The note I’ve reproduced below refers to a bygone era, and the book in which it was inscribed is not likely to be read again. Still, the note itself is beautiful to me. I don’t want to part with it, so I’ve decided to save just this one page.
Although not related by blood, the writers (and the givers of the gift-book) feel like first cousins once removed, and they were on my mailing list for the worship digest newsletter I sent out during the 90s. Because of that and other interactions, they recognized a desire in me; at the time, I was very active in worship leadership and was relatively effective in carrying on a portion of my grandfather’s work and message. At this point in life, however, that is no longer the case.
Now, I am deeply hurt over the current state of affairs with my extended family, for several have shown no regard (and worse). A decade ago, one of them overtly attempted to reprove me for “associating myself” with my grandfather. I don’t recall ever making statements to the effect that I was like he was, although I did desire to carry on his influence.
The image below tells the story of a portion of Granddaddy’s influence. A few years after he was told¹ he was no longer directing the Harding Chorus, his successor (who, incidentally, was a good deal more technically qualified, and who also influenced people for good) honored him with this tribute on the cover of a hymns record.
[Please ignore typos on the name of Andy T. Ritchie, Jr. I imagine those occurred during the later transference of these words to a CD liner.]
Today would have been Granddaddy Ritchie’s 115th birthday.
A little more than forty years ago, he died.
About thirty years ago, the above note of affirmation was written by family friends.
Twenty years ago, my leadership opportunities were already drying up, but they still came once in a while.
Flourishing again seems possible only in the next life, as far as I can see. Survival and maintenance are the order of the day. Thriving is no longer in view, but man, would a return to thriving be a welcome change, if God wills it! As for Granddaddy and my mom and dad, they would have loved me, anyway. As for some others, I’m not so sure. I depend on the grace of my Eternal Father, whose love never has a “no longer” attached to it.
It has been a long time since I really dealt in contemporary Christian music of any kind. All of CCM, worship music included, has been unsatisfying for years. When I heard a relatively new song that seemed better than most, I decided to spend some time with it, thinking through its words and then commenting.
In one way of considering worship, there are two angles or perspectives. The foremost is the identity of God. The other side of the equation is the human self—the identity of the one approaching God—and this also deserves space and time.
So, before we get to the main subject . . . I heard a second song while writing this. Lyrically speaking, “Come As You Are” (Crowder) starts and then stays in a place of inviting the wounded, needy human to come. In other words, it isn’t a song of worship, really. While it starts with a kind of focus on the person coming for the purpose of worshipping, this is more a song of invitation. It’s in the second person, spoken from brother to brother, or perhaps even from God to a person. This song reminded me of the classic invitation song “Just as I am” (written 190 years ago). And then the “as you are” notion also puts me in mind of the now-infamous Super Bowl ad with the “He Gets Us” message. I would say that it is inherently good to be assured that we can come to God “as we are,” but that is not all there is to it. It must not stop there. That’s enough on that. Now, back to the original focus. It is good to consider the words we use to worship, so here are some thoughts about the MercyMe song “To Not Worship.”
1. I’m losing sight of all that matters
Blinded by questions I can’t answer
I’m paralysed by what I don’t know
That holds me hostage and won’t let go
2. Breathe out, breathe in
Raise my hands and remember
3. You’re the one, You’re the one
Who makes mountains move
Stars will not shine
Unless You tell them to, tell them to
Conquered the grave
To make all things new
So, who am I, who am I
To not worship You?
4. Ooh-oh-oh-oh
Who am I, who am I
To not worship You?
5. Remind me who I am because of You
Tell me I’m not the man I once knew
‘Cause I still feel so undeserving
What could You see in someone like me?
[repeats some of previous]
6. Holy, holy, You are God Almighty
Who was and is, and will always be
Holy, holy, You are God Almighty
You are my song, You are my hope, my strength
Holy, holy, You are God Almighty
Who was and is, and will always be
Holy, holy, You are God Almighty
You are my song, You are my hope, my strength
Let everything that breathes sing
[repeat chorus]
1. We begin with statements that indicate the condition and consciousness of the human approaching God. The human situation will naturally affect, or even determine, the nature and quality of the worship offered. While the better starting point is arguably the identity of God, beginning on the human side is not bad. The person recognizes his needfulness and impotence and could be speaking meditatively to himself, or to other humans, or possibly to God.
2. Here, the worshipper more clearly speaks to himself rather than to a third party. The order of the “breathing directions” (out, then in) is curious:
(a) This choice might amount to nothing more than a poetic desire to end the line with the smoother, less sonically jarring word “in.”
(b) Or, this sequence could be indicative of the more deeply felt need to shed the previously mentioned issues first (breathe out the frustration and questions and paralysis before attempting to “breathe in” God)
3. With the words “You’re the one,” the worshipper moves for the first time into the meat of the worshipful communication. (Worship may be said to exist as communication, whether in word or wordless, only in one’s mind/spirit. The worshipper clearly speaks to God, crediting him with creatorship and abilities and the power over death. And this chorus constitutes the verbal strength of the song: God, You are the one who can and does do all this, so who am I to avoid worshipping You?
