Faith Assembly of God, 8023 Huebner Rd.
Assembly of God is the world’s largest Pentecostal denomination.
My experience
I arrived at about 8:50 for the 9:00 meeting at Faith Church on the Sunday of Daylight Savings. In the effort to avoid a repeat of last week’s awkwardness, I introduced myself as a visitor to the lady standing at the counter in the foyer area. She handed me a welcome folder that included a one-page monthly newsletter, an explanation of Faith Church’s beliefs, a calendar, a registration card, and a pen. Then she took me down the hall to show me the kids’ room and the snack table (in case you didn’t have time to eat this morning, there is always coffee, donuts, and fruit), and then indicated the pastor’s office—he likes to meet with visitors for a few minutes after the service. (Eek!) She welcomed me and showed me into the chapel area.
The chapel was shaped like a baseball diamond with a raised stage at the front and three areas of pews with two aisles. At the very back was a sound booth. It was quite small—the smallest chapel I’ve been to so far—and it felt intimate. There was a group on the stage playing rock-style worship music, which consisted of drums, a bass guitar, a keyboardist/singer, and four other singers. On the left side of the stage, on the floor facing the left area of pews, there was a woman in a bright red sequined dress moving to the music while waving alternately a red flag, a pale rainbow flag, or a crown on a red velvet and tasseled pillow. She wasn’t performing for anyone in particular, I don’t believe, as she looked off into the distance.
There were only about 8 people in the congregation by 9:00, which I assume this was because of Daylight Savings time—the leaders joked that everyone was still sleeping. I sat in the back, and an older lady who had heard me introduce myself as a visitor on the way in came over and hugged me and welcomed me. As the music continued a few more people trickled in, and by the time the music stopped at about 9:25, there were about 20 people there (eight of whom were probably church leadership).
The music didn’t move me. For one thing I found it much too loud for the intimacy of the room, and aesthetically it didn’t do much for me either. The lyrics weren’t inspirational, and most of the songs had only a few lines repeated over and over for 5 minutes. Usually I like to sing along with the songs (the lyrics were again projected on a screen above the stage), but I couldn’t in good faith get into the music here. One song that I remember in particular repeated these six lines:
Dance with me
O lover of my soul
To the song of all songs
Romance me
O lover of my soul
To the song of all songs
Another song that lasted a good five minutes or more repeated only “How I love you / Hallelujah,” and that was it.
The keyboardist/main vocalist, a larger man, was quite passionate and often exhorted the congregation to sing louder and worship God with music, and by 10 minutes into it he was drenched in sweat.
About 9:05 a small woman whose face looked about 45 but whose body and clothing looked to be 18 came in and set her purse down on the front row and promptly began to dance across the floor from one side of the room to the next. She didn’t stop for the whole half hour of music—this woman had energy like you wouldn’t believe. Her dancing mostly consisted of raising her arms up and down, bowing, and twirling, though at one point she began to work her way up the aisles making a train motion with her arms.
After I had been there just a few minutes, a younger looking man of about 30 came and shook my hand. He asked my name and whether I was in college. No, I told him, my husband is a medical student. He asked, “So what do you do, do you just sort of hang out…” (those may not have been his exact words, but that was the gist I got of it, though he wasn’t trying to be rude). No, I told him again, I’m a graphic designer (which is the simplest way to explain my job, though I feel like it implies too much glamour to be entirely true). “Are you looking for a home church?” Ahh, not really, I said…just visiting. “Well, welcome.” He was nice.
The music seemed to go and go and go, and I was surprised to look down at my watch to find that it was 9:30 when it finally stopped. Pastor Chad, the man who had welcomed me, then took the stage and announced—dynamically, shall we say—that the members of Faith Church were awesome that that last week they had taken up an offering of $12,000. This was met with clapping and cheering from the congregation. Pastor Chad discussed the idea of tithing a little more, and then we watched a short “movie” (it was really just text on a black background with a voiceover) about a woman whose medical bills that she couldn’t afford were miraculously reduced from over $40,000ish to something like $2,000. This, too, was met by claps, cheers, and affirmations from the congregation.
