Royal Worship
One of my favorite Christmas traditions is chuckling at the poor misguided souls that hear something about X-Mas and immediately begin to act as if some cruel secret police force has kicked in the door to their church and started burning their Bibles. This reaction is the result of laudable loyalty and embarrassing ignorance. I said earlier that the problem with much Christian belief is not so much a lack of zeal as a lack of imagination. In this case, it is a lack of Greek, for anyone who knows the alphabet can see that X-Mas is not an irreligious conspiracy, but a shorthand way of writing cristos. I, for one, am considerably more offended about the unperceived removal of the mass from Christmas than the ristos from Christmas. You see, there are many problems with the Roman Catholic or High Anglican mass, and most of them are related to inadequate heating—but they still celebrate the true meaning of Christmas, at least semantically speaking: Christ’s Mass. It is a magical season, but it is magical because it is holy. It is a moment for family, but only because something bigger than the family has arrived—it is the coronation of a king. The moment ought to have some pomp to it, and the solemnity of men who are taking seriously something much bigger than themselves. It ought also to have joy, the inexpressible joy of an infant in one’s arms, or of the prospect of a great feast, or of the arrival of a dearly-paid for freedom.
Every Sunday service, as a matter of fact, ought to have a bit more joy and solemn pomp to it. The modern American Sunday services that I have attended were very zealous, but they were ultimately reflections of the style and character of their loudest and most persuasive members. If we had more imagination, we might find ourselves to alter the tone of our gatherings. Imagine, for example, that the President of the United States (your most recent favorite, if you don’t like the current one) was planning on attending your church this week. Wouldn’t the church make every possible preparation? Wouldn’t the building be cleaned from steeple to basement by an eager body of volunteers, each detail carefully attended and meticulously approved? Wouldn’t the parking lot be swept, the grass mowed, and the windows polished? Wouldn’t the best musicians prepare their finest efforts and the preacher pore over his sermon with special care? Wouldn’t the choir clean their robes? The congregation would arrive at the church early, and there would be no dirty clothes or sleepy eyes—dressed in their finest, they would wait with excited whispers for the arrival of such an important man. Upon his entrance, every person would be struck with an awed silence, and then even the smallest children would crane their necks to see this great man. Ties would be reordered a last time, young backs straightened and old bellies sucked in. Then, as the honored guest was seated, nervous musicians would ply their bows and sound their horns, and the mothers of the players would beam with pride that their young man was playing for such an important event. As the attendants and celebrants perform the service, each member steals glances at the guest, hoping for his pleasure and approval.
If we take seriously the belief that we have a king of greater authority and glory than any other ruler, and that at every gathering of his people He is somehow mystically present with the possibility, in some unknown eschatological sense, of sounding a trumpet and actually appearing, why do we offer to him so little honor compared to our petty elected officials? If we truly believe in our heads what we have confessed with our mouths, that Jesus Christ is Lord, our behavior in church would change dramatically.
One of the silliest platitudes I find on bumper stickers (which are otherwise entertaining reads) is the statement that “Christianity is a relationship, not a religion.” I am not sure how these terms became logically exclusive, let alone in the same class of qualification. It is nearly like saying “John is a banker, not a Pennsylvanian.” I suppose that the lie about religion is only included to highlight how revolutionary is the statement that Christianity is a relationship. There is ample biblical evidence to demonstrate the depth of love that can be found, in some mystical sense, between a Christian and his Lord. I am suspicious of the modern mania for speaking of Jesus as if he were a boyfriend, not because of the lack of sincere affection on the part of the believer, but because of the lack of fear. Any genuine mysticism has been accompanied by a profound awareness of the bigness of God, of his grandeur and greatness. It is, for those that would dare seek intimate knowledge of him, an almost painful experience, like stepping into light so bright that it sears your skin. What would it be like to have a “relationship” with a King? Even little girls who dream of handsome princes know that in the moment of his arrival they would grow a little timid. As Mr. Beaver says, “Only a fool would appear before Aslan without his knees knocking.”
My purpose here is not to discourage the pursuit of this sort of relationship, with our immortal King—heaven knows I need more work here than anyone—but to encourage those who do believe and practice this love relationship to act seriously upon it. If you will not behave like a king is visiting, at least consider the idea that your lover is visiting and behave accordingly. I doubt that any of us would show up as late or as ill-dressed to a date as we do to church.
No comments:
Post a Comment