the day i cried in church: reflections on church shopping

Church shopping, for lack of a better term, is a bit of a sore. We are slowly discerning what community we hope to settle into here in Vancouver, after months of online services followed by an unexpected transition out of the church we had been calling home. 

These weeks of wandering from church to church have turned us topsy-turvy, and we are eager to plug into a new faith community soon. There is no such thing as a perfect church, we know this, so better we commit to one than go on searching for one which, frankly, is a myth. 

We also want to give this process the time, prayers and discernment it deserves. There is no point in rushing such a big decision, knowing its effects will ripple in many areas of our life. 

As we have been visiting new church communities over the past couple months, we have had really interesting conversations about what we value in a church--not what makes it perfect, but what makes an ideal community to us. This isn't to say we are centering our decision on mere stylistic preferences, but on questions like the following: 

Does the church gather people of all ages, cultures and walks of life, unifying us across identity lines? (Galatians 3:28)

Is the church committed to the flourishing of our city, and the fulfillment of God's Kingdom within her (and beyond!)? (Habakkuk 3:2, Jeremiah 29:7, Acts 1:8)

Does the church's leadership have a high view of God's Word, as a gift and tool to teach, rebuke, correct and train us in righteousness?  (2 Timothy 3:16, Joshua 1:8)

Is the church committed to our formation as disciples through individual and communal practices, which in turn are inspired by Spirit-led creativity but also ancient practices? (Ephesians 4:4-7, 1 Timothy 4:7-8)

Is the gospel preached boldly? Are the saints within this church encouraged to live out an active faith that fulfills Great Commission love? (Matthew 28:16-20, Isaiah 52:7)

And lastly, 

Is Christ seen in her? 

This is all very exciting to me. I love the local church. I believe that, when committed to the one true gospel and to being an extension of God's love, the local church is the world's greatest hope and good. She is, after all, Christ's body made manifest in a group of believers. What a gift! 

So, as we ask ourselves these questions about the churches we are visiting, we recognize the importance of this decision. This will be the place we worship, cultivate community, and grow in the knowledge and likeness of Jesus. 

Last Sunday, we visited a church in the city. And we truly loved it. 

In fact, the service brought me to tears. 

And let's put it this way: I'm not one to get all that emotional during church services. 

I grew up in a youth group culture where "feeling God" was conceptualized as the summit of the faith experience. I would often find myself surrounded with other worshippers weeping during times of prayer and song, going on and on about their profound connection to God. I stood there, feeling little other than confusion. 

For years, this led me to wonder if there was something profoundly wrong with me. Why didn't my times of worship yield any emotional fireworks? There I was, a teenager committed to reading Scripture, developing spiritual disciplines and cultivating a relationship with God--yet not resonating at all with the collective effervescence I was witnessing around me. I don't wish to disparage others' spiritual experiences, as I have no doubt God speaks to each of us all differently. And I know He draws us to Himself through emotions at times. But the overemphasis upon "feelings" in evangelical worship can be truly alienating. On one hand, it can foster some skepticism about people's sincerity. (Guilty.) On the other hand, this rhetoric can also cause a crisis of faith when said feelings are not accompanied with a solid understanding of Christian doctrine. When the valleys come and the emotional fireworks wane, will the worshipper still know that God is true and good? 

All this to say, it is my experience that contemporary worship ministries in the evangelical tradition can too easily aim to generate an "emotional high" amongst congregants. I have come to recognize my concerns (. . . and distaste) for this emotion-driven and emotionally manipulative approach, which echoes the very rhetoric my teenage self heard over and over. 

Too often, songs and collective prayers--and, frankly, entire church services--can lack theological content and be utterly divorced from the history and depth of the Christian faith and tradition. 

Hear me out: I'm not advocating for rote worship here. I do believe in dynamic worship. I believe in a church body being open, always, to an inbreaking of the Holy Spirit. However, in my view, this means that we ought to be a bit less rigid in our church services and programs, and instead make room for manifestations of God's presence among us. We need to create environments of worship that allow people to have an intimate encounter with God. But a dynamic worship ministry that makes space for the work of the Holy Spirit should NOT be confused with trying to elicit emotional responses in a congregation. 

In our search for a church, this has been a factor of consideration. We ask ourselves, what is the culture of worship here? We observe, pray, discuss... And it has been a really encouraging experience. In our cultural context, there really seems to be shift toward more contemplative and theologically dense worship services. This is really exciting to me! Dare I suggest I am not the only one to feel the aforementioned frustrations and concerns?! 

