Sing a new/old/tricky psalm to God
A Gathering Vocies post
This post comes to you live from Louisville, Kentucky where I’m attending a meeting of the Presbyterian Committee on Congregational Song (PCOCS). For several years now, PCOCS has met to select the contents, format, etc. of the next collection of Presbyterian songs and hymns – the next hymnal.
We’ve focused this particulary three-day meeting on the psalms, and I have a few reflections. First, a bit of history. The previous Presbyterian hymnal published in 1990 had many psalms set to music and contained in a particular section of the hymnal ordered by psalm number (rather than topical, ordered by use in worship, or some other arrangement). For a number of reasons the psalms, generally speaking, were the least sung and least popular section of the previous hymnal. This for a denomination whose roots are in psalm singing.
There are plenty of other reasons the psalms in the 1990 hymnal were less than popular – and we could certainly discuss whether popularity is the point – but I want to reflect briefly on a few other issues related to singing the psalms.
Singing a psalm from the Bible that has been set to music is singing someone else’s song as your own. This happens when singing any piece of music written by someone else, I suppose, but I feel it more strongly when I sing a psalm. Singing what God’s people have sung for thousands of years connects me to those people in a way singing a newly composed text doesn’t quite reach. And it also brings up some tricky problems when the messages of the psalms don’t fit into our neat theological categories today.
For instance, one psalm paraphrase we looked at had the phrase, “May God confirm your heart’s desire / and bring to fullness all your plans.” I found this psalm’s message curious because of how often we speak in Christian parlance today about following “God’s plan” but the psalm sings about God confirming our plans.
(By the way, since PCOCS works with texts with author’s names intentionally omitted I cannot cite them here which is fine because our work isn’t finished yet. So even if you somehow know the psalm I reference here, nobody knows whether it’ll be in the next collection. So please don’t freak out on me.)
Other psalms come up against other narratives of the Bible so that we can use the Bible as speaking different and sometimes conflicting messages at different times. This is obvious for any Bible reader, but seemed particularly tricky when working with psalms.
For instance, one psalm sets up how creation praises and responds to God then says, “None questions what you do.” But many of us do question God – which seems reasonable, right? And some of the psalms – a lot of the psalms – do the same thing!
Finally, some psalms get at the old challenge of works righteousness theology: “Those who trust the Lord are filled; all the good wrought by their labor / Is their gain, so God has willed.” Maybe this one gets at the challenge of simply explaining any theological concept in rhyming verse, but it struck me as particularly curious.
Though I’ve many more thoughts, I must cut this sort and run back to the meeting now. Unless I hurry, I’ll have to sing a song: “Please accept my apology / blogging stole such time from me.” Peace.
Lies, Damned Lies, and Statistics…in the Pews
When I served as a parish pastor, every week the bulletin reported how much money was collected during the previous week’s offering. It also noted “total offering collected for the month” in relation to the budget. Reporting these numbers was a tradition in our congregation and is common in this area, but I always felt a little uncertain about this practice.
On the one hand, it’s really helpful for members to know the state of the church’s budget. Noting as much each week might also remind the less assiduous folks to bring their pledges. But on the other hand, I wondered what that line in the bulletin communicated to visitors, especially those without much money. We didn’t report each week how many times we served Jesus, or fed the hungry, or glimpsed the Kingdom. We reported how much money we collected, or not.
Numbers matter, but they’re not the point. Interpreting numbers can get pretty tricky pretty fast.
I recently read with great interest an article on the Online Conference Dashboard instituted by Bishop William Willimon of the Northern Alabama Conference of the United Methodist Church. Each Monday pastors supervised by Willimon report statistics on the online “dashboard” about membership, attendance, baptisms, professions of faith, outreach (people serving), outreach (people served), and apportionment dollars paid. Willimon checks out the stats each Tuesday, but it’s all public. You can see the reports here. It’s no great surprise that the approach has reportedly generated its fair share of controversy (though Google turned-up relatively little).
