The Lutheran Zephyr

Worship & the Pastor's Personality

Surely the pastor/preacher cannot divorce themselves from their personality or ego, and surely they should not seek to do so.  But as I mentioned in a previous post (Wearin' My Madonna Microphone), the worship leader must be careful when using her gifts of charisma or personality in leading worship.  It is too easy to cultivate a setting in which the tasks of liturgy and preaching become clouded by the pastor's idiosyncratic self-expression, particularly if the congregation responds well to their pastor's personality.

This is not to say that the preacher or worship leader needs to be personality-free.  Not at all.  We could build robots or play videos to simply and stiffly recite prayers and liturgical formulas.  No.  Worship demands our humanity, but worship should not be overly infused with the quirks or personality of the one who is up front.  As some point such a worship becomes more about the pastor's show than about the timeless Word and Liturgy.

I like Gordon Lathop's discussion of worship leadership in his new book, The Pastor: A Spirituality.  Some quotes:

Leaders, of course, have power.  Leaders invested with religious-symbolic meaning have, as we have seen, extraordinary power. In Christianity, leaders must be constantly turning that power to the purposes of the assembly, to the honoring and loving and serving of each of the people, especially of the little and least ones.  pg. 69

Christianity is a meal.  Its leaders are table servers.  Let beggars come. . . . A pastor serves tables.  pg. 73

Lathrop quotes Aiden Kavanaugh who recommends

"a certain self-discipline with regard to personal idiosyncracies. . . . The minister at the liturgy, like a Zen-master, should be as "uninteresting" as a glass of cold, clear, nourishing water." pg. 29 

For Lathrop, this rubric covers not only liturgical leadership, but also preaching. 

"Pastors must learn the sermon's deep structures and its ritual purpose, its openness to the assembly and its fidelity to the assembly's purpose, its care and love for each one who has gathered and its openness to those outside this circle, its honesty and its lack of idiosyncratic affection, its reception of the readings and its leading to the intercessions and to the table, its articulation of the whole flow of the ordo, its use of law and gospel. . . . The very idea that preaching is part of the liturgy, subject to its principles and purposes, may be a new proposal to many of us . . ." pg. 28.

I don't know that we can ever achieve Lathrop's vision for worship leaders - I'm pretty sure that I can't.  But I think his questions are important and needed, for the temptation to imbue worship and preaching with unique and individual idiosyncrasies is too great.  The pastor has a lot of power, and the more that he makes it about himself rather than about his office, the slipperier the slope gets.  Not only are there good theological and pastoral reasons for this proposal, but there's also a very practical reason: pastors come and go, but congregations remain.  The more that a ministry is shaped around a particular person, the more difficult it will be when that person leaves the ministry.

On the other hand, worship and church leadership demands our particular humanity.  As a hospital chaplain I see that many people want or need a personal connection, a relationship, and that relationship itself facilitates prayer and spirituality.  Disembodied faith, if such a thing is even possible, is not enough.  The personality, experiences, honesty, and faith of the religious-symbolic leader are part of the tools that God gives her for ministry.  The community benefits from her honest expression of faith, her enthusiastic embrace of the community with her arms stretched out, her bold proclamation of the words of the apostolic greeting.  Our humanity can flesh out, so to speak, the words and formulas of the liturgy, and it should.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I believe in theory that so-called contemporary worship (or, embodied, contextual, authentic, whatever worship) is possible, but is rarely done well.  Too often leaders fall down that slippery slope of idiosyncratic mayhem, shaping worship around a few gifted leaders rather than the needs and expressions of the gathered people of God.

More on Madonna's Microphone

Theolog, The Christian Century's blog, features a post by Craig Kocher (who is campus minister at Duke University) on worship that touches on some of the themes I mention in my previous post.  Check it out: Blended Worship on Campus.

Wearin' My Madonna Microphone

I was on stage for worship during a youth event this weekend, wearing one of those headset microphones that I associate with Madonna concerts of the early '90s.  It was an upbeat affair, despite being the first Sunday of Lent, accompanied by Christian rock/praise songs and dancing, hand motions, and just lots of jumping around.  I'm a fan of "contemporary" worship in theory, though I have rarely seen it done well in a congregation.  One of my criticisms of "contemporary" worship (and mega-church worship) is that it can easily create a cult of personality surrounding the worship leaders - particularly that of the lead musician and the presider (whose demeanor is akin to that of a chatty variety show host).

And I saw that this weekend.  For one, the musician for the weekend was an attractive, charismatic, witty man in his late 30's.  He peppered his musical sessions with faith testimonies, cute stories about his wife and children, sales pitches, and random jokes.  He worked the crowd and kept their attention, using all his gifts to both the benefit of his ministry/business and the faith message of the weekend.  The youths - whose adolescent wiring already inclines them toward strong personalities - eagerly flocked to him and his sales table, walking out of the event dressed in his t-shirts and listening to his Christian rock CDs.