Pastor Chad then introduced Juan and Letty, a married couple gave a little testimony about giving tithing. They have been attending Faith Church since October and had heard the injunctions to pay tithing but didn’t know how they could afford it. “We weren’t living paycheck to paycheck,” Letty said. “It was more like overdraft to overdraft.” Well, Juan soon received an unexpected bonus check of several thousand dollars, and they decided to start paying tithing, even though it didn’t make sense. Now, Letty said, their “bank account looks pretty good.” She explained that her salary hasn’t changed, but they have enough money now. This story was met again by clapping and many an “Amen!”
Pastor Chad then led us in a pre-offering recitation, for which everyone stood and read from the screen. It essentially said, “We believe in jobs, better jobs, benefits, bonuses, surprises, debts paid off, raises, gifts, etc”—and so on through a list of about 30 descriptions of monetary blessing. I found this a little shocking and just watched.
Pastor Chad then prayed—with his eyes open, pacing the stage, almost yelling into the microphone—and then the offering baskets were passed around while some announcements were projected on the screen to the background of a Coldplay instrumental.
Another pastor then took the mic and reminded us that “the blessings of God bring wealth,” and he referred back to Letty: “Letty said earlier that her income hasn’t changed. And I would say, your income hasn’t changed yet!” This was met by amens from the congregation. This pastor gave a few more announcements about programs the church is doing, one of which was the Healing Rooms that are available every Thursday night. Basically, you set an appointment to come in and be healed. The pastor mentioned that last week a 50-year-old woman who had had clubbed feet her entire life came in, and she was “instantly healed.” He didn’t elaborate.
Finally, at about 9:40, Pastor Randy Mask, the senior pastor at Faith Church, took the stage and began his sermon. He preached a loud message about the danger of taking offense, and he went strong until 10:25 or so, and I was getting anxious because I had to leave. Right at the end of his sermon he had us all come together and bless each other. This involved me, the older lady next to me and the lady next to her putting our arms around each other, and the lady in the middle whispering some sort of prayer “Lord just bless these sisters…etc.” As soon as that was over and the musicians were heading back for the stage, I beelined it out of there.
What I got out of it
Though Pastor Randy’s sermon about not getting offended was pretty much spot on, to me the message was lost in the method. Pastor Randy paced the stage, often yelling into the microphone, spewing spit as he went. Though he certainly had an outline, he seemed to ramble. His forceful delivery often hindered his pronunciation and diction, especially when he was reading scripture. The congregation was somewhat involved, offering amens and nodding vigorously—one black woman in particular frequently interjected “Mm hmm, come on” and “come on now, speak it” and such. If the congregation didn’t respond as expected after a certain pulpit-pounding point, Pastor Randy would stop and say, “Hello?” which was answered by amens.
The long message was, in sum, that taking offense is not okay. “We must not let anything blow us up,” was the most-repeated phrase of the sermon. The devil keeps a tally of faults and accusations, but we shouldn’t. “Jesus will never accuse you.” When we agree with devil (by keeping offense tallies), we empower the devil. When we agree with God, we empower God.
When we take offense, it destroys our hearts, we miss opportunities, and we create a judgmental heart. We can’t tell God what we will and will not do and expect to be blessed. Offense distances us from God; God says, “You’ve let an offense come between you and me.” When we let go of hurt, it allows us to feel God’s love. When we lay it down, he will take it up.
Other thoughts
I know very little about Assemblies of God, though I know that Pentecostalism is known for being very…dynamic. Though there was no pulpit (just a music stand), this was pretty much how I had envisioned pulpit-pounding hellfire and damnation.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t amazed at the bold promises of wealth and healing.
Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if the sermon wasn’t a prelude to some more controversial sermon, as one of the points was to “not let it offend you just because you don’t like the message” or just because “you don’t understand it.”
