Let me start at the beginning.
A number of weeks ago, I received a flyer in my letterbox, inviting me to a "special Bible talk" being hosted at my local Kindgom Hall entitled 'Does Death End It All?'. As the Jehovah's Witnesses were already on my list of Christian churches to attend, I eagerly booked it in.
Over the next few weeks, news articles appeared in the media focusing on the denomination of Jehovah's Witnesses. I try to go into every church with an open mind and no pre-conceived ideas of what I may find, but these articles had me wondering exactly what I may be walking in to.
Jehovah's Witnesses 'A Cruel Cult' , and Slamming the door on Jehovah.
So I was nervous.
The 'talk' was at 1:30pm on a Sunday, which was strange, but not an unpleasant change from the mornings. The hall was only a few blocks from home, so I walked there, and as I got to the venue, was quickly embarrassed by my outfit. Don't get me wrong - it was super cute, but not the formal suit and tie or dinner dress the regulars were wearing. The hall was split into two levels, and as I walked into the lower level hall I was quickly told that 'my service was upstairs'.
I wasn't offended. I had clearly walked into an all African-American church meeting.
I headed up the stairs and was greeted at the door by a gentleman named Eric. Eric shook my hand and continued to hold it as he found out what on earth I was doing there. He seemed genuinely shocked I had responded to the flyer and was not here at the invitation of a fellow Witness. Still holding my hand, he walked me through the hall and introduced me to his wife, Mary.
No matter what I go on to say about my experience at this hall, let me be clear on this one point: Eric and Mary were the kindest, most welcoming people I have met this year. They stayed with me from when I walked in the door until I walked out it, in fact, several times offering me a lift home. They gave me ample opportunities to ask any questions I had and answered them politely and with humility. Mary made sure I was comfortable throughout the entire two and a half hours I was there, gently leaning in and whispering to me what was happening next, sharing her bible and songbook with me and even helping me put my cardigan on when I got stuck. With pride they introduced me to other Witnesses who came to say hello to me after the service. I was never a burden to them, never a responsibility. I truly felt like their honoured guest, and they had nowhere else to be, or nothing more important to do than take care of me.
So the rest then.
The hall was very plainly decorated. There was no iconography of any description. The walls were painted a neutral colour, the chairs were incredibly comfortable, perfect for long-term sitting, and the 'stage' area was a raised platform with a few chairs, a pulpit and a simple banner at the top reading the scripture Joshua 1:9:
'Be courageous and strong, Jehovah your God is with you.'
We opened with a song from the song book. I had to ask Mary where the music was coming from, as their was no band, or even pianist I could see. She explained it came from the sound desk, a backing track provided to the church. She chuckled that the pre-recorded music was a result of a 'lack of talent' on their part. However with no lead singer, the Witnesses sang quietly along to the backing track before we prayed and the Elder handed to another brother to deliver the 'special talk'.
I knew at this point I was the only visitor who had responded to their mailbox campaign.
'Does Death End It All' was not the talk I expected to hear from the Jehovah's Witnesses. It probably went for 15-20 minutes, and outlined their views on the human soul/spirit, death being 'the end of life', their denial of Heaven or Hell as a place that a human life would end up, and proposed the theory that life would be everlasting, to those who have faith, through resurrection at the day of judgement - that is, they will live forever on this earth.
I want to point out that for every view they mentioned, they turned to a verse in the bible to support their views. Now, as I've said before, I think there is great danger in 'verse hunting' - that is looking for the one liner that says what you want to prove your point - but they were diligent at bringing everything they said back to the bible.
Now I'm pretty familiar with the bible, so I should also mention at this point some of the verses they read sounded different than I'd heard them before. Which is when I realised the Jehovah's Witnesses have their own translation of the bible - the New World Translation. These guys are the only denomination who recognises this translation.
And that is moving into some pretty scary territory.
So while they diligently refer everything back to the bible, they refer it back to their interpretation of the bible. Several times throughout the afternoon they explained that their translation was accurate. Several times throughout the afternoon they declared their understanding to be the only truth. Several times throughout the afternoon I thought what a truly lonely religion they were a part of.
After the talk, the first Elder returned and made some brief announcements; Jehovah’s Witnesses were honoured to offer free in-home bible studies and if you wanted to arrange one, simply grab an attendant on the way out. Now; for this week’s Watchtower study.
Mary turned to me and whispered that it was bible study time, and was I happy to stay. I’d only been there for about thirty minutes, and if I left now I wouldn’t get to find out what really happened in their services, or get to talk to Mary properly, so of course I wanted to stay. Also, to leave now would mean to be the only person in the hall who stood up and walked out and I don’t like that sort of attention.
The bible study would go for an hour and a half.
Eric kindly handed me a new copy of the April Watchtower, which had this month’s studies inside. Mary and Eric's copies had notes all through them; they had done their homework.
It also hit me at this point that every Jehovah’s Witness in the world was doing the exact same study as us at this time. This is an organisation who are organised. And there is no room for movement at all.
What happened next was like a University tutorial with only mature aged students. An Elder would read a paragraph of the study, the Study Conductor would then ask a question about what had been read and the congregation would shoot up their hands for the opportunity to present their answer. A Ministerial Servant would come to them with a cordless microphone, they would answer perfectly (they’d clearly been studying all week) and the Study Conductor would nod proudly. We repeated this method for the rest of the service. I never did get to find out what happens if you get a wrong answer.
I can’t really criticise the structure. It was the most active, engaged congregation I’ve ever seen and no one appeared bored or restless. The repetition of information ensured everyone was learning what they were being taught.
The content worried me though. Everything we learned was about what makes the Jehovah’s Witness faith different from others, and how we know that it’s the only ‘true’ faith. They discussed the persecution they suffer, and the ‘privilege’ it is to serve Jehovah. This was them learning to be courageous and strong. I had no doubt these people have a very hard day-to-day existence. The tone was overwhelmingly like they were convincing themselves everything was okay; they were okay. It was an honour to be a Witness and they shouldn’t ever doubt why they were doing what they do.
We didn’t learn about Jesus. About what it means to be a person of faith. How we can make the world a better place. We didn’t learn about love. In my notes I scribbled: Is their entire life purpose to justify their denomination?
I’ve said enough for now.
I’m going to save Part II for when I’ve had a chance to go through the readings Mary & Eric gave me before I left; including three editions of Awake! Magazine and the book ‘What does the bible really teach?’ Also I'll give you all the goss on my chats with Mary and Eric about homosexuality, fornication & drunkenness. Oh, and of course, smoking.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Lucy's Church of Thought
I didn't go to church today. I was dressed and heading out the door to visit the Salvos at my local corps when it hit me - I don't know what the point of this is anymore.
If my goal is "to find a group of people living the life Jesus did", then for all intents and purposes, I've done that - five times already. Every church I've visited is full of people who are there to declare the name of their Lord, and offer Him praise.
I can write a list of ten things Jesus did while he was on earth, hell, I could write another twenty points, but does that make me a good judge of his character? Does that give me any idea what it means at all to live "like a Christian"?
I was Christian for ten years, from the age of thirteen. I joined the church because I already considered myself to be Christian. I knew there was a God, I knew He loved me and wanted to be a part of my life - so I actively sought out a group of people who would help me along my path to find Jesus.
Within months of joining the best church I'd found (I visited about four denominations with different friends before I decided Pentecostalism was the way for me) I'd been 'baptised in the Holy Ghost', evidenced by the speaking of tongues, baptised by full immersion in water, and been told that my mother and the rest of my family were all going to Hell. Unless I did something about it.
At this point, I began to question if this was right. This didn't match up with the God I knew in my heart. My mum was a good person, who did good things. I was no better than her. Why should she spend her eternity in flames, while I live in a castle with a golden path?
I spoke to one of the junior pastors about it and she said that while it was unfortunate, and seemed unfair, 'it was the truth'. When I accepted this answer, I signed up for ten more years of believing everything I was told - even when it didn't feel right in my heart.
It was a good ten years. I found people who loved me, an extended family who cared for me, wanted the best for my life. I found a purpose. I was special, called, chosen by God. I was a prophet, an evangelist, a disciple, a healer. I was a worship leader, a preacher, a person who heard directly from God.
But I never found peace.
In order to accept this new God, the one who allowed such punishment to occur, I had to place the blame elsewhere. It had to be my mum's fault. She was unrighteous, she refused to accept Jesus as her saviour. Maybe she didn't deserve Hell, but she chose it. In order to accept homosexuality as a sin, I had to believe that too, was a choice. Surely God wouldn't create someone with hopes and dreams and demand they live their life fighting against them. A God that creates us in His image wouldn't create us to suffer. So they must be choosing to be gay.
When you begin to see the world no longer as people - people who suffer, people who love, people who care, people who hurt - and only see them as sinners, it's hard to feel at home anywhere else except the walls of your church - with your people.
So what happens when you're betrayed by people inside your church? You have nowhere left at all.
When I was twenty-three, after a series of bad events, I found myself taking a month off church. I spoke to my pastor about it, I had regular meetings with her during this time, but I just wanted a little space, to find the God I'd known as a thirteen-year-old girl. After this month, I knew I wasn't a "Christian" anymore.
Ever since that day, when I was made to accept my family's eternal damnation, I'd accepted every other aspect of the Pentecostal faith. When I didn't trust my pastors anymore, I went back to the very beginning, and decided to trust that little feeling in my heart that says "this is right, or this is wrong". I started at the book of Genesis, chapter one.