Here is a far less substantive comment on this chorus (and the very title): there is a split infinitive, and those should be avoided wherever possible. It was possible to avoid it here, yet the melodic line, lyrical direction, and, specifically, the vocal stop (“t” of the word “not”) collectively pack a small punch, so I understand the choice to write “to not worship You” instead of “not to worship You.”
4. Next: not being a participant in much pop culture, and basically having detested pop music for several decades, I feel the “ooh-oh-oh-oh” outburst is an embarrassment. I’m no full-on purist, but I suggest that such stupid, throw-away words as “ah-ah” or “ooh” or “yeah, yeah” can immediately disgrace an otherwise meaningful set of lyrics, whether by the Beatles, Billy Joel, or by Christian writers. You won’t find such things in the Psalms or Isaiah or Paul. “Ooh-oh-oh-oh” here manifests a lack of creativity or ingenuity, if not stylistic poverty. It also reduces the lyrical power, because the listener is temporarily directed to the jarring interjection instead of to the lyrical flow. Imagine putting a set of google-eye glasses over the focal point of a painting, or nailing a “Falling Rocks” highway sign onto the nose of Michaelangelo’s David.
5. The humbly interjected lines of verse 2 are more of a request-prayer than worship. They seem to come organically, and the inherent sense of desperation is carried from the opening lines. Overall, God is seen as the needed Source, which concept overlays these prayer-words with worship.
6. The lines that begin in asserting God’s holiness and timelessness are part of the musical bridge, and they also echo Revelation’s own picture of God on his timeless throne. Specifically, the words “You are my song,” which appear in other songs, have never worked well for me. They make me do a mental leap (more so than calling God “hope” and “strength”), but that’s just me. The final line of this section is both musically and conceptually effective, broadening the perspective from the one to the whole creation, and leading back to the worshipful exclamations of the chorus.
The overarching idea here is to credit the Almighty with infusing the worshipper’s spirit with music, with hope, and with strength for the journey. We might now tie this to the opening lines, with this paraphrase of the opening verse through the chorus, and then the bridge:
God Almighty, I have so many questions and problems as I live, but You are the One with lasting, effective power and ability, so who am I not to worship You?
You are, and always will be, the One who gives me a reason to get up, to sing, and to live in confident hope of what’s next.
One of the writers, Brown Bannister (yep, that’s his given [middle] name!) is a Nashville icon with an impressive list of CCM credits as songwriter and producer. Millard wrote “I Can Only Imagine.” It’s no surprise, then, that this song caught my ear. Here is the link to MercyMe’s “official lyrics video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIFpkpHSjWA
Overall, this song is a good example of contemporary worship music. It’s not stellar, but it has no glaring theological issues. It’s not particularly creative musically, but that quality likely makes it better for a congregation (as though any congregations actually sing these songs anymore . . . they’d rather watch and listen to the stage performers!). The song does not float my boat enough to bring me back to the world of contemporary worship, but it’s worthwhile for many and far above the current average for my own soul. If this paragraph sounds negative, you should hear my soul spew and sputter most of the times I hear a contemporary song. This was really quite a good one, in comparison to most!
Just as many resist the practice of digging deeply into scripture passages, analyzing them, breaking them down, considering their structure and meaning, and writing commentary, “I can only imagine” that some would look at my commentary on this worship song and say, “Good grief, Brian. You’re ruining it. Just sing the song!” And I return with this: I’m sorry you feel that way. Different gifts and talents exist, and I think I have something of an ability to discern quality and meaning in worship material. When I was at my height in congregational activity, leading often and inspiring others in various settings, I thought in this same vein a lot. (What is this verse about? Who is addressing whom, and why? Is this line deep enough for today? Does it move me, or could it move anyone? Does the song have some connection to the previous song or scripture passage? Etc.) I wanted to exercise some atrophied muscle in thinking through, and actually worshipping through, a contemporary worship song. Put another way: this is what I needed to do in order to be worshipful today.
It is engaging and satisfying to read almost any part of the John-gospel. I’d probably say John is my “favorite,” yet Mark is more my go-to, and I have been sporadically working on letting Matthew sink in.
John does have much to say that is unique. Chapter 3, for instance, is legendary. Chapter 9, which tells of the healing of the blind man (and of his cowardly parents, and of a set of obstinate, wickedly arrogant Jews), draws the hearer or reader every bit as much. We also have the raising of Lazarus in 11, the washing of the disciples’ feet in chapter 13, the prayer for unity, all the “I am” statements, the only account of the water-to-wine miracle way back in chapter 2, and of course the inimitable prologue (1:1-18).
I believe chapter 4 was my first John-magnet passage; I’ve read that chapter again today and made a few new observations.
