Sometimes my sermons are worked out in the empty sanctuary...empty, that is, except the Holy Spirit. When I am challenged regarding a particular lesson, I will often leave the chancel and sit in the pew for a spell. "What do those who will fill these pews this weekend need to hear? Experience? With what life issues are they wrestling? Where are they in need of mending?" Sometimes what I need to say isn't exactly what is most needful to hear. I had a similar type of perspective today as I experienced Sunday morning like most of you.
I rose late after getting 8 hours of sleep for the first time in months, read the paper and had a cup of coffee (what else would I have in Seattle?). Then I lazily made my way to church arriving just a few moments before worship, sifted through the bulletins and announcements and...then rose for the opening hymn. While I wouldn't trade my usual 6:00 Sunday morning alarm or my "what am I going to do with the children this morning?" planning sessions on the way to worship for anything, it was nice to sit in an alternate world for this one morning.
Worship at Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church is noticeably and intentionally traditional. Some might call it "high church." It fits the niche here. It works.
This afternoon I made my way to Church of the Apostles Lutheran Church, an emergent community that is geared completely differently and attends to a very disparate crowd. There are no robes here. No organ. No one over the age of 30. Worship is participatory, imagistic and celebrates the mystery of God through art and a very different sort of liturgy. It is housed in a renovated older church building now called "Fremont Abbey."
Within site of my home in southern Overland Park there are two church buildings. The closest is Grace Community Church, a modern facility that is box-shaped and post-modern. You know before you enter that its worship space will be movable and multi-purposed. There are video screens up front and worship looks like you imagine worship when someone describes it as "praise," driven by guitar and percussion.
Across and just west on 159th street is Redeemer Presbyterian Church. Google it and you will see a church building fashioned to look like a church building. This is prototypical colonial architecture with a high rising white spire and cross. This is the church that "grandma used to attend." Worship is driven by organ and traditional liturgy.
So here in the heart of Seattle the church finds the same sort of varied persuasions and expressions that it does back in Johnson County. It reflects the disparity of our culture. You can't count on the McDonaldization of the Lutheran (or any other) tribe. We used to trust that a big mac was a big mac no matter where you ordered it. Lutheran worship was Lutheran worship no matter what red doors you entered. But the expression of our confession has now become as varied as the culture we attempt to address with the Gospel. It is a challenging, wondrous deal. It befuddles and excites me.
Following worship I stopped at the Red Mill Burger Shop for lunch. Like everything else in this town it is located beside Starbucks. I then ventured to the waterfront to walk along the piers and watch the ferries arrive and depart. Paul shared with me tonight that "I'm sorry I have to cut this meeting short for I have a ferry to catch" is a completely acceptable phrase here. It is a marvelous city.
I then spent the afternoon on the computer, researched some of the waterfalls I intend to explore tomorrow, and read further into the novel, "The Shack," by William P. Young, a faith-based novel that so far has been a stimulating read. I'll keep you posted.
Paul and I sat up until late tonight embroiled in wonderful collegial conversations and stories. There have been two decades worth to share. Needless to say, we hit the 'high points.' I spoke adoringly of Atonement and my dear love for this congregation. He was very interested in the Atonement line of apparel that I have been sporting since I arrived. Perhaps I will send him a shirt later.
Tomorrow we will share breakfast together before he heads off to open VBS and I venture east to see what sort of trouble I can rouse and how many waterfalls I can search out before arriving in Chelan tomorrow evening. Pastor Paul Palumbo and wife, Virginia, dear friends, promise to have the table spread. They asked if I had special dietary needs. I said, "Food is good."
Chelan is in a remote area of the Cascades of north central Washington so I don't know what to expect in regards to cyber connectivity. If nothing else, surely there will be a Starbucks on the lake!
I rose late after getting 8 hours of sleep for the first time in months, read the paper and had a cup of coffee (what else would I have in Seattle?). Then I lazily made my way to church arriving just a few moments before worship, sifted through the bulletins and announcements and...then rose for the opening hymn. While I wouldn't trade my usual 6:00 Sunday morning alarm or my "what am I going to do with the children this morning?" planning sessions on the way to worship for anything, it was nice to sit in an alternate world for this one morning.
Worship at Phinney Ridge Lutheran Church is noticeably and intentionally traditional. Some might call it "high church." It fits the niche here. It works.
This afternoon I made my way to Church of the Apostles Lutheran Church, an emergent community that is geared completely differently and attends to a very disparate crowd. There are no robes here. No organ. No one over the age of 30. Worship is participatory, imagistic and celebrates the mystery of God through art and a very different sort of liturgy. It is housed in a renovated older church building now called "Fremont Abbey."
Within site of my home in southern Overland Park there are two church buildings. The closest is Grace Community Church, a modern facility that is box-shaped and post-modern. You know before you enter that its worship space will be movable and multi-purposed. There are video screens up front and worship looks like you imagine worship when someone describes it as "praise," driven by guitar and percussion.
Across and just west on 159th street is Redeemer Presbyterian Church. Google it and you will see a church building fashioned to look like a church building. This is prototypical colonial architecture with a high rising white spire and cross. This is the church that "grandma used to attend." Worship is driven by organ and traditional liturgy.
So here in the heart of Seattle the church finds the same sort of varied persuasions and expressions that it does back in Johnson County. It reflects the disparity of our culture. You can't count on the McDonaldization of the Lutheran (or any other) tribe. We used to trust that a big mac was a big mac no matter where you ordered it. Lutheran worship was Lutheran worship no matter what red doors you entered. But the expression of our confession has now become as varied as the culture we attempt to address with the Gospel. It is a challenging, wondrous deal. It befuddles and excites me.
Following worship I stopped at the Red Mill Burger Shop for lunch. Like everything else in this town it is located beside Starbucks. I then ventured to the waterfront to walk along the piers and watch the ferries arrive and depart. Paul shared with me tonight that "I'm sorry I have to cut this meeting short for I have a ferry to catch" is a completely acceptable phrase here. It is a marvelous city.
I then spent the afternoon on the computer, researched some of the waterfalls I intend to explore tomorrow, and read further into the novel, "The Shack," by William P. Young, a faith-based novel that so far has been a stimulating read. I'll keep you posted.Paul and I sat up until late tonight embroiled in wonderful collegial conversations and stories. There have been two decades worth to share. Needless to say, we hit the 'high points.' I spoke adoringly of Atonement and my dear love for this congregation. He was very interested in the Atonement line of apparel that I have been sporting since I arrived. Perhaps I will send him a shirt later.
Tomorrow we will share breakfast together before he heads off to open VBS and I venture east to see what sort of trouble I can rouse and how many waterfalls I can search out before arriving in Chelan tomorrow evening. Pastor Paul Palumbo and wife, Virginia, dear friends, promise to have the table spread. They asked if I had special dietary needs. I said, "Food is good."
Chelan is in a remote area of the Cascades of north central Washington so I don't know what to expect in regards to cyber connectivity. If nothing else, surely there will be a Starbucks on the lake!
1 comment:
Great blog! I wanted you to have comments so you would know you are being read.
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