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Evangelical worship is in transition. In much of the current discussion and argument, we focus too often on whether or not forms are seeker-friendly or on the merits of contemporary praise songs (as contrasted with traditional hymns). But there is a core issue at stake in how evangelicals understand worship, writes Gary Burge: how we encounter God in corporate worship.

Burge uses his varied experience—raised Lutheran, enlivened in the Jesus movement, ordained in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), worshiping at an Evangelical Covenant church, and teaching New Testament at the interdenominational Wheaton College in Illinois—to offer a personal plea for addressing what is wrong with our Sunday mornings. Not everyone's faith tradition is reflected in his assumptions about worship, but we believe everyone will benefit from wrestling with the questions he raises.

Say "liturgy" and my evangelical college students have a reflex akin to an invitation to take a quiz. Say "mysticism" and they are drawn, fascinated, eager to see what I mean. They want spontaneity yet drift toward the Episcopal church. They carry NIV study Bibles but are intrigued by experiments in prayer, Christian meditation, spiritual disciplines honed in the medieval world, and candlelit sanctuaries. Some play the Chant CD endlessly. Os Guinness, Saint Teresa of Avila, and Richard Foster might all inhabit the same book bag.

Karen is typical of these students. She grew up in a large, independent Bible church in the Midwest where she attended every youth camp and mission trip her family could find. Her role models came from the glossy pages of Campus Life. When she came to Wheaton College, she attended a large, influential, conservative evangelical church. But after a year, her mind began to wander. "There was no imagination, no mystery, no beauty. It was all preaching and books and application," she told me. Now a senior, Karen is attending an Episcopal church nearby with a sizable group of her best friends.

Ask her if she likes liturgy and her eyes narrow: "Liturgical? Like in robes and candles and that sort of thing? Of course not." But I press, asking what she likes about the Episcopal church. "I truly worship there. It's the wonder, the beauty I love. It feels closer to God."

In reading my semester exams, I discovered that one particularly insightful student, Amy, wrote about worship: "I think that much of modern society has lost a sense of divine, holy space. This becomes obvious to me in our church architecture. The splendor and holiness of cathedrals which created the ultimate feeling of divine space has been replaced by gymnasiums and impermanent buildings. A sanctuary should be a place that is completely separate—that radiates the holiness of God. Plastic cups and folding chairs aren't enough. There has to be an environment that communicates God's holiness to my senses and to my spirit."

What is going on? What deficit, what paucity of experience in their world is not being met? What drives this irony, this rejection of "liturgy" and this embrace of things that undergird every liturgy? What leads countless students to attend a breakaway Episcopal church (The Church of the Resurrection) where waving banners, the Book of Common Prayer, dance, guitars, ornate liturgical decor, and healing all work together? One Wheaton colleague who attends there commented, "At last a place where I can find intelligent charismatic worship—with dignity."

A new Greek Orthodox church opened in Wheaton just last year. Already a sizable number of our students are passionately committed members. Chrismation is a new word on campus. Some of us are predicting a small migration there, with icons soon to follow in Fischer dormitory.

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October 6 1997, Vol. 41, No. 11