Did I believe God created the world? I guessed so. I had no reason not to. I've never personally met a scientist who could prove to me otherwise, and surely the beauty of the world was enough to accept it was a masterpiece, not a random reaction. Next.
Did I believe that Eve ate the apple because the snake told her to? Um. No. I guess not. I'm pretty sure that if you said to me I could have anything I wanted, except that one, tiny thing, and you weren't around to keep an eye on me, my selfish human nature, my curiosity, my free will, would be enough to make me take a bite.
If you don't believe the world has an enemy, suddenly, there's no need for a saviour. Suddenly, Jesus didn't die on the cross to save me from Hell. Suddenly, Jesus died to teach me how to live. And this is a totally different ball game.
Skip forward five years, and here we are. One girl, who isn't prepared to compromise what she feels in her heart is right, seeing if there is still room for Jesus in her life. I no longer see the world as full of sinners, rather full of choice. And if your choice is different from mine, it doesn't make one better than the other, it makes it yours, not mine.
You see, I could find a church that meets the ten 'criteria' I set at the start of this exercise, but I still wouldn't join them. Not if the center of their faith wasn't love. Love that accepts all as equals, love that doesn't require a person to change who they are in order to be accepted.
Let's pretend (because I'd never be so arrogant as to assume I am) I'm right, and there isn't an enemy, a devil. Lets pretend for a bit it's just us. Then what is it that stops the world being like 'Heaven'? It's just us. It's our choices, our free will, our selfish human nature.
I'm going to keep visiting churches, but my agenda is clearer to me now: Find people who want to see Heaven on earth. Find people who use the teachings of Jesus in a real and relevant way. Find people who accept everyone, as they are. Find people who love.
If my goal is "to find a group of people living the life Jesus did", then for all intents and purposes, I've done that - five times already. Every church I've visited is full of people who are there to declare the name of their Lord, and offer Him praise.
I can write a list of ten things Jesus did while he was on earth, hell, I could write another twenty points, but does that make me a good judge of his character? Does that give me any idea what it means at all to live "like a Christian"?
I was Christian for ten years, from the age of thirteen. I joined the church because I already considered myself to be Christian. I knew there was a God, I knew He loved me and wanted to be a part of my life - so I actively sought out a group of people who would help me along my path to find Jesus.
Within months of joining the best church I'd found (I visited about four denominations with different friends before I decided Pentecostalism was the way for me) I'd been 'baptised in the Holy Ghost', evidenced by the speaking of tongues, baptised by full immersion in water, and been told that my mother and the rest of my family were all going to Hell. Unless I did something about it.
At this point, I began to question if this was right. This didn't match up with the God I knew in my heart. My mum was a good person, who did good things. I was no better than her. Why should she spend her eternity in flames, while I live in a castle with a golden path?
I spoke to one of the junior pastors about it and she said that while it was unfortunate, and seemed unfair, 'it was the truth'. When I accepted this answer, I signed up for ten more years of believing everything I was told - even when it didn't feel right in my heart.
It was a good ten years. I found people who loved me, an extended family who cared for me, wanted the best for my life. I found a purpose. I was special, called, chosen by God. I was a prophet, an evangelist, a disciple, a healer. I was a worship leader, a preacher, a person who heard directly from God.
But I never found peace.
In order to accept this new God, the one who allowed such punishment to occur, I had to place the blame elsewhere. It had to be my mum's fault. She was unrighteous, she refused to accept Jesus as her saviour. Maybe she didn't deserve Hell, but she chose it. In order to accept homosexuality as a sin, I had to believe that too, was a choice. Surely God wouldn't create someone with hopes and dreams and demand they live their life fighting against them. A God that creates us in His image wouldn't create us to suffer. So they must be choosing to be gay.
When you begin to see the world no longer as people - people who suffer, people who love, people who care, people who hurt - and only see them as sinners, it's hard to feel at home anywhere else except the walls of your church - with your people.
So what happens when you're betrayed by people inside your church? You have nowhere left at all.
When I was twenty-three, after a series of bad events, I found myself taking a month off church. I spoke to my pastor about it, I had regular meetings with her during this time, but I just wanted a little space, to find the God I'd known as a thirteen-year-old girl. After this month, I knew I wasn't a "Christian" anymore.
Ever since that day, when I was made to accept my family's eternal damnation, I'd accepted every other aspect of the Pentecostal faith. When I didn't trust my pastors anymore, I went back to the very beginning, and decided to trust that little feeling in my heart that says "this is right, or this is wrong". I started at the book of Genesis, chapter one.
Did I believe God created the world? I guessed so. I had no reason not to. I've never personally met a scientist who could prove to me otherwise, and surely the beauty of the world was enough to accept it was a masterpiece, not a random reaction. Next.
Did I believe that Eve ate the apple because the snake told her to? Um. No. I guess not. I'm pretty sure that if you said to me I could have anything I wanted, except that one, tiny thing, and you weren't around to keep an eye on me, my selfish human nature, my curiosity, my free will, would be enough to make me take a bite.
If you don't believe the world has an enemy, suddenly, there's no need for a saviour. Suddenly, Jesus didn't die on the cross to save me from Hell. Suddenly, Jesus died to teach me how to live. And this is a totally different ball game.
Skip forward five years, and here we are. One girl, who isn't prepared to compromise what she feels in her heart is right, seeing if there is still room for Jesus in her life. I no longer see the world as full of sinners, rather full of choice. And if your choice is different from mine, it doesn't make one better than the other, it makes it yours, not mine.
You see, I could find a church that meets the ten 'criteria' I set at the start of this exercise, but I still wouldn't join them. Not if the center of their faith wasn't love. Love that accepts all as equals, love that doesn't require a person to change who they are in order to be accepted.
Let's pretend (because I'd never be so arrogant as to assume I am) I'm right, and there isn't an enemy, a devil. Lets pretend for a bit it's just us. Then what is it that stops the world being like 'Heaven'? It's just us. It's our choices, our free will, our selfish human nature.
I'm going to keep visiting churches, but my agenda is clearer to me now: Find people who want to see Heaven on earth. Find people who use the teachings of Jesus in a real and relevant way. Find people who accept everyone, as they are. Find people who love.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Beit HaMashiach Massianic Congregation
Shabbat Shalom my friends!
Today my search for people who live like Jesus did took me to a special congregation. These people live more like Jesus than any other church I've visited - how so you ask?
They're Jewish - just like Jesus was.
Their mission is to build a messianic community of Jews and Gentiles who are living testimony for Messiah Yeshua* (Jesus Christ). They are Jewish people, who believe Yeshua was the messiah, and the fulfillment of the prophecies of the old testament. I began this journey because I thought the modern Christian church had lost its way, and the idea of taking it right back to the very first concept of the church post-Jesus was an opportunity I couldn't miss.
I was fifteen minutes early to the church, but had no trouble finding my way in - people were flocking into the place. They were dressed in colour (I'd been nervous they might have worn more traditional Jewish atire and my flower leggings would cause a stir) and were happy and alive. Some of the men were wearing yamakas - but it didn't seem like a dress code. I was offered a newsletter at the door by a smiling Greek woman and took this moment to address my biggest mistake of the morning - I'd forgotten my notebook.
I told the woman I liked to take notes during the service, but I'd left my journal at home. I asked if there would be any scrap paper I could borrow?
Why yes, she said - I can go get you some. But I can't leave the door. Could you hand these out?
I gladly took her newsletters and proceeded to welcome the congregation and hand them a newsletter, while she gathered me up some loose papers. No one batted an eyelid or questioned who the girl in the doorway handing out newsletters was. I was instantly accepted as normal.
I thanked her kindly and as I entered the sanctuary I was welcomed by another lady in a colourful blouse. She asked what had led me to their congregation and I explained that I was interested in the teachings of Jesus but I feared the modern church was occasionally misguided.
"Westernised," she agreed.
A man walked past and shook our hands with a "Shabbat Shalom" and my friend explained to me this was the sabbath greeting.
About that - I said - why do you have church on a Saturday? She explained that the seventh day is a Saturday, but the Christian church has westernised their sabbath. She added that it really doesn't matter to God anyway, if He was bothered by things like that we'd never hear from Him.
I took a seat up the back and cursed myself for not bringing a fan. This room was hot, and filling up fast. It was going to be another uncomfortable morning.
The service began with a song. It was in Hebrew. The band was made up of a keyboard player, an acoustic guitar and a small wooden recorder. The vocalist had quite possibly the most stunning singing voice I have ever heard, but in total humility, she sang only to her Messiah. There was a circle of women and small children up the front dancing and the happiness in the room was tangible.
After the song, the Massianic Rabbi, Lawrence, invited the congregation to share "Shabbat Shalom" which I then naively realised was their equivalent of "peace be with you". People didn't get out of their seats and make a huge deal of this like they had at St John's, but again the gesture was beautiful.
Lawrence was a natural leader, he was very comfortable in front of his congregation. He was relaxed, funny and controlled. He led his people through some prayers and acapella songs, all in Hebrew, before we returned to the praise music, again in Hebrew.
I was taken back by how truly wonderful it was to hear the words of Jesus being spoken in his own language, and in turn, how lovely it was to sing back to him this way. The overhead provided the translation, so you weren't praising in ignorance, but it was making again an effort to be as Christ-like as possible.
By this time in the worship a string section had appeared, a cello and violin were adding to the glorious sound being made by these musicians. The room was filling up with worship, singing and dancing, nothing was for show - but everything was beautiful. I found myself getting caught in the worship. It was quite a spiritual moment for me. Maybe this could be the place where tradition and spirituality align.