First, it bears note that John is presenting this material as relatively early in Jesus’ ministry.
4:2 references initiatory baptisms (by the apostles, not Jesus himself), ostensibly referring the reader to 3:22.
Israel’s history is in view: Jacob and his well are appealed to both by the writer (4:5) and the woman of Sychar (4:12).
In 4:12, the woman asks a question, expecting a “no” answer: “Are you greater than our father Jacob?” That query puts me me in mind of the Jews in 9:28, in which the Jews there compare Jesus quite negatively to Moses. In both cases, Jesus’ interlocutors assume that there could be no one greater than the forefather they have been trained to revere. They are blinded to even the possibility that Jesus is in fact not only greater, but is also the One who was to come, the Messiah.
In John, water, baptism, and purification figure prominently, with some 40 references. I’m not sure what to make of the connection with the water well here in chapter 4. Perhaps not too much, but a careful reader might inquire as to the significance.
The woman’s Samaritan identity is an overarching “problem” in this chapter. Shockingly, Jesus deals quite personally and even humbly with the Samaritan, putting himself in the position of needing something from her. The apparent Torah-disregard and adultery factors in her life are well known, and I suppose those things could have kept lesser rabbis from bothering with her. John notes that the disciples did not question him (4:27), but they doubtless felt uncomfortable with the whole thing.
On this reading of the chapter, I noted for the first time in a brief but important mention in verse 40: He’s staying there in Sychar for two days. He didn’t rush away, in fear that some purveyor of righteousness would call him out on his “impropriety.” Jesus continued to deal personally not only with this one woman, but with other Samaritans. It’s a coup, really: not only does Jesus preach to her and other Samaritans from the village. He actually takes lodging among them, and at their invitation!
Jesus is clearly past the edge of acceptability, but whose acceptability? The establishment’s—that’s whose. And that’s my Jesus. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the whole village, with the woman who was at the well alone (possibly because no other women would be seen with her), were all together with Jesus that evening and the next day.
Postlude, from 12 chapters hence
ἐν τῷ κόσμῳ θλῖψιν ἔχετε
en to kosmo thlipsin echete
in the world trouble you will have
John 16:33b
I have often called myself back to a focus on Jesus. It seems almost silly, but I need to be reminded of Jesus more often than I would like. The above words come immediately before the so-called “high priestly prayer” for unity. I don’t know that there’s any specific connection between the Samaritan woman and the prophecy in 16:33. Still, the idea of having stress, trouble, disturbance in this world, combined with the knowledge that Jesus has overcome, combine in empowerment of the soul. In some measure, surely the Samaritan woman and neighbors experienced the Messiah’s overcoming ways that day.
When church experiences are disappointing (and they are) . . . world is crazy (and it is) . . . when walking by faith seems like stumbling in the dark (and it does) . . . when the going is tough (and it is) . . . this is precisely the time that I need to get into meditation on at least some portion of the life, teaching, character, and actions of Jesus. (And that’s what I’ve done today.)
Do you remember overhead transparencies? They came after opaque projectors, and before PowerPoint and the now-ubiquitous computer projectors. I found this transparency in my dad’s file on worship. I believe he used it in a workshop he presented at the Sunbury, PA CofC sometime in the late 60s or early 70s.
These five items, as the goals and/or the results of worship, are an abridgement of William Temple’s¹ words, placed in the imperative mood. (I cherish finding this in my dad’s handwriting.) Temple’s direct quotation may be found here.
Both Dad and Mom often manifested interest in meaningful, God-oriented words such as this. I imagine my grandfather’s book on worship had directed Dad toward Temple. I find these distilled thoughts to be uniquely representative of the relationship of the vertical and the horizontal (a/k/a “worship” and “service”). Feast on the notions of God’s beauty and love and holiness, and you could just be led to partner with God—working out His purpose, teaching others about His truth, all the while imagining more of the nature of His being. If I understand at all what Temple meant by the “quickening of the conscience,” is, it is easy to see how that, too, would be enlivened upon encountering God.
So many rush headlong into thinking that “worship” = “living for God.” This is not a correct equation. However, when one worships intently, the likelihood is far, far greater that he will ultimately live for God.
¹ William Temple was the Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury from 1942-1944. That position effectively made him the head of the Church of England. I don’t care much about that. I care about his understanding of worship.
If I tell you this hymn is in the key of C, and if you are a second-year music theory student, you might recognize the secondary dominant just before the refrain. Moreover, pretty much every musician who has gone through one year of theory will recognize the error in the tenor part on the dotted-half note just before the double bar. That note should be a B, not a G. How do I know, you ask? And why is it that important?
Well, some things are just wrong. And it sounds bad. There are three specific reasons that the tenor note should be a B.
The lack of a third in that chord.
The parallel octaves that exist between the tenor and the bass (two Gs to two Cs).
Perhaps not as strong as the other two reasons is the poor voice leading from F# to C, then to G.
