What's it like to attend an Evangelical church in North America on a Sunday morning? Honestly, I think most people could attend a carnival or a fair and scarcely tell the difference. Personally, I would rather go through the "drive-thru" window at McDonald's and get a real "Happy Meal" instead of the spiritual/fantasy "fast food" (cleverly disguised as worship) served weekly in many a church in the U.S.A. Worship is not for our entertainment, nor is it a means to "conjure" up God (via The Holy Spirit) as if we were attending a séance. No, worship is giving God his due; nothing more, nothing less. Our level of happiness, or satisfaction, or approval of the whole is not the point; God's happiness, satisfaction, and approval is. Amazingly, when we focus on the Triune God seeking nothing more than an authentic encounter with him, we receive everything we need (via his presence) without asking for anything. Where will you worship tomorrow? More importantly, how will you worship? As one seeking to be entertained, or as one commissioned to entertain the presence of the Living God? The choice is yours, and be assured that the motive driving your worship will condition the outcome of the experience. Think about it.
It’s 5:00 a.m. on Wednesday, November 8 on the East Coast in the United States. Typically, I don’t celebrate birthdays . . . I mark them. Today would have been my father’s 75th birthday, but he chose to end his life with a bullet to the head in 1965. He left behind two parents, a wife, and two children . . . me and my older brother. I was four-years-old at the time . . . now I’m 45 and not a day goes by that I don’t wonder, question, grope, etc. with regard to why he did it, and what life would be like if he hadn’t. I am a Presbyterian minister, happily married for 22 years with four beautiful children; but the “dark side” of the family portrait is this: while my family is attractive and functional, and while I appear to be relational, well-adjusted, and normal (whatever that means); I have a hole in my heart large enough to put your foot through. I constantly question if I’ve worked hard enough, loved my wife enough, if I’ve cared for my children enough, etc. Suicide ends more than one life . . . it creates havoc and misery in the lives of everyone close to the person who is gone. I won’t bore you with all my family shit, but I will tell you that I exist as one with no boundaries, standards, or markers save those I’ve discovered in Sacred Scripture. It is here where I’ve found hope, and the perfect man (the infinite God-man): Jesus Christ. He is my Lord and savior, and while I’m by no means conformed to his image yet, I continue (by his grace) to strive to be every day. He shows me how to be a husband, a father, a neighbor, a minister, etc., and without daily interaction with him, I would no doubt be some sorry bastard in desperate need of institutionalization. My father’s suicide has destroyed much, but the crucified and resurrected Christ can reverse the effects of life in a sin-stained world. Is life perfect? No; actually it sucks on a daily basis . . . but I’m dealing with it and I’m not alone.
The smell of urine and pureed green beans; comatose nursing aids pondering whether or not they have the winning lottery ticket for Saturday night’s drawing; numerous television sets with little-to-no reception blaring out a symphony of General Hospital, Lawrence Welk re-runs, and a Jerry Springer documentary about wife swapping with a touch of kinky sex. Welcome to the local nursing home anywhere in the United States; the proverbial “dumping ground” of the aged. Pity the poor, dumb, bastards who venture down these halls. Nevertheless, if you can get beyond the smells, the depressing sights and sounds, and the pitiful stuffed animals crusted with ancient saliva, then maybe, just maybe, you will catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God. I go every Thursday to visit Mrs. V, a lady in her 90’s with no short-term memory. The visits are brief, but very much appreciated. There is no glamour in this context; no one is watching, no one notices, no one except the audience of one. Jesus said, “I was sick and you helped me; I was lonely and you comforted me; I was in prison and you visited me, etc.” Why does Father Keen visit? Because these gentle creatures (in the twilight of life) bear the image of the Living God. If you want to experience the Kingdom of God in a real and meaningful way, you will often find it in the most unusual places. More than the excitement of the mega-church, more than the sensationalism of the electronic church . . . this is the real deal; the Kingdom of God in the midst of a human waste land filled with those too sick to live, too healthy to die, and all hungry to witness a display of “true religion” according to St. James (1:27). Check it out.
Take the blue pill or the red pill . . . you decide, but it really doesn't matter; most people don't really want the truth about a number of things like "Who am I?"; "Why am I here?"; "Where am I going?" Truth isn't found in a pill, but a number of other places if you're willing to look, see, and risk. I seek truth about a number of things such as confusion over human sexuality; the plight of the urban poor; the evils that plague orgainized Christianity (evangelical and liberal); the meta-message behind Rap music; the cry of the soul coming from a single mother struggling to make ends meet in the "teeth" of poverty; politics, power, and religion in the United States; the perverse things that come from within and ultimately find expression in what we say, do, and think. This blog isn't intended to be about one thing, but many things that ultimately point to the one thing that matters: truth. Come along for the ride; your input is welcome, but time is short so we dare not waste a moment.
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