Almost a year has passed and I no longer attend church under the dark overhang of guilt.  My attending the Episcopal church has become a fact of life, something we don’t seem to mind, and something I no longer worry about.  We both gladly leave at different times on Sundays to travel by different means to different churches, and somehow (the thought process-journey is lost on me at the moment) we are content.  I am glad for this.

Because of our current happiness and my lack of worry, I agreed to visit my parents’ church for Easter (before I later attended my own).  I had been there before and thought nothing of what my experience would be.  I did not know that a nearly a year of somewhat heavily liturgical services would alter incredibly my perception of a “typical” evangelical (not in a Baptist or EV Free way) church.  By evangelical, then, I guess I mean non-traditionally liturgical.  The church is replete with loud, contemporary music, raised hands, shouting pastor, and the generic and assuming (simple) “beliefs” in heaven, hell, getting “saved” (substitutionary atonement), and some pentecostal interpretations (lots of devil this and enemy that, gifts, tongues, spirit, altar calls, etc.).  Though I have used many descriptive words, this is somehow a generic definition (to me).  Anyway, this service that once seemed so normal in so many forms to me suddenly became manipulative and monopolizing…

I have often heard critiques of pentecostal theology as submitting too much to one’s “emotions,” or of their services being emotionally manipulative.  As a person from that background I opted to defend this tradition, thinking of other explanations for why they do what they do (though “they” is diverse and “what they do” is quite not one thing).  This past Sunday, however, I sat listening to the pastor’s shouts, which, though they hurt many people of the congregation’s ears, were “justified” by his being “just so passionate” (his own explanation; last I checked, one does have control over one’s vocal volume, unless something medical in some way negates this control, and, in kindness, one should lower one’s voice to avoid hurting those in his congregation…).  I didn’t understand why he shouted so much, and so often, and often out of nowhere, startling me, and making me jump.  Anyway, there is more to this emotional pull than the shouting.  There is a tone.  This tone of compassionate pity comes about when the pastor “really cares about his congregation,” and when one is under this spell, one feels cared for, though, as I was a foreigner, I understood this tone as guilting.  “Why don’t you just let God love you,” type of thing.  My sister calls this the “pastor voice.”  We prefer people’s “normal” voices.

Second, in attending this church, I realized I was quite seriously giving over my brain, my ears, my time, my emotions, and my “voice” for however long the pastor wished to speak (thank God for crowded and pushed Easter services!).  In my lovely Episcopal church (which, for me, absolutely has its flaws), when we go to church, we know what to expect.  We know what we will say, that we as the laity and the clergy will speak, that we will participate together in something, that we create something in our speaking and our actions, that we will do things (stand, kneel, walk, bow, cross, sit, eat, drink), and when.  We know that our reverend is not in control of everything that happens as it goes, that she is under the same liturgy as we, and that we are “in it together,” though with different roles.  Sitting in my parents’ church, I was subject to each and every whim of that pastor.  This happened at least twice: “Everyone, close your eyes.  I want to pray for you, will you let me?” (This is a rhetorical question.)  Oh, but first, “Yadda yadda yadda,” and then, “Oh, and blah blah blah,” and then, “Achem achem achem,” all the while our heads our still bowed, awaiting this alleged prayer that never seems to be said.    Eventually he prays, but dear God, save me!  Pray when you say you are going to.  Don’t ask if you can do something if we have no choice.  Save the yaddas, blahs, and achems for later, for people who want to listen (I assume most people there, though, do), and for a time when you tell us you will be saying them.

In attending my parents’ church I realized that the service assumes some sort of truth in and of itself.  That whatever the pastor says goes, or is supposed to, at least.  That, unlike in the Episcopal church, whose liturgy creates something more than each individual gathered together could create, the pastor and his word are the beginning and the end, the alpha and the omega.  His interpretation, his “learnings from God,” his everything.  As there is no recognized tradition in this church (except for a tradition of spontaneity), there is nothing greater than it.  The congregation does not speak, does not contribute.  The congregation responds in the way movie-goers respond to movies–they react.  This is more of an entertainment or consumer model than a participation model.

All this to say: I went into my parents’ church expecting theology I already knew I probably wouldn’t enjoy, but was confronted with a seemingly new and entirely uncomfortable and upsetting experience.  None of this is to say that my parents should not attend this church, or that it is bad for the people who do attend, love, and find community there; instead, I have learned that my shallow but sincere appreciation and love of liturgy has expanded to some greater understanding through participation than I realized until Sunday, or even now, and returning to an evangelical church of the sort from which I came is almost certainly out of the question.  Amen.

Prosperity Without Growth: Economics for a Finite Planet

Tim Jackson states the challenge starkly: “Questioning growth is deemed to be the act of lunatics, idealists and revolutionaries. But question it we must.” And that is the core mission of this perfectly timed book. Had he published it before the financial crisis, he would probably have been dismissed as another green idealist, at best. But in the wake of the crisis, more people are questioning the primacy of growth at all costs. President Sarkozy, the Nobel-prizewinning economist Joseph Stiglitz and elements of the Financial Times’s commentariat are among those now arguing that prosperity is possible without GNP growth, and indeed that prosperity will soon become impossible because of GNP growth. A new movement seems to be emerging, and this superbly written book should be the first stop for anyone wanting a manifesto.

Was Jesus Packing Heat?
Click to Find Out…

Apple Tablet Details Leaked
It looks like apple wants into the textbook industry and into the newpaper industry. Also some updates on OS 4.0 for the iPhone…

America, Empire of Liberty

…this short “alternative” history of America by English academic David Reynolds makes judicious use of contemporary sources to give a speedy, persuasive account of this “youthful old country”. Perhaps not as radical a take as Reynolds warns, it nevertheless makes a point of giving natives, Mexicans and non-British Europeans their dues in the shaping of the sort of modern nation where Barack Obama can become president. America’s self-image as a perfect democracy, though, should be taken with a pinch of salt, says Reynolds. It is a nation based on contradiction: an empire founded by men escaping British imperialism, a “land of liberty” reliant on black slavery and a “secular state energised by godly ambition”.

Haiti: A Literary Sampler
The NY Times presents a bit of literature from the people of Haiti.

Up In The Air (Movie Review)
I reviewed the book a while ago, but I haven’t had a chance to see the movie. I’ve linked to another review though and I’m hoping to see the movie this weekend.

By Song
All the Wine
Kyoto Nights
Mellifera
Murder, they Want Murder
Ooh You Hurt Me So
Our Team is Grand
Perdue a Paris
Photograph
This is the Story
Wake Up (You Sleepy Head)
You Getting Me
You Got Time