The G dotted-half note in the tenor is just incorrect, and it shouldn’t have gotten into the Trinity Hymnal that way.
I ignored the G dotted-half note and sang a B, anyway, not letting the issue obscure the words, which focus on Jesus as King. I was very glad we sang that song. While it is musically wrong to avoid a third in a hymn-style, tonal piece, it is certainly not wrong to acclaim the Lord Jesus as Sovereign!
Rejoice, the Lord is King: Your Lord and King adore! Rejoice, give thanks and sing, And triumph evermore. Lift up your heart, Lift up your voice! Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!
Jesus, the Savior, reigns, The God of truth and love; When He has purged our stains, He took his seat above; Lift up your heart, Lift up your voice! Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!
His kingdom cannot fail, He rules o’er earth and heav’n; The keys of death and hell Are to our Jesus giv’n: Lift up your heart, Lift up your voice! Rejoice, again I say, rejoice!
Every now and then for a couple of months, I’ve been reading in the delightfully erudite, entertaining Buntsby George Will. Some people know how to write. Some people know baseball. Mr. Will combines the two. There’s history, and historical insight, and plain fun at times. The Cubs are raked over the coals, and the Orioles, nearly deified, but everyone’s allowed to have his favorites. Overall, a must-read for a fan of the game of baseball.
In a Christian-run thrift shop recently, I picked up a paperback devotional book by Patsy Clairmont. It wouldn’t have caught my eye, except for the author’s name. Almost a decade ago, I spotlighted the wonderfully peaceful, yet profound prayers of her book Pillow Prayers. (Use this link to take you to those posts.) This devotional book is not quite as appealing, quite possibly because I saw by the 2nd or 3rd entry that it’s intended for women, but it’s still nicely done.
This morning, I picked up this tome for maybe the half-dozenth time, and I just about as quickly put it down. I might, repeat might, glance at another chapter (on the “baptizing of the Empire,” the contents of which I don’t expect to have much to do with Christian worship). The book appears to exclude “low church” worship or really any substantive treatment of worship at all. It is, rather, a compendium of liturgies and peripherals. I’m just not that interested, and I wish the book had been more tellingly titled. Good thing it was free to me.
I bought this book in Nicodemus, Kansas in the summer. This tiny town has the distinction of being the oldest and only remaining Negro settlement west of the Mississippi River. It was a sort of colony during the Reconstruction period. While the book is not directly related to the settlement or its history, it’s not surprising that it would be sold at the Nicodemus National Historic Site. I had not known this book existed, and I purchased it for two purposes: (1) to show my son, and (2) to have a physical remembrance that there was once a need for black travelers to have a guide to know where they could go that was safe.
Next, in a news bulletin (not a book), it was noted that something would be “reconsecrated to Jesus through Our Lady in an event that starts with the 5:30 p.m. . . . Following the Mass, there will be a beautiful procession . . . . Then everyone is invited to a birthday party buffet dinner for Mary. . . .”
Actually, three or so other announcements had neglected to mention Jesus at all—the consecration was more often said to be to Mary, sans Jesus, plain and simple. Attendees were encouraged thus:
Bring items to be blessed. You will receive a blessed Miraculous Medal and you can have your own Marian items blessed with Holy Water from the Grotto at Lourdes in France.
Join Fountain ceremony. Those with Marian names, who have a special devotion to Mary, or who have had prayers for her intercession answered will be invited to place rose petals in the pool of the Our Lady of Divine Grace Fountain.
No comment. (It would be too easy.)
On to a more captivating opportunity:
As with most churches and church experiences, I actually don’t have high expectations of this last book, but at least its title is on target, right? The subtitle is even more pointed, aimed at people like me: “hope for the weak, the burned out, and the broken.”
God is boundless and perfect; human language is precarious and contingent and decidedly small. Perhaps, say some philosophers, the only true things you can say about God or what God is not—God is not unjust, God is not finite, because to say anything positive is to limit a limitless God. To speak about this boundless being with our pockmarked words might be insulting, or deceiving, or just plain false. Maybe we would come closer to telling the truth if we said very little, or nothing at all.Hearing God, 228
Qoheleth:
Do not be quick with your mouth, do not be hasty in your heart to utter anything before God. God is in heaven and you are on earth, so let your words be few. (Ecclesiastes 5:2)
Matt Redman:
You are God in heaven, and here am I on earth.
So I’ll let my words be few.
Yes, I’ll stand in awe of You, and I’ll let my words be few.
Habakkuk:
The Lord is in his holy temple. Let all the earth keep silence before Him. (2:20)
“I got fired from my job at the bank today. A customer asked me to check her balance. So I pushed her.”
(That was a joke!)
For 15 or 20 years, I was unbalanced, in that I worshipped far more than I studied. For reasons of upbringing, personality, philosophy, conviction, and possibly “calling,” I leaned hard toward worshipful and/or prayerful output. I probably expended 15-20 times the effort in those activities, as compared to scripture study and serious reading. Contemporary Christian music, too, in which I was partaking often and substantially, seemed more like output than input. I would sing and play along, arrange it, and ponder using it later as a leader.