As a mission developer, I make monthly online statistical reports to supervisors at the national church, but the questions are such that I can’t imagine the data is any help whatsoever in interpreting our ministry at The Project F-M. As a former student of Florida’s schools where the statewide standardized test (the FCAT instituted before No Child Left Behind) is often the tail wagging the dog, I have a natural aversion to bureaucrats and statistics. But…
But when people ask how our ministry is going, I often say how many people attended our last event. But when I give my monthly report to our Board, I dutifully report exactly who I met with the previous month. And, if we ever were to the point where someone wished to be baptized, you better believe I’ll take note.
So though I admit a natural skepticism towards Willimon’s dashboard, though I insist it tells too little a story, I do give the conference credit for taking note, for (literally) taking account of their ministry — and for doing so especially in the context of what was (but, I understand, is no longer) a declining conference in terms of overall membership statistics. And, sure, the speed, the public nature, and the frequency of the reports might help combat pastoral laziness and burnout.
[On a side note, I'm not convinced all churches need to grow numerically. I do think, though, they should support other new church plants and innovative ways of ministry even if they themselves are an ideal size.]
The Mary Jacobs article gives a good quick take on some other issues — not all positive – associated with the dashboards, but the whole thing has me thinking: what questions might I like to ask other than the basic membership, giving, and service stats? What questions might I consider particularly telling for congregations? Here’s a few of my ideas, and I’d love to read some of yours in the comments.
Alternative Questions for the Conference Dashboards
- For how many of your enemies did you pray in the last week?
- How many times did you push yourself to an uncomfortable place for Jesus’ sake?
- How often did you find yourself closed-off to the Spirit doing a new thing?
- How many Bibles have you worn out from study?
- How often did you pray your Facebook feed?
- How often do you respond to a sermon with a specific question or action?
- Is your faith static, or are you pushing for new ideas, new activities, new insights of the Spirit?
- How often did you make numbers and statistics your idol?
- To how many people did you show and tell that Jesus Christ is Lord?
Review & Contest: “What’s the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian?”
With the help of the publisher, I’m running a giveaway for a copy of this book. Make any comment on this post, and I’ll enter you into a contest to win a free copy! Randomly drawn on July 6th.
I work with 20-30 somethings who are not connected to a faith community. Many books published by denominational publishing houses are, well, nice for me to read but not particularly applicable to my work as a mission developer. Martin Thielen’s new book, however, is spot-on for those interested in the Christian faith but skeptical of its tenets.
In “What’s the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian: A Guide to What Matters Most,” Thielen uses a conversational style to walk a seeker through what matters — and what doesn’t. More a Christian appetizer than a main course, Thielen employs the sensitivity and seasoned story-telling of an experienced pastor.
The book is in two parts. Part one is “Ten Things Christians Don’t Need to Believe.” Topics Thielen includes tend to be extremes held by conservative Christians such as beliefs in a literal six-day creation story, that women cannot be preachers, and a “rapture” view of the end of the world. Part two is the flip-side, “Ten Things Christians Do Need to Believe.” Thielen uses the person of Jesus to organize this section as each chapter begins with Jesus — Jesus’ Identity, Jesus’ Grace, Jesus’ Example, Jesus’ Death, etc.
As a pastor in the PC(USA), I found the book both approachable and perfectly congruent with my theology. Thielen dabbled in more conservative circles early in his career but is now Senior Pastor of Lebanon First United Methodist Church in Tennessee. The book would be appropriate for all mainline protestant denominations.
In the opening pages, Thielen tells the story of how over many months he mentored an atheist, who later turned agnostic, and after many meetings with Thielen, eventually professed faith in Christ. I took the book to be sort of a companion piece to such conversations with folks who are both skeptical of and curious about Christianity. As that, I think the book works quite well.
