When it comes to
worship style, I’m a pretty mainstream Presbyterian. The Sunday
morning gathering to me means attire worthy of a business meeting or
meal at which hundreds of dollars or more are at stake: if not always
a suit and tie, at least slacks and a button-down shirt and the kind
of shoes men usually shine. In short, “proper attire” means
clothes I wouldn’t want to do hard work in. T-shirt? Cutoffs?
Flip-flops? Soccer uniform? No way.
How far I’ve
come from my all-time favorite Sunday morning gatherings in our
village in Papua New Guinea. Folks would show up in their everyday
working attire (grass skirts, bark capes, an occasional worn and
unsanitary T-shirt), piglets, puppies, and snot-faced toddlers in arm
or in tow. They would sit or lie on the ground, dozing, nursing
infants, smoking, and chewing betel nut while I’d do my best to
turn a series of pictures into a comprehensible story that would give
them some idea of who this Jesus was I’d come to tell them about.
Sunday was the day we presented the Word of God as part of everyday
life, something designed to take home.
So was impressed
by my Bible reading a while back with how many times the faithful of
Bible times did things that one just wouldn’t do in any
“business formal” context, especially Sunday morning in a
Presbyterian church: “Clap your hands … shout … with joyful
praise” (Ps 47:1); they “wept aloud” (Ezr 3:12), “dressed in
sackcloth and sprinkled dust on their heads” (Neh 9:1), “cried”
(Neh 9:28), and “called out” (Neh 10:5). Even Jesus would get
strange looks in any church I’d feel comfortable in when “he
offered prayers and pleadings, with a loud cry and tears, to the one
who could deliver him out of death” (Heb 5:7).
Notice that we
have no trouble with raised voices and funny attire at sporting
events. We might think the event itself is not worth the effort some
people go to to celebrate it – I mean, really, spending a hundred
bucks or more on a costume for a fooball game?
– but I for one
can’t see being more critical than “I say get a life, but if the
game is that important to you, go for it.”
What got me going
on this post this time was reading one day that the people “bowed …
with their faces to the ground” (Neh 8:6). This was not in our
sanctuary with its spotless carpet. It was outdoors, in the dirt. Now
I can see our village friends doing that – their standards of
cleanliness were not even close to ours. But does God want that from
us? People in Bible times did it, but I tend to put it in the
“that was fine for them then, but not for us now” category,
hoping those people would identify more with my old village friends’
standards of cleanliness than with ours. But then again, while
“cleanliness is next to godliness” is heresy, it is an
understandable inference from the Torah. What if people in Bible
times would identify more with our standards of cleanliness than with
those of our village friends? What if they felt as odd putting their
noses in the dirt as we would?
Though when it
comes to worship, “man looks on the outside, but the Lord looks at
the heart,” I often hear (and say) that what we do on the outside
is an important part of the picture. And the next sentence is usually
“If we’re having a formal meeting with the king of the universe,
shouldn’t we dress up for it?” But maybe the opposite is also
true: could being unwilling to get dirty to worship God be as
disrespectful as being unwilling to dress business formal?
I wonder if
dressing business formal for church isn’t a presumptive claim that
what we are there to do is “business as usual” with God. Is that
a valid assumption?
On September 11,
2001, people who worked in the lower-level offices of the World Trade
Center showed up for business as usual and dressed accordingly. They
didn’t realize that they were in trouble, that that day life would
change dramatically for them. And on September 12, or whenever they
next returned to work, they were likely dressed appropriately for
moving furniture. (I’m assuming their next remunerative activities
involved setting up new offices.)
We don’t have an
equivalent of 9/11 to point to, but the church in the US is in
trouble. We are shrinking in number and in influence over the
culture. Half of our children abandon the faith in young adulthood.
We commit sexual immorality, have abortions, and get divorced at the
same rate as our unbelieving neighbors. Nations that fifteen years
ago we were looking for creative ways to evangelize we have instead
turned to rubble. We have provided no alternative to godless
education, health, and peacekeeping systems. Need I say more?
Judgment is
coming. God will not allow our godless society to go on with
impunity. Nor will he fail to discipline a church that has become
insipid at best.
Getting back to
God looking at the heart, as important as corporate worship is, we
know from Isaiah 58:5 that externals, even the most drastic, are
useless without a heart change: “You humble yourselves by going
through the motions of penance, bowing your heads like a blade of
grass in the wind. You dress in sackcloth and cover yourselves with
ashes. Is this what you call fasting? Do you really think this will
please the LORD?”
How do we get that
heart change?
No, the kind of fasting I want calls you to free those who are wrongly imprisoned [beginning, methinks, with people who grow plants God planted in Eden – QP] and to stop oppressing those who work for you [by taxing them for things they don’t use or want – QP]. Treat them fairly and give them what they earn. I want you to share your food with the hungry and to welcome poor wanderers into your homes. Give clothes to those who need them, and do not hide from relatives who need your help.
Those are hard
words, hard commands to do things that don’t come easily to us in
our culture.
Maybe we can start
small with other difficult but comparatively easy things. Like
literally clapping our hands and dancing in church the way we do at
football games and praying with our hands and eyes raised toward
heaven. Like kneeling on our real knees and bowing with our faces to
the ground, beginning with the sanctuary carpet and progressing to
real dirt. Like literally washing each other’s feet on a regular
basis.
(Take two minutes
to consider the logistics of what Jesus did: how much water and how
many rags would it take to wash twelve men’s dusty feet?)
These actions are
humiliating, but maybe humiliation in the safe environment of
corporate worship will make us willing to humble ourselves when it’s
neither convenient nor safe.
A friend once told
me of therapy he had to go through to get over a lost girlfriend. His
therapist put an empty chair in the middle of the room and told him
to say to that chair while the therapist listened everything he could
think of that he would want to say to that old girlfriend if she were
sitting in it. He said that that was the day he got closure: having
the therapist hear his words had the same effect for him that having
the old girlfriend hear them would have had, but he was able to say
those words only because he was in a safe environment.
Maybe if we
literally put our noses to dirt in corporate prayer we would be able
to loosen our hold on our possessions and privacy, on “business as
usual,” on national honor, and a few more of our idols. Maybe we
could do a better job of building the kingdom of God. Maybe we could
even forestall the coming judgment.
I must be on to
something. My natural response is, “After you.” Better would be,
“Let’s do it together.” Best would be, “I’ll go first.”