Posts Tagged ‘worship’
it’s time to engage!
In response to Alan Creech’s thoughts on Merton (see yesterday’s post), Aimee Milburn wrote an extended comment that she also posted on her own blog. In “Life, Love, and Canon Law,” Aimee offers a thoughtful explanation of the value of liturgy. She writes,
The problem is not the liturgy itself, that we must throw it out and start over. The problem is we don’t know what the liturgy is. The liturgy is, first of all and primarily, interior. It is a deep focusing on Christ… When we stand, we stand in His presence. Kneeling, we kneel before Him on His high throne in heaven, adoring Him. Singing and praying, we sing and pray to Him with all our hearts… The better we know the liturgy, the more it frees us to deepen our interior concentration.
It’s not much of a leap to apply this to other styles and forms of worship…
it’s good to feel bad
There’s a reason we don’t want to recognize our woundedness and sin and inconsistency. It hurts. It points a finger. It reminds me that I’m less than perfect. It makes me — oh, horror! — feel bad about myself. And as a culture, we don’t like to feel bad about ourselves.
Undoubtedly some will disagree, but I think feeling bad about yourself is a prerequisite for true repentance. Only after I was confronted with my incredible sinfulness and my utter inability to make lasting change did I come to a full appreciation of God’s love, mercy, and grace. I was caught in an addictive cycle of sin that I couldn’t stop, no matter how much I wanted to. I was miserable, and I realized that I was not nearly so wonderful as I had always thought. At the moment I knew God loved me in the midst of my mess, I fully experienced His grace for the first time. To use Card’s words, I recognized my woundedness…
rethinking worship
I recently searched a stock image site using the keyword “worship.” I got what I expected: white men photographed from behind, their hands upraised. The only thing that changed was the background: a sunset, a church, a white void.
It pains me that a gesture I find personally significant — raising my hands to my Father — has become a cliché.…