I've been drawn into some fascinating and helpful conversations lately about church - specifically, about what typically happens in church on Sunday mornings. A few of my friends have recently made the conscious decision to no longer "attend church" in the traditional sense, and they have their good reasons for doing so. Mostly, I think their motivation to leave church has to do with some variation of what's represented here.
Most people I know in their 20s and 30s who were raised in church have a regurgitative reaction to "worship" that is as overly-produced as my faux-hawk on a bad hair day. As non-conformist as we've tried to be at Redemption this year, we've gone through periods of worship that have been, for lack of a better term, "contemporvant." This usually happens when the pastors and other leaders are tired, isolated, and stretched too thin to be creative, so we slip into the old default mode and "do worship" like we did it in 1995 (the apex of seeker-sensitive praise-chorusey, "cool" church movement).
A few weeks ago, I sat among a circle of friends sharing about our dream worship experience. It was a diverse group of people, so I was surprised when most of our "dreams" intersected. Everyone seemed to long for something less performance-oriented, less rehearsed, less polite. Something more real and raw, heartfelt, free-flowing, and conversational. Something that, even if it's a larger group, feels small and intimate...maybe even something that encourages worshipers to grow deeper together in small communities.
People are longing to connect with God on a deeper, more authentic level in worship. They need to be led in that direction (this is part of the changing role of pastors in the 21st century, which I'll write about another time), and they need to be encouraged and allowed to be completely true and real when they settle into their pews.
Worship leaders and preachers should stop rehearsing for perfection; instead, we should prepare our hearts to be open and vulnerable.
Technical "mistakes" and "miscues" shouldn't cause us to wince for shame of not doing it right; those snafus are just opportunities to remind ourselves we are human, broken, and prone to error.
Language doesn't have to be sanitized in the sanctuary. We can curse, and the walls won't come crashing down. We can talk about violence, sexuality, doubts, our anger at God, grief, etc. God welcomes this, and people long for this opportunity.
Sermons can no longer be one-way epitaphs if we expect people to care what we're saying. They must become conversations, dialogue, back-and-forth, and approachable.
Church can't be pretentious or performance-driven; it must become sincere and community-driven.