And he shall reign for ever and ever, king of kings, and lord of lords.
The familiar words of the Hallelujah Chorus will be sung in many places around the world on Easter Sunday. But we didn’t wait to celebrate the risen and reigning Lord, not where I was last Sunday morning, in the darkened auditorium of the church just two blocks from my house.
I walked there, which was nice, and got there early, which goes against my life-long habit. Where do I sit, I asked myself, surveying the 500 or so cushioned chairs available to me. After I sat down, an elderly couple (that is, older than me!) took seats behind me, and two younger couples on either side, leaving plenty of space between us.
When time came to stand and greet somebody, it was the man behind me who said, “Hello, my name is Dwight.”
I held tightly to his outstretched hand and responded, “Tell me again your name.” It is not often I meet somebody named Dwight: a professor in college and his son, a student in Israel 50 years ago, and somewhere another one but my memory is vague.
We continued our greeting after the worship was over, and I learned he was born in 1945 and named for his father who was, in turn, named for the famous evangelist, Dwight L. Moody (1837-1899). Which prompted me to say my last name, and that sent the conversation off in a fresh direction. As you might imagine.
That whole episode was a highlight of my walk into a strange place to worship. That and the video, shown on three huge screens left, right, and center. It featured the ministry to disabled people that, evidently, is a hallmark of this multi-site congregation. It was well done and well received. I have a special interest in special needs people.
The sermon was long, articulate, and thoughtful. It was a continuation of a multi-Sunday study of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians: chapter seven to be exact, which begins, “Now for the matters you wrote about: ‘It is good for a man not to have sexual relations with a woman.’” Which sent the preacher off into matters of marriage, sex, and the end of the age. He offered what he called a “spine” and a “frame” as ways to understand the text and ended his message abruptly and with an subdued appeal to follow Jesus. I never saw his name and have no idea where his beamed-in-sermon originated.
There was no baptism, no communion, and (surprisingly) no offering or invitation. There was music: eight contemporary songs, by my count but on one occasion I was uncertain if and when one song ended and another began. I knew none of the songs, sung primarily by the seven-member praise band (which surprisingly include a violin).
But this struck me: the songs were mostly about King Jesus, by which I mean the Jesus raised into glory and ruling with all authority and power. The Jesus, we might say, of The Revelation of Jesus Christ to John (the last book of the Bible). No modern version of “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus” or “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” or even “The Great Physician now is near, the sympathizing Jesus. He speaks the drooping heart to cheer. Oh! Hear the voice of Jesus.”
As the words of the songs appeared on the screens, three biblical texts were printed across the bottom: three texts for each of the eight songs, or 24 biblical texts. And this I noticed: only one from the gospels. Others from Psalms, Pauline letters, Hebrew prophets, and multiple texts from that book of The Revelation.
Yes, the Jesus extolled in the music was not primarily the Jesus of the gospels, the man who welcomed the strangers, healed the sick, and confounded the scholars, the man who talked with Nicodemus and the nameless woman at the well of Samaria.
I don’t know if this is common Sunday fare in this particular congregation, but it is not the first time I have noticed this preference for the Risen Lord rather than the rabbi, the radical, and the crucified redeemer. Especially in what we call contemporary worship churches.
In a few weeks, we will all sing some version of the king of kings and lord of lords anthem. But in between these halleluiah days, we need a lot of Jesus, the Jesus described by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. What I call in my own Sunday morning ministry, the Red Letter Jesus.
The American church and the American people need a lot more of the red-letter Jesus.
And he shall reign for ever and ever, king of kings, and lord of lords.
The familiar words of the Hallelujah Chorus will be sung in many places around the world on Easter Sunday. But we didn’t wait to celebrate the risen and reigning Lord, not where I was last Sunday morning, in the darkened auditorium of the church just two blocks from my house.
I walked there, which was nice, and got there early, which goes against my life-long habit. Where do I sit, I asked myself, surveying the 500 or so cushioned chairs available to me. After I sat down, an elderly couple (that is, older than me!) took seats behind me, and two younger couples on either side, leaving plenty of space between us.
When time came to stand and greet somebody, it was the man behind me who said, “Hello, my name is Dwight.”
I held tightly to his outstretched hand and responded, “Tell me again your name.” It is not often I meet somebody named Dwight: a professor in college and his son, a student in Israel 50 years ago, and somewhere another one but my memory is vague.
We continued our greeting after the worship was over, and I learned he was born in 1945 and named for his father who was, in turn, named for the famous evangelist, Dwight L. Moody (1837-1899). Which prompted me to say my last name, and that sent the conversation off in a fresh direction. As you might imagine.
That whole episode was a highlight of my walk into a strange place to worship. That and the video, shown on three huge screens left, right, and center. It featured the ministry to disabled people that, evidently, is a hallmark of this multi-site congregation. It was well done and well received. I have a special interest in special needs people.
The sermon was long, articulate, and thoughtful. It was a continuation of a multi-Sunday study of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians: chapter seven to be exact, which begins, “Now for the matters you wrote about: ‘It is good for a man not to have sexual relations with a woman.’” Which sent the preacher off into matters of marriage, sex, and the end of the age. He offered what he called a “spine” and a “frame” as ways to understand the text and ended his message abruptly and with an subdued appeal to follow Jesus. I never saw his name and have no idea where his beamed-in-sermon originated.
There was no baptism, no communion, and (surprisingly) no offering or invitation. There was music: eight contemporary songs, by my count but on one occasion I was uncertain if and when one song ended and another began. I knew none of the songs, sung primarily by the seven-member praise band (which surprisingly include a violin).
But this struck me: the songs were mostly about King Jesus, by which I mean the Jesus raised into glory and ruling with all authority and power. The Jesus, we might say, of The Revelation of Jesus Christ to John (the last book of the Bible). No modern version of “Tell Me the Stories of Jesus” or “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” or even “The Great Physician now is near, the sympathizing Jesus. He speaks the drooping heart to cheer. Oh! Hear the voice of Jesus.”
As the words of the songs appeared on the screens, three biblical texts were printed across the bottom: three texts for each of the eight songs, or 24 biblical texts. And this I noticed: only one from the gospels. Others from Psalms, Pauline letters, Hebrew prophets, and multiple texts from that book of The Revelation.
Yes, the Jesus extolled in the music was not primarily the Jesus of the gospels, the man who welcomed the strangers, healed the sick, and confounded the scholars, the man who talked with Nicodemus and the nameless woman at the well of Samaria.
I don’t know if this is common Sunday fare in this particular congregation, but it is not the first time I have noticed this preference for the Risen Lord rather than the rabbi, the radical, and the crucified redeemer. Especially in what we call contemporary worship churches.
In a few weeks, we will all sing some version of the king of kings and lord of lords anthem. But in between these halleluiah days, we need a lot of Jesus, the Jesus described by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. What I call in my own Sunday morning ministry, the Red Letter Jesus.
The American church and the American people need a lot more of the red-letter Jesus.
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