During the announcements made by Louise, Lawrence's wife, she discussed the issue of yamakas. She had been walking around during the music offering them to the men to wear. She said that while they were under no obligation to do so, could they consider wearing a yamaka when they come to the service to make their visitors feel more comfortable. She said they have a lot of traditional visitors who may take offence to seeing men with their heads uncovered, and she would always have spares every week if anyone would like to borrow one for the service. I felt she handled this in the most perfect way. I have old, old memories of my congregants back in Tassie being told they had to "dress nice, wear suits" to a particular event our church was hosting for the community. Some of our congregants didn't have suits, and as a result, felt separated from their own church, and couldn't attend the event. I loved her opening - with no obligation to do so - and offered to provide for people who couldn't/didn't have their own. No judgement, no expectation, only love for her congregation and her visitors.
It was a very interactive service for the next while, we blessed the children, met a new congregant and an old one who was visiting, we watched a DVD of some members recent mission trip to India and were played a song from the very eccentric, very passionate David.
David was prophesying about the movements of the spirit of God in the world. He used words like "revival" that I haven't heard in years, and was getting quite worked up. I was watching Lawrence during this slightly uncomfortable outburst of David's. I couldn't tell if he was okay with it. He had invited him up to share his song, but he looked concerned. Maybe this was just his regular face, but I knew if it was my church, I'd be wanting to take control back pretty quickly. There did seem to be a bit of an "open floor" policy going on, which I wasn't expecting to find in this church. For as traditional as its teachings appeared to be, it was so relaxed, so comfortable. People seemed empowered. I guess having an occasional member get a little over excited is the pay off.
Lawrence's sermon was from Matthew 3:1-17. He did something totally unique with his message, something I'd never seen done before. He taught the bible - nothing more, nothing less. He simply read the passage, and explained it. There was no moral to his story, no anecdote, no topic. In fact, over the year he'd been teaching the entire book of Matthew. Verse by verse. He told his congregations what the different interpretations of different scriptures could be, suggested which he thought seemed most likely, but encouraged people to study for their own interpretations. It was a history lesson, but it was well done, intelligent and no nonsense.
However, I need to be honest and tell you exactly what I'd written in my notes at this point.
Service is too long, auditorium is too hot
I was getting cranky. All my spiritual feelings had melted away. The heat was making me yawn, the pews were hurting my back and I stank of my own sweat. I was ready to leave now, but the service showed no signs of being over. Even at Uni we got a ten minute break in during our lectures. I needed a break. I needed water and I needed air.
I'm going to come back in winter
I was seriously about to cave and give in when Lawrence closed the meeting, inviting anyone who needed prayer to come to the front. We closed with the same happy Shabbat Shalom song we'd opened with. I really did like the music here. I had a feeling God would too.
I waited until almost everyone had left the sanctuary before I accepted no one was going to come say hello to me. Plenty of people saw me, made eye contact, but kept about their thing. The main difference I'm finding between "traditional" churches and more modern churches is the way the handle visitors. They're not looking for numbers, for a new member of the gang. They are kind and welcoming, but they're not rostering on someone who's job it is to say hi to me. I'm okay with this, because it seems more genuine, but I really like getting to meet and chat with people after.
I took myself to the tea room, because I wasn't going anywhere until I'd drunk some water, and I wandered awkwardly around the hundred or so people there talking amongst themselves. Eventually one lady came over to me and asked who I was. We found common ground in my Pentecostal background, her two sons were in the Pentecostal church so we chatted for a few minutes, until she excused herself.
"Sorry. I've got to catch up with some other people" and she left me, alone again. I was pretty bummed I didn't get to talk to anyone else after the service. I wanted to tell them all how much I loved it - how I felt connected to something I hadn't in years. But they wanted to eat cake and chat to each other. I can't blame them, I don't normally like meeting new people either - but I was disappointed.
Oh - I can't finish this report until I quote a bit from the church's newsletter - after "Our Mission" is a heading "Our Core Values" and just under Preeminence of Messiah was this value:
We believe that love must undergird all aspects of our ministry and community.
Is it possible that I've found a church, who deliver much of their service in Hebrew, speaking my language?
Guess I'm going back in winter to find out.
~
*The name Yeshua is used by followers of Messianic Judaism who wish to use what they consider to be Jesus' Hebrew or Aramaic name.
Today my search for people who live like Jesus did took me to a special congregation. These people live more like Jesus than any other church I've visited - how so you ask?
They're Jewish - just like Jesus was.
Their mission is to build a messianic community of Jews and Gentiles who are living testimony for Messiah Yeshua* (Jesus Christ). They are Jewish people, who believe Yeshua was the messiah, and the fulfillment of the prophecies of the old testament. I began this journey because I thought the modern Christian church had lost its way, and the idea of taking it right back to the very first concept of the church post-Jesus was an opportunity I couldn't miss.
I was fifteen minutes early to the church, but had no trouble finding my way in - people were flocking into the place. They were dressed in colour (I'd been nervous they might have worn more traditional Jewish atire and my flower leggings would cause a stir) and were happy and alive. Some of the men were wearing yamakas - but it didn't seem like a dress code. I was offered a newsletter at the door by a smiling Greek woman and took this moment to address my biggest mistake of the morning - I'd forgotten my notebook.
I told the woman I liked to take notes during the service, but I'd left my journal at home. I asked if there would be any scrap paper I could borrow?
Why yes, she said - I can go get you some. But I can't leave the door. Could you hand these out?
I gladly took her newsletters and proceeded to welcome the congregation and hand them a newsletter, while she gathered me up some loose papers. No one batted an eyelid or questioned who the girl in the doorway handing out newsletters was. I was instantly accepted as normal.
I thanked her kindly and as I entered the sanctuary I was welcomed by another lady in a colourful blouse. She asked what had led me to their congregation and I explained that I was interested in the teachings of Jesus but I feared the modern church was occasionally misguided.
"Westernised," she agreed.
A man walked past and shook our hands with a "Shabbat Shalom" and my friend explained to me this was the sabbath greeting.
About that - I said - why do you have church on a Saturday? She explained that the seventh day is a Saturday, but the Christian church has westernised their sabbath. She added that it really doesn't matter to God anyway, if He was bothered by things like that we'd never hear from Him.
I took a seat up the back and cursed myself for not bringing a fan. This room was hot, and filling up fast. It was going to be another uncomfortable morning.
The service began with a song. It was in Hebrew. The band was made up of a keyboard player, an acoustic guitar and a small wooden recorder. The vocalist had quite possibly the most stunning singing voice I have ever heard, but in total humility, she sang only to her Messiah. There was a circle of women and small children up the front dancing and the happiness in the room was tangible.
After the song, the Massianic Rabbi, Lawrence, invited the congregation to share "Shabbat Shalom" which I then naively realised was their equivalent of "peace be with you". People didn't get out of their seats and make a huge deal of this like they had at St John's, but again the gesture was beautiful.
Lawrence was a natural leader, he was very comfortable in front of his congregation. He was relaxed, funny and controlled. He led his people through some prayers and acapella songs, all in Hebrew, before we returned to the praise music, again in Hebrew.
I was taken back by how truly wonderful it was to hear the words of Jesus being spoken in his own language, and in turn, how lovely it was to sing back to him this way. The overhead provided the translation, so you weren't praising in ignorance, but it was making again an effort to be as Christ-like as possible.
By this time in the worship a string section had appeared, a cello and violin were adding to the glorious sound being made by these musicians. The room was filling up with worship, singing and dancing, nothing was for show - but everything was beautiful. I found myself getting caught in the worship. It was quite a spiritual moment for me. Maybe this could be the place where tradition and spirituality align.
During the announcements made by Louise, Lawrence's wife, she discussed the issue of yamakas. She had been walking around during the music offering them to the men to wear. She said that while they were under no obligation to do so, could they consider wearing a yamaka when they come to the service to make their visitors feel more comfortable. She said they have a lot of traditional visitors who may take offence to seeing men with their heads uncovered, and she would always have spares every week if anyone would like to borrow one for the service. I felt she handled this in the most perfect way. I have old, old memories of my congregants back in Tassie being told they had to "dress nice, wear suits" to a particular event our church was hosting for the community. Some of our congregants didn't have suits, and as a result, felt separated from their own church, and couldn't attend the event. I loved her opening - with no obligation to do so - and offered to provide for people who couldn't/didn't have their own. No judgement, no expectation, only love for her congregation and her visitors.
It was a very interactive service for the next while, we blessed the children, met a new congregant and an old one who was visiting, we watched a DVD of some members recent mission trip to India and were played a song from the very eccentric, very passionate David.
David was prophesying about the movements of the spirit of God in the world. He used words like "revival" that I haven't heard in years, and was getting quite worked up. I was watching Lawrence during this slightly uncomfortable outburst of David's. I couldn't tell if he was okay with it. He had invited him up to share his song, but he looked concerned. Maybe this was just his regular face, but I knew if it was my church, I'd be wanting to take control back pretty quickly. There did seem to be a bit of an "open floor" policy going on, which I wasn't expecting to find in this church. For as traditional as its teachings appeared to be, it was so relaxed, so comfortable. People seemed empowered. I guess having an occasional member get a little over excited is the pay off.
