Traditional Worship: Trinity Episcopal Cathedral and Lake Grove Presbyterian

Recently I worshipped in two churches that have traditional worship of a high standard:  Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Portland, OR; and Lake Grove Presbyterian Church, Lake Oswego, OR.   In this “compare and contrast” of these two traditional services, I want to dispel three myths about traditional worship:

• First, it is repetitive and therefore boring.
• Second, traditional worship is hopelessly mired in the past, disconnected to contemporary life.
• And finally, it tends to make the congregation passive observers, in contrast to the engaging energy of contemporary worship.

The real problem of traditional worship has nothing to do with these features, but rather lies elsewhere – I’ll address this at the end.

What do I mean by “traditional” worship?  Traditional worship is characterized by a recurring order of worship (liturgy), with forms of recitation, reflection and music that are vetted by decades – if not centuries – of use by a vast Christian community.  For example, my denomination of the United Church of Christ follows an order of worship that varies only slightly among its congregations, the Lord’s Prayer and a Responsive Reading (a psalter) are almost always recited, and the congregation sings time-honored hymns, such as those of Isaac Watts and the Wesleys, as well as listens to the choir sing from the classical repertoire – itself familiar. Thus, traditional worship is repetitious, but its content is so rich that such repetition, rather than being boring, can bring forth new meanings.  As a consequence of this repetition, the congregation knows what to do.  At its best, traditional worship fuels participation, because the congregation has a deep understanding of what is occurring, and they can thus contribute, through focused minds, confident voices, and even nuanced departures from the expected.

Trinity Episcopal Cathedral (TEC) embodies this participatory power in both its liberal theology and conservative aesthetics.  Its pulpit sermons and bulletin announcements suggest a decidedly progressive and participatory exploration of what it means to be Christian (e.g. its bulletin explicitly welcomes “all persons regardless of ethnicity, sexual orientation. . .or religious background. . .to our Eucharist table”).  The participatory nature of its worship is exemplified in the church’s processional, a seemingly endless line of robed choir members, priests with brilliantly colored stoles, fresh-faced teen-aged acolytes and aged deacons both dressed in albs, and lay readers in suits and dresses– practically a village parade.  The Bible particularly is honored in this procession, carried aloft with special flourishes – a powerful affirmation of its traditional authority.  And, when the Gospel lesson is read from its pages, the large, ceremonial Bible is brought down into the center aisle of the congregation by robed bearers,  held open by a robed participant and flanked by another bearing a tall, brass standard topped by a cross.  Yet the sermon that follows is decidedly modern, citing contemporary poetry as much as the Bible, and the preacher is a female priest –  modern moves, both.  TEC worships in a sanctuary of  Gothic and Romanesque features, graced with massive wood arches, and a brilliant Rose window flanked by a soaring roster of organ pipes.  The service follows the Book of Common Prayer whose lineage dates back to 1662, and the choir and congregational music are traditional.  One Sunday I visited the congregation a modern hymn was programmed — “Come Sunday,” by Duke Ellington.  But even this bluesy hymn of longing was executed in a traditional style, with strict rhythms and declarative phrasing.

Lake Grove Presbyterian’s (LGP) shares many of the features and forms of excellence found at TEC:  imposing pipe organ, splendid choir, articulate worship leaders, beautiful sanctuary.   LGP is decidedly more conservative, theologically, than TEC or your typical Presbyterian church (that is, those of the PC-USA, the most liberal of the nine Presbyterian denominations in America (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Connection2_900.jpg).  Indeed, one Sunday morning LGP’s Senior Pastor, Rev. Robert Sanders, briefly but pointedly mentioned the uncomfortable fit of his conservative congregation within the liberal spectrum of the PC-USA.

Thus, tradition seems to stream through almost every symbolic vein of worship at LGP – liturgy, music, theology. But there are small, notable exceptions to LGP’s traditional worship.  The choir wears the uniform of contemporary choirs – everyone in black clothing, not robed.  Rev. Sanders shares worship leadership with a female colleague, Rev. Libby Boatwright, suggesting a modern sensibility. (Yes, some traditional/conservative churches have long ordained women, particularly Foursquare Gospel churches, but their numbers are still few enough that Rev. Boatwright’s presence is novel.)  And one Sunday the pastors “laid hands” upon a team of parishioners, about to embark on a missionary-service trip to Africa – a modern form of church life.  This was a memorable moment, the team gathered at the front of the sanctuary with heads bowed, receiving the pastors’ hands upon their shoulders in blessing and palpable love. One final and important note of modernity:  LGP’s sanctuary is a modern, stream-lined vault paneled in gleaming wood, illumined by one tall floor-to-ceiling panel of glass that projects natural light and vitality across the faces of the choir.  One of the loveliest features of this space are the many small stained glass windows randomly scattered on the walls by the pews, glowing like tiny jewels.

