Today, she wasn’t sitting in her usual place by the window sipping Heineken and waiting for “callers.”  No, today was Wednesday, her day to go “to the burbs” and see how the other half lived.  She liked to shop in those big, fancy grocery stores with all those pretty people who would never frequent her regular haunts.  She had a whiskey voice, painted her make-up on with brush and roller and donned leather and spandex like a uniform – the requirements of her station.  It was rare for anyone to ever talk to her when she went there.  Indeed, it was more common to endure the leering gestures of young ne’er-do-wells under a dare. Or maybe the ‘GAP’ outfitted hard-bodies who only ever looked at her through their peripheral vision long enough to make her feel the sting of their unspoken judgments.

Today, something was different.

His appearance was that of anyone she might have met during any other visit to this bastion of pretension, role-playing, and economic benefit.  He wore no brand names that she could see and, for the most part, was indistinguishable from his rather astonished group of buddies (she counted 12) who pretended to be shopping nearby.  He politely asked her for the time.  She told him she never wore a watch.  Her instinctive reaction was that this guy was merely sizing her up like every other guy she’d ever met.  But something told her to stay and talk with him.  His eyes bespoke a certain gentleness and, contrary to the norm, never left hers.

“Funny, all this food around and so many hungry souls,” he said.

“Yeah, I watch the news.  You’re not one of them ‘bleedin’ heart’ types who gets sucked in by the skinny, little African kids on TV, are ya?”

“Well, actually I was speaking in a more…metaphorical sense.  I mean, people keep coming back again and again to this place, filling carts to overflowing with stuff that never ultimately satisfies.”

“People gotta eat, don’t they?”

“Sure.  But it’s what they don’t eat that keeps them hungry.”

She couldn’t decide whether she was annoyed enough at his rather enigmatic statements to promptly shut this down or intrigued enough to hang around for more.  She decided to take the plunge.

“Whaddya mean?  Eatin’s simple enough.  Ya eat, ya get hungry, ya buy more food.”

“True enough, but I can give you whole storage bins of food that will keep you going forever.”

“OK, count me in.  Where do I sign up?”

“Go get your husband and we’ll chat some more.”

She gazed at him incredulously.

“Yeah right.  Take a good look, buddy.  Do you really think I’m the marrying type?”

“Well, who was that guy who dumped you in the alley last week after he pretended to have good intentions?  You’re lucky to be alive.”

Silence.

“Uuuh… how’d you know about that?”

“You’d be surprised what I know about you.”

Normally a statement so bold and presumptuous would have frightened her to death.  Instead she stood mesmerized with curiosity. 

“Come on”, he said, “let’s us grab a coffee, I’ve got lots more to tell you.”

I often wonder how many “women at the Mart” we, and Christ by association, pass by every day.  How many such folks, who are branded as social losers whether spoken or implied, show up at our door each week?  How do such people find Jesus through our language, postures, and “guise” of faith? 

Picture the following: the second generation drug user, who has never been inside any church building, who not only doesn’t own a Bible but has never even seen one; the angry youth with self-imposed atheism and hatred of the establishment, especially religious, who stumbles upon us by sheer “accident” looking for the very answers she neither wants nor understands; the desperately bedraggled single Mom who, by incredible force of will against her body’s weary protests, pulls all three of her unimpressed children out of bed on Sunday morning to head to the church she has driven by dozens of times but who, today, inexplicably feels the need to attend; the fifty-one year old executive, let go by a boss half his age through “corporate down-sizing”, forced with the decision to take a 50% cut in pay or face entirely changing the only career he has ever known.  All that in a marketplace environment which worships “young and fresh”, disdaining whatever experience he has painstakingly accumulated over his 30 year career; the 15-year-old pastor’s daughter whose quest for attention and a “cool” testimony becomes pregnant casting her family’s reputation and ministry into disrepute and chaos; the high school drop out whose body bruises never have enough time to heal until more appear at the hands of an alcoholic father; the drug addicted mother whose “street time” is only interrupted long enough for her to disappear for days at a time to some crack house where her personal esteem can disappear even more….

Such are the ones to whom Jesus says, “come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest”.  Such are the ones who “once…were alienated from God…but now [are] reconciled…by Christ’s physical body through death….”  Such are the ones about whom Jesus says, “your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should be lost.”  Such are the ones we are called to seek and serve.  As disciples of Christ, what should we do in preparation for such a lofty and costly call?

 Whatever it takes.