Lawrence's sermon was from Matthew 3:1-17. He did something totally unique with his message, something I'd never seen done before. He taught the bible - nothing more, nothing less. He simply read the passage, and explained it. There was no moral to his story, no anecdote, no topic. In fact, over the year he'd been teaching the entire book of Matthew. Verse by verse. He told his congregations what the different interpretations of different scriptures could be, suggested which he thought seemed most likely, but encouraged people to study for their own interpretations. It was a history lesson, but it was well done, intelligent and no nonsense.
However, I need to be honest and tell you exactly what I'd written in my notes at this point.
Service is too long, auditorium is too hot
I was getting cranky. All my spiritual feelings had melted away. The heat was making me yawn, the pews were hurting my back and I stank of my own sweat. I was ready to leave now, but the service showed no signs of being over. Even at Uni we got a ten minute break in during our lectures. I needed a break. I needed water and I needed air.
I'm going to come back in winter
I was seriously about to cave and give in when Lawrence closed the meeting, inviting anyone who needed prayer to come to the front. We closed with the same happy Shabbat Shalom song we'd opened with. I really did like the music here. I had a feeling God would too.
I waited until almost everyone had left the sanctuary before I accepted no one was going to come say hello to me. Plenty of people saw me, made eye contact, but kept about their thing. The main difference I'm finding between "traditional" churches and more modern churches is the way the handle visitors. They're not looking for numbers, for a new member of the gang. They are kind and welcoming, but they're not rostering on someone who's job it is to say hi to me. I'm okay with this, because it seems more genuine, but I really like getting to meet and chat with people after.
I took myself to the tea room, because I wasn't going anywhere until I'd drunk some water, and I wandered awkwardly around the hundred or so people there talking amongst themselves. Eventually one lady came over to me and asked who I was. We found common ground in my Pentecostal background, her two sons were in the Pentecostal church so we chatted for a few minutes, until she excused herself.
"Sorry. I've got to catch up with some other people" and she left me, alone again. I was pretty bummed I didn't get to talk to anyone else after the service. I wanted to tell them all how much I loved it - how I felt connected to something I hadn't in years. But they wanted to eat cake and chat to each other. I can't blame them, I don't normally like meeting new people either - but I was disappointed.
Oh - I can't finish this report until I quote a bit from the church's newsletter - after "Our Mission" is a heading "Our Core Values" and just under Preeminence of Messiah was this value:
We believe that love must undergird all aspects of our ministry and community.
Is it possible that I've found a church, who deliver much of their service in Hebrew, speaking my language?
Guess I'm going back in winter to find out.
~
*The name Yeshua is used by followers of Messianic Judaism who wish to use what they consider to be Jesus' Hebrew or Aramaic name.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
St John's Anglican Church
I wanted to go to a Greek Orthodox church this week. I'd caught a cab home on Thursday after dinner with a friend, and the cabbie was telling us about his heritage.
Are you Greek Orthodox? I spat at him excitedly.
Yes I am.
Is it true you're allowed to drink at your church?
This is my previous knowledge of Greek Orthodox - a relaxed bunch who don't mind a drink or two. I asked the cabbie if I could go to his church and he said sure, but not to expect him there - it wasn't Christmas.
Turns out, it isn't that easy to go along to a Greek Orthodox church. They've got a website that lists locations, but not mass times. I contacted the Reverend but he didn't get back to me. I drove by the church on Saturday and there was no sign out the front.
I had two options; get there at 6:30am and hang around until something happened, or go to the Anglican church down the road.
I made the right choice.
St John's was warm and inviting. Although I slipped past the welcome team, the layout of the church itself was so open and light that it made me feel totally comfortable heading in and grabbing a seat. I'd been there about thirty seconds when an older member of the congregation, Marion, came over and asked me if I'd been given a "Gratis". She told me she was going to "sack those girls" out the front for not doing their job. I laughed (because she was clearly joking) and said it was fine; they were having a nice chat amongst themselves.
"They're not supposed to do that," she grumbled and I smiled. She was at ease with me - it was refreshing. She asked me where I was from and if I would like to sit with her and her friends. I declined, because I wanted to be able to make my notes and not bother anyone, but it struck me it was the first time in this quest of mine that anyone has invited me to sit with them. I hope she knows how much it meant to me that she offered - even though I declined.
After the announcements made by the Reverend, a young man presumably in his early thirties, we stood and sang a song together. It was a five verse hymn, and it felt like we were singing a Christmas carol. We were accompanied by an acoustic guitar, electric bass and a piano. These musicians weren't trying to be rockstars, they were very comfortable taking a back seat to the congregation. I could hear the Reverend singing along in the front row. He sang with enthusiasm and a genuine heart of praise. I liked him.
We then prayed together from a prayer on the screen. It was explained that we read along to the text in bold. It was these little hints that made me more comfortable than I had been in any other church so far. It didn't matter if you didn't know what to do - they'd help you out.
There were several bible readings throughout the service, read by different members of the congregation. I was thinking about these readings, and how they really stand out from my previous experience of church.
In my old church, sure we read the bible - we loved the bible. But we'd probably look at one or two verses, and they'd be discussed in detail, offering an interpretation of its meaning, and a "real life" application. The opposite of that, is to read a large portion of scripture, and then just sit back down.
I'm seeing pros and cons of each method. Taking a scripture out of context can be risky - you can probably swing it to whatever meaning you want it to have. You can provide a false interpretation, which is damaging to your congregation. But without being able to apply the "Word of God" to your life, it's just words surely. We might know that Jesus washed the feet of the disciples, but unless we understand what he was trying to achieve here, our real life application is to go out and offer foot baths to strangers.
The sermon delivered by Rev. Phillip was an interpretation of the Beatitudes and how they can be applied for "living a heavenly life on earth". I felt like he was reaching a nice compromise between over interpreting the bible, while still helping his congregants use the scripture in a practical way. Although at some points, I must admit I did think he was using the scripture to make his point, not making his point with scripture - if you can pick up on the subtle difference.
Regardless, I thought the Reverend's passion, and his big smile, were infectious.
There were probably about fifty people in St John's church, but when they were invited to "share peace" around, they all got out of their seats and walked around the hall, shaking hands, smiling and saying "peace be with you" to any one they could find. At least ten people came up to me, with such grace and sincerity. I couldn't help but smile and say "peace be with you" back. I wondered why every denomination doesn't do this. It is just the best. If you're not Christian, even if you don't believe in God, what a wonderful exercise to shake the hand of a stranger and wish them peace. Marion, of course, made a B line for me and gave me a lovely hand shake and introduced me to the people near by.
Communion was issued to the congregation by their coming to the front of the room and kneeling at the altar. If I was looking for a modern act of humility, this could well be it. For communion the adults were offered a gluten-free wafer and drank from the cup of wine and the children were given a sticker - too cute. I enjoyed watching the two littlies in front of me proudly show off their stickers to each other.
After the service I was greeted by Lisa, the Reverend's wife. Lisa introduced me to a a few other congregants who again seemed comfortable to be talking to a visitor and genuinely interested in who I was. I was able to tell them that I planned on writing about my time at their church, and they were all interested to read it. I had a nice chat to Reverend Phillip himself about how my journey had led me to them on this hot, summers morning.
It was so liberating to be able to talk freely to a group of people I had known for such a little time, but the people I met at St John's were kind and warm. And I assured them I'd definitely come back and visit again.
Are you Greek Orthodox? I spat at him excitedly.
Yes I am.
Is it true you're allowed to drink at your church?
This is my previous knowledge of Greek Orthodox - a relaxed bunch who don't mind a drink or two. I asked the cabbie if I could go to his church and he said sure, but not to expect him there - it wasn't Christmas.
Turns out, it isn't that easy to go along to a Greek Orthodox church. They've got a website that lists locations, but not mass times. I contacted the Reverend but he didn't get back to me. I drove by the church on Saturday and there was no sign out the front.
I had two options; get there at 6:30am and hang around until something happened, or go to the Anglican church down the road.
I made the right choice.
St John's was warm and inviting. Although I slipped past the welcome team, the layout of the church itself was so open and light that it made me feel totally comfortable heading in and grabbing a seat. I'd been there about thirty seconds when an older member of the congregation, Marion, came over and asked me if I'd been given a "Gratis". She told me she was going to "sack those girls" out the front for not doing their job. I laughed (because she was clearly joking) and said it was fine; they were having a nice chat amongst themselves.
"They're not supposed to do that," she grumbled and I smiled. She was at ease with me - it was refreshing. She asked me where I was from and if I would like to sit with her and her friends. I declined, because I wanted to be able to make my notes and not bother anyone, but it struck me it was the first time in this quest of mine that anyone has invited me to sit with them. I hope she knows how much it meant to me that she offered - even though I declined.
After the announcements made by the Reverend, a young man presumably in his early thirties, we stood and sang a song together. It was a five verse hymn, and it felt like we were singing a Christmas carol. We were accompanied by an acoustic guitar, electric bass and a piano. These musicians weren't trying to be rockstars, they were very comfortable taking a back seat to the congregation. I could hear the Reverend singing along in the front row. He sang with enthusiasm and a genuine heart of praise. I liked him.
We then prayed together from a prayer on the screen. It was explained that we read along to the text in bold. It was these little hints that made me more comfortable than I had been in any other church so far. It didn't matter if you didn't know what to do - they'd help you out.
There were several bible readings throughout the service, read by different members of the congregation. I was thinking about these readings, and how they really stand out from my previous experience of church.
In my old church, sure we read the bible - we loved the bible. But we'd probably look at one or two verses, and they'd be discussed in detail, offering an interpretation of its meaning, and a "real life" application. The opposite of that, is to read a large portion of scripture, and then just sit back down.