Thus, the problem with traditional worship is not repetitious boredom, irrelevance to contemporary application or the passivity of the congregation.  Rather, the danger of traditional worship is in its excellence, its mastery of the forms of movement, music, preaching and prayer.  This danger is that of seeming “sealed up.”  Lifeless in perfection, impersonal in exactitude, and, in its own human mastery of the arts of worship, too-exact worship can seem insulated from the disruptive presence of God.   It is difficult to explain, yet performers and critics do speak of the nemesis of a too-exact performance.   Recently the New York Times Science section featured an insightful article http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/19/science/19brain.html?_r=1&ref=science, where scientists actually measured the brain activity of audience members, listening to performances with perfect execution of notes and rhythm.  They found that such performances failed to excite the brain’s centers for empathy and kinesthetic response.  In this same article accomplished musicians spoke about the necessity of incorporating personal weakness in one’s artistic style, and how, without an intuitive responsiveness to the vagaries of an instrument, the audience, and the music, performance becomes lifeless.   Here artistic excellence must yield to expressive “weakness,” bringing connection with the moment and the audience.

Traditional worship provides us with tested formulas for profoundly affecting worship, but these formulas can become formulaic, if followed without responsiveness not only to the spirit of the moment, but, as we can say in this Christian context, responsiveness to the Holy Spirit.

Is there “sealed up” worship at Trinity Episcopal and Lake Grove Pres’?   Certainly there are “sealed up” moments, but there is enough spontaneity, human warmth, humor and occasional vulnerability in these congregation’s worship services to dispel the plastic perfection that sometimes threatens.  Artistically, such perfection is to be avoided.  How much more so, theologically! These congregations believe in a God who is both perfect and broken on the cross, a God who is manifested both by order and the disruption of Pentecost.  To balance these faces of God requires an aesthetic balance between human mastery of the arts of worship, and submission to the Holy Spirit in worship.  

River West Church and Solid Rock’s Christmas Eve: A Study of Scale and Style

River West Church (Lake Oswego, OR) is striking for its smartly minimalist aesthetic, shaping a building, publications, worship and a theology that seem outwardly spare but suggestive of deeper regions of thought and action. The River West logo exemplifies this suggestive minimalism brilliantly:

The WHITE circle stands for community, because we care about people
The BLUE circle stands for Christ, because Jesus is at the center of all we do
The BROWN circle stands for the world, because we want to make a difference in our world (http://www.riverwest.org/im-new/the-basics/)

By focusing the logo’s reference on action (caring, doing, making a difference) and not on a doctrine, place or heritage, the logo suggests that Christian action becomes a living logo of the church.  And indeed, from perusing the website, you can see that its members are committed to ministries of regular, sustained care for homeless, poor, and sexually exploited people in Portland, as well as serving alongside the poor in three Central American countries http://www.riverwest.org/serve/ .

River West’s minimalism was beautifully integrated into its former building, a simple, modern structure with a boxy sanctuary filled with natural light and the enveloping beauty of surrounding trees, pressing close against the sanctuary windows – nature’s own art glass.  So, when River West announced its move to much larger grounds and sanctuary, I wondered how the congregation’s aesthetic would be impacted.

When a church hits the “Big Church” threshold, a range of changes also, typically, kicks in:  staff  multiply beyond recognition, programs mushroom into a parallel Christian world of schools, counseling, entertainment and fellowship.  And on Sunday the worship style gets “bigger” – louder music, more musicians, looming projection screens, etc. Scaling up seems to create a wave of aesthetic changes in worship that are inexorable — and sometimes regrettable.  Thus, it was stunning to enter River West’s new and much larger sanctuary and see that this rapidly growing church is not super-sizing its style. River West might be on the edge of mega-church-hood, but there is nothing mega in its aesthetic

Entering the new building’s narthex, aromatic coffee and friendly greeters warm up the atmosphere.  Indeed, each time I have worshipped at River West – in both the old and new building – greeters are inclined to sincerely converse with you in an interested and unrushed spirit.  You are handed a bulletin that is both spare in style and engaging, a cleverly shaped and folded bulletin, embellished with black and white artwork, dashed with gray and pale blue accent color.  Someone with a fine eye is producing these visually striking bulletins and enclosed announcement cards, understanding that complex information is best conveyed with clean and simple design.

The new building incorporates the best features of the old – well-located, large windows that allow the maximum of day light, without hindering the use of a projection screen for church announcements and song lyrics.  The room is relatively straightforward, one level with modular seating that faces the long side of the rectangular room, so that no one is very far from the platform.

On the platform are three to four musicians, including a female vocal soloist, led by the church’s pastor of worship, Eric Johnson.  Pastor Johnson and his fellow musicians are low-key, with nothing outsized about their music or persona.  They lead the congregation in the customary repertoire of Christian Contemporary Music, as well as artfully updated versions of beloved, older hymns.  As the Sunday preacher climbs up onto the platform, dressed casually with a Bible in his hand, the style is conversational, even rambling at times, but with the sorts of insights you’d appreciate when engaging in serious conversation with a reflective friend.  All of these stylistic choices result in a more intimate, decidedly more participatory relationship between the worship leaders and congregation.

This is neither a worship of dramatic moments, nor extroverted performance. River West’s faith, as well as style, seems rooted in this minimalism – simple space, simple songs, simple message, simple Jesus.  As Guy Gray, the shirt tails-out Senior Pastor, preached in November 14, 2010:  “Start with Jesus.”  Even the complexity of Revelation’s psychedelic vision of The Son of Man was condensed, in Pastor Gray’s understanding, to “the same Jesus who is described in the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. . .the same Jesus that he walked with in Galilee.”  The church’s aesthetic minimalism and its theological minimalism are especially linked in this instance.