For the next 10 years, I tipped in the other direction. The time spent in serious scripture study (and I do mean serious) was at least 10 times that spent in worship. Worship began to feel elusive, and not as natural a language for me. Tools and opportunities came for responsible study of scriptures, and I advanced in my abilities, yet I was still so inadequate. As far as other input goes: I know people who regularly sense direct input from the spirit of God. I can count on the fingers of one hand (with a couple fingers removed) how many times I have experienced that. But if you consider that kind of thing to be input, I wasn’t getting much of that and still am not.
At this juncture, think I’m more balanced. When I consider (1) worshipping and prayer alongside (2) any kind of input from God, namely, the scriptures, I don’t do either of them very much, or very well. So I’m balanced, I guess you could say.
I think I’d rather be unbalanced. (But please don’t push me over.)
A substantive postscript, written a couple of days after I scheduled this for posting
Quite often, I’ve been concerned with how I come across—historically, in face-to-face settings, and now, more often, in writing. I think of two people from a study group in the 90s who saw in me a critical attitude toward their ideas. I think of a late author-friend who stated things strongly but always found it incumbent on him to conclude his writings with a statement of humility and grace toward others who might disagree. (I wish I did that as well as he did.) I think of a college friend who didn’t like my periodic critiques and laments and opted not to read any more. I think of a person or two who have judged me harshly, because of my faults that are real (yet exaggerated in their minds, I think). And I think of all the people who have known my gifts and interests and yet have not asked me for my help. Taken in the aggregate, this all seems like a massive condemnation of my character and/or personality, or at least my ways and means.
Once, I was better at one aspect of Christian living than another; then I flip-flopped; now I am weak with both of those aspects. (These are not the only two aspects.) In my better moments, I could simply rely on God’s grace, humbly confessing my weakness and asking for the forgiveness of those to whom I have come on too strong. For today, I would reflect on the above “on balance” commentary as a sort of personal “sitz im leben” statement. That is, some obvious Godward and God-oriented muscles have been atrophying, and this movement is partly due to the way I have come across to others in churches, and in other settings.
From time to time, I include a line or two in my blogposts that indicate my own misgivings and feelings of inadequacy and weakness. In a real sense, the thrust of the main body of post is intended along those lines. I have led in worship, and I have worshipped. I have studied, and I have taught. But I am weak, and lonely, and nearly opportunity-less, and I can do neither very effectively right now. I confess that I don’t have drive or purpose. And I’m figuring that most of that is my fault. And I’m further figuring that it’s going to be God working if this ever changes in this life.
On May 4 and 27, I shared the first two parts of a personal travelogue, describing some places and spaces important to me in terms of focused worship and devotion. The first installment dealt with significant church buildings, and the second, with other types of buildings. This final installment will primarily deal outside of buildings per se. Why write about these things? I ask myself. I think the purpose is twofold: (1) to record some personal history for posterity, and (2) to stimulate thinking—(a) my own, and perhaps (b) that of some readers. What is worship, and where does it occur? What experiences have figured into my Christian worldview and Godview (and yours)?
Camp and retreats have long been important parts of my life. Camp Gander Brook, Camp Hunt, and Camp Shiloh figured prominently in the lives of my parents and grandfather, so “I come by it right.” From age 9 through 17, I looked forward in every way to being a camper and staff member at SE Pennsylvania’s Camp Manatawny. At Manatawny, awards in several categories were part of my experience, but it was not achievement or games and campfires and girlfriends and Bible memory work that formed the heart of it. All of that was peripheral around the spiritual growth I experienced at Camp. I sang, I learned, I led, I conversed, I encouraged others, and they helped me . . . and those experiences fed into (1) my life membership in the Camp Manatawny association, (2) my brokering a significant donation to the camp, and (3) my returning as a cabin counselor and hymn sing leader for four important years in my late 30s.
I had been a staffer at one other camp in GA somewhere, but I don’t really remember that, other than having written a brief song for the occasion. Young adults shared a retreat at Camp Red Oak Springs in the piney woods of Southeast Texas, and that was a nice time. Many years later, an all-adult retreat in Colorado’s Poudre Canyon State Park was a wonderful experience that led to the composition of a worship song.
More significant retreats came as a part of several years of work with the Cedars Church youth group. For several years running, the Cedars fall retreat was held at a Mennonite camp in southeastern PA. It wasn’t a terribly picturesque place, but some very important things happened there, notably including out-of-the-box worship with instruments and the Lord’s Supper observed in special ways. There was also the time that I provided the impetus for teenagers to write their own worship lyrics. I set four of the poems to music (and later, a few more). The youth group was already worshipping enthusiastically and with heart. Having lyrics written by their own, set to music by an adult they knew and trusted, catapulted us into a new era of worship and devotion.
