A few months ago, we went to another church since we have made the permanent move away from the church we used to go to.  I had written this entry but never posted it.  Thought I would do that today.

And this church sucked for me too, like every traditional church ends up sucking for me.  Yea verily, and I was filled with boredom and anguish. Boredom because I was trying to politely listen to a lame message that called people to experience God’s rest (and I have a strong suspicion that nearly everyone in any given sanctuary hasn’t much of a clue about God’s rest). Boredom because the “worship” was stale, poorly performed and heartlessly sung.  Boredom because I was dreading the “you’re a visitor” greeting; a hollow transaction where two strangers exchange pretend niceness.  Boredom because I knew that after thousands of services as an intentional disciple, there was not going to be anything new that would surface out of this church service that would lead me into an experiential appreciation of the life of Jesus.

I was filled with anguish because I was suddenly gripped with a realization: maybe I will NEVER be satisfied with a church service.  Maybe all I will ever do is long desperately for a connection with God that NEVER happens on Sundays and sometimes happens when I’m alone or with people who I care about.  I felt anguish because I found myself wondering if all this posturing I go through for an authentic, emergent, post-modern church is nothing but me groping for an uninfected connection with God.  Maybe all this stuff about a new form of church is a foolish attempt to find an end run around my spiritual emptiness?  Will I ever find a community experience that satisfies me?

I think one of the reasons why “worship” doesn’t mean much to me is that I can’t release myself to worship in public.  It feels showy.  Or it feels too intimate to do in public so I push it off because a fricking church service is not where I want to have that kind of intimacy with God.

And music doesn’t really give me enough of a facsimile of worship to satisfy me.  Very rarely do I get a connection with God through music in a public setting and when I do, it doesn’t typically have anything to do with the music or the message.  At least not directly.  I don’t worship just because I’m singing Jesus Is My Boyfriend songs or the band is super tight.  I know other people do but I don’t.  I’m tired of it.  And I’m tired of being tired of it.  I want to be one of those people who seems to connect with it all.  But I’m not.  When I go to church, I feel lonely, angry, cynical, hyper-judgmental, empty and I am overwhelmed with feelings that I will never satisfy my needs for connecting with God and people I care about.  Sunday morning just doesn’t create worship for me.

I have to wonder if we don’t really know how to worship.  I know I don’t. And the way I know this is because when I do the things that are supposed to lead into worship, it is very rare that I feel like I am touching holiness.  I’ve rarely had those “take off your shoes cuz this is holy” moments.  On one hand, I can logically look at this lack of experience and say, well, the cause could be me or the cause could be pointlessly trying over and over to do the things we say are worshipful actions or maybe its the ostensibly worshipful actions themselves that aren’t effective.  Or maybe what we’ve created as worship — and in my opinion, mindlessly recreate in church after church, morning after morning — is actually as empty and hollow as it feels.  Maybe the whole thing is nothing but god-entertainment, an idol of our idol of god: entertain me, give me what I want, make me feel something, make me believe.

And I wonder: should we expect to worship God every week on the same day at the same time?  Disappointment is the result of unmet expectations.  Maybe what I feel in relation to church and worship is because I’m taught to put so much stock into the “event” or “experience.”  Was Moses planning on seeing the burning bush? Were Peter, James and John planning on a weekly hike up the mountain to chill with Moses, Elijah and Jesus?  Was Peter planning on walking on water?  Was Nicodemus planning on helping Joseph pull Jesus’ body off the cross in broad daylight?  Did they all happen on Sunday morning at 10:42?

My anguish this morning has led me this evening to wonder: Maybe I’m off base to expect to worship at the same time every week. Maybe worship is relatively rare.  The last time I worshiped was when I was sitting on my bed with Tanya and praying to God just hours after I had lost my job and had  decided to bail on buying our house.  Who can plan for that? And who would ever design two staggering events of loss as a context for worship?