My husband and I were asked to do some music at a friend’s very small non-denominational church gathering recently. When I say small, I am talking about a dozen or so people who meet in a classroom at a Lutheran seminary in our city. The building itself is somewhat sizable with several classrooms and a large chapel. More than one church meets here on Sundays.

As we are walking in we see two different types: the ones wearing their Sunday Best (headed to the chapel for the larger Orthodox service) and the ones wearing, well, whatever the heck they want (headed to one of the classrooms for a non-traditional gathering).

I have never had much exposure to the traditional church setting. I went to a funeral for my first bus-driver in our small town’s Catholic church once when I was very young. I went to a Lutheran church once for Ash Wednesday with my Lutheran friend when we were about ten. At one of our earliest churches, when I was still knee-high, I have vague memories of my mother being verbally lashed by a pearl-sporting old lady who was quite certain my mother was hell-bound for having the audacity to unearth a tambourine from her bag.

No, I was raised in the charismatic movement of the 1980’s and 90’s. You know what I’m talking about. Unbridled enthusiasm, sweating preachers, and meetings till well past midnight where people are laying all over the floor like bomb victims while their children are asleep in the pews under coats. And that is just a typical Tuesday night.

In the churches I am familiar with, people are judged as being stiff and “unopen to the Holy Spirit” if they don’t look like they’re doing some sort of frightening aerobic exercise during worship. We are expected to shout the occasional “Amen!” to cheer on our pastor as he makes good points. Hours are spent after every service in prayer lines seeking healings and miracles for all of our ailments. Every slip in character could be viewed by our fellow congregants as a “Backslide”. And you can’t make it a week without hearing mention of how the world is so evil these days that the “rapture” must be just around the corner.

This is pretty much all I have known of church since shortly after the tambourine threat.

So after Jesse and I did a few songs for this small group of people (who did none of the things mentioned above, by the way) I had to pee. I slipped out of the room and started the hunt for a restroom.

But as I entered the hall I heard a heavenly sound.

I was drawn toward it in a magnetic way.

Echoing through the large center hall, coming from the chapel on the other side of the building I could hear one solitary male voice singing a strange thing.

I made my way toward it, somewhat entranced and violently curious. Then suddenly it stopped and to my delight the entire congregation replied to it in a similar manner.

I slipped closer.

Then the single voice again, alone and confident.

Then the reply.

The door was open and I slinked my way up to it, peering in as much as I could without being rude. Inside were all the ones I had seen entering the building dressed in Sunday Best. The call and response repeated and I listened in absolute delight. I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to join them. I did not want to go back to the little classroom. I wanted to go sit down and observe and experience this new thing. I was curious, yes, but more than anything I was moved spiritually by it.

But I didn’t go in. I found the restroom and slipped back into the meeting I had been invited to, which was still quite pleasant, but I could not get that other service out of my head. I whispered to my husband that I couldn’t wait to tell him what I had seen and heard.

It stayed with me for weeks afterward. After some research I discovered that the tradition I had heard was called a cantor. But it wasn’t this that was sticking with me. It was something deeper than that, something that only took me a few minutes to put my finger on. What I felt as I listened in on that service was Reverence.

In many charismatic churches there is so much wild behavior. This is actually encouraged in many of them as a sign that you really love God. There is also this message that God is your pal, your buddy. There is so much time spent being jubilant and “free” that there is little being taught about reverence. A healthy awe-filled fear of God.

But that isn’t what this post is about.

I’m not here to compare churches. I am neither A: praising the reverent nor B: punishing the charismatic. It’s actually C.

When I was standing in that doorway, moved in such a powerfully spiritual way, I was looking in at a teenage boy that looked about bored enough to eat paper. I know a seventy-five-year-old woman who has a deeply moving experience every time she goes to Catholic mass, she can’t talk about it afterward without tearing up. I know people in charismatic churches who have this same experience. And I know there are people in both that are simply going through old motions with hearts that are bored.

C: The real revelation I got from this experience was that Tradition is in our hearts, not necessarily in our services.

Some people who have known a liberal amount of fun and freedom may need to find a quiet place on their knees to get away from tradition. Some who have spent their entire life on their knees may need to stretch a bit.

I am writing to encourage you… where does your heart feel God? Find out and then GO THERE. Don’t pay mind to people who judge your choice.

The newness and reverence of a traditional service had something special for me, a charismatic-bred individual. That boy that was bored to tears in that traditional church will probably need to find a place where he can stretch his legs and feel a bit more freedom.

Just watch out for weirdos, this is the one thing you will find in every church.

 

 

 

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