ARE WE WORSHIPING YET? - Christianity Today

Bumper stickers have a way of capsulizing common experiences. Take, for example, the one that asks simply, ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?

I remember those family vacations when as children we were squeezed in the back seat of an overstuffed station wagon and driven in a direction decided by Mom and Dad alone. I would rather have spent two weeks in my tree house, not at rest stops and restaurants and relatives’ houses, but the sound of the ignition drowned all hopes of staying home.

The bickering with my brother over who would sit on the hump was soon interrupted by that voice from the cockpit: “I’m not going to tell you more than once to stop arguing and get along. We are going on vacation, and we’re going to have a good time. Does everybody understand?”

Dad’s persuasive abilities were attested to by our somber silence that lasted until he spoke again, this time asking the infamous question, “Are we having fun yet?”

Just as you can’t force your family to have fun on vacation, I’ve also learned that you can’t force a congregation to worship the way you think they should. I learned this lesson at the steering wheel of my own naivet.

Arrogance unleashed

As a rookie senior pastor, I was continually frustrated. The people, lovable as they were, nonetheless seemed ignorant of what true worship was and how it should be practiced, at least according to what I’d learned in seminary. Frankly, I was embarrassed by the casual, unsophisticated, freestyle flow of Sunday morning worship.

The hymnody was largely the Young Life songbook. The weekly prayer-and-share time smacked of the superficial testimony services I remembered from my boyhood. The church also had a habit of singing “We Are One in the Bond of Love” as a benediction. How pedestrian! I thought.

Thus, I determined from the start to raise their level of understanding. As I introduced a reverent liturgical structure (one that would make my professors proud), I saw myself as the authoritative parent calling for order in the back seat. My weekly calls to worship were really subtle attempts at asking, “Are we worshiping yet?”

In retrospect, I realize I was guilty of arrogance. The moisture behind the ears of us young pastors often leads to rust along the foundation of our humility.

Insensitive to the traditions and needs of my congregation, I saw myself as the resident expert on corporate worship, even though there were many in the church who had been worshiping God longer than I had been alive. I inserted responsive readings, corporate prayers of confession, the singing of the doxology, unfamiliar but meaty hymns, and the giving of the sign of the cross as part of the benediction. I even took to wearing a cross medallion.

But my attempts to insert elements of historical Protestantism into the service, as valuable as those elements are in and of themselves, were nothing more than ploys to manipulate. No wonder I felt frustrated!

Failure to communicate

The congregation and I were both frustrated because we were miscommunicating. Each week of those first few months, I made heroic efforts to be thematic in the order of worship. I worked to see that every part of the service fit together with the rest and flowed naturally. Each hymn, prayer, and Scripture reading lent itself to the theme of the sermon. I provided ways, through responsive readings, corporate prayers, or confessions, for the congregation to participate actively and not simply be entertained. I tried to create a service that would focus on God himself and not just my needs or the people’s.

One lay leader finally questioned if all my efforts in liturgics were worthwhile. “I doubt that most people even recognize the theme you’re trying to convey,” he said. “It goes right over their heads.” How discouraging to hear that from a man I deeply respected, yet how insightful were his words!

Other comments I heard included: “I don’t like written prayers that force me to pray words I may not feel or mean.” “Why do we sing those strange new songs? They’re so slow and mournful. Why can’t we sing the old standbys?” “What’s that hanging around your neck? It’s awfully distracting.”

I was frustrated each Sunday, too, because I was speaking a different language, a situation that always results in problems. Several years ago, I visited my ancestral homeland of Greece. Attempting to use what little modern Greek I knew, I asked a haberdasher how much a certain article of clothing was. His guffaw was unexpected and embarrassing. Later I learned that instead of asking him how much the clothes were, I had unashamedly inquired about how much I was! My attempt to add to my wardrobe would have been greatly enhanced had I taken the time to really learn the language.

A missions principle says that missionaries must first learn the language and culture of their assigned “people groups” before they can evangelize effectively. In the same way, pastors must learn the language and culture of their parishes in order to translate their messages and methods into understandable terms.

I had forgotten that truth and failed to learn the liturgical language of my people before attempting to lead them in worship. All the elements I was trying to incorporate were biblically sound and historically rooted, but they were foreign to the flock and thus a stumbling block. I had learned firsthand what Paul had discovered centuries ago when he concluded that unclear communication is a waste of time and effort (see 1 Cor. 14:6-9). That realization helped to alleviate my mounting frustration.

Lessons learned

I decided not to force the people to worship the way I’d prefer but to allow them to worship in accordance with their culture, tradition, and vocabulary. Our service is now less sophisticated than I’d like, but the congregation is worshiping with understanding and feeling.

I’ve become less arrogant in thinking I have special insight into how Sunday morning should unfold, and others now help me plan the services. However, I haven’t forfeited my responsibility to educate my people in time-honored elements that facilitate worship. The key is in discovering the appropriate acceptable form into which the elements can be cast.

My calls to worship, for example, have changed. No longer do I stand behind the pulpit and read a passage of Scripture. To fit in with the casual, suburban California culture of our congregation (the majority of whom are under 40 years old), I walk down from the chancel to the floor of the sanctuary and chat informally about our purpose for gathering that morning. Then we sing a praise chorus a cappella, rather than a hymn, as a response.

Or take our usage of the Lord’s Prayer. Instead of the traditional recitation at the end of the pastoral prayer, we sing it as a congregational response to the call to worship or as a benediction. Now I hear comments like, “Thank you, Pastor, for this morning. Those praise songs really allowed me to worship.”

Spending time with my people has helped me learn to speak their language and find vehicles for leading them. I’ve also discovered that some of the concerns I had for theologically sound worship were unfounded. The prayer-and-share time was their way of participating actively in worship and was probably more meaningful to them than responsive readings or litanies. Their appreciation of contemporary music likewise evidenced a desire to be more than spectators in the service; they could worship more readily when they weren’t preoccupied with reading unfamiliar words or attempting to follow an unfamiliar tune in the hymnal.

Even the grating sound of “We Are One in the Bond of Love” has become a tradition I dearly appreciate. It represents a meaningful liturgy in a nonliturgical church, reminding us of the shared life, love, and commitment that has bound the congregation together in worship since long before I came as pastor. It’s a ritual that identifies us as a unique congregation unified in the midst of diversity because of the love of God, our greatest common denominator.

– Gregory E. Asimakoupoulos

Crossroads Covenant Church

Concord, California