Then this morning I wore that silly microphone, climbed on stage, and was a kind of emcee/stage director/presider for our closing worship service.  And perhaps it is partly my personality and partly the setting and partly the infectious energy of our music leader, but I was loving life up there on stage.  Whereas earlier in the weekend I wasn't terribly keen on the music or the motions, on stage this morning I found myself dancing like a fool, enthusiastically swinging my arms around, hopping up and down, and otherwise sharing in the energy and spirit of the moment.  It was a lot of fun, and truly a Spirit-filled experience.

I don't deny that I liked being on stage, that I liked the attention, that I liked the role of emceeing this contemporary, rockin' youth worship service.  And it was clear that our music leader also liked the attention, that he used all of his considerable personal gifts to promote himself, his business, his ministry. 

So where is the line - the line between using one's charisma and personality for the sake of ministry, and self-serving opportunism seeking an audience?  I think it is a fine line, for sure, that many worship leaders, musicians and preachers - contemporary and traditional - have to tow.  I know it is something that I think about as I prepare for ministry.  To what extent is my ego fed by being in front of a crowd and having them look at and listen to me?  I'd be naive and disingenuous if I denied any role my ego plays in my vocational choice . . . The challenge for me is to keep the ego in check, to not let that be the driving factor when I'm in a pulpit, behind the altar, or on a stage. 

As I read (somewhere) in the wake of the recent Ted Haggart scandal, you don't learn in seminary how to deal with praise and success.  Yet praise is like a drug for the ego.  It is very addicting and the pursuit of praise can truly cheapen or even ruin a ministry and a vocation.

Personality and ministry - it's a fine line.

(Gordon Lathrop says a few things about this in his most recent book, Pastor: A Spirituality.  Some quotes and further thoughts on this topic in my next post)

It's All About Me

OK, once again I'm breaking my self-imposed blogging fast.  I can't keep away . . . and beware - heresies lie ahead!

Tonight I paid our babysitter $20 to watch our kids so I could go to the Ash Wednesday service at church (with a child who goes to bed at 7pm, and another at 8pm, there was no way I could bring them both to church tonight).  Why did I pay to go to church?  I think it's because tonight's service was all about me.

Of all the services throughout the church year, Ash Wednesday seems to be the one that is most about us.  This statement is not based on any liturgical study, but simply from 32 years of attending Lutheran congregations.  From these years of riding the Lutheran pine, I get that Christmas is about Christ's birth, Good Friday about his death, Easter about his resurrection. 

Ash Wednesday, though, is different.  It is the only service that I can think of where we Lutherans intentionally and directly look back on ourselves.  Within the first few minutes of the liturgy you are being smeared with dirty ashes and being reminded that "you are dust."  Later in the service, as we return to the altar, the words are a bit more comforting and holy - "The body of Christ, given for you."  Christ.  Given.  For you.  These are good words.  Words about a God who comes to us.  But those earlier words - "you are dust" - are words, well, just about us and some dust.

Surely an Ash Wednesday service done well is not just an exercise in self-flagellating navel-gazing.  Surely there are "God" words that reveal to us the Good News even as they simultaneously remind us of our need for such good news (this, in fact, was the case at my church tonight).  However, there is something to the words, to the "feel" of the Ash Wednesday service that is distinct from all other of our annual or weekly liturgies.  There is something deeply introspective and reflective in this liturgy, something that forces us to look at ourselves and admit our fragility and brokenness.  There's something, well, uncharacteristically self-involved - narcissistic? - about this liturgy, particularly its opening moments.

Perhaps that is why I paid to go to church tonight.  Perhaps I like the Ash Wednesday service so much because, after all, it's about me.  No theological leaps to make, folks.  For a chunk of this service, I'm talking about me, plain and simple.  And even if it is in a penitential, confessional tone, my ego is still somehow satisfied when I talk about myself.

But who am I kidding?  It's not just Ash Wednesday that is all about me.  Ash Wednesday is actually not unique at all.  Every Sunday I gather to hear a story and feast on a meal that is given to me, because God loves me.  It's all about me.  Jesus came for me.  The body of Christ is given for me.  Jesus loves me. 

I don't worship God because God is great.  No way.  I'm not that pious or holy.  Instead, I worship God in response to what God first does for me - I'm self-centered in that way.  God reaches out to me, claims me, and makes me his.  It's all about me.  Everything else is just a response.

Is NPR too damn secular?

