“Nobody Booed” is not good enough: The Transforming Power of Worship

Most of us treasure the memory of a funny expression used by a friend or family member; one of those phrases that pops up in conversation year after year. Like the expression of my great Uncle Herman, who, when faced with the choice of two desserts, always exclaimed, “I like either. I'll take both!” Or the expression of my father, a United Methodist pastor, who would return from a funeral or a wedding and respond to our “How was it?” by saying, “Nobody booed.”

“Nobody booed” was his way of telling us that nothing had been out of the ordinary. The corpse hadn't fallen out of the casket. The bereaved hadn't sprayed the funeral chapel with the deceased's favorite perfume. The bridegroom hadn't fainted. The tenor hadn't sung the Malotte “Lord's Prayer” in F major while the accompanist played in G major.

But what is the opposite of “Nobody booed”? How do we talk about those times in worship when there was something clearly out of the ordinary? What is it that can happen in a worship service that can nourish us days or even years later?

One thing is clear from the beginning. Whatever we say about worship's power to transform us, we must unequivocally affirm that God always shows up. God's steadfast love and presence are affirmed from one end of the Bible to the other. But there are a host of things that make it hard for us to receive the presence and power of God, and there are ways in which we stubbornly refuse to recognize the power of God in our lives. Wounds and burdens of all sorts keep our eyes pinned to the ground, just as was true for the disciples on the road to Emmaus. And who among us gladly receives the sobering demand for justice and righteousness announced all through scripture? Because these things are true, transformation only occurs when God's presence and our readiness meet.

Among the things that line the intersection between divine goodness and human readiness are:
the time when we gather
the place in which we gather
the people with whom we gather
the things our worshiping neighbors say and do
the baggage we bring into the sanctuary
the things we see, taste, touch and smell while we worship.

The time matters because we may be just hours or days away from a crushing personal defeat or tragedy. The place matters because of all the associations and memories we bring to it, or conversely, because we come to a certain place without those associations. The people with whom we gather matter because that sea of faces is a vivid reminder that I am not the only one walking in a valley, or the only one eager to get to a mountaintop. The things our worshiping neighbors say and do matter because the mustard seed of their singing or sighing or praising may be planted deeply within us. The baggage we drag along matters because God's grace has a way of illuminating the stuff in the bags that is dangerous, foolish or unnecessary. The things we see, taste, touch and smell matter because symbols are always windows to a deeper reality.

When we find ourselves in worship and standing at this crucial intersection, how does worship change us? First, we receive the awareness that time is never wasted when we are in God's presence. The majority of people in North America view time as a commodity that can be gained or lost; something that can be squandered or wasted. The cultural credo is, “Time is money.” Because this view is so pervasive, we apply it to what we see in worship. Silence seems to be the enemy because it indicates that no one knows what's up or someone has missed a cue. Because we are so bound to this view of time, we assume that the service of worship must happen within a specified number of minutes or else something went wrong and someone is to blame. While it is true that any liturgy can be put together carelessly and led in a haphazard fashion, this tyranny of the clock is a huge impediment to transformation. With due respect to the peculiar problems of traffic management in large membership congregations, it is nonetheless tragic to see 45 second baptisms attached to the end of morning worship because the television ministry demands that things go at a certain pace.

The psalmist has a very expansive view of time, “For a day in your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere” (Psalm 84: 10). When we submit to the tyranny of the clock, we are making the implicit claim that worship is still really about us, what we're willing to do, what we're willing to say, what we're willing to admit. Our view is more like “For an hour and five minutes in your courts is five minutes too long.”