I'm seeing pros and cons of each method. Taking a scripture out of context can be risky - you can probably swing it to whatever meaning you want it to have. You can provide a false interpretation, which is damaging to your congregation. But without being able to apply the "Word of God" to your life, it's just words surely. We might know that Jesus washed the feet of the disciples, but unless we understand what he was trying to achieve here, our real life application is to go out and offer foot baths to strangers.
The sermon delivered by Rev. Phillip was an interpretation of the Beatitudes and how they can be applied for "living a heavenly life on earth". I felt like he was reaching a nice compromise between over interpreting the bible, while still helping his congregants use the scripture in a practical way. Although at some points, I must admit I did think he was using the scripture to make his point, not making his point with scripture - if you can pick up on the subtle difference.
Regardless, I thought the Reverend's passion, and his big smile, were infectious.
There were probably about fifty people in St John's church, but when they were invited to "share peace" around, they all got out of their seats and walked around the hall, shaking hands, smiling and saying "peace be with you" to any one they could find. At least ten people came up to me, with such grace and sincerity. I couldn't help but smile and say "peace be with you" back. I wondered why every denomination doesn't do this. It is just the best. If you're not Christian, even if you don't believe in God, what a wonderful exercise to shake the hand of a stranger and wish them peace. Marion, of course, made a B line for me and gave me a lovely hand shake and introduced me to the people near by.
Communion was issued to the congregation by their coming to the front of the room and kneeling at the altar. If I was looking for a modern act of humility, this could well be it. For communion the adults were offered a gluten-free wafer and drank from the cup of wine and the children were given a sticker - too cute. I enjoyed watching the two littlies in front of me proudly show off their stickers to each other.
After the service I was greeted by Lisa, the Reverend's wife. Lisa introduced me to a a few other congregants who again seemed comfortable to be talking to a visitor and genuinely interested in who I was. I was able to tell them that I planned on writing about my time at their church, and they were all interested to read it. I had a nice chat to Reverend Phillip himself about how my journey had led me to them on this hot, summers morning.
It was so liberating to be able to talk freely to a group of people I had known for such a little time, but the people I met at St John's were kind and warm. And I assured them I'd definitely come back and visit again.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
St Francis' Catholic Church
When I get up on a Sunday morning to go to church I think about two things.
#1 I'm really impressed by people who do this every week. Don't they know they could be going out for breakfast?
#2 I did this every week for ten years.
It's pretty easy to fall out of the habit of going to church. It's pretty easy to make Sunday you're laziest day of the week. It's pretty easy to sleep in, eat hash browns and walk the dog. Going to church is a commitment. It's a discipline. And you have to respect anyone who does it - for those reasons alone.
When I decided I would go to a Catholic church this week, because I don't personally know any Catholics here in Melbourne, I took to Google. I quickly found the website for St Francis', Victoria's oldest Catholic church. I learned the 11am mass had a choir, and their address. That was enough info for me. What I didn't notice in the finer print, was that St Francis' is "is the busiest church in Australia, with forty-three masses and over 10,000 visiting worshippers each week."
I arrived at 10:55am. People were rushing inside the church as the 10am congregants were rushing out. It was the most bustling, alive church I'd ever seen. I got handed an order of service, but without eye contact or a "Good morning". There were simply too many bodies to move quickly for any dillydallying. People know their way around here, and they assume you do too. Actually, they don't even notice you to see if you may need help. They just don't have time too.
I'd been in the door twenty seconds when I realised how out of place I was. People were taking water to their heads from bowls or dishes. They were bowing and kneeling and crossing their chests as they entered the hall. I became very nervous that my ignorance may result in offense I didn't want to do anything wrong, but I couldn't pretend I knew what I was supposed to be doing. And there was certainly nobody I could ask.
I sat towards the back, not wanting to be in the way, but I was forced to squeeze over three times to make room for more people. The church filled up fast. People stood in the isles. Nobody engaged with anyone. I got the sense quite quickly these people know what they came for, and that's what they were doing.
A brass band warmed up and I could smell burning. My TV knowledge of the Catholic church assured me not to worry, it was unlikely anything was on fire that wasn't supposed to be, but because the hall was so full I could hardly see what was happening. An announcement was made that the procession was about to commence and for all congregants to keep their personal items with them at all times. This warning made me feel sad, as surely this was a consequence of being a large church in the centre of the city. Not all your visitors had pure intentions.
As the choir and several other people entered the church, I began to feel like I was having the most religious experience of my life. A massive organ filled the hall with sound. The timpani were banging and the choir were belting out in worship. It felt epic.
To give you a sense of how out of place and ignorant I was feeling at this stage, I recognised one of the hymns from an episode of Mr Bean. People kept coming, and coming. Where were they all parked? They hadn't been on my tram. I knew now, this was the biggest church I'd ever been in. I was beginning to wish for some personal space, especially as the young girl next to me kept reading my notes over my shoulder. In her defence -I was the only person there with a notebook.
While the choir performed I took in my surrounds. The paintings of Jesus threw me. He didn't look like a saviour, like the hero they were singing about. He looked defeated. He looked afraid.
We were read to from the gospel of Luke, 5:1-11. Reverend Dr Pat Negri then took to the pulpit to deliver a short message, but the most shocking I've ever heard. I was so excited to be in the congregation for this moment.
The Reverend Dr spoke of how Simon Peter trusted Jesus more than his own experience. Simon was a fisherman, and knew it was hopeless to cast his net during the day. But he did what Jesus told him to do and they caught so many fish their nets began to break. Simon Peter was a humble man, an honest man, and he fell at Jesus' knees acknowledging his own sinfulness and begging Jesus leave him. Jesus had no intention of leaving Simon Peter - he doesn't mind having a sinner for a companion.
Reverend Dr Negri then turned his attention to the scandal of the Catholic church. They have been too slow to admit their guilt, but should follow the example set by Simon Peter. He said that while the church felt deep sorrow over the harm done to the small children, they never displayed this grief in public. And that was wrong.
He said the public expect the church be perfect, a sinless bride of Christ. That the clergymen stand on pedestals, displaying no signs of weakness. But how far this was from reality.
He called the church to a time for renewal and integrity. For without the forgiveness of Christ, they were nothing.
I felt sad for the Reverend Dr and for his congregants. How much guilt they must feel for decisions that were not their own. How they must stand loyally to an institution which has not acted loyally to others. I thought he spoke with sincerity and grace and felt honoured to be in his church while he spoke so humbly on matters so shameful.
After the Reverend Dr spoke, the offering was collected. The message was a simple appreciation of people's generosity. I did notice that the congregants collecting the offering didn't pass the bags, they held on tight. Again I wondered what had happened here to make this church be so protective.
As the church was called to pray, I awkwardly realised my foot rest was in fact a kneeling pad. I made the uncomfortable decision not to kneel, as I decided that while I wanted to be respectful, I also had to be honest with myself. I was secretly relieved however, when I looked around and noticed I wasn't the only person remaining in my seat. This does feel like a place where you can decide for yourself your level of involvement, and I was grateful for that.
After the Lord's Prayer, there was a "sign of peace" which was my favourite part of the service. All the people sitting around me extended their hand to mine and said "peace be with you". It was the exact opposite of being welcomed by Planetshakers congregants three weeks earlier. It was incredibly genuine, and warm.
I enjoyed watching the communion processional and again felt overwhelmed by the religious experience I was a part of. I realised however, there is a huge difference between a religious experience and a spiritual experience, and, without any disrespect to the lovely mass I was part of at St Francis' - this also may have been the least spiritual experience of my life.
After mass, we were invited to leave. I suppose they have to say this, because of the thousand people waiting outside for the next mass, but I was sad that the experience was over for me here. I had so many questions about the church, but no one to ask.
I'm pretty sure I know enough about Catholicism to know it will never be the religion for me, but I was pleasantly surprised by the mass I attended. Catholics may have a reputation for being judgemental, but in a hall that big, I was as welcome as everyone else. There was no show put on, no attempt to win me. They just did what they do, because that's who they are. I didn't find it cold, I found it refreshing.
I can understand why this is Australia's busiest church. St Francis' doesn't feel like a club or a cult. It feels like somewhere you'd grow up, and you'd just stay. You don't need to aspire to be a clergyman, or the next Pope. You don't need to be more than you are. You can come late, or leave early. You can come once a week, a month, or to all forty-three masses.
And I think I'm curious enough to go again.
~
#1 I'm really impressed by people who do this every week. Don't they know they could be going out for breakfast?
#2 I did this every week for ten years.
It's pretty easy to fall out of the habit of going to church. It's pretty easy to make Sunday you're laziest day of the week. It's pretty easy to sleep in, eat hash browns and walk the dog. Going to church is a commitment. It's a discipline. And you have to respect anyone who does it - for those reasons alone.
When I decided I would go to a Catholic church this week, because I don't personally know any Catholics here in Melbourne, I took to Google. I quickly found the website for St Francis', Victoria's oldest Catholic church. I learned the 11am mass had a choir, and their address. That was enough info for me. What I didn't notice in the finer print, was that St Francis' is "is the busiest church in Australia, with forty-three masses and over 10,000 visiting worshippers each week."
I arrived at 10:55am. People were rushing inside the church as the 10am congregants were rushing out. It was the most bustling, alive church I'd ever seen. I got handed an order of service, but without eye contact or a "Good morning". There were simply too many bodies to move quickly for any dillydallying. People know their way around here, and they assume you do too. Actually, they don't even notice you to see if you may need help. They just don't have time too.