I have often taken advantage of city, state, and national parks for hikes, general relaxation, prayer, and personal devotion. One of the fondest memories of my only set of in-laws is that they honored my wish to be in the mountains alone with God: after some sight-seeing in nature together, on the final morning of our trip in the Rockies of Colorado, they drove me to a beautiful vista so I could hike out onto a mountainside for one more hour with my Bible and my thoughts.
Also around that time, I remember driving through Zion National Park, having been primed by my dad to see the “great white throne” (Rev. 20). Such expansive splendor can spawn a creature’s adoring thoughts of the Creator. I suppose Glacier National Park is my favorite so far, but I have spent many more hours in Rocky Mountain National Park, frequently taking a Bible, trail mix, and water bottles on hikes of moderate to moderately strenuous nature. Every time I have driven up Trail Ridge Road or the Old Fall River Road to the Alpine Visitor Center, I have made it a point to ascend another half-mile on foot to the nearby summit, some 12,000 feet above sea level. I always look out and around and imagine the creative hand of God who created the glorious grandeur. I have also summited two of the easiest 14ers (14,000+ feet high), but those experiences were more about trying to make it up than pondering the majesty of the Maker.
Several important, worship-related efforts occurred during the 90s, in addition to the youth work mentioned earlier. Reading, gleaning, and sharing always fostered a worshipful heart in me, and I published almost single-handedly a digest of worship articles and blurbs. I also planned a contemporary music worship session for like-minded believers every couple of months, and I founded and led the Cedars Worship Team. This group was not a worship or praise team in the contemporary sense but was more of a think tank that considered and experienced things together periodically.
Brandywine Springs Park, New Castle County, Delaware — once a resort
Before the first meeting of the CWT, I made it a point to take an afternoon off from work and went for personal meditation and worship alongside the creek at Brandywine Springs Park. I wrote a worshipful, beseeching poem that afternoon. All of the important efforts in leading and ushering others were also significant in my personal worshipper’s head and heart.
Also during the 90s, I was the music director, arranger, and vocalist in a Christian a cappella band called Lights. I poured countless hours into that, and the group flourished over time. We sang at youth events, church gatherings, the aforementioned camp, and more. These efforts, too, were significant in my personal devotion and inspiration, and also in my work with others, attempting to usher them along—according to my understanding of the way of the Lord.
I sincerely believe what I was doing was full of good intent, sound concepts and practice, and deep commitment. But then tragedy struck. All kinds of group worship leadership, writings, youth work, and Lights creativity—all very significant in my personal life with God and my sense of calling to work with and for Him—were met with severe trials that had their genesis at the same time. The trials were no mere coincidence. It was the Adversary at work.¹
In my current environs, I make it a point to hike on nearby trails periodically, but I have been less focused on worship and more on physical exercise, simply getting away, and being in nature instead of in numbers and discouragements. Another favorite spot is next to the nearby Amelia Earhart Airport runway, where there are peaceful, almost idyllic views . . . and not a lot of air traffic, although the occasional crop duster taking off is pleasant.
In one sense, the endpoint of my worship/devotion travelogue was my two-volume book set on the assembly and worship (#2 shown here). But in a more important sense, I will be on this journey eternally. These days, I can sometimes provide for personal devotion and worship within my home, i.e., without traveling anywhere. Musical instruments have often played important roles for me—particularly, the piano, although the guitar and brass instruments have given me important mediums for expression and participation, both privately and in corporate worship. The piano bench or the antique piano stool can be quite significant when I am lost in thought and wish to express myself in song.
Certain chairs in my house have provided comfortable spots, and it is here that I recognize once again, as many times before, the tremendous significance of small groups that have met in my home for study, worship, and general Christian togetherness. Memories of these groups bring painful, mixed emotions. I do long for more of that kind of thing. It is lifeblood for me, and I’m afraid I will never again have it. I can always have times in my car, on the open road, with a hymnal, though.
In discussing some of these things with a friend who has also been through sore trials, I have been confronted with a challenging idea. While I have labored for 30 years under the assumption that I have been personally attacked by Satan while doing distinctly valuable Kingdom things, and while I have become reluctant to commit to new things for God now, perhaps it is just as true that all those personal spiritual devotional and worship activities were bringing me close enough to God that I would be carried through.
¹ Another attack from the Adversary would occur in 2015-2016, as I was doing something else significant for God’s reign.
Worship. Perhaps that great American educator and Andy T. Ritchie, Jr. defined it best. He said, “Worship is big and most comprehensive. It is an acknowledgment of the greatness of God and of the need of man; it is a soul standing in awe before the mystery of the universe; it is the desperate cry of the lost soul and the grateful song of the saved one; it is the quickened, challenged soul dedicated again.” Yes, that is worship.