It left me lacking in some senses, however. First, I grew tired of Thielen’s use of stories to illustrate his points. After a few chapters I felt overcome with cute almost kitschy illustrations and wanting more meat, more willingness to take-on the historical and theological aspects of each chapter. Second, I know it’s difficult to address (especially considering Thielen’s intended audience may be completely unchurched) but I felt like the reliance of movie references and other people’s illustrative stories overshadowed some core theological claims of Christianity like, the Bible is the word of God, what is a creed, and that we are called to respond to God’s love. It’s hard to explain, but when reading, several times I felt more gooey than educated or convicted. I’m not the intended audience, however, so read on.
WJK Books has a handy study guide and suggested 7-week course to help congregations to enjoy the book together. It’s difficult to find a book that would work for an entire congregation to read and study together, so Thielen does well to fit the bill. As studies have shown, mainline Christians these days are increasingly Biblically illiterate and what once were flash points of the faith are becoming mere footnotes to feel good religion. What’s the Least I Can Believe and Still Be a Christian might serve for some as a helpful starting point for theological conversation. For more details and to buy a copy, check out it’s WJK page by clicking here.
Update: Congratulations to Rev. Burton Cantrell, the randomly chosen winner of the free copy! It’s going out in the mail this week. Thanks to all who commented and read the blog (even when there’s no contest).
Turning Lutheran
In 26 days I become a Lutheran. It could be quite painful. They might try to flush out my tartan Knox/Calvinist blood with a steady stream of lutefisk, lefse, and German beer (well, come to think of it, two out of three of those ain’t too bad). In truth, I only jest. I’m not really becoming a Lutheran — they’re just going to pay my health insurance and pension. What a deal!
Actually, come April I will be employed by several partnership bodies of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America as Mission Developer for The Project F-M, but I don’t have to change my denominational colors. The PC(USA) is in full communion with the ELCA. We’re best of buds, and ministers from one denomination can easily serve a ministry of the other upon invitation. So I’ll still be Presbyterian, I’ll just have a double dose of meetings to attend.
I’m curious, though, Lutherans out there on the interwebs: What do you see as the important distinguishing characteristics of the ELCA (as compared to the PC(USA) or other denominations)? What does being Lutheran mean to you?
Here’s the obvious differences I’ve noticed over the years:
- Lutherans use paradox often as a means to describe tricky theological concerns. In fact, I challenge you to get a group of Lutheran pastors in a room talking theology and not mention paradox in the first hour.
- Lutherans speak of a law and gospel
dichotomydialectic fairly often. For instance, in my text study group for sermons, ELCA folks will describe the “law” of the text and the “gospel” of the text. (For various reasons, this wouldn’t happen in PC(USA) circles, but interestingly, rarely do any Presbyterians actually explain why.) - Lutherans have much more of a respect for liturgy than your average Presbyterian.
I’m very grateful for these differences. I’m thrilled to be called to serve in a partner denomination. I have a lot to learn from Lutheran colleagues (and goodness knows, Presbyterians are no angels). To add a wrinkle to the move, I’ll be serving in a position which may not emphasize any denominational brand very loudly at all. Up to now, at least, that hasn’t been the point at all. Fine by me. In fact, my dual-citizenship could be a real asset.
But, oh wise blog readers, I’m curious: If you were to turn me Lutheran what would you suggest? Norwegian sweaters (or buying that shirt above)? Memorizing Luther’s Small Catechism? Reading Bonhoeffer? What resources should I contemplate to better understand my Lutheran partners in faith and ministry?
Did Jesus die for robots too?
Originally posted at Gathering Voices: Faith Conversations from TheThoughtfulChristian.com
In 1968, international chess champion David Levy bet that no computer could beat him in the next ten years. Levy won the bet in 1978 prevailing against the most powerful computer at the time. Afterwards, Levy said it’d only be a matter of time until the computers were winning.
Move over chess.
To much fanfare, a computer named Watson won a Jeopardy! tournament last week, beating the two winningest Jeopardy! players of all time. One of those players, Ken Jennings, underneath his response in the final Jeopardy round quoted from an episode of The Simpsons, “I, for one, welcome our new computer overlords.”
