Beyond the polarization: grace and surprise in worship

Christian Century, March 18, 1998 by Peter W. Marty

When Mark Twain finally mastered the intricacies of piloting a steamboat on the Mississippi and had catalogued in his mind every trifling feature of the great river, he confessed to a deep deprivation: "I have lost something which can never be restored to me in my life. All the grace, and beauty--the poetry--has now gone out of the majestic river!" The river, of course, had not changed. But familiarity with the language of the river had killed a certain spirit of wonder. The routines of navigational life had tamed the water's treachery. The poetry was gone.

Two decades of worship wars are beginning to do to the splendor of church worship what Twain's piloting routines did to his view of the river. They are dulling the brilliance of the grace and beauty that color the church's praise. The poetry of worship, so crucial for conveying the glorious presence of God, is hard to find. It's not that worship has lost its centrality in the larger life of the church, any more than the mighty Mississippi slowed to a trickle in Twain's time. But people have poured massive energy into attracting souls to worship instead of helping those same souls meet a great big God through great big praise. Sadly enough, in many quarters an infatuation with style has displaced the rich substance that belongs to worship.

Years ago, it would have been unthinkable that two adjectives, contemporary and traditional, would so thoroughly captivate the imagination of the church. It would have seemed strange that these simple words could govern the views of those who plot the church's worship. But captivate and govern they do. No other words dominate the worship landscape like contemporary and traditional.

They look like perfectly innocent adjectives. All sorts of faithful people lean on them for inspiration in trying to help the church and culture make sense of one another. But what a disappointing role they have come to play in defining separate worship styles for the church. Once thought to be the answer for securing the worship contentment of old and young alike, today contemporary and traditional are symbols of division.

Much of the polarization of praise in our sanctuaries stems from the ambiguity of the terms themselves. Contemporary and traditional may be useful concepts for making wallpaper and china choices, but they are of little help in expressing the magnificent breadth of praise that has formed the Christian community. Both words encourage formats that answer largely to the feelings of the worshiper. The adoration of God gets lost in a bog of subjective tastes. Reliance on contemporary and traditional tames the surprise of grace that is supposed to give worship its energy.

How does Mary know exactly what she needs in worship? And since when is the praise of God a need-based exercise? Since most of us instinctively favor behavioral habits that underscore the familiar, what incentive is there for John to break out of his own comfort zone in worship to experience other faithful forms and other people? And shouldn't Bridget enjoy some measure of responsibility to the larger congregation worshiping around her--a joyous love for the whole that would supersede her own set of likes and dislikes? And even if Mary and John and Bridget are all of a mind to want more expansive worship expressions, expressions that more completely and surprisingly witness to everything God is about, the odds are that their parish's worship schedule will force a choice upon them--contemporary or traditional.

Pigeonholing the manner of praise is more than a disservice to God. It threatens the integrity of the body of Christ. People in the pew deserve more spiritual protein than is offered by some church-growth dream. They have heard the arguments about attracting newcomers and retaining old-timers. They have been bombarded with relevance--generation this and generation that. What they haven't heard enough about is the beauty of worshiping with people who might think differently from the way they do. They haven't been stretched to consider looking beyond their own tastes. If the Holy Spirit is let loose, they might even be open to expanding their idea of why they come to church in the first place. These people are ready to meet God face-to-face in all of God's glorious fullness. They want more than the transcendent glory of God in a neat package. They want expressions of faith that have some size.

"Sometimes I wonder," writes John Fischer, "if God is really interested in the noise of our contemporary clamoring [about worship]. Like my dog who can't seem to get anywhere because he keeps having to stop and scratch his fleas, I wonder if we are so busy scratching where everybody itches that we aren't taking anybody anywhere significant." Pastors, priests and worship planners need to stop scratching and begin to establish some new habits of thinking. Until the language of worship planning changes, people are going to continue to come to church expecting to be confirmed in what they already think they know or need. And until there are some clearer formulations of what makes for faithful congregational life, people are going to keep asking the consumerist question: "What am I going to get out of it?"