I'd been in the door twenty seconds when I realised how out of place I was. People were taking water to their heads from bowls or dishes. They were bowing and kneeling and crossing their chests as they entered the hall. I became very nervous that my ignorance may result in offense I didn't want to do anything wrong, but I couldn't pretend I knew what I was supposed to be doing. And there was certainly nobody I could ask.
I sat towards the back, not wanting to be in the way, but I was forced to squeeze over three times to make room for more people. The church filled up fast. People stood in the isles. Nobody engaged with anyone. I got the sense quite quickly these people know what they came for, and that's what they were doing.
A brass band warmed up and I could smell burning. My TV knowledge of the Catholic church assured me not to worry, it was unlikely anything was on fire that wasn't supposed to be, but because the hall was so full I could hardly see what was happening. An announcement was made that the procession was about to commence and for all congregants to keep their personal items with them at all times. This warning made me feel sad, as surely this was a consequence of being a large church in the centre of the city. Not all your visitors had pure intentions.
As the choir and several other people entered the church, I began to feel like I was having the most religious experience of my life. A massive organ filled the hall with sound. The timpani were banging and the choir were belting out in worship. It felt epic.
To give you a sense of how out of place and ignorant I was feeling at this stage, I recognised one of the hymns from an episode of Mr Bean. People kept coming, and coming. Where were they all parked? They hadn't been on my tram. I knew now, this was the biggest church I'd ever been in. I was beginning to wish for some personal space, especially as the young girl next to me kept reading my notes over my shoulder. In her defence -I was the only person there with a notebook.
While the choir performed I took in my surrounds. The paintings of Jesus threw me. He didn't look like a saviour, like the hero they were singing about. He looked defeated. He looked afraid.
We were read to from the gospel of Luke, 5:1-11. Reverend Dr Pat Negri then took to the pulpit to deliver a short message, but the most shocking I've ever heard. I was so excited to be in the congregation for this moment.
The Reverend Dr spoke of how Simon Peter trusted Jesus more than his own experience. Simon was a fisherman, and knew it was hopeless to cast his net during the day. But he did what Jesus told him to do and they caught so many fish their nets began to break. Simon Peter was a humble man, an honest man, and he fell at Jesus' knees acknowledging his own sinfulness and begging Jesus leave him. Jesus had no intention of leaving Simon Peter - he doesn't mind having a sinner for a companion.
Reverend Dr Negri then turned his attention to the scandal of the Catholic church. They have been too slow to admit their guilt, but should follow the example set by Simon Peter. He said that while the church felt deep sorrow over the harm done to the small children, they never displayed this grief in public. And that was wrong.
He said the public expect the church be perfect, a sinless bride of Christ. That the clergymen stand on pedestals, displaying no signs of weakness. But how far this was from reality.
He called the church to a time for renewal and integrity. For without the forgiveness of Christ, they were nothing.
I felt sad for the Reverend Dr and for his congregants. How much guilt they must feel for decisions that were not their own. How they must stand loyally to an institution which has not acted loyally to others. I thought he spoke with sincerity and grace and felt honoured to be in his church while he spoke so humbly on matters so shameful.
After the Reverend Dr spoke, the offering was collected. The message was a simple appreciation of people's generosity. I did notice that the congregants collecting the offering didn't pass the bags, they held on tight. Again I wondered what had happened here to make this church be so protective.
As the church was called to pray, I awkwardly realised my foot rest was in fact a kneeling pad. I made the uncomfortable decision not to kneel, as I decided that while I wanted to be respectful, I also had to be honest with myself. I was secretly relieved however, when I looked around and noticed I wasn't the only person remaining in my seat. This does feel like a place where you can decide for yourself your level of involvement, and I was grateful for that.
After the Lord's Prayer, there was a "sign of peace" which was my favourite part of the service. All the people sitting around me extended their hand to mine and said "peace be with you". It was the exact opposite of being welcomed by Planetshakers congregants three weeks earlier. It was incredibly genuine, and warm.
I enjoyed watching the communion processional and again felt overwhelmed by the religious experience I was a part of. I realised however, there is a huge difference between a religious experience and a spiritual experience, and, without any disrespect to the lovely mass I was part of at St Francis' - this also may have been the least spiritual experience of my life.
After mass, we were invited to leave. I suppose they have to say this, because of the thousand people waiting outside for the next mass, but I was sad that the experience was over for me here. I had so many questions about the church, but no one to ask.
I'm pretty sure I know enough about Catholicism to know it will never be the religion for me, but I was pleasantly surprised by the mass I attended. Catholics may have a reputation for being judgemental, but in a hall that big, I was as welcome as everyone else. There was no show put on, no attempt to win me. They just did what they do, because that's who they are. I didn't find it cold, I found it refreshing.
I can understand why this is Australia's busiest church. St Francis' doesn't feel like a club or a cult. It feels like somewhere you'd grow up, and you'd just stay. You don't need to aspire to be a clergyman, or the next Pope. You don't need to be more than you are. You can come late, or leave early. You can come once a week, a month, or to all forty-three masses.
And I think I'm curious enough to go again.
~
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Planetshakers Melbourne City
I was hungover.
It's been a while since I've nursed a hangover, and seems fitting that my return to the Pentecostal church would be accompanied by the taste of Berocca and the gentle, repetitious thud of regret. I spent a lot of mornings in my old church hungover, so much so I had mastered the art of appearing to be in prayer while actually sleeping it off.
I was grateful for the headache, for the distraction from my nerves for a little while. I found the car park thanks to their online instructions and the man at the car park was kind and excited to be meeting a first time visitor. I really liked this man, and suddenly had heightened expectations of being welcomed with open arms.
There were six people in black Planetshakers t-shirts standing at the front of the building, so I knew I was at the right entrance. But they didn't say good morning or welcome me, so I walked awkwardly through the middle of the semi circle they had created and in through the double doors. To my left was a "resource" desk, and to the right, information. This is where I was headed because the car park attendant told me they would validate my parking ticket for me. There were three black tees here looking at me uncomfortably.
"Um, hi. Hello. Is this where I sort out my parking ticket?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"The guy in the car park said you would validate my ticket or something? I'm not quite sure, sorry."
They swapped my ticket for a new one and said that would work. I then asked them where to go and they pointed across the foyer for me. I guess I was on my own.
It was 10:31 but the service had already started. The lights were out in the auditorium, the church was full and I had no idea how to find a seat. I wandered up and down the isle for a bit, feeling like a complete loser, until eventually I found some empty seats. I asked a young girl if they were free.
"Well this seat is taken (the one next to her) but you could sit over there."
I walked straight over her handbag, an accident I swear, and took in my surrounds. I've seen a Pentecostal service before of course, none of what was happening was a surprise, but it sure was fancy.
The auditorium was packed with about 1000 people. I couldn't see the balcony from where I was but it seemed that was full too. There was a full band and five singers and lots of activity going on. The band and singers were jumping and moving and the congregation were clapping, bouncing and raising their hands in the air. I had spotted four cameras, one on a crane, and a more impressive lighting set up than when I'd seen John Mayer at Rod Laver Arena.
I wasn't ready to bounce yet.
The music went for about ten minutes and by that time I'd found my groove. I couldn't help but sway and enjoy the music. They're not my new favourite band, but the music was catchy, and the performance was engaging. The people around me seemed to be really enjoying the moment.
It was exactly 10:46 when I was first invited to make a purchase. Their new CD had been released last Tuesday and I should go download it from iTunes or grab a copy up the back after the service.
As a first time visitor I was then asked to raise my hand so I could be given a welcome pack. I was told I was among the VIP's here today, that no one was more special than a first time visitor, and I should feel welcome. The church then stood up and clapped. The girl who's bag I had walked over turned and shook my hand. This annoyed me. Of course she was nice now she knows I'm a VIP.
It was time to pass around the offering buckets, and the credit card slips. The young speaker explained that they choose to give the first 10% of their income to the church, and offerings on top of that. I was invited to try it. Church news was next, a multimedia presentation and again a reminder to buy their CD, and also attend their conference, their camp and their college.
We sang a few more songs, and as an observer, I could see the appeal of being a part of this show. The band seemed like rock stars, in fact, it felt more like we were worshiping them than God. The entire service so far had felt like a well rehearsed stage production, and they were the stars. What I couldn't figure out yet, was what you got out of being in the congregation.
The main message was delivered by "a chocolate brother from Dallas, Texas", Pastor Robert Madu. He was funny, engaging, an excellent speaker and clearly knew his subject matter well. His message was titled "I got more than what I came for" and was taken from Mark 2:1-12.
Pastor Robert received five standing ovations during his twenty minute sermon. Hot points with the crowd included :
The rest of the service played out exactly as the Pentecostal playbook tells it; have the musicians sneak up on stage and play atmospheric music while the speaker turns his attention to the unsaved in the room. Everyone stands, bows their head and closes their eyes and are invited to raise their hand if they would like to receive Jesus into their heart. Several people accepted this invitation and they were applauded by the church and taken out the back to be given a book, Eternity.
My VIP status scored me admission to the visitors lounge where again I was ignored by the "welcome team". Sucking it up, I introduced myself to a black t-shirt girl who lasted about sixty seconds of uncomfortable small talk before she left me to get myself a cup of tea. That's where I met Thea.
Thea made me a delicious mug of English Breakfast and seemed to have better social skills than my last acquaintance, so I asked her if she was free to chat. Unfortunately she had to stay by the tea stand, so I took myself to a couch and drank my tea.