Corporate worship, its liturgical direction and artistic support has, for many years, been a big part of my personal and professional life. In fact, for the past fifteen years it has been my bread and butter. Whether I have been involved as lay person or “professional” staff, these things have occupied much of my waking hours. I love to reflect on them. I’ve done so for many years now. The following is one of those.

“Worship” as defined by Webster’s Dictionary: “The act of paying reverence to God”.  Vine’s Expository Dictionary of New Testament Words defines worship this way: “to make obeisance (a bow or a bend of the knee indicating submission or homage); do reverence to.”  The original Greek word, “proskuneo” literally means, “to kiss toward”.  Moreover, our English word for worship is transliterated from the Old English, “worthschipe” denoting a sailing vessel of total reliability worthy of our complete trust.

The worship of God is nowhere defined in Scripture.  But, as we consider the 5 different biblical verbs used for worship we see that it is the act of praising God but not confined to it.  Broadly, worship “may be regarded as the direct acknowledgement of God, of God’s nature, attributes, ways and claims, whether by the outgoing of the heart in praise and thanksgiving or by deeds done in such acknowledgment” (Vine’s, pg. 236).  However, with so little in the way of specifics, worship is the central activity of the Christian church.

The words “Praise” and “Worship” are often used interchangeably in the Scriptures.  I believe this tells us that, insofar as the activity of worship is concerned, we worship God as we praise God.  We ascribe to God adoration, praise, honor and blessing as this is fitting for the created toward the Creator.

There is great blessing in the invitation of Jesus to ask, seek and knock.  As it relates to worship, it can provide a wonderful freedom to carve out a worship which is unique to each local congregation – like a tattoo delineating one group from another.  As the Church of Jesus Christ faces, together, the dawning of new things in her midst, a continued courage and commitment will reap rich reward in the future.

New endeavors in any field of inquiry will present many experiences, responses and potentialities which challenge the current understanding.  And, expanding our understanding of worship can become a wonderful expose of who is in our own faith communities seeking after meaning in Christ and for those already here who want to experience Jesus in a whole new way.

The art of seeking God in Christ is one which demands of us whole new ways of thinking and being. We are called upon by the God of grace and forgiveness to become small, needy and broken.  Herein lies the difficulty with our contemporary way of thinking, which suggests that to live is to accumulate, to produce, to do.  In this milieu, I most certainly journey, for even in writing this I am confronted with the reality that what God calls us to – honesty, integrity, humility and simplicity – is not simply an extra way to spend my time – but the only way.

I take a short break of posting about my accident of last year to post this:

Why is it that I practically live for Fridays? As a Presbyterian Church music director with a steady Sunday gig, Friday is my Sabbath. It is the day most likely to be given over to nothing. Such is the freedom given us in the created order: a day to waste. What is it about this day that engenders such anticipation all week and, at the same time, impatience once it arrives?

What will I do today? Better still, what will I not do today? What if I do the wrong things all day and I’m left dissatisfied, wanting for that unnamed thing I might otherwise have done? More likely, what if I waste the entire day second-guessing whether I did or didn’t do what I set out to do or not do?

This is what happens when we’re presented with one day is to live without agenda. Our ridiculously over-busy, to-do list driven lives train us well in the art of hectic minutiae. Like Pavlov’s dog, we salivate whenever bells ring or buzzers sound offering us the juicy bone of self-satisfied accomplishment.

Life is too often an unending romp in the fast-food ball pit with the rest of the over-sugared kids when what we need most is to find the turd at the bottom and get hastily pulled back out where it doesn’t smell so much like sweat and urine! At least when our ball pits of shame are roped off for sterilization we get to see the interesting faces of those with whom we have shared the experience.

The need to incessantly do something is built into the DNA of our fast food, sitcom culture. When we stumble across that rare soul who takes Sabbath rest seriously we think him lazy or even misguided. We glare disapprovingly over the tops of our day timers, cell phones at the ready, sitting impatiently, green-light souls at an eternal red light. Clearly time management skills wed to a lack of prioritization have led this irresponsible oaf to simply throw away an entire day. After all, we inwardly tell ourselves in congratulation, we are to “redeem the time for the days are short.”

However, when we do finally grace ourselves with even a single moment to reflect, we admit that we’re not a little envious of such a one. When envy moves over for curiosity that, in turn, births an inner longing, we stand on the doorstep of God’s gift of Sabbath rest.

Gotta go. I’m not finished wasting time…

Robert Rife, September 2, 2011 (but who’s counting?)