Worship: A Wild Thing

. . . let us be thankful, and so worship God with reverence and awe, for our “God is a consuming fire.” (Hebrews 12:28-29 NIV).

About eleven years ago I made my first (and so far only) trip to Alaska. I spent two weeks there, feeling small in the vastness of the place, marveling at sights massive and expansive, enjoying daylight that lasted past midnight and never went away entirely. In the middle of that trip my hosts took me to the mountains. The journey required the services of a bush pilot. No roads could get to where we were going. He landed on a grass runway not far from some small hunting sheds (the word “cabin” suggests something more substantial than what was there). He helped us unload our gear and supplies and said, “I’ll be back for you Wednesday.”

There we were. No electricity. No plumbing. No radio, TV or DVD players. No stores to run to. Nothing but wild. Our two day stay in the mountains would involve walking from one cluster of hunting sheds to another cluster, and then hiking back again. At one point during this trek I heard a distant howling. “What’s that,” I asked. “Wolves” I was told matter of factly.

I remember that trip now, and what strikes me about it isn’t what I saw or did there. What I recall above all of that is simply this: Never once was I bored. I could use any number of words to try and capture what that experience was like. I was awed, thrilled, at times scared, grateful, occasionally hungry, tired – but never bored.

Why is it that the most common criticism of church is the word “boring.” There are other criticisms to be sure, some more pointed and scathing than the accusation of dullness, but “boredom” seems to head the list of negative impressions associated with church in general and worship in particular. Boring worship. How did we ever get there?

A couple of weeks ago the California Supreme Court handed down a decision about the liability of amusement parks relative to roller-coasters and other rides. The technical legal question had to do with whether such rides are public carriers, or something like that. I don’t know the details of what the court was trying to decide. However, what caught my attention was the commentary of a legal analyst on one of the cable news channels. He basically summarized the court’s opinion in simple terms. The minority of the court argued that when a person rides a roller-coaster they know there is an element of risk or danger involved and they willingly assume such risks by getting on the ride. In fact, the element of danger is part of the reason for getting on the ride to begin with.

But the majority disagreed. They said that amusement park patrons want the experience of danger the ride provides, but they want it with the assurance of safety.

I don’t know the legal implications of that opinion, but I think the majority was right. We want the exhilaration without the risk. We want an experience that won’t cost us too much. And what’s more, what the California Supreme court said about amusement park patrons might well be said about many who attend church worship services. There’s an appetite for spirituality that’s exhilarating or comforting, a Christianity that that buttresses our pursuit of the American dream and strengthens us as we accumulate comforts - and it does all of this without disturbing us.

But this is exactly what soon becomes boring. There’s nothing vast or expansive or the least bit threatening about this kind of spirituality. The reason I was never bored in the mountains of Alaska was because I knew that the place could kill me. Being in the middle of the Alaskan mountain range is very different from standing at a distance and taking pictures. Taking pictures of mountains is what tourists do. Hiking those mountains within earshot of wolves pushes one beyond mere observation. The sights are still beautiful, but something is at stake.

The Hebrew prophets couldn’t tolerate religious tourism, worship with the illusion of safety. To draw near to God was to be immersed in something entirely overwhelming, threatening, awesome. The prophet Malachi gave assurances that God would one day come to his temple, but he added a caution. “Who can endure the day of his coming? Who can stand when he appears? For he will be like a refiner’s fire or a launderer’s soap” (Malachi 3:2). Jeremiah stood in the temple gates and confronted those who came with empty words, repeating over and over in some kind of mantra, “this is the temple of the Lord, this is the temple of the Lord” (Jeremiah 7:4). They came with words, living any way they wanted, thinking that the mantra would make them safe. Isaiah’s temple vision showed him the truth about himself and left him fearing for his life (Isaiah 6:5).

There’s no way worship should ever be boring. And worship that tries to deliver a spiritual experience at little or no cost will inevitably become boring. To enter the sanctuary is to watch the pilot leave you in the wild. This memory of Alaska gives me a new way of looking at what it means to lead people in worship. It’s taking them to vast country of God and God’s ways, both merciful and terrible, and leaving them there to deal with what they find or what finds them. You can make it out alive, but not unchanged.