Yet, I wonder if this minimalist style, so fitting for River West’s former small worship space, needs to expand to give the far reaches of this larger room and larger congregation more musical energy, more communicative power, and more humanizing of this big box of a room.   The music in the church’s former sanctuary seemed intimate and reflective, but now, in this larger space, it can seem dirge-like.  The sound system echoed, thinning out the conversational immediacy of the preacher’s speech.  And, although this room retains the simple, one-level structure of its former space, we’re now looking at the backs or sides of hundreds of heads, making it difficult to connect with them.  The congregation’s size is reaching a threshold where the church’s style may also be forced to go bigger.  But, with such scaling-up, River West’s signature minimalism might be compromised.

Scaling up is dangerous style territory.  I saw this during Solid Rock’s 2010 Christmas Eve Service, when the congregation gathered at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in downtown Portland.  This extravagant effort was the church’s attempt to gather its entire worshipping family together — routinely spread over multiple services in two locations during regular weekend worship — for one shared Christmas Eve worship experience.  Every seat in the Schnitz’ seemed full, indicating that over 2, 776 people were in the “pews.”  The lobby, halls and auditorium were abuzz with happy Christmas energy, as corps of volunteers handed out the bulletins containing the evening’s scripture readings, and aided the less nimble up the Schnitz’s vertigo-inducing steps.

Yet, I sensed that generous and adventurous spirit was steadily dampened as worship began and the evening progressed.  The problem here was the sheer scale of the event, that seemed to elevate stage performance over congregational participation.

First, there was no attempt to provide the congregation with familiar Christmas or Christian icons in this secular space.  (Of course, it was a given that the fire marshal was not going to allow 3000 hand-held candles during the singing of Silent Night. . .)  Instead, the worship’s designers seemed to borrow the key stage prop from the movie, “DreamGirls” the out-sized, sculptural letters now spelling “Immanuel.”

Then, the stage continued to trump Christmas tradition through the music. Many of the traditional Christmas carols were re-arranged in contemporary settings that modulated into minor keys and discordant Gloria’s, draining away our exuberant expectancy into brooding, hesitant singing.  This was a terrible mistake:  of all worship services, the Christmas Eve service can be one of strong congregational singing that deeply involves and moves everyone. Indeed, it is this sense of congregational mastery that worship leaders should want to cultivate.  The greatest moments of congregational worship occur when a congregation masterfully executes a beloved, meaning-drenched song or ritual.  It is in these moments that we “let go of the handlebars,” and our efforts release to the presence and leading of the Holy Spirit.  Such peak moments of worship require familiarity and deeply knowing participation.  (I have written about these “break-out” moments of worship elsewhere. http://www.alban.org/bookdetails.aspx?id=700)

Finally, the evening’s scaled-up, stage-centric ethos was capped by Pastor John Mark  Comer, who performed almost every one of the numerous Christmas Eve scripture readings himself.  This bypassed an important opportunity for other voices (especially women’s) to tell the story of Jesus’ birth, a traditional practice in many other churches.

Many of these choices were a function of the sheer scale of worship:  church musicians isolated on stage as a virtuoso act, a worship leader who was positioned as a featured performer, and a set design crafted to be seen from the farthest reaches of the room.  But scaling up meant scaling back the congregation’s role in creating worship – especially on Christmas Eve.  This should be a night of traditions beloved, understood and masterfully enacted by the worshippers themselves.

So, scaling up is fraught with problems and unpleasant necessities.  It’s a good problem for a congregation to face, granted!  The criterion for successful scaling up is when “more” really does brings more – more meaningful symbols, more participation by the congregation, more potential for transformation of the soul, and more positive impact on the surrounding culture.

Religion in the Pacific Northwest: The Vogue Zone

Why do Evangelicals successfully start so many churches in the Pacific Northwest, asks scholar James Wellman, in an essay titled, “The Churching of the Pacific Northwest:  The Rise of  Sectarian Entrepreneurs” (included in Religion in the Pacific Northwest: The None Zone (http://www.amazon.com/Religion-Public-Life-Pacific-Northwest/dp/0759106258 ).  Wellman, with adroit use of statistics, argues that the Pacific Northwest’s fecundity for Evangelical church planting springs primarily from its “none zone” status: our residents’ tendency to mark “none,” when asked about religious affiliation.  The absence of a dominant denomination creates an “open religious market” in the eyes of  Pacific Northwest (PNW) Evangelicals, where people are neither committed to nor hampered by denominational ties that would limit them from trying out and joining a new church, says Wellman.

But numerical statistics miss the most important part of the story of Evangelical entrepreneurs in the PNW.  And that has to do with the cutting-edge style of new Evangelical churches in the PNW.  Rather than the “None Zone,” it is the “Vogue Zone” that explains the thriving Evangelical church start scene in the Pacific Northwest.  To his credit, Wellman notes the openness of PNW church-planting pastors to new media and contemporary worship practices.  But these two factors, not really described nor explored by Wellman, don’t begin to explain why the Vogue Zone  has a specific Evangelical identity, and has contributed to so many church starts.  These Evangelical elements of  the Vogue Zone include. . .