No one else approached me, so after a few minutes, Thea came over and said, "I think everyone has their tea now" and sat with me. She asked me questions about myself and was sweet and kind. She asked how I enjoyed the service and I told her I found the whole experience quite overwhelming She smiled and took this as a compliment. I told her I had a few questions about the welcome pack, if that was okay?
"Of course," she smiled again.
Thea, you have thirteen ministries outlined in this brochure. But I couldn't help but notice, there wasn't a welfare ministry among them. Do you have a welfare ministry here?
Thea smiled and laughed. She thought it was so great that God had brought her to talk to me, because she'd joined the church staff five years ago to establish the welfare ministry. She said they had a great vision, but the timing hadn't been right so nothing had come of it yet.
Could you tell me what the vision was?
She smiled again. Oh you know, helping people by giving them a hand up, not a hand out. We were going to open an Empowerment center.
So it wasn't a rock solid vision with an action plan. Thea explained to me that at Planetshakers, they are the church. It's not up to the church to do something, its up to its members. So if the members feel led by God to offer welfare, then they should.
I spoke to Thea for a while, but we didn't go very far. I think she knew in her heart they weren't the church for me.
I didn't raise it with Thea, but my decision not to return to Planetshakers was made, not by the information in the welcome pack, but by the total absence of one word - love. Love is not mentioned once in any of their thirteen ministries, the welcome letter from the pastors or in the churches mandate - they're about The Call, Kingdom Culture, and The Commission. But I'm looking for a church that's about love. Genuine love. Love that doesn't have to be rostered. Love that doesn't have to be programmed. Love that is overwhelming, from the minute you walk in the door.
On the way out, I was asked to buy chocolates.
It's been a while since I've nursed a hangover, and seems fitting that my return to the Pentecostal church would be accompanied by the taste of Berocca and the gentle, repetitious thud of regret. I spent a lot of mornings in my old church hungover, so much so I had mastered the art of appearing to be in prayer while actually sleeping it off.
I was grateful for the headache, for the distraction from my nerves for a little while. I found the car park thanks to their online instructions and the man at the car park was kind and excited to be meeting a first time visitor. I really liked this man, and suddenly had heightened expectations of being welcomed with open arms.
There were six people in black Planetshakers t-shirts standing at the front of the building, so I knew I was at the right entrance. But they didn't say good morning or welcome me, so I walked awkwardly through the middle of the semi circle they had created and in through the double doors. To my left was a "resource" desk, and to the right, information. This is where I was headed because the car park attendant told me they would validate my parking ticket for me. There were three black tees here looking at me uncomfortably.
"Um, hi. Hello. Is this where I sort out my parking ticket?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"The guy in the car park said you would validate my ticket or something? I'm not quite sure, sorry."
They swapped my ticket for a new one and said that would work. I then asked them where to go and they pointed across the foyer for me. I guess I was on my own.
It was 10:31 but the service had already started. The lights were out in the auditorium, the church was full and I had no idea how to find a seat. I wandered up and down the isle for a bit, feeling like a complete loser, until eventually I found some empty seats. I asked a young girl if they were free.
"Well this seat is taken (the one next to her) but you could sit over there."
I walked straight over her handbag, an accident I swear, and took in my surrounds. I've seen a Pentecostal service before of course, none of what was happening was a surprise, but it sure was fancy.
The auditorium was packed with about 1000 people. I couldn't see the balcony from where I was but it seemed that was full too. There was a full band and five singers and lots of activity going on. The band and singers were jumping and moving and the congregation were clapping, bouncing and raising their hands in the air. I had spotted four cameras, one on a crane, and a more impressive lighting set up than when I'd seen John Mayer at Rod Laver Arena.
I wasn't ready to bounce yet.
The music went for about ten minutes and by that time I'd found my groove. I couldn't help but sway and enjoy the music. They're not my new favourite band, but the music was catchy, and the performance was engaging. The people around me seemed to be really enjoying the moment.
It was exactly 10:46 when I was first invited to make a purchase. Their new CD had been released last Tuesday and I should go download it from iTunes or grab a copy up the back after the service.
As a first time visitor I was then asked to raise my hand so I could be given a welcome pack. I was told I was among the VIP's here today, that no one was more special than a first time visitor, and I should feel welcome. The church then stood up and clapped. The girl who's bag I had walked over turned and shook my hand. This annoyed me. Of course she was nice now she knows I'm a VIP.
It was time to pass around the offering buckets, and the credit card slips. The young speaker explained that they choose to give the first 10% of their income to the church, and offerings on top of that. I was invited to try it. Church news was next, a multimedia presentation and again a reminder to buy their CD, and also attend their conference, their camp and their college.
We sang a few more songs, and as an observer, I could see the appeal of being a part of this show. The band seemed like rock stars, in fact, it felt more like we were worshiping them than God. The entire service so far had felt like a well rehearsed stage production, and they were the stars. What I couldn't figure out yet, was what you got out of being in the congregation.
The main message was delivered by "a chocolate brother from Dallas, Texas", Pastor Robert Madu. He was funny, engaging, an excellent speaker and clearly knew his subject matter well. His message was titled "I got more than what I came for" and was taken from Mark 2:1-12.
Pastor Robert received five standing ovations during his twenty minute sermon. Hot points with the crowd included :
- Get to know who Jesus actually is, not who you want him to be.
- Don't be naive that just because someone is standing behind a pulpit it means they are speaking the word of God.
- A quiet church is a dead church.
- and; When your experience doesn't match your expectation, God is giving you a revelation.
The rest of the service played out exactly as the Pentecostal playbook tells it; have the musicians sneak up on stage and play atmospheric music while the speaker turns his attention to the unsaved in the room. Everyone stands, bows their head and closes their eyes and are invited to raise their hand if they would like to receive Jesus into their heart. Several people accepted this invitation and they were applauded by the church and taken out the back to be given a book, Eternity.
My VIP status scored me admission to the visitors lounge where again I was ignored by the "welcome team". Sucking it up, I introduced myself to a black t-shirt girl who lasted about sixty seconds of uncomfortable small talk before she left me to get myself a cup of tea. That's where I met Thea.
Thea made me a delicious mug of English Breakfast and seemed to have better social skills than my last acquaintance, so I asked her if she was free to chat. Unfortunately she had to stay by the tea stand, so I took myself to a couch and drank my tea.
No one else approached me, so after a few minutes, Thea came over and said, "I think everyone has their tea now" and sat with me. She asked me questions about myself and was sweet and kind. She asked how I enjoyed the service and I told her I found the whole experience quite overwhelming She smiled and took this as a compliment. I told her I had a few questions about the welcome pack, if that was okay?
"Of course," she smiled again.
Thea, you have thirteen ministries outlined in this brochure. But I couldn't help but notice, there wasn't a welfare ministry among them. Do you have a welfare ministry here?
Thea smiled and laughed. She thought it was so great that God had brought her to talk to me, because she'd joined the church staff five years ago to establish the welfare ministry. She said they had a great vision, but the timing hadn't been right so nothing had come of it yet.
Could you tell me what the vision was?
She smiled again. Oh you know, helping people by giving them a hand up, not a hand out. We were going to open an Empowerment center.
So it wasn't a rock solid vision with an action plan. Thea explained to me that at Planetshakers, they are the church. It's not up to the church to do something, its up to its members. So if the members feel led by God to offer welfare, then they should.
I spoke to Thea for a while, but we didn't go very far. I think she knew in her heart they weren't the church for me.
I didn't raise it with Thea, but my decision not to return to Planetshakers was made, not by the information in the welcome pack, but by the total absence of one word - love. Love is not mentioned once in any of their thirteen ministries, the welcome letter from the pastors or in the churches mandate - they're about The Call, Kingdom Culture, and The Commission. But I'm looking for a church that's about love. Genuine love. Love that doesn't have to be rostered. Love that doesn't have to be programmed. Love that is overwhelming, from the minute you walk in the door.
On the way out, I was asked to buy chocolates.
Sunday, January 6, 2013
St David's Uniting Church West Brunswick
I picked this church for two reasons: One, I'd never been to a Uniting church before, and two, I could walk there.
I shouldn't have started with a Uniting church.
My stomach was churning when I woke this morning. I couldn't believe how anxious I was. I wasn't sure if I was more nervous about my blog, which I've been working on for six months being a total flop, or, if no one would sit with me. My social anxiety has been at an all time high lately, and walking into a new place, alone, is really putting it out there.
I could see about three doors leading into the building and no idea which one to enter. A lovely elderly lady found me looking lost. She asked if I was here for the service, which probably wasn't that odd a question for her to be asking. Why was I there?
"I'm Alison. Sorry, dear. I should have my name tag on."
I introduced myself and Alison took me through to the hall. I was wondering why her name wasn't Margaret, or Joan. Alison seemed too young a name. Alison introduced me to Annette, who gave me a hymn book. There were three other congregants in the hall, all elderly, all sitting alone.
I sat down the back and was very quickly greeted by Malcolm. He was going to take the service today because Reverend Andrew's wife had called two hours earlier saying he was far too ill and could Malcolm please fill in. Malcolm and I discussed the narrow roads in Brunswick, catching trains, and his retiring for the third time. I asked Malcolm what he would be speaking on today and he answered, 'The epiphany' like it was so obvious an answer he was almost embarrassed to say it. I may have spent ten years in church, but I had no idea what the epiphany was.
