Preaching to the choir

As a student of the Seminary, I understand that there is a specific standard by which all students are all held to. Most standards are written laws of expected and enforced conduct while others are social norms as refereed by the student body. We are kept in check, and when all else fails we keep each other in double check. For the most part, our community toes the line and not much administrative action is necessary. In my opinion, most people understand that we are grown adults with a firm grasp of acceptable life skills needed to operate. Yet, all of this is forgotten the moment we step into any given Chapel service.

Here in the Seminary, a room full of pastors having spent time in an undergraduate-level classroom learning how to speak to a room full of believers/non-believers. An overwhelming majority of this group have worked in the ministry field putting their degrees to practical use in real time before live audiences. And of that majority, over half of that lot is in their second year of instruction at the Masters level. Which is to say that they have received a graduate level understanding of homiletics. 

In a not so distant analogy, imagine a convention held in a dimly lit conference center amidst a bustling downtown civic center. Attendance is by invitation only, and only the elite practicing magicians that managed to swing the exorbitant fee are on the guest list. The room is packed with some of the most innovative minds in the magic game. They run the gamut of slick card sharks, deceptive mind tricks, big-stage entertainers, and masters of the sleight of hand. In their hands sits a flyer with the words "Magic! Magic! Magic!" emblazoned on the front. While the back of the flyer is almost comically blank. 

The lights dim in the house as the convention begins, a big name magician slides onto the stage wearing an overly exaggerated velvet top hat, a dark flowing cape, a tuxedo with overly large cuffs in the sleeves. The PA system squeals as the seven smoke machines sputter directly into the speakers placed clumsily on the stage. The fog obscuring the man for a moment before he stumbles forward to the center of the stage. spilling a deck of cards in his hands. His hat topples to the ground exposing the flock of sickly looking doves to the misty air as they fly aimlessly around the room. Dusting himself off, the music already quickening  to a frenetic pace, he chaotically dives into his routine. 

Producing another pack of oversized cards, he spins as he tucks the deck halfheartedly into his sleeve while yanking a bouquet of roses from his jacket. Almost in awe of his own trick his eyes bulge and mouth gapes wide as he builds a bit of a swagger in his step as he throws the flowers to crowd. After a few more tricks consisting of the magician "finding a coin" behind his own ear, disappearing another deck of cards into the hand behind his back in a flash of sparks that singe his now red and throbbing fingers, and attempting to invite a random audience member on stage to no avail, the magician leaves the stage smiling ear to ear and making his own whooshing sound effects to supplement the audio track that had long since ended leaving the room in deafening silence. 

With that, the lights come up in the house and the faint buzz of faulty wiring in one of the fluorescent fixtures fills the room. A thin man steps the stage and announces that there will be refreshments in the lobby during a brief intermission before the afternoon workshops begin. A powerpoint slide appears above the man's head projected on to the wall still obscured by the sputtering haze from the smoke machines. Reading directly from the wall behind him, the man begins excitedly reading the words out loud. The sessions listed read:

"Is this your card?"- A symposium unlocking the mystery of basic card tricks

"Ta-da!"- An all-day workshop to help you choose your personalized catch phrase

"Loose Change"- Keen tips on how to keep kids entertained using a handful of coins

"Capes!"- An afternoon in the magician's closet trying on seven different capes

The man finishes his brief introductions and releases the audience into the hallway. Without a word, the magicians file into each room to begin their afternoon sessions. 

As overly exaggerated as the above may seem, I do not believe the analogy to be so farfetched as not to illuminate the very reality I have personally observed weekly. A room full of pastors, using the same mechanics of homiletics covered in week one of training, enforcing chants of God's goodness. A chorus of repetitive regurgitated lines prompted by the lecturer. Sermons on the goodness of God and the salvation of all people who believe. Testimonies from students speaking on how good God has been to them that are littered with overt baptismal appeals. Messages better suited for the weekly children's story posing as the heart of the worship service. Mandated silence in the pews after multiple threats and vicious staring into the Sanctuary from the orator. Prompts for a hearty "amen" used like punctuation after the most basic sentences. Visual aids projecting endless images clipped from the kids' quarterly database eliciting immediate repentance from a life of constant caustic sinning. A barrage of noise better suited for nothing, but best seen in the most intentional of evangelistic series'. All before a room full of pastors trained to learn the tricks that do exactly what they are supposed to do.

But even as we file into each pew to receive the tips and witness the tricks we learned as children from the boxed sets under the Christmas tree we spent months pining for, some seem to forget that they are being tricked. And so we sit looking onward pretending not to notice that we are fully aware of the next move before it happens. And when it occurs as scheduled, by the book, we "ooh" and "ahh" in unison at the wonders before us. 

I, for one, say enough is enough. I believe that we can do better than this. 

What would happen if we used the Chapel to showcase sermons that have been written that are too edgy and dark to be read in the undergraduate dorms for worship credit? What if we shared the stories of faith that would shake the common Christian sitting in the pews in our home churches? What if we were to pose the questions we know that we ask in our minds and let them rise up in the safe spaces we meet in so that we can find a release unavailable in most meeting rooms? What if we stopped acting like pastors among pastors and started being honest that we are acting? What if we spent more time trying to figure out how to struggle with the issues appropriately rather than trying to prove that we are without struggle? What if we stopped saying "amen" so that we never let on that what we are heralding is actually something we are having difficulty with? What if instead of "amen" we said "damn that's me", "yep I'm guilty of that", and "ouch"? What if we ended the Crusade and began the revolution? What if we stopped preaching to the choir and started singing a new song worth saying "amen" to?

I think it might be the best trick ever seen.