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captainsblogI do hope the biddies stay away from that line if they see me next week, because Boo's gonna smack a bitch if they say anything about not showing up today. Been busy and all.
I fulfilled my Methodist Day of Obligation (as if there even is such a thing) yesterday, in a worship-service break between two half-day classes at a district-wide laity education event out in Clarence. It's not quite a mega-church, but is a lot closer to one than my current little place ever will be, and it's a confusing rabbit warren of wings and annexes which they helpfully made more confusing by them labeling the rooms by class number rather than room number. So, yeah, walking down the hall to find Room 2 and passing 15, 18, 3?!? Not exactly effective urban planning.
Nor was the room organization within. We got put in the church library, which wasn't set up with the right number of tables or chairs even though they knew all week how many were coming. That was fixed, quickly enough, but the surroundings of the room itself couldn't be; it's your basic boring RSWP1 church library, with the usual multiple translations of Bibles, commentaries and video collections, but with some fairly frightening stuff in between. I saw the whole Left Behind series on one shelf (why would you buy that if you had any intention of NOT being left behind?), and worst of all, over in the Relevant Books For The Kids areas, was this one propped-up title, the face that I was hypnotically drawn to, in a slowing down for an accident kind of way, for almost the entire session:
I take it nobody informed the church librarian that Miles is now smoking more chron than even Jimmy Buffett.
The class itself was good, putting me almost halfway to being "certified"2 to conduct worship services anywhere in Upstate New York. Be still your beating hearts, I know. The second part of that training will be three Sundays from now, when I have to give a sample sermon to the group, which, unlike last time (when I got my "basic" papers allowing me to pop off in our own pulpit), (a) will have to be twice as long, (b) will be on an assigned set of "Lectionary" readings, and (c) (and also, ugh) will be video-recorded.
The halves of this first session were broken up by lunch (we're Methodists; we eat), and by the aforementioned worship service. The host church did one of their contemporary services with a four-piece praise band and a set of Stepford-wife singers, none of whom could get more than a quarter of the RSWP contingent to clap, raise their hands or get above a monotone singing voice for more than a stanza at a time. There was a large contingent of folks from one of our denomination's few inner-city congregations (most split off into their own African Methodist denominations long ago), and even they seemed depressed by the whole business. Way to take the spirit out of spiritual, guys; all the more ironic because the event was captioned "Catch the Spirit."
As opposed, apparently, to "Catch and Release."
----
Then there was this morning, where our neighboring Presbyterians proved that, at least this time, they can kick some righteous ass.
I drive by their building almost every time I drive to our own church, and until a few years ago, it was our polling place, so I knew a little about their programs, but today it was just their sign that drew us in:
SACRED JAZZ SERVICE- DEANNA WITKOWSKI- 10:45 SUNDAY
Hadn't heard of her. Should have, though; she's been featured on Marian McPartland's Piano Jazz and on Weekend Edition, and does far more than this kind of service (her site is here), but it filled a large, wood-framed sanctuary with far more joy and diversity of music than I've heard in such a place in a long time. Almost all of the hymns, responses and anthems were original compositions of hers, with bassist and drummer accompanying, and there was just enough of our own familiar liturgy to feel comfortable in a new place.
They have their own biddies, though; as the minister got to the point in his sermon (appropriately titled "The Rhythm of God's Kingdom") about being receptive to changing the patterns and sounds and, yes, rhythms of how faith is practiced3 , we watched one of the cranky old church ladies staring past us and to the parents of the crying baby across the aisle. She'd been going for maybe two minutes, and, yes, once the Disapproving Glare worked its way across the room, Mom bundled up her youngun and quieted her down outside the presence of God.
That's the problem with this preaching thing; there's always gonna be those who are unclear on the concept:P
----
1Repressed Suburban White People.
2 Which, as I was told by one of our dear former ministers Gail (who was there to run a different workshop), is not to be confused with "certifiable," which, we both know, I already am.