No Edifice Complex For Evangelicals, church buildings and their historic preservation are less important than creating spaces that are accessible and accommodating to those who might not otherwise consider the Gospel call.   Evangelical faith has an intrepid quality, a restlessness to invite others to church, to assess one’s church by its growth in numbers, and to think strategically about neighborhoods as zones for evangelism.  Consequently, in Evangelicalism we see intrepid, physical movement of congregations to new buildings, seeking better locations and facilities.  These frequent moves foster an engine of style innovation, unhampered by the inert mass of a building that dictates style.  For example, Imago Dei Community in Portland began with a small circle of fellow believers inviting friends and colleagues to their house worship gatherings – a common format for church starts.  As the worshipping community grew, it purchased an old church building in Portland’s Laurelhurst  neighborhood, a dark- timbered, vaulted ceiling church, illuminated by daylight streaming through stained glass windows depicting important biblical scenes – a sanctuary exquisitely in sync with Imago Dei’s sensual, spare and low-tech aesthetic.  Despite the beauty and historic allure of the Laurelhurst  sanctuary, neighborhood street parking and the building’s seating ultimately could no longer hold the burgeoning congregation.  So, the church rented a large auditorium at inner-city Franklin High School.  Then, straining against that space, Imago Dei struck a deal to trade their old Laurelhurst  property with Portland Four-Square Church’s campus, which had become too large for the shrinking Four-Square congregation.  At each stop along the way Imago Dei has innovated its aesthetic, re-styling both the “dress” of the building and worship in a style that expresses Imago Dei’s values and experience of God.

The Creative Class There is a distinct Creative Class that is being drawn to Evangelicalism.  Portland, Oregon is renown for its creative community’s work in film, writing and design.  Some of the more distinguished among them have embraced Evangelicalism.  While I can’t speculate on all the reasons within this essay,  I would suggest two.  First, Evangelicals’ contemporary style worship lowers barriers among the young creatives, who might not otherwise consider trying out church.  Second, the conservative life-style of Evangelicals may appeal to creatives who have witnessed the destructive fall-out of substance abuse and casual sex among their peers.

The Willow Creek influence James Wellman calls the leaders of these Evangelical church-starts, “entrepreneurs,” and he is right, in that they are often unattached to the “capital” of a sponsoring denomination.  But there is a sort of para-denomination that has had vast style influence among Evangelicals:  Willow Creek Community Church, of the Chicago area.  Willow Creek has evolved into functions that were previously carried out by denominations, particularly development of Christian Education curricula.  Willow Creek’s curricula, used by an estimated 4000 churches, has a strong design identity, emphasizing graphic arts, teaching skits, recorded music, and compellingly designed publications, all packaged and integrated so that a church can, in essence, purchase a “style,” that is, the Willow Creek Style.  (see http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2000/november13/5.62.html

Retail culture influences. “Seeker-friendly” Evangelical churches have taken not just a page, but the whole training manual from high service, high style retail business, what I have dubbed the “Lordstrom” phenomenon.   (http://www.crosscurrents.org/swensonwinter2004.htm) The fashion-cum-service aesthetic of retail is liberally borrowed by Evangelicals.   Information kiosks, a cup of espresso, discreet digital information screens in the sanctuary that alert parents to the nursery, umbrellas at the doorways, free Bibles and simple sermon outlines, brilliantly attractive websites that are kept up-to-date –  these are practices adapted from retail culture.  This borrowing can occur because business is viewed positively by politically conservative Evangelicals, unlike the Mainline, where “capitalism” is routinely criticized, and fashion is specifically condemned as exploitative, superficial, and engaged in oppressive factory practices.

Fashion Loves Conservatism Conservative sexual ethics actually provide a safe space for fashion and its gendered performances.  It is not uncommon to see skin-bearing sundresses, revealingly tight clothing, stiletto heels, of-the-moment hair and make-up, and other arch-feminine styling among Evangelical women at worship.  At first I was stunned by this, expecting to see conservative style among these women.  But I came to appreciate that Evangelical women assume that church is a safe space for this display of their beauty and its attributes, because this social space is bounded by conventions of Christian chastity – no one would assume that such clothing and appearance suggest  sexual availability.  Likewise, as the women pursue fashion, so too their men.  Trendily bleached hair, earrings, the latest fashion in eyeglasses, boots, tight jeans, etc., are completely conventional garb for men.

If the Vogue Zone has such specific Evangelical sources, can the Mainline enter in?  The Mainline’s respect for history and community roots prohibit the easy disposal of its buildings; the younger Creative Class is missing from its pews not because Mainline worship is “old” (ancient liturgy is experiencing a revival among young Evangelicals), but because it can be dowdy, lacking urgency and verve; Willow Creek materials will annoy many Mainliners because of their conservative theology; and business and fashion aren’t sources of inspiration and emulation for the Mainline, but enterprises demanding social criticism.