People kept arriving for the service, about fifteen in total, including children and Malcolm, Annette & Alison who I had already met. I had an overwhelming sense of warmth. They looked so kindly to me and also to each other. They all sat alone, except for the young Maori family, but they all greeted each other with a smile and a nod.
While everyone is being friendly enough, I can't stop feeling they are incredibly confused as to who I am and why I am there. But no one is asking me. I'm also feeling incredibly guilty, like I'm there to spy on these lovely people. I don't want to spy on them. I want to be hugged by them.
Someone walked to the altar and lit a candle. Everyone stood silently through this, and then Malcolm took to the pulpit. He welcomed us all, and apologised the Reverend was sick and that with such short notice the message today may be a bit 'hotchpotched'. Everyone stood for a hymn and Alison played the organ. She accidentally played an extra verse of hymn 904, so everyone made up their own lyrics. Annette sang the first verse again, others chose to repeat the last verse. One lady up the back brought it home with "la la la's".
After some readings by Annette and a story for the children, Malcolm introduced his message. It was by Bruce Prewer and was called: "Epiphany: Are we arrogant?"
I was hooked.
Luckily, as the sermon was "borrowed" from Bruce I was able to find it online after I got home. So for the super keen, you can read it all here, but for the rest of you, I'm just going to offer my favourite point:
"Where there is arrogance, you can not find the humble messiah".
To keep this blog as short as possible, I'm not going to go over Malcolm's message - but it was lovely. It spoke of a humble and generous church, one who doesn't pretend it is any greater than any other religion, simply, one who is lucky. It hit all the right spots with me, even if it was taken from the internet.
Then the collection was taken up. There was no call to give, no offering message. A dish was passed around and a younger man collected a basket I must have overlooked on my way in, containing dry food goods. The money and the food was taken to the altar to be blessed. Alison then shared the church announcements, and spoke of the money they had been able to donate to a Christmas charity the week before. I was impressed by their generosity of spirit. Clearly they hadn't given much, but they had given kindly.
Then I remembered the sign I saw on each of the three doors entering the building:
"This church is no longer able to supply welfare"
The church were clearly generous, and conversations with Alison after the service would confirm this, but I wondered, did the generosity have to be on their terms? Don't come to us, we'll come to you? Either way, the deeds, and the heart were surely in the right place. But I couldn't settle it in my heart.
The service finished and they closed in prayer. They prayed for the fires, the fire victims and the workers, they prayed for God to strengthen the welfare of the churches. They prayed for unwell congregants and they prayed "without any prying or sense of self importance, let us be ready to help in time of need" which was about the loveliest thing I have ever heard in my life.
I remained seated after the service had finished to see what would happen now. I had so many questions I wanted to ask them, so much about the church I still had to learn. They hadn't crossed any of my boxes, but they hadn't ticked them all yet either. I waited about five minutes until Malcolm popped back over to see me.
I told him I really enjoyed the message - it was really spot on with some things I'd been thinking. I told him I'd been out of church for five years, and was just taking some time to suss it all out. I said that in reading my bible last week I'd been a bit shocked. My memories of Jesus were of his humility and grace, but when he went to the Pharisee's house he was rude, obnoxious and offensive. I wondered how it all fit.
Malcolm told me that old testament God was about judgment and condemnation, but new testament God, through Jesus, was merciful and humble.
Malcolm - this in no way answered my question.
I politely tried to answer my own question by smiling and suggesting that maybe the son of God is allowed to be arrogant, but it's best if Christians aren't. We were interrupted by another congregant wanting a word with Malcolm and he was very quick to leave our conversation.
Alison then offered me a cup of tea and I sat with her a while and tried to ask a few questions about the church, but every time she would answer my question and quickly change the topic back to me. 'When do you have communion?' 'Next week. Are you new to West Brunswick?' It was lovely and well mannered, but I really didn't get enough information off her. She then handed me my bag and thanked me for coming.
I guess church was over.
I really liked the people I met at St David's, even if I did get the impression they were intimidated by having a single, twenty something girl walk in off the street. I'm not ready to close the chapter on this church, so I'll definitely go back, and hopefully get the chance to meet the Reverend they all speak so fondly of.
I shouldn't have started with a Uniting church.
My stomach was churning when I woke this morning. I couldn't believe how anxious I was. I wasn't sure if I was more nervous about my blog, which I've been working on for six months being a total flop, or, if no one would sit with me. My social anxiety has been at an all time high lately, and walking into a new place, alone, is really putting it out there.
I could see about three doors leading into the building and no idea which one to enter. A lovely elderly lady found me looking lost. She asked if I was here for the service, which probably wasn't that odd a question for her to be asking. Why was I there?
"I'm Alison. Sorry, dear. I should have my name tag on."
I introduced myself and Alison took me through to the hall. I was wondering why her name wasn't Margaret, or Joan. Alison seemed too young a name. Alison introduced me to Annette, who gave me a hymn book. There were three other congregants in the hall, all elderly, all sitting alone.
I sat down the back and was very quickly greeted by Malcolm. He was going to take the service today because Reverend Andrew's wife had called two hours earlier saying he was far too ill and could Malcolm please fill in. Malcolm and I discussed the narrow roads in Brunswick, catching trains, and his retiring for the third time. I asked Malcolm what he would be speaking on today and he answered, 'The epiphany' like it was so obvious an answer he was almost embarrassed to say it. I may have spent ten years in church, but I had no idea what the epiphany was.
People kept arriving for the service, about fifteen in total, including children and Malcolm, Annette & Alison who I had already met. I had an overwhelming sense of warmth. They looked so kindly to me and also to each other. They all sat alone, except for the young Maori family, but they all greeted each other with a smile and a nod.
While everyone is being friendly enough, I can't stop feeling they are incredibly confused as to who I am and why I am there. But no one is asking me. I'm also feeling incredibly guilty, like I'm there to spy on these lovely people. I don't want to spy on them. I want to be hugged by them.
Someone walked to the altar and lit a candle. Everyone stood silently through this, and then Malcolm took to the pulpit. He welcomed us all, and apologised the Reverend was sick and that with such short notice the message today may be a bit 'hotchpotched'. Everyone stood for a hymn and Alison played the organ. She accidentally played an extra verse of hymn 904, so everyone made up their own lyrics. Annette sang the first verse again, others chose to repeat the last verse. One lady up the back brought it home with "la la la's".
After some readings by Annette and a story for the children, Malcolm introduced his message. It was by Bruce Prewer and was called: "Epiphany: Are we arrogant?"
I was hooked.
Luckily, as the sermon was "borrowed" from Bruce I was able to find it online after I got home. So for the super keen, you can read it all here, but for the rest of you, I'm just going to offer my favourite point:
"Where there is arrogance, you can not find the humble messiah".
To keep this blog as short as possible, I'm not going to go over Malcolm's message - but it was lovely. It spoke of a humble and generous church, one who doesn't pretend it is any greater than any other religion, simply, one who is lucky. It hit all the right spots with me, even if it was taken from the internet.
Then the collection was taken up. There was no call to give, no offering message. A dish was passed around and a younger man collected a basket I must have overlooked on my way in, containing dry food goods. The money and the food was taken to the altar to be blessed. Alison then shared the church announcements, and spoke of the money they had been able to donate to a Christmas charity the week before. I was impressed by their generosity of spirit. Clearly they hadn't given much, but they had given kindly.
Then I remembered the sign I saw on each of the three doors entering the building:
"This church is no longer able to supply welfare"
The church were clearly generous, and conversations with Alison after the service would confirm this, but I wondered, did the generosity have to be on their terms? Don't come to us, we'll come to you? Either way, the deeds, and the heart were surely in the right place. But I couldn't settle it in my heart.
The service finished and they closed in prayer. They prayed for the fires, the fire victims and the workers, they prayed for God to strengthen the welfare of the churches. They prayed for unwell congregants and they prayed "without any prying or sense of self importance, let us be ready to help in time of need" which was about the loveliest thing I have ever heard in my life.
I remained seated after the service had finished to see what would happen now. I had so many questions I wanted to ask them, so much about the church I still had to learn. They hadn't crossed any of my boxes, but they hadn't ticked them all yet either. I waited about five minutes until Malcolm popped back over to see me.
I told him I really enjoyed the message - it was really spot on with some things I'd been thinking. I told him I'd been out of church for five years, and was just taking some time to suss it all out. I said that in reading my bible last week I'd been a bit shocked. My memories of Jesus were of his humility and grace, but when he went to the Pharisee's house he was rude, obnoxious and offensive. I wondered how it all fit.
Malcolm told me that old testament God was about judgment and condemnation, but new testament God, through Jesus, was merciful and humble.
Malcolm - this in no way answered my question.
I politely tried to answer my own question by smiling and suggesting that maybe the son of God is allowed to be arrogant, but it's best if Christians aren't. We were interrupted by another congregant wanting a word with Malcolm and he was very quick to leave our conversation.
Alison then offered me a cup of tea and I sat with her a while and tried to ask a few questions about the church, but every time she would answer my question and quickly change the topic back to me. 'When do you have communion?' 'Next week. Are you new to West Brunswick?' It was lovely and well mannered, but I really didn't get enough information off her. She then handed me my bag and thanked me for coming.
I guess church was over.
I really liked the people I met at St David's, even if I did get the impression they were intimidated by having a single, twenty something girl walk in off the street. I'm not ready to close the chapter on this church, so I'll definitely go back, and hopefully get the chance to meet the Reverend they all speak so fondly of.