myopic pilgrim

I was looking for examples of iambic pentameter when I posted an Outgoing Message Sonnet for my voice mail’s outgoing message. I found John Donne’s poem, Batter My Heart. I ask you this, does Donne go too far?

Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

And you thought today’s “Jesus is my boyfriend” worship songs were inappropriate. Read the rest of this entry »

Go to any city of significant size and you can easily find the shops and restaurants you already know and love. I know and love them too. I’m wearing an Old Navy sweatshirt right now and typing at a desk I bought at Target. If I’m away from home and in the mood for Italian food, you can bet I’m asking if there’s an Olive Garden or Macaroni Grill nearby. And chances are there will be one nearby. It may not be authentic, but it’s delicious and it’s right next to Gap.

And let me just say this: Starbucks.

We All Sing the Same Songs

Our cities are becoming more and more the similar across. The homogenization of America isn’t a bad thing except for shaving off the personality of your city. Regional flavor is getting diluted. Do you ever feel like that in church? I’m a worship leader, so I’m thinking of that in particular.

I can go to a church in another state and be pretty confident I’ll know most of the songs. Which is great because it means I can join in on my first day without being distracted by my lack of familiarity. The downside is the same as thinking of Red Robin instead of that little hole-in-the-wall when I want a hamburger. I’ll get a perfectly fine burger, but I won’t get that vibe and flavor that I can’t get anywhere else. Read the rest of this entry »

Do you know how silly I feel saying crackers and grape juice when referring to communion elements? Even more silly than saying bread and wine when referring to crackers and grape juice.

Our first communion at Ascent: we invite people to examine their hearts before rising out of their seat to go to the communion table which was set off to the side. We encourage people to invite those sitting near them to celebrate the rite. Communion is, in part, our celebration of the unity between the Church and the Christ. It was never meant to be performed alone. One or two approach the table alone.

I don’t have the opportunity to participate. I’m too busy playing guitar. I shouldn’t be so concerned about setting the mood, but I can’t help myself. In my effort to create a place of active worshipers, I’ve placed myself and others in a position of passive spectators. We sing and we watch as others experience and engage God.

There are some leftover cups of Welch’s grape juice at the end of the evening. Three people, tray of tiny communion cups in hand, are drinking the grape juice that wasn’t used. It reminds me of the Roman Catholic practice of priests consuming the leftover wine (if one believes the bread and wine are truly Christ’s body and blood then one can’t just leave it lying around). Something in me cringes as they (we) guzzle the deep purple liquid down, throwing them back like frat boys downing shots of tequila, when only moments before, the juice was part of our sacred remembrance.