Second, we remember and are re-membered. We remember that from Adam and Eve to King David to Peter, our forebears have been tempted to take the less demanding, less truthful, less faithful route through the human journey. That sounds like us. We remember that people flee from their God-appointed tasks (like Elijah), but are summoned to return to them. That's us too. We remember that some people get mired in the swamp of indecision or self-pity and fail to notice the resources that God has already given them (like the man beside the Sheep Gate pool in John 5). Us again. Worship places us in a story which doesn't simply have characters like us; it places us in a story which has characters who are us. So even if what we hear and remember is sobering or even jolting, it nonetheless reminds us that we are part of a larger story. We're not all alone, spinning out of control in a parallel universe. Worship has the power to make us more whole. The world, with all its temptations and viciousness, with all its betrayals and inequities, can dis-member us. It can tear us apart. But the grace of God, whether through the power of scripture, the water of baptism, the eucharistic bread or the kiss of peace, helps us to get re-membered, put back together again.

Third, we get to say what we have always wanted to say. Some preachers begin their sermon preparation by asking, “What do the people need to hear?” That's a legitimate question. The many facets of our lives, from willfulness to woundedness, from recklessness to righteousness, must be addressed in our worship. But there is an equally important question to ask about sermon preparation and liturgical preparation in general; “What do the people want to say?” If a person has suffered for a long time with profound illness, he or she may need to say, with the psalmist, “I am weary with my moaning: every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping.” (Psalm 6:6, NRSV). If we leave that psalm out of our services because “it's a downer and no one comes to church to be depressed”, we disregard the profound need that someone has to hear her or his experience mirrored in the words of the liturgy, and, in essence, to say them along with the psalmist.

Likewise, a person may want to say something as simple as “I feel the presence and guidance of God as I remember my mother's life, and I am thankful.” That person may be too shy to speak those words aloud. But when that same person sings the wonderful truth that we have “mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won” (from “The Church's One Foundation”), she or he is given the opportunity to sing (with the support of others) exactly what she or he wanted to say.

When we are open to God's presence, and are surrounded by God's transforming grace, we are empowered to say the “Amen” to what is happening in the liturgy. It's deeply therapeutic to be able to stand in the midst of a community and add our “I believe this. So be it, Lord” to the chorus of faithful voices.

Fourth, we are given a safe place to repent. When we hear the words of Jesus, “No one can serve two masters” (Matthew 6: 24), and realize that we routinely attempt to serve several masters, we need a place to sort out our dilemma and change our direction. When we hear the words of Jesus, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43), and realize that we are always tempted to justify our actions by demonizing someone else, we need a place to sort out our dilemma and change direction. Worship is a safe place to do that. At least, it should be.

If worship is to be a safe place for repentance, there are two crucial requirements for preachers, musicians and liturgical planners. First, we have to craft worship that speaks powerfully about sin or people have no reason to change, and we have to craft worship that speaks powerfully about grace or they're too frightened to change. Second, we must not be frightened of the power of sign-acts and we must not be afraid to help people ritualize the crucial passages in their lives.

The mainstream church is often very squeamish about helping people with the “outward and visible” portion of their repentance. We're justifiably frightened that people will ask for re-baptism as part of a desperate attempt to get their lives back on track. But in our fright, we don't look for alternatives that will help people ritualize the mighty work of God's grace in calling them to a new life. For example, if a person realizes that she or he has been living as if the pursuit of money and career advancement were the most important thing in life, what greater symbol of God's justice-seeking grace could there be than the table of the Lord; the place where all are welcome regardless of income or status. What a gift it would be to invite such a person to help serve communion. What a restorative gift it could be to such a person to see the pain and the joy, the longing and the wonderment on the faces of those who come to eat the holy meal. We underestimate the power within the congregation to surround a person with grace. One of the things that worshipers often want to say to each other is “We are with you. We have walked in the same neighborhood in which you now walk, and we want to walk beside you.”

Worship can change us, but only when we let down our stubborn defenses long enough to feel the transforming grace of God. With our defenses in place, the best we can hope for is to come home from worship and say, “Nobody booed.” With our defenses down, and with an openness to God, we can joyfully leave worship saying, “I was changed. Thanks be to God.”