Is Mainline liberalism inextricably caught in its own “No Vogue Zone”?

Can This Sanctuary Be Saved? Community of ChristChurch Hillsboro and Sunset Presbyterian Church Portland

Are some churches planted on the wrong ground – on grounds of style?  Are some churches worshipping in a sanctuary that fights the congregation’s own aesthetic identity?  And, if a church truly is planted in the wrong building, what are the spiritual costs to the congregation?

I raise this question in light of worshipping in two very different sanctuaries, Community of ChristChurch, Hillsboro, and Sunset Presbyterian Church, Portland.

ChristChurch is a congregation with both Lutheran and WillowCreek affiliations (an attempt, like some other Lutheran congregations, to assimilate evangelical practices), worshipping in a poured-concrete, unadorned and unwindowed warehouse in Hillsboro.  The congregation began leasing this space in the late 1990’s as a small church start, and when an opportunity to purchase the building arose, they decided to make it their permanent home.  Unlike Solid Rock, which also worships in a warehouse space (see my posting, “Garage God”), Christ Church exhibits no “guy’s garage” or “industrial chic” in its aesthetic.  The wall hangings, faux plants, power-pointed images of be-flowered fields, comfy furniture, and family-friendly, low-tech performances of  Christian Contemporary songs convey an aesthetic that is warmly hospitable, casual but tidy, and — at the risk of gender stereotyping — feminine.  How this warm and solicitous aesthetic tries to soften the unyielding concrete box of its building is certainly an extreme example of the feminine virtue of turning a house into a home.

While Christ Church’s concrete box could be considered “accidental,” Sunset Church’s sanctuary is its counter-opposite in intentionality. Worshipping in a sanctuary designed specifically for the congregation, this luxurious, darkened and theatrical space also shows signs of being a strained aesthetic fit for the Sunset congregation.  Sunset’s enduring style is decidedly not luxurious, but familial, not so much theatrical as playful and sporting; and rather than dark and dramatic, it is patio-sunny and plain-spoken.

In both churches, the innate aesthetic of the congregation slips out especially in the lobby/narthex, where the daily living of the congregation occurs, much like a family’s kitchen.  At Sunset, the architects’ polished aesthetic is slowly being undone by the banners, posters, kiosks, worn furniture and hand-outs that litter the structurally-elegant lobby area.   At ChristChurch the lobby is carpeted and pastel-colored, filled with natural sunlight from the double glass-door entrance, with a welcoming table laid out with literature, a guest book, and other beckoning objects, evocative of a gracious living room.

Within each sanctuary, a similar dissembling of the buildings’ aesthetic occurs. At Sunset, a profoundly important monthly ritual in the church’s worship life, the healing service, begs for an architectural accommodation that was never considered.  One Sunday each month portable chairs are dragged to the front and placed along the stage apron’s rounded edge, where deacons and elders meet worshippers who come forward for healing prayer.  They strain to hear each other share confidential concerns and quiet prayer while amplified music plays from the stage right behind their heads.  One thinks of other sanctuaries that were expressly designed for such signature rituals of the congregation, such the “Anxious Bench,” of the churches of Charles Finney, where seekers gathered with deacons to pray and struggle with their souls, before making their profession to Jesus Christ.

A similar disharmony is seen in the worship at ChristChurch.   Here the projector screen behind the stage serves as a sort of virtual window, compensating for the windows the congregation seems to desire but doesn’t have, showing images of flowers, clouds, cartoon versions of shining suns, etc.  Indeed, the front of the sanctuary is filled with artificial philodendron, the sort of solution a woman would apply to a deadened “problem-space.”  One can only conclude that both sanctuaries are indeed problem spaces, at odds with the aesthetic inclinations of each congregation.

What are the spiritual costs for a congregation worshipping in spaces that work against the congregation’s own distinct aesthetic?   First, obviously, is the confusing identity transmitted by such incongruous aesthetics.  ChristChurch offers a mild joke about the off-putting nature of its façade: “Drive up to a warehouse; step into a church.”  Furthermore, the congregation’s own spirit, embodied in its aesthetic, is hampered and distorted by a “wrong” building.   ChristChurch purchased a concrete shell, where the congregation is seated in darkness, inhibiting the sharing of energy and emotional connection.  The room’s energy is drawn toward the small front stage, illumined by simple spotlights and projected images that suggest emotions that might be on the faces of your fellow worshippers, if only you could see them.  Although the church’s website and bulletin suggest a well-organized and active laity, the pastor’s exuberant, even goofy energy dominates the performance of worship, perhaps compensating for the emotional disconnection of the worshippers.   In short, there is a constant quality of compensating for the building’s limitations.  I wonder what this congregation of 300 could be today, if their inherent spirit could have been housed in a building that not only richly exhibited their aesthetic identity, but allowed for its development over the congregation’s 13 years.