I'm an NPR-listening, Democrat-voting, progressive Christian who was disturbed by the theme of a recent NPR radio debate - Is America Too Damn Religious?  I have yet to listen to this debate, but the written summary, the panel of speakers, and the theme itself leave me questioning the quality and fairness of the discussion.

Am I the only one bothered by this?

Back Pain blogging

Last night I got off my couch, holding my 6 month old daughter, and screamed in pain.  After handing our baby to my wife, I fell to the floor, half laughing at the absurdity of it all, half crying at the terrible pain that was shooting through my back.  I stayed on the floor for 14 hours, unable to make any motion that placed even the slightest tug of strain on my lower back - did you know that laughing uses the back muscle and is extremely painful in a state such as mine?  Consuming a steady diet of ibuprofen, I can now walk, stand and sit, albeit with moderate pain and significant awkwardness.

Stuck at home rather than going along with the hectic plans of this weekend, I couldn't help but blog.
  (Yes, once again, I break a self-imposed blogging silence.)

Fortnight Furlough

The Lutheran Zephyr will be on hiatus for two weeks.  With Lent and a synod youth event rapidly approaching, several family commitments, other writing and reading I should be doing, and extra hours at the hospital this week, I'm taking a breather from blogging. 

See you at the end of the month.

Blogs, Mental Health, and Other Liabilities

A quick lunch-break blogpost:

Two recent situations - one in NASA and the other in the John Edwards presidential campaign - have gotten me to think about the process of becoming a pastor and the dichotomy of the public vs. private self.

Two bloggers recently hired by John Edwards have been criticized for past incendiary writings on their personal blogs (NYTimes article here).  The article examines the difficulty of bridging the gulf between "traditional politics and the Wild West world of the Internet."  Traditional politics, it seems, can't handle the passionate, free-wheeling, off-the-cuff authenticity of the blogosphere.  Which gets me to thinking - particularly as a pastor-to-be - to what extent can the institutional church handle the freewheeling, honest, questioning, passionate, off-the-cuff authenticity and spirituality of the Christian blogosphere?  On more than one ocassion I have been cautioned about what I write and who may read it (hence why my real name no longer appears on this blog, though it wouldn't take a 10th grader with Google too long to figure out who I am) . . .

In other news, Astronaut Lisa Nowak was arrested for attempting to kidnap a romantic rival.  Over at Scientific American's blog, they wonder if the fear of losing her job kept her from seeking mental health advice.  Of course, recent news of soldiers suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder failing to receive care at Fort Carlson reflects the amiguity - no, the persistently negative view - our society and its great institutions continue to hold toward mental illness.  And this is no different in the church.  Though many Candidacy Committees are notorious for prescribing counselling for seminarians, it has been my experience that many in the church view psychotherapy narrowly as treatment for an illness that needs to be cured - an understanding that flags the file and diminishes the prospects of any candidate who admits to on-going therapy.  Removing from the discussion the extreme cases - and yes, some people with extreme mental health issues do try to become clergy - counselling and therapy are generally not akin to visiting a doctor when suffering the flu - ie, go to the doc to get cured.  Rather, counselling and therapy are more analagous to an on-going fitness program designed to improve health and fitness for the long-term and in daily life.  They guy that goes to the gym three times per week is seen as healthy, disciplined, and caring for himself.  The guy who goes to counseling twice per week, on the other hand, is viewed as sick and troubled.  The stigma that views counselling as a sign of illness rather than health persists and weakens our society and its institutions.

Whew.  That was alot.  The point is this, however: when can we who are in public or high profile roles express what is truly within us, whether it is a raw and unedited opinion or a deeply-felt pain?  Must we be santitized of any inappropriate blogposts or unsavory thoughts about Mom before we can enter stressful positions caring for souls, courting votes or navigating a Space Shuttle?  At what point can we - society, a congregation, an institution such as NASA or the church - accept the raw edges of reality that surround each of us? 

We all have some junk in the proverbial closets of our past and present.  Perhaps we should respect and reward, rather than demean and punish, those who open and examine what's in their closets.

Falling Away from Prayer

For most of the past month I have fallen away from what was my routine prayer practice.  Since September, when I began my 70 minute train ride to Center City, I have been praying a modified form of The Suffrages from Evangelical Lutheran Worship, and reading the three assigned texts from the daily lectionary.  It was a 10-15 minute routine, a good way to begin my train ride.

To do this, each week I was printing out a self-made crib sheet that listed the lectionary readings, the Prayer of the Day for Sunday and any festivals that may fall during the week, and a listing of any commemorations that are celebrated during the week.  I would fold this nifty little sheet once, and stick it inside the front cover of my pocket-sized Bible.  It was a good routine.