– John J. Wright, Firm Foundation 47:48, 11/25/80, p. 3
I presume that Wright, the author of the article quoted here, had been in one of Ritchie’s (my grandfather) classes a decade or two before that. Wright perhaps exaggerates in spotlighting the teaching; indeed, Granddaddy taught and influenced many, but I have never seen such a reference before.
After leading with the quote, Wright’s article was thoughtful, but he expanded his topic immediately, from worship into living. The two are distinct, yet related. In fact, Wright departed quite a bit from Ritchie’s focus. All of what Wright said was devotional and God-oriented, but I will stick with Granddaddy’s words as a more refined, honed definition of worship. I am partial to such expressions as “acknowledgment of greatness” and “standing in awe.”
The final notion—that of the quickening/enlivening of the soul—seems to encapsulate a kind of reflexive aspect of worship. In other words, worship is the expression of the heart (possibly exiting in the spoken, sung, or written word) to a greater one. In this case, it’s expression toward God. Worship is in one sense unidirectional.¹ Yet when one worships, there can be, should be a sort of reflected effect. When confronted and dazzled by the identity of God, my soul will be affected, ideally leading to re-dedication and activity.
Such a quickening effect on the soul, while obviously related to the worship, is more about the living after the worship occurs. Ideally, it is a gracious cycle:
One worships the Great God.
Then one lives with deeper devotion, having been confronted with God,
Then one worships more,
Then one lives with yet more enlivened commitment to God,
¹ That which is referred to in Romans 12:2, I’m convinced, is something different. Note particularly the difference presented in the third (right side) version here.
In C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, the Beaver character reports that “Aslan is on the move.”
Aside: In one or more of my former lives, e.g., graduate school or book-writing frenzies, I might have felt it incumbent on me to look this quote up in the actual book, but instead, I told my lazy self, JGI. (Just Google it.)
That’s an exciting thought, isn’t it? Not only in the context of that story, but inasmuch as Aslan is a Christ-figure, it’s incredibly exciting to feel or sense or believe that Jesus Christ is “on the move”—activated, moving around, beginning, or even in the middle of, purposeful action! That’s my Jesus.
But is it? I mean, do I believe my Jesus is active?
I actually shudder to answer this, but I find no lasting value in hiding such little-faith, either. It is here that I recall one ill-fated impact of the late Lynn Anderson’s lesson on the man who beseeched the Lord Jesus, “Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.” Anderson expressed his own resonance with that confession and generally encouraged those who heard, there in the church hall in Delaware, to lean toward the Lord with such thoughts. I considered it a transparent, faith-encouraging message; however, one uneducated person was heard later to object to ” . . . that man Lynn Anderson who doesn’t even know if he believes.” Clearly, that person had missed the point entirely.
I think many thoughtful people us struggle with a kind of wistful doubting that Jesus is both living and active. Yet this kind of wondering can oscillate provocatively with strong belief. This is all a function of living in the “not yet”: before the time that the Kingdom is fully come, when King Jesus will fully, unequivocally, unmistakably be the king of all.
For now, my Jesus seems to be hibernating more than moving, actually. And I mean no irreverence. Not in the slightest. I’m just observing that there is little to observe. Further, if my observations are at all accurate, I must accept the reality. Apparent inaction is the Lord’s prerogative. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
The Aslan character, once “on the move” in the pages of C.S. Lewis, was king of of the species known as “king of the jungle.” Messiah Jesus is crowned king of the cosmos.
Majestic sweetness sits enthroned upon the Savior’s brow.
His head with radiant glories crowned; His lips with grace o’erflow.
. . .
Since from Thy bounty I receive such proofs of love divine,
Had I a thousand hearts to give, Lord, they should all be Thine.
– Samuel Stennett, from 1787 hymn “Majestic Sweetness”
In this second in a three-part series (see the first here), I will share a few anecdotes about structures other than church buildings, continuing an abbreviated travelog through special places related to worship and personal inspiration. First, I want to mention significant a couple of home items that relate to what I now term a house church ethos.
During the middle and late 1990s, my own home was used frequently as the place for Sunday evening teen devotionals. There were planned thoughts (typically the paid youth minister’s) and singing (typically started and spurred by me, mostly spontaneously, often using a song book I’d prepared for the youth). Chain prayers were sometimes mixed and sometimes separate by gender. And of course food. A home seems to warm up the activities, and I loved that kind of hosting. Later, during two different phases (roughly 2010-2013 and 2017-2018), my residence was the place for Bible-study-based home groups. The people attended traditional churches on Sunday mornings and came to our home in the evenings. I made a distinct effort to learn more about these friends’ other “spiritual homes” by visiting their more established church houses. In one case, it was two states away, and it was a fine experience. More recently, I went to a place purely out a sense of responsibility to a new friend, trying to figure out why such a thoughtful, learned person would regularly darken the door of the particular building. That was the last time I tried such a thing. I have continued to visit at three local churches where friends attend, but I feel out of place at two of them and spiritually constrained and uncomfortable at all of them. They have not been “home” to me, and the spiritual impact and growth have been slim to nonexistent. Now, on to the better stuff.
