear this? 

Why do I hear so many sermons about how to live our lives as Christians that have an implicit message of "you suck, try harder?" 

Because sanctification--that transformation that occurs in Christians through the work of the Holy Spirit and makes us look more and more like Christ--is not something that we can do.  We cannot make ourselves act more like Christ through sheer willpower.  We rely on the work of the Holy Spirit. We pray for that work to be done in us, but we cannot do it.

This is all to say that I'm less concerned with what happens inside of the church than what's going on outside.  Sitting through a Sunday sermon on God's mercy doesn't do any good if you're not going to be more merciful when you walk out the door.  Think of it this way: you can go to every single class and seminar on real estate within 500 miles of your house, but if you don't go through the process of actually becoming a licensed realtor and selling houses, then you don't get to call yourself a realtor.  You can call yourself a fan of real estate, or whatever else you like.  But you don't get that title of realtor. 

So why, then, do people think that sitting through a sermon on a Sunday makes them a Christian?  That somehow, showing up is all that God requires of them?

I don't mean for this to be a "hate on church" post, I really don't.  But I get so incredibly frustrated with cultural Christianity that I just want to scream from the rooftops.  If I'm going to identify myself as a Christian, then I want that to mean something. 

Discipleship (being a follower of Jesus) means so much more than weekly church attendance.  That's a part of it, certainly--being in a community with fellow believers that encourage you, call you out when you're being ridiculous, and love Jesus as much and more than you do is SO important.  But that's only one piece of the puzzle.  We are called to be and do so much more in the world than churchgoers that show up.

As Pastor Jeff Petersen once put it: "Jesus did not die so that we could have a well-organized, well-funded building full of people that think the same way about God."

Micah, an Old Testament prophet, says this: "God has shown you, oh humans, what is good.  And what does the Lord require of you?  Only this: to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God."

So what is God calling you to?

stir crazy

I have declared Friday to be my sabbath day--I don't do homework, I don't think about schoolwork, and I usually wind up baking, walking, crafting, or sleeping most of the day.

Today, I'm going a little stir crazy.

It's a bit too cold outside to be out walking, and I already spent one afternoon this week baking.  I could crochet or take a nap, but it just seems like I should be doing more with my day. 

Also: I'm going to INDIA in three months!  More details to come, friends.