Dan's Thoughts

Trish #40 - August 2, 2004

Yesterday, Trish and I visited Living Streams Church, here in Phoenix. Their pastor, Mark Buckley, and I had decide a few months ago to exchanges pulpits for the day. So he and Christina were visiting The Valley Cathedral while I was at Living Streams.

We were well received at Living Streams. We felt right at home. I know many people who worship there and that always helps. Besides, once worship begins, I can feel at home anywhere among believers. Still, in dozens of small ways I was reminded that I was in a different church than I normally attend.

Every group, however large or small, has its own ways of doing things, its own way of "being in the world." Nations, lodges, denominations and families all have these unique corporate personalities which tend to persist over time. Churches are no exception.

I would characterize the culture of Living Streams as a West Coast/ post-Charismatic/Jesus-Movement/Vineyard/ Cavalry Chapel/Bible Church kind of place. The congregation is White, Anglo-American, Baby Boomer and Gen X. The people are friendly, their attitude casual, their mood upbeat and relaxed. Through the years, I have attended many churches like Living Streams. So I don't feel out-of-place anymore when I worship like that. But I didn't grow up that way.

I didn't even pay particular attention to the culture of Living Streams until last night as I was driving home from Chandler. After church at Living Streams, Trish and I went home and rested for a few hours. Then we drove to Chandler, about 45 minutes away from our house. Joy Wright, whom we have known for years, had invited us to visit with her and her family because she now lives and works in Istanbul, Turkey. She was planning to leave today for the East Coast on her way back. If we were going to have a chance to visit with her before she left, it had to be last night.

We had a wonderful time. We ate with her, her children and grandchildren, Sharon Roam, (wife of pastor Jim Roam who just passed away three months ago) and her sister. We told stories about our common past. We discussed our present plans and our particular situations. Then we sang.

The music and worship of our church culture was so different that what I had experienced at Living Streams (or from what I experience at The Valley Cathedral, for that matter.) Those of us who met last night, were all raised in a sub-culture of the Pentecostal movement that was heavily influenced by African-American spirituality. It may not be too much to say that Pentecostals of this ilk are "White Black people," at least when it comes to spiritual expression. Music was everything to us. We didn't go to sports events, carnivals or bowling alleys. We were not politically involved in the culture at-large. We went to church -- several times a week. Every service lasted for many hours. So we sang and played music hour after hour, week after week, year after year. We poured every bit of our passion and energy into our music. The energies other people divided between sports events, political rallies and personal relationships, we invested completely into music. We learned how to make a single chord, a single word, open up to reveal an abyss of feeling. We can make a single phrase gush blood and guts. We can expose raw pathos through simple rhythms and metered rhymes. Whether this is a blessing or a curse, I'll let you decide!

Of course, it can look like shear madness to outsiders. Folk like Jerry Lee Lewis crossed over and did music like ours in the secular world. Of course, people thought he was possessed. "Goodness Gracious, Great Balls of Fire" made a fortune because it impressed Americans in the early 60's. But musically, it was no big deal to some of us who had experienced "great balls of fire" every Sunday night. Each week we did music that "rattled our bones and shattered our brains."

So, to outsiders, our music could seem mad and out-of-control. And yet, as we discussed last night, we met God there somehow in that music. Thankfully, God doesn't get nervous when people express their emotions and he doesn't run because things seem out of control.

Last night we each expressed why we now attend churches that do not have the same culture as our past. We talked about what we miss about that culture and what we do not. Then we sang. We sang dozens of verses of songs Bishop Haywood wrote early in the twentieth century and laughed about how we still know all the words, even though we have not sung the songs for thirty years. We had a good time. A really, good time. And then we hugged and blessed one another and went home.

On the way home, Trish and I talking about the preciousness of these old friendships and our delight that they have remained intact. Since our denomination didn't look too kindly upon those who decided that their personality didn't quite fit into its ways, many individuals who left had to leave their relationships behind, at least for awhile. Sometimes they lived Christian life alone because they didn't know how to fit into other kinds of church cultures. Most of us tended to find people with our same past that would support our spiritual journey as we continued our way through life. The years past and we all found different places in the body of Christ where we could live and grow. But the church culture of one's youth is a part of his or her being. That's why, even after all these years, those of us who met last night in Chandler slipped into old songs and old emotions like putting on a pair of worn slippers.

It was fun. It renewed our spirits. We connected. We remembered that we are friends for life

It is hard to imagine that other people are not always renewed by the same things that renew us. I can imagine the people of Living Streams meeting years from now to laugh and reminisce about old times. Someone will bring out a guitar and they will start singing bible verses to folk melodies. Someone will undoubtedly say something like, "wow, we really knew how to touch the soul back then, didn't we?" as their children roll their eyes.

The Christian faith manifests itself through African drums, German pipe organs, Spanish guitars and Hammond organs. Its people worship by sitting reverently silent, by dancing, or by working their way carefully verse-by-verse through an in-depth Bible study. Each group of Christians adopt the ways of connecting with God that serve them. And each "know," in their heart of hearts, that their way is the "real" way that really leads to the heart of God. They each tend to experience the ways and cultures of other Christians as a bit "showy" or "too casual" or "too formal and artificial," or "too something that's too different from what I know about experiencing God."

In the end though, the essence of our faith has to be something that is far above and beyond the various human ways we have of expressing our faith. Naturally we will feel most comfortable around our own, familiar culture. What we cannot do is insist that others feel the same way about that culture as we. In truth, they cannot feel that way. Each generation, each community and each individual must find ways of expressing the faith so their spirit will grow and their souls can connect with God and with one another.

Yesterday morning, Trish and I were blessed by joining the worship and fellowship of wonderful Christians at Living Streams. Then, last night, we were blessed again by the worship and fellowship of other wonderful Christians. Each group had its own way of doing things. Each had ways that would probably seem a bit odd to the other. But in each, the crucified and risen Christ kept His promise; he met with his children who had gathered, "two or three in his name."

When she got home, Trish was tired but happy . "It was a good day," she said.

"Yes, it was," I replied. "A very good day."

Dan