This was quite a long-winded way to share the following: that morning, in a beautiful old sanctuary in Vancouver, we experienced a local church that was undeniably committed to gospel-anchored liturgies. And this, unlike most worship services I've been to, actually brought me tears. 

The service was simple, albeit not ascetic or dull. It displayed high musical ability and robust theological content, but was stripped of aesthetic or technological distractions (which often are referred to as "excellence" or "cutting-edge" in church services). I'm not trying to be legalistic here--there's nothing inherently wrong with a fog machine and light production in a church. But the simplicity of this service was compelling. It made me think of A. W. Tozer's warning, “Worship is no longer worship when it reflects the culture around us more than the Christ within us.” 

And I must say: Christ was reflected in that church service. 

Every Scripture reading, prayer, testimony and sacrament was tethered to the gospel, centered around the triune God. It seemed as though all aspects of the service intentionally reminded us that we are part of a greater story.   

This kind of worship is deeply formative. When the songs you sing and the sermons you hear help position you in God's story on earth, it powerfully shapes your own story. It beckons you to step into your identity as a bringer of God's Kingdom in a broken world. 

That day, I felt my eyes well up with tears as I watched congregants slowly make their way from creaking church pews to the front of the altar, to receive communion. We lined up along the main aisle, slowly approaching the minister holding bread and wine for each of us. 

The body of Christ, given for you. 

The blood of Christ, shed for you. 

These words, spoken to our ancestors in faith and co-citizens of the Kingdom around the world, were being spoken to me. Shivers. 

As this all went on, we sang hymns that spoke of the saving work of the cross, and our new identity as redeemed sons and daughters of God. 

We were, in that moment, immersed in the redemptive arc of God's story. This service did not just engage our minds but all our senses. We were walking, singing, tasting and seeing. Even the beauty of the building, with its stained glass windows and vaulted ceilings, pointed us toward the grandeur of the God we worship. 

We tend to associate worship to the spirit and mind alone. But the truth is, we can't just "feel" or "think" our way to God (you can read more about this You Are What You Love by James K.A. Smith).We are people who make our way through the world with physical bodies and senses. Our worship thus ought to be a physical experience, too. Yet we so often plan church services entirely divorced from the body. Our cognitive abilities are engaged in the act of worship, but not our whole being. 

I can't help but wonder. . . if God didn't care about an embodied form of worship, why did He bother saving us through Christ's human body, broken for us? Could His Spirit not have saved us just the same? 

Throughout Scripture, I see a God who highlights His high view of the body. So why not praise Him with our full body? 

This is an especially meaningful topic after months of online church during the pandemic. For nearly two years we had to experience the local church through a screen. Faith, and much of public life, became a disembodied experience. Today, many wonder if they can stick with the convenience of online church. But the truth is, we are embodied creatures--not ethereal beings who can forever thrive in virtual spaces. As humans, we are designed to taste, see, hear, talk, touch and feel our way through this physical world. We are made to gather, in our physical bodies, and worship with them. 

I deeply appreciated the concerted effort this local church made to honor this sacred reality, by engaging the body. As I stood up, made my way to the altar, felt the communion be placed in my hand, and tasted the bread and wine, my body was living out the spiritual reality of the gospel. I was being reminded, through these motions, that I am a sinner who is made new by the blood of Christ. I can quit striving and hustling, and receive true nourishment when I approach Jesus and the altar of the Cross, just as I approached the altar in that church building. And as sure as I could taste that communion bread and wine in my mouth, so sure it is that Christ offered Himself in my stead, to be my Lord and Savior. 

This form of embodied, wholistic and contemplative worship tills the hearts, minds and bodies of the believer toward the fullness of God and His story. 

It was a beautiful sight, friends. I watched as a small crowd of worshippers ascended the church aisle, and I took stock of the sheer diversity I was seeing. People of all ages, ethnicities, styles and walks of life approached the altar to receive the same bread and wine. In so doing, they were remembering the broken body and the blood that was shed to make us one, united body. The thought blows me away: how such a varied assortment of people--an immigrant, a University student, a young mother, an elderly man, a disabled teenager and many other sundry people who'd otherwise never be found together, can all gather to declare the depth of their sin, yet the sufficiency of God's mercy. 

We were a motley crew of hopeful saints, aware of our brokenness yet reminded through bread and wine of our new identities as God's redeemed. 

That's why I cried. It was such a powerful moment of collective worship. 

I don't want to speak too quickly, but I think we might have found a church home.