You might be thinking, “oh, hey, big deal. Watson took up an entire room and was programmed to play one meaningless game show.” And, sure, that’s a fair point. I wouldn’t have thought twice about it had I not read Lev Grossman’s stunning TIME article, “2045: The Year Man Becomes Immortal.” Among other things, Grossman describes the Singularity movement which addresses augmenting our bodies and minds with technology.
Raymond Kurzweil, a leading Singularitian, argues that genetics, nanotechnology, and robotics (artificial intelligence) are progressing at a rate so that a) in 2020 personal computers will have the same processing power as the human brian, b) in the 2030s human mind uploading will become possible, c) in 2045 The Singularity occurs and artificial intelligences will surpass human beings as the smartest and most capable life forms on the earth.
It’d be more comfortable to call this all poppycock and go on our merry way. But, even my beloved NPR last week reported that radiologists may soon be out of their jobs — turns out computer image reading technology is progressing pretty fast these days, and machines don’t need pension or health insurance benefits.
But before I jump back under the covers and wish these scientific breakthroughs away, I can consider our congregation and see members living many happy years due to portable oxygen tanks, or thanks to major surgery, or after surviving cancer that a generation ago likely would have killed them. One could actually argue that, since a transplant patient takes daily drugs to avoid rejection, this person is already dependent on modern technology to survive. This person is already “post-human.”
I don’t have any profound theological insight here, but I do wonder about this: I know God can handle these changes, but can we? Can the Church? Can I?
The providence of God and the Lordship of Jesus Christ will continue no matter what becomes of nanotechnology. Even if we finally develop a computer that looks, talks, and acts like humans, God will still be God. I trust that God will surely figure out the best way to deal with a person, say, whose brain has been transplanted into a robot (I’m guessing grace will have its part). But, partly due to the fact I seem to have few theological resources with which to approach artificial intelligence, I’m concerned as to whether the church is equipping its members to deal with such questions. What’s an appropriate Biblical hermeneutic when studying questions like, “If we have the scientific knowhow to transplant someone’s brain into a machine and keep that person’s memories and thoughts intact, should we?”
Did I miss a course in seminary? Did we cover whether they’ll be intelligent robots in the final Kingdom of God? Did Jesus die for them too?
image by Iva Villi
Additional Resources from www.TheThoughtfulChristian.com
-
A New Church for a New World, By John M. Buchanan
-
“Assisted Reproductive Technologies,” By Kate Ott (Adult Study)
“Thank you God for making me an atheist”
Originally posted at Gathering Voices: Faith Conversations from TheThoughtfulChristian.com
I missed the Golden Globes this year (ok, I miss them pretty much ever year), but I did catch the hubbub surrounding comedian host Ricky Gervais’ closing line. After thanking the many people that helped put the awards show together, Gervais concluded saying, “And thank you to God for making me an atheist.” Indeed, it’s a funny line from a master comedian.
What caught my attention in the conversation after the awards show was this clip from Piers Morgan’s interview with Gervais. I had never imagined that, in a mere three minutes, a person could make so many head-scratching comments about religion. Wow, where to begin?
You can watch the clip yourself, but here’s a few oddities:
- Gervais, “I’m not mocking [believers]. People’s beliefs aren’t my concern at all. I don’t differentiate between religions. I look at all religions the same.”
- Praising Christianity for the morals values it instills, Gervais does say the best way to move forward in life is to live out moral values.
- Gervais paraphrases Jesus’ second greatest commandment (Matt 22:39, Mark 12:31) without any irony: “I say what good is and I treat people the way I want to be treated.”
- Apparently proving he indeed doesn’t differentiate between religions, he speaks as if all Christians believe the earth was literally created in six days.
- He concludes acknowledging a drastic difference between spirituality and religion.
I guess what bothers me most about the clip is the surface-level approach to religion and theology. In a world in which differences in religions (not to mention within the same religion) contribute to cultural strife, political battles, global injustice, and wars, it just strikes me as super-silly to “look at all religions the same.”