Sunset Church, in contrast, had not only two decades, but two sanctuaries worth of experience by the time it drew up sanctuary design plans with Ankrom Moisan Associated Architects of Portland.  The aesthetic life of the church took a contemporary  and evangelical turn  when Ron Kinkaid became the church’s pastor in 1981.  The church began to draw musicians who expanded the traditional hymn repertoire to include Christian Contemporary music, especially the evangelical praise choruses of Hillsong.  The congregation adopted many of the aesthetic practices of influential mega-church Willow Creek – the use of projected images and song lyrics, upbeat graphics and banners, the use of humorous but pointed teaching skits in worship.  The church grew rapidly and required progressively larger worship spaces.  Its first move was a new building next to the church’s old site, a light drenched, steeply pitched contemporary sanctuary, where large pine trees outside the sanctuary’s huge apse windows were as much a part of the sanctuary architecture as the building’s walls. The second move was to the church’s Cornell Road campus, where it first worshipped in a large, multi-purpose room while completing plans and funding for the final sanctuary building.  This room had wood-framed, modular seating looking over a shallow platform area, with honey-colored wood moldings and flooring, and south-facing windows.  Each of Sunset’s two earlier worship spaces possessed key aesthetic elements that expressed the spirit of the congregation:  they were light-filled, casual and accessible, with little boundaries between worshippers and worship leaders.  There was a dynamism where talented laity assumed important roles in worship and education, reflecting the sun-filled energy and casual boundaries of the worship space.   In contrast, the new, “final” sanctuary is a dark theatrical space constructed to optimize the artificial lighting of the stage area and the large projector screens.   In sync with this new, polished worship space, the worship no longer features volunteer small choirs and ensembles; the skits, written and performed by amateurs, have disappeared; and the music has grown louder, more oriented toward  rock’n’roll instruments and less friendly for congregational singing.  An exodus of long-time members has occurred, small in number, yet significant in tenure and influence.

In short, there are costs to adopting an aesthetic that neither fits the church’s present aesthetic identity, nor represents a developmental edge for the congregation.  Congregational leaders must be sensitive to their congregation’s aesthetic identities, including the rituals and other forms of participatory action that, through the richness and complexity of aesthetic media, carry the congregation’s identity and their experience of God.  If you mess with these – essentially, God and church – may the Lord help you!

Garage God: Notes on Solid Rock Fellowship, Tigard, OR

What would it mean if “dudes did church”?  The answer is, “Solid Rock: A Jesus Church.”  Solid Rock’s worship space is called, “The Garage.”  The church’s interior is a hip industrial-chic space with polished cement floors and hanging halogen bulbs.  Signs directing you to Solid Rock’s building, located in a warren of anonymous office buildings, are so numerous and visible that no dude need break the code of silence about driving directions.  The front lobby is flanked by bar-high tables holding gleaming silver missiles of bracing coffee, with breakfast muffins abounding in piles for a non-fussy feed.  Leaving the sun-drenched lobby area, and entering into the darkened Garage, you see the worship stage filled with young guys in black jeans, rumpled T’s, backed by a single, expansive, white wall banner emblazoned with a Bible verse.  In the winter it was from Isaiah 43: 18 ff “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old.  I am about to do a new thing. . .” (apparently intended to be self-referential).

You won’t really understand Solid Rock until you grasp how significant is its music.  The music is rock’n’roll praise songs, performed by an accomplished band and occasional visiting musicians.  Indeed, the church’s senior pastor oft-times doesn’t preach, but rather leads the music.  The long periods of time spent in song move the heart (and even the body, judging by the many people who spontaneously stand or raise their arms during singing) to visible experiences of recognition of their lives in the songs’ lyrics of repentance, renewal and praise.  Its style of Christian Rock is positive in spirit but not Pollyanna-ish, introspective but neither “emo” nor conceptually empty.  And, it is LOUD, so that dudes need not worry about how their singing voices sound.

Historically, Christian Worship has centered around Word and Sacrament, but Solid Rock’s format is more accurately dubbed, Word and Sing-a-thon.  A “sacrament” is a repeated action involving physical objects and/or bodies, whereby an experience of God unfolds for its participants.  In short, the disembodied God becomes experientially accessible through actions that involve our own embodied selves. Solid Rock’s primary sacrament must be singing, then, because of the obvious religious power for its participants and its repeated emphasis and repetition Sunday after Sunday.   In this bare-bones version of traditional worship, we are in some form of song  for almost sixty minutes, with the remainder thirty minutes (or more) used for the sermon (Word).

The style of preaching is also dude-ish. Solid Rock preachers never lay down sonorous “laws for living,” or pontificate their “three main points,” typical authoritarian gestures that are familiar preaching styles in other Evangelical churches.  Dudes don’t like that phony authoritarian stuff.  Instead, sermons are a sort of “suspense-story” Bible study, where the preacher takes you along a journey spurred by common-sense curiosity about the meaning of a biblical text.  His questions prompt almost every worshipper to flip through their Bibles to cross-referenced passages, while the preacher provides a dash of historical context (“the top layer of soil in the Holy Land bakes solid hard during the summer, so to build your house below this level requires back-breaking labor under the hot sun. . .”).  The end result is an easy-to-understand, non-authoritarian call to Christian living, arising from this sense of shared, biblical discovery.  (Some of this discovery could go much deeper however:  one preacher said, almost as an aside, that homosexuals would not inherit the Kingdom of God, citing 1 Timothy 1: 10, a passage that begs for deeper historical/linguistic reflection and a larger biblical frame of reference, especially in an audience of many young, single men.)