My spiritual youth was wonderfully punctuated—nay, supported and enriched—by times at Camp Manatawny, near Douglassville, Pennsylvania. Cabins and campfires were spots for small-group devotionals, and the Rec Hall was used less for recreation than for worship, Bible memory work, and various gatherings. Nearly 100 campers and staff would sometimes be packed into that building, and it was sometimes pretty hot and sweaty, but the hymn sings raised the roof, eclipsing any claustrophobic discomfort (although perhaps that is part of the reason some kids would sit in the open windows). I recall “The Spacious Firmament” and “Jesus Is Lord” and “Holy, Holy, Holy” and “May I Call You Father?”—and the general feeling of being spiritually and relationally enlivend. The Rec Hall at Manatawny was a wonderful place.
Around the time that building’s roof collapsed under the weight of snow, the new Garrett Hall was being constructed, and the gatherings in that building carried on the rich tradition. I led hymn sings in Garrett Hall at Sr. High II Week during four summers from 1998-2001—daily, just before dinner. I put my all into it, and I believe those experiences made a short-term difference in lives.
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At Harding University, the Benson Auditorium provided daily hymn singing opportunities in chapel. I participated wholeheartedly, and I was privilege to lead the gathered body of nearly 3,000 people approximately once per semester. The so-called “lily pool devos” were no longer held at the lily pool, and I only attended one or two: most of the singing was material that was not inspiring or compelling to me, so I felt out of place. On the other hand, choral music was as important as instrumental music during that period of life, and I had a daily chorus rehearsal in the “Recording Studio” (which was really a well-built recital hall that would comfortably seat 75 or so, with built-in carpeted risers, a small stage, some good mics, and a control booth). There were many times of inspiration and worshipful music-making there, including during my grandparents’ 50th anniversary celebration and a later family reunion recording session. I can still experience some of this through recordings.
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At Houghton College, where I was on faculty for five and a half years before deciding to move on, there were also some good times of worship and inspiration in the chapel. Early on in my time there, the inspiration came perhaps more from the general feeling of being with hundreds of strongly believing people than from specific content, but there was some good content nonetheless. Some of the best times for me came during the few times in which I had arranged music for the orchestra or for brass or mixed chamber groups. Two significant arrangements for the orchestra to accompany Getty worship music were almost cathartic for me, and others appreciated them, too. I doubt anyone could have been as thrilled as I was. My spirit was enlivened and actualized in conceiving of those arrangements, writing them, rehearsing them, and using them in the chapel worship assembly. I can still hear the strings’ energetic bowstrokes and feel the intensity of the rhythmic drive in “Across the Lands” and can be drawn by the musical build-up and dramatic “pushes and pulls” in “In Christ Alone.” I just looked up these files on my computer, and I found that I prepended a rather extensive fanfare to the latter. It’s a little overdone, so I didn’t choose that excerpt to display below, but the whole arrangement, which includes composed elements, gives evidence of my enthusiasm at the time.
~ ~ ~
After a particularly bad Sunday worship time “in church” in Delaware, Judy, a dear family friend and worship colleague, told me that nothing could keep her from worshipping. That would have been a quarter-century ago, and Judy was right. She was an inspiration as a worshipper. I can still see her face and hear her mellifluous alto as she sang to her Lord. At this point in life, I would take half the inspiration of half of just one of the good occasions at Camp Manatawny or Harding or the Cedars Church. I have experienced almost no such worship, no such spiritual esprit de corps, in a decade. But Judy’s words echo through the years, reminding me that I should worship not because I feel good, or because it ends up making me feel good, but because God is.
In the third, final installment in this series, I’ll relay some thoughts about personal devotional spaces, mostly apart from buildings per se.
Every now and then for a couple of months, I’ve been reading in the delightfully erudite, entertaining Bunts by George Will. Some people know how to write. Some people know baseball. Mr. Will combines the two. There’s history, and historical insight, and plain fun at times. The Cubs are raked over the coals, and the Orioles, nearly deified, but everyone’s allowed to have his favorites. Overall, a must-read for a fan of the game of baseball.
In a Christian-run thrift shop recently, I picked up a paperback devotional book by Patsy Clairmont. It wouldn’t have caught my eye, except for the author’s name. Almost a decade ago, I spotlighted the wonderfully peaceful, yet profound prayers of her book Pillow Prayers. (Use 
This morning, I picked up this tome for maybe the half-dozenth time, and I just about as quickly put it down. I might, repeat might, glance at another chapter (on the “baptizing of the Empire,” the contents of which I don’t expect to have much to do with Christian worship). The book appears to exclude “low church” worship or really any substantive treatment of worship at all. It is, rather, a compendium of liturgies and peripherals. I’m just not that interested, and I wish the book had been more tellingly titled. Good thing it was free to me.
Earnestly Speaking 