3 Our own District Superintendent made virtually the same point in his sermon the previous day. Not with as good music, though;)
I fulfilled my Methodist Day of Obligation (as if there even is such a thing) yesterday, in a worship-service break between two half-day classes at a district-wide laity education event out in Clarence. It's not quite a mega-church, but is a lot closer to one than my current little place ever will be, and it's a confusing rabbit warren of wings and annexes which they helpfully made more confusing by them labeling the rooms by class number rather than room number. So, yeah, walking down the hall to find Room 2 and passing 15, 18, 3?!? Not exactly effective urban planning.
Nor was the room organization within. We got put in the church library, which wasn't set up with the right number of tables or chairs even though they knew all week how many were coming. That was fixed, quickly enough, but the surroundings of the room itself couldn't be; it's your basic boring RSWP1 church library, with the usual multiple translations of Bibles, commentaries and video collections, but with some fairly frightening stuff in between. I saw the whole Left Behind series on one shelf (why would you buy that if you had any intention of NOT being left behind?), and worst of all, over in the Relevant Books For The Kids areas, was this one propped-up title, the face that I was hypnotically drawn to, in a slowing down for an accident kind of way, for almost the entire session:
I take it nobody informed the church librarian that Miles is now smoking more chron than even Jimmy Buffett.
The class itself was good, putting me almost halfway to being "certified"2 to conduct worship services anywhere in Upstate New York. Be still your beating hearts, I know. The second part of that training will be three Sundays from now, when I have to give a sample sermon to the group, which, unlike last time (when I got my "basic" papers allowing me to pop off in our own pulpit), (a) will have to be twice as long, (b) will be on an assigned set of "Lectionary" readings, and (c) (and also, ugh) will be video-recorded.
The halves of this first session were broken up by lunch (we're Methodists; we eat), and by the aforementioned worship service. The host church did one of their contemporary services with a four-piece praise band and a set of Stepford-wife singers, none of whom could get more than a quarter of the RSWP contingent to clap, raise their hands or get above a monotone singing voice for more than a stanza at a time. There was a large contingent of folks from one of our denomination's few inner-city congregations (most split off into their own African Methodist denominations long ago), and even they seemed depressed by the whole business. Way to take the spirit out of spiritual, guys; all the more ironic because the event was captioned "Catch the Spirit."
As opposed, apparently, to "Catch and Release."
----
Then there was this morning, where our neighboring Presbyterians proved that, at least this time, they can kick some righteous ass.
I drive by their building almost every time I drive to our own church, and until a few years ago, it was our polling place, so I knew a little about their programs, but today it was just their sign that drew us in:
SACRED JAZZ SERVICE- DEANNA WITKOWSKI- 10:45 SUNDAY
Hadn't heard of her. Should have, though; she's been featured on Marian McPartland's Piano Jazz and on Weekend Edition, and does far more than this kind of service (her site is here), but it filled a large, wood-framed sanctuary with far more joy and diversity of music than I've heard in such a place in a long time. Almost all of the hymns, responses and anthems were original compositions of hers, with bassist and drummer accompanying, and there was just enough of our own familiar liturgy to feel comfortable in a new place.
They have their own biddies, though; as the minister got to the point in his sermon (appropriately titled "The Rhythm of God's Kingdom") about being receptive to changing the patterns and sounds and, yes, rhythms of how faith is practiced3 , we watched one of the cranky old church ladies staring past us and to the parents of the crying baby across the aisle. She'd been going for maybe two minutes, and, yes, once the Disapproving Glare worked its way across the room, Mom bundled up her youngun and quieted her down outside the presence of God.
That's the problem with this preaching thing; there's always gonna be those who are unclear on the concept:P
----
1Repressed Suburban White People.
2 Which, as I was told by one of our dear former ministers Gail (who was there to run a different workshop), is not to be confused with "certifiable," which, we both know, I already am.
3 Our own District Superintendent made virtually the same point in his sermon the previous day. Not with as good music, though;)