Listen, getting dudes to church on a Sunday morning, in one of the most unchurch’ed areas in the US, is a high standard for appraising the effectiveness of a congregation’s worship style.  Solid Rock gets a Solid “A” on this criterion.  They have constructed a style of worship that is relevant, instructive, and, in its music, viscerally powerful.

Style has moral dimensions, however, and Solid Rock’s Dude Church reveals a serious moral – and biblical — limitation.  Solid Rock’s dudes-in-charge must have decided, after a narrow reading of scripture, “Let not have chicks in leadership.  They’re so distracting when they’re beautiful, or annoying when they’re not. And, after all, isn’t there that ONE verse in the Bible that prohibits women from leading men in worship?”  In my visits to Solid Rock, I have yet to experience a woman leading worship, although women are as numerous as men in attendance, and, from the bulletin, appear to have significant involvement in ministries of service and prayer.

In addition to women, also “CWOT” (“complete waste of time” for you oldsters) are any historically significant symbolic actions such as The Doxology, The Offering, Words of Institution, The Lord’s Prayer, The Psalter, and any kind of liturgical choreography such as processions or lifting up of the communion elements, as well as ritual décor such as an altar, baptismal font, paraments, etc.  For a church whose physical environment is so aesthetically smart and adaptable, I am surprised that they couldn’t find a way to include and contemporize any of these historically significant features of Christian Worship.

Solid Rock does offer the historical sacrament of Holy Communion, spliced into the last song-set. “Well, the communion tables are opening up. . .” the leader announces, almost as though the mikes were being opened for karaoke.  As performed here, Solid Rock’s communion service hardly seems sacramental.  When the tables “open up,” worshippers rise at their own promptings, some climbing over the knees of those still seated, shuffling and squeezing their way to one of several communion tables located throughout the Garage.  This sacrament seems to be more a down-market buffet line.  Few – if any – biblical words of context, or explanation of its meaning are offered, nor is it given visual prominence or beauty.  The communion tables are shoved against dark walls, with crude serving ware and no deacons offering the evocative words of institution, “The Body of Christ. . .The Blood of Christ.” All self-service and no sacred sense.

Even if this isn’t dumbed-down worship, the Christian Church will be dumber if these younger members are not mentored into understanding the sacraments and rituals of the wider Church, and experiencing the grace – and even the occasional revelation — inherent in their sensitive performance.

To sum up, Solid Rock’s worship service isn’t simply “cool for dudes,” but brilliantly manages to do more: its powerful music makes Christ alive for its target audience.  Although there are none of the ancient liturgical forms that have, in the church’s past, mediated a sense of God’s overwhelming majesty, mystery and beauty, Solid Rock manages the transcendence thing through the ecstatic power of its music and the congregation’s enthusiastic singing.   And this transcendence isn’t just a flitting emotional high, provided by great music once a week.  This is transcendence that does hard, embodied work:  lives are changed and its members move along a path of development that anyone – regardless of their religious values — could recognize as wholesome and mature.  Testimonies given by members on one Sunday attested to the transformative power of God’s transcendence for Solid Rock’s members.  When a visiting preacher issued an extemporaneous call for testimonies, so many members lined up to speak about their changed lives, grateful hearts, and new capacities for sobriety and responsibility, that they covered the sides of The Garage, waiting to speak on stage.  OMG-In-The-Garage!

Preservation or Renovation? Pearl Church, Portland, OR

It was illuminating to attend Pearl Church and my own church’s worship, back-to-back, on a recent Sunday.  Pearl Church, in its Evangelical context, is attempting to reclaim historical practices that modern Evangelical culture has largely abandoned or never learned in the first place: lectionary readings, silence, processions, readings from the wider Church including Eastern Orthodoxy, as well as setting a higher tone to sacraments and rituals such as Holy Communion.  The Protestant Old-Line, of which my church is a member,  never gave up these practices.  So, what happens when a younger, Evangelical congregation re-grips these traditions, along with electric guitars, drums and an amp’ed-up violin?   Does historical worship feel freshly renovated, or stiltedly preserved?  To answer these questions, let’s tread up the (recycled) rubber steps of the Eco-Trust Building, to the second floor environment of the Pearl church.

I love that Pearl Church, in “recycling” ancient church practices, gathers in a building that exemplifies it, the Eco-Trust Building in Portland’s Pearl District. The church gathers on the second floor, a space shows the bones of its industrial past with a rustic, beamed ceiling and large windows running the wall’s expanse behind the worship leaders.  It is a long room whose chairs are arranged in a semi-oval before a carefully composed communion table.  The table itself is centered by a wooden Celtic cross that looks like it was recovered from your grandfather’s Presbyterian church.  The table is set for Holy Communion, with three goblets of wine, glass trays of bread cubes, and large, modern cylinders of spring tulips.