But then one week last month, for whatever reason, I didn't create and print out the sheet.  For one or two days I skipped the readings, but continued to say my prayers (also printed out and tucked into the front of my Bible).  But even that practice faded away.  And now I have gone a few weeks without either the prayer or the readings, choosing to go right to sleep, read a book, listen to NPR, or do some work on my computer.

I wish I could say that there was some qualitative decline in my quality of life, that I've been worse off for not keeping this prayer routine.  Since I am no longer praying the Prayer of the Day, no longer reading Bible passages connected to the church year, and no longer thumbing through my Bible from the Old Testament, to the Psalms to the New Testament, I feel more distant from the Bible and church year itself - this is true.  But, the absence of this prayer practice has not inauggerated a new crisis of faith or increased my anxiety level to new heights.

And so, this little experience has left me wondering about the nature and purpose of prayer, the impact prayer has (or doesn't) on the one who prays, and the nature of spiritual disciplines in general.  Perhaps my biggest loss in this past month has been a creeping rustiness in my Biblical knowledge and a distancing from the church year, but has my relationship with God been harmed?  Has my spirituality been impaired?  What do these things mean?

Any thoughts?

An Open Letter to WHYY

(Warning: below is a rant directed at my local public radio station)

To Whom It May Concern at WHYY:

I am a big fan of WHYY and NPR, and have supported your station many times over the past ten years with gifts (usually over the suggested minimum level) made in response to your regular pledge drives.  But not this year.  I will likely continue to support WHYY - I can't imagine having KYW 1060 as my only radio news source - but I will not reward the pathetic efforts of your pledge drive with my gift.

Why do I resent your pledge drive so much? 

First, your hosts are lousy.  Just because they're on the board or management of the radio station doesn't mean they can sit behind a microphone and inspire people to give to WHYY.  They often make bad jokes and even worse segues to overly dramatic tales of public radio's financial woes.   Which gets me to point #2 . . .

Second, the rhetoric is misleading.  Listening to your hosts' desperate dialog, I start to worry that public radio in the nation's fifth largest media market is teetering on the brink of insolvency.  "If we don't reach our goal of 250 pledges during Morning Edition, we'll have to go back to management and make some decisions about programming."  Please, don't insult your listeners with such ominous but hollow threats - listeners who you describe as "Well-educated, Influential, Culturally active, Decision-makers, Technology savvy, Affluent professionals."  I'm technologically savvy enough to surf over to your website and find (the buried) financial report showing that WHYY had a $2.2M surplus last year.  And, because I listen to your station, I know that Joan Kroc gave $225M to NPR in 2003.  I know this doesn't eliminate the need for listener support, but please, you have some explaining to do about this misleading rhetoric.

Third, the thank-you gifts/incentives/bribes are cheezy and make the whole act of giving somewhat misleading.  How many coffee mugs can a public radio listener really need?  And a shower radio?  Puh-leez.  Futhermore, once you deduct the cost of the coffee mugs (and shipping) from my donation to the financially strapped public radio station that serves my community like no other, I realize that a significant portion of what I thought was an altruistic gift to my community non-profit radio station is really paying for the thank-you crap that you're sending me.  Please keep the crap to yourselves.

A few suggestions:

Get your executive staff and board members off the air during the pledge drive or, at least, reduce their airtime.  In stead, ask your "loyal," "enlightened," "engaged" listeners to share their testimonials of why they listen to and support WHYY.  I'm more inclined to give to NPR if a peer is asking me than if a WHYY staffer is asking me.  Furthermore, some of NPR's most popular efforts of recent years are listener-created - I think of both This I Believe and of SoundClips.  This approach could probably work for you.

Be honest with us.  Tell us how Joan Kroc's money is being used at NPR, and why our smaller gifts are just as needed.  Ask us to support WHYY out of loyalty, community service and dedication to quality journalism, not out of an unfounded fear that our favorite programs might be cut even though your radio station has a $2.2M surplus from last year.  Use the pledge drive as a celebration and showcase for public radio, not a poorly-produced beg-a-thon.  And make a better effort to raise money outside of the pledge drive - through direct mailings, peer giving campaigns, online giving, and pre-pledge drive efforts.

Flush the crap.  Ask for listener support without any incentives.  However, if you must offer thank-you gifts, make it clear that the "thank you gift" is not a "gift" from the radio station to the listener, but rather a purchase by the listener.  Make it clear that my $100 donation to public radio will be turned into a $78 donation after you send me two coffee mugs.  And after you do that, make the case that public radio needs the whole $100, not the $78 that remains after receiving two unnecessary mugs.

I will continue to support public radio in Philadelphia with my financial gifts.  But it is my hope that you will make the act of giving less painful and more gratifying - and you can start by changing the on-air pledge drives.

Your loyal listener (except during pledge week),
LZ