This chapter’s review will only be one post. It’ll be shorter, and there are hardly any Green Flags.
Barna and Viola have orderly worship down to a science (they think). Here’s their conclusion about most all “Protestant”* worship: “The order of worship… includes a three-fold structure: (1) singing, (2) the sermon, and (3) closing prayer or song.” My, how sad and lame that order sounds; thankfully, that’s not my experience, at all!
What I have experienced in at least the past 10 years of worship (first in a non-denom church in the Reformed tradition called Holy Trinity, and later in the churches of the Anglican Mission in the Americas is what Robert Webber calls the historical “four-fold pattern” of the worshiping church. That pattern is something I have modeled all worship experiences after (strangely, even before I knew it existed!), dating as far back as 1992! That pattern is simple, and it has emerged in virtually every worship tradition, from high-church Anglo-Catholic-Orthodox to informal Pentecostal or Baptist traditions (I daresay, even the simplicity of a Quaker service echoes this pattern.
Enough preamble; here it is: Gathering together in God’s presence (this involves songs of procession and praise, and often prayers for forgiveness and words of invocation); the service of the Word (involving the reading of scripture, the teaching, and a response to the message, which can include the Creeds or a time of meditation); the time of Eucharist, or thanksgiving – a chance to respond to the goodness of God, primarily (but not always) through the celebrating of the Gospel in Holy Communion (also, a time for prayer and singing); and a Sending out into the world, in which a benediction is proclaimed and songs of mission and purpose are sung triumphantly – and we are sent out to love and serve Christ with gladness and singleness of heart!
Think about your church worship pattern. Is it merely song-sermon-song/prayer? Is it really that pedestrian? Or – regardless of your tradition – is there something more? Isn’t there something just… amazing… about entering a time set aside each week to be with the larger body of Christ, to be ushered into His presence (in a special way, not one that diminishes, but augments, our other times with Christ)? Shouldn’t we love Christ and the wonder of His majesty enough to prepare our hearts, to prepare our thoughts, to prepare our voices?
Now, I’ve been to the churches that have – in some well-meaning attempt to “reach” people – tried to remove the historic four-fold pattern of worship (one that at least goes back to the second century). The song-sermon-prayer thing sometimes does happen, and it is sad. But that is not because of some inherent failure or “paganness” of formal worship; it’s because certain churches want to do in the formal gathering what was meant for the living room. Those churches miss out on the mystery and majesty of God – as much as a church that refuses to acknowledge God’s majesty in the first place.
Two more things: 1) They give a very weak and non-detailed argument that the Catholic/Orthodox liturgies (from which all our worship – in one way or another – is descended) are taken from “pagan” forms. This troubled me, until it occurred to me that, that may be just what the Holy Spirit had in mind. In their bold and insightful work, Colossians Remixed, Brian Walsh and Sylvia Keesmaat explain that many, many terms and titles attributed to Christ by Paul in the letter to the Colossians were terms originally used to describe the Caesars! They argue that he meant that as a direct assault on the “genius of Caesar” while at the same time giving Christ the glory due His Name. Does the origin of these terms cheapen or dilute the power of the words? Not in any way! In a similar way, we (and Viola and Barna, no doubt) use things our culture can relate to (we co-opt the titles of the Caesars of our day) to allow people in our culture to better grasp and understand the good news of Jesus (coffeeshop ministries come to mind). I imagine that the use of “pagan” forms in Christian worship had a similar noble (and biblical) purpose. If those patterns had then faded with their usefulness, I’d say, great; but they haven’t. Something tells me they have a purpose when something like the Doxology or the Creeds or the Prayers of the People unite millions around the world every Sunday.
2) Viola and Barna argue – toward the end of the chapter – that organized, patterned worship in a formal setting makes Christians into passive recipients. While I disagree that it necessarily does this (I’ve never felt more vibrant than when participating in responsive readings at a very traditional Episcopal church near Seabrook Island, SC), I would also suggest that active participation is not always biblical. “Be still, and know that I am God.” That’s what much formal worship does calls me to. And it sounds like God sometimes wants us to just… receive.