People don’t just style things – they style their human relationships, evident here in how Pearl handles its social space.  Frankly, it’s weird here: an awkwardness lingers and puzzles me long after I leave.  I am one of about forty people at the 8:30 AM service, so hardly lost in the crowd.  But the only person who greets me the entire service is the official greeter, who hands me a worship bulletin as I say hello to her.  I take a seat near the back, and my short row is soon filled by the greeter and her husband.  Sitting side by side with them for nearly an hour, there is no eye contact or other social connection made by us.  This is a startling departure from any other Evangelical service I have attended.  What does it mean?

The same sort of social restraint occurs in the music.  The worship band, made up of  vocalists who also play guitars, a small drum set, and a gorgeously plaintive violin, sing a sort of blue-grass, rock’n’roll’ed version of both Christian contemporary classics (Hear Our Praises, 1998) and traditional hymns (O Love That Will Not Let Me God, 1882).  The music is compelling, but the musicians hardly make eye contact with us in the congregation, almost averting their eyes at times, it seems.  Consistent with this, the congregation’s response is also restrained, with nary a raised hand, or other typical Evangelical gestures of extemporaneous exuberance.  My only explanation is that perhaps, in rejecting loud, entertainment-driven, seeker-friendly,  Evangelical worship style, they have also consciously decided to reject its social culture.

I become acutely aware of this as I enter my own church, Cedar Hills United Church of Christ, at 10AM.  While we don’t have Pearl’s contemporary music, nor its mass of young adults, we have similar liturgical elements as Pearl’s — plus an obvious buzz and love in the room.  I’m not particularly active at my church, but still I can’t get to my chair without a hug from the greeter, warm hands on my back as I squeeze down a row of chairs, and a joke or two about my not having a proper name badge.

Back to Pearl:  the worship begins with announcements, and here I have to notice the complex mix of this congregation.  The leader announcing is probably of Pacific Island heritage.  He introduces two women who speak about a heroic, over-seas service project to serve women and children.  The violinist is Asian, the drummer a woman. The lectionary readings are performed by both a white woman and a black man, and a second black man is also in attendance.  That such a small, Evangelical gathering disproportionately features women and racial minorities – especially in very-white Portland —  is notable.

There is deep thoughtfulness and – yes – discerning taste in every verbal and nonverbal action performed by the church’s worship leaders that are hugely appealing.  This linguistic self-consciousness, however, comes at the expense of the preacher’s delivery of the sermon – he reads his sermon at times, and occasionally stammers or internally deliberates before selecting the right word of phrase. But, I am won over by his otherwise outstanding meditation on Sabbath-keeping as an act of providing rest for others.  Clearly, as Pearl reclaims the church’s historical traditions, it is also reclaiming articulate English instead of the rambling, extemporaneous and slangy language common to young worship leaders in other Evangelical churches.  This intelligent, subtle and quiet aesthetic demands the worshipper think a little harder, come a little closer, observe a little longer, listen a little more keenly.

My essay’s opening question has its parallel in a decorator’s dilemma:  when is honoring a past style exciting renovation or too-proud preservation?  Recently I saw a pictorial article in the New York Times about dated home decors, cherished and untouched by their homeowners despite the passage of decades. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/25/garden/25capsules.html?_r=2&ref=garden

The article was called, “Living in a Time Capsule,” 

Can Liberals Shout To The Lord?

  In March our U.C.C. theologically liberal/politically progressive congregation sang, for the first time,  “Shout To The Lord,”  an evangelical standard, beloved by millions.   After worship,  some long-time, older  members complained to me about the “power” language of the anthem (“Power and majesty,  praise to the King. . .”).   Actually, we didn’t even give the song its full wattage:  following our practice of modifying some masculine imagery for God in our worship language, we actually sang, “Power and majesty, praises we sing.”

But, I think something more than mere lyrics aroused these members.  The song’s overall effect is one of power,  the overwhelming power of God observed in nature and felt in personal life.  I have a hunch that these members heard the song as an anthem about evangelical power, not God’s power.    The song was lead by a visiting musician who had long served a neighboring evangelical church, and we even sang it “evangelical-style,” with the lyrics “power-pointed” on a projector screen.  So, my guess is these members heard the song as the Fuller Seminary fight song.

This song always moves me deeply, and I think it is its capacity to evoke the grandeur and protective power of God.   Maybe folks whose lives are securely anchored with enough money, status, and love won’t respond to the anthem’s soaring tribute to God’s awesome power,  not feeling a lack of power in their own lives.  But frankly, just such folks need the relativizing power of this anthem.  God’s power overwhelms our own human and trivial versions of power and security.

Churches-A-Go-Go

Since we all know it’s what’s inside that counts, can we have some fun with the outside of churches?   As a member of the Jetsons’ generation,  I love the the optimistic, “futuristic” architecture of ’60’s era churches.  I happen to belong to one, Cedar Hills U.C.C. in Portland, Oregon.  Since I moved out West,  I’ve enjoyed the iconoclasm you frequently see here.  Not your mother’s White-Steeple’d Church on the Green.

Cedar Hills, UCC. We have a firefighter-member, who regularly ropes up to climb our roof and powerwash away the moss.

What does this roofline symbolize? The pages of Scripture, the "Five" Apostles (Bach being the fifth for Lutherans), or the dire consequences of "falling"?

Beaverton Church of the Nazarene. This church appears to have landed, from outer space, on an airport tarmac.