From other interviews I’ve gathered that Gervais grew up going to church and was a believing Christian as a child. But when Ricky was eight his older brother asked him, “You don’t really believe in God, do you?” And his mom, who overheard the question, hushed his brother. Ricky realized something must be off if his mom didn’t want his brother talking about atheism. So within the hour, Ricky Gervais became an atheist.
As a pastor, I walk a tricky line when engaging people in conversations about atheism in my parish and community. Some of my best friends are atheists. Close family members don’t believe in God. I love chatting to these folk about why they don’t believe, or using the famous line, “Tell me about the God you don’t believe in.” Sadly, more often than not, I find myself defending my atheist friends to my believer friends who are overly suspicious of atheists and agnostics, as if there’s some danger that non-believers carry a type of virus that’s libel to infect them.
I suppose what most bothers me, whether from one point of view or another, is anyone who’s not open to exploring questions of religion and belief. Maybe that’s why I like the name “The Thoughtful Christian.com” so much. And if there were a “The Thoughtful Atheist.com” that’d be great too, emphasis on the “thoughtful.”
Additional Resources from www.TheThoughtfulChristian.com
- God and the New Atheism, by John F. Haught
- “Atheism: A Christian Response,” by Michael F. Duffy
Does the manger matter?
The Bible gets four shots to tell Jesus’ birth — well, four gospel writers plus Paul and the other epistle writers, so at least four. But the manger only appears in Luke. For many current-day Christians, the Christmas story would be incomplete without the manger scene: little baby Jesus wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger. But does this, the crowning scene of many a church Christmas Pageant, really matter?
Well, yes and no. Does the manger matter to Matthew, Mark, or John? No, not one bit. Does the manger matter to Paul? Nope. In fact, Paul doesn’t even seem to know about the whole virgin birth story, let alone the manger — at least he never mentions it. And even for Luke, is the manger an irreplaceable aspect of the birth story that, without the manger, Jesus’ birth would lose all its meaning? I think not. But it matters; the manger matters to Luke at least.
Luke is the gospel in which stories of the poor and the outcast and women get a special airing. Luke seems to be all about those on the margins, and Luke tells the story of Jesus with that hue. So yeah, the manger matters, for it puts the scandal of Jesus, the craziness of the gospel, in a tidy (or smelly?) message.
Was little baby Jesus actually laid in a manger — I don’t know, it seems like a very strange and dirty place to put a newborn if you ask me. I’m not a parent, but I’d say Mary and Joseph would have to be crazy-tired or plain silly to put a newborn in a feeding trough. But the story of Jesus being laid in a manger speaks to the truth of the gospel. Here’s how:
For one, the manger as metaphor reminds us of Jesus as the bread of life. Jesus is both food for our spiritual journey, and food that physically nourishes us in the bread and wine of communion. Little baby Jesus in the food trough can point to big guy Jesus feeding the 5,000 and dining after the resurrection with the disciples at Emmaus.
Second, the manger scene sets up the story of Jesus as one of scandal. The son of God lies helpless in a food trough for dirty animals — scandal! What sort of God would figure that as a good idea? Only a crazy-wild-scandalous one that upends all our expectations of justice, love, and grace. Scandalous manger.
Finally, the manger scene, for me at least, sets Jesus as his own person — a poor one, yes, but his own man aside from his parents’ influence. I’m not saying Jesus’ is uninfluenced by his parents or culture, no way. But I’m picturing the birth scene as a comic strip with a final panel of an up-close baby Jesus in the manger. Mary and Joseph holding Jesus aren’t the point; Jesus himself, set apart, poor, lowly, weak, vulnerable, even smelly — Jesus is the focal point of the story, so he hangs out by himself in the manger.
But that’s just me. What do you think? Could you do Christmas without little baby Jesus in a food trough? Sure, leaving it out would ruin the pageant, but does the manger really matter to you?
image by Scott Wilcoxson
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