I confess. I've lusted. I've lusted after the kind of church that someone else is pastoring. More than occasionally. Worse yet, I hid my lust by pretending my church was actually better. Or at least just as good.
The object of my lust was worship. I wanted the kind of worship at my church that I saw and heard about at others. I wanted to see people moved by the Spirit during a service. Tears. Joy. Intimacy with God.
I found many people and situations to blame for my unfulfilled desire. It was the board, the lack of musicians, the town, the backward people, the building ("If only I had a larger sanctuary"), the denomination ("Pentecostals don't have this problem").
It was everything, except me.
After all, I had the desire. I was the one who "spoke for God." I couldn't be the problem, could I?
I didn't openly hinder worship; in fact, I was all for it. I taught that it was a good thing to celebrate God. "Taste and see that the Lord is good" was a text I was familiar with. (I wasn't too ...1