And though I agreed with his main points, it was so loud and in-your-face that I left more wide-eyed than inspired. I was reminded that no matter how good the message is, it’s the Spirit that changes hearts.
March 22, 2009
March 01, 2009
St. Brigid Catholic Parish
St. Brigid Catholic Parish, 6907 Kitchener Rd.
St. Brigid is part of the Archdiocese of San Antonio, which I think is a geographically-based division of the Catholic church.
My experience
My eternal buddy and I arrived about 10 minutes before 12:30 mass on the first Sunday of Lent. I’m always conscious of what everybody else is wearing, and as soon as I noticed that most people were in jeans or similar casual attire, I suggested that Mark take off his suit coat and tie. I try to blend in when I visit these churches (which we will discover later may not be the best choice).
St. Brigid is a huge new building of white stone with an impressive foyer and a large chapel. Just as we were entering, 15 or so people gathered in the foyer were joining hands in circle to say a prayer. Two of the men wore long white robes with purple sashes, and one carried a pole with a crucifix at the top. I pretended to be really interested in some flyers at the side of the foyer so I could watch the circle out of the corner of my eye. They broke up after the end of their prayer and headed into the chapel.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t what I saw. The chapel was a large, vaulted octagonal room. The side opposite the entrance had a small choir and a piano, and the other six sides had about 10 rows of pews each. The center of the room was slightly raised, and there was a table on one end (toward the choir), and a small podium, small table, and fountain on the other end. The fountain was more like a gigantic ceramic bowl or planter, just barely full enough that water spilled over all sides. I noticed that everyone entering stopped at the fountain, got their fingers a little wet, and then crossed themselves before finding their seats.
The pews had little padded kneeling benches folded into the pew in front, and many people were kneeling in prayer as we waited for the service to start. The meeting started with some business and welcoming of visitors—I debated whether this would include us, considering the size of the congregation (300 or so people, I would guess). When other visitors’ introductions included the name of the parish they were visiting from, I decided it would be best not to introduce ourselves. That should have tipped me off that trying to blend in with a bunch of Catholics at mass, considering you know nothing about what’s going on, is not a great idea.
During the opening hymn/song (which no one really participated in besides the youth choir, accompanied by a piano, guitar, and flute), a procession of about 15 or so people came across the room carrying the crucifix on the pole that I had seen earlier, as well as a large red and gold book, held high. I assume these were the same people who had been praying in the foyer earlier.
Now, before I go any further with this, a big huge disclaimer: I really know nothing about Catholic liturgy, and it turns out that it’s…involved. And since we were kneeling or standing during a lot of the meeting, my notes are kind of shoddy and there was no way I was going to remember everything that happened and in what order. So. Forgive any errors as I do my best to remember.
One of the white robed men (I think they are bishops. Here we will call them Bishop 1 and Bishop 2) came to the center of the room and welcomed everyone and then led them in a recited confessional.
A teenage girl then read from Genesis (not the KJV, though) from the pulpit in front of the fountain, there was another song, and teenage boy read from 1 Peter from the same pulpit.
At this point Bishop 2 knelt before Bishop 1 (who was seated off to the side of the middle of the room) and received a blessing. Bishop 2 then went to the table toward the choir end of the room and picked up the red and gold book. He held it to his forehead as he walked slowly across the center of the room to the back podium. He opened the book (which I guess was the New Testament) and read from Matthew. At some point the congregation knew it was time to cross themselves, and Bishop 2 raised the open book to his lips, kissed it, walked methodically around the podium to the small table, set the book down, and bowed to it.
He went back around to the podium and gave a brief (maybe 10 minutes) sermon about Jesus being temped by Satan in the wilderness, and how we today can recognize and resist temptation.
After some silence the congregation stood and recited a “profession of faith” that was hugely long (which I later learned was the Nicene Creed). Some people were reading it out of a little paperback book that was in the back of each pew, but many had the whole thing memorized.
Bishop 1 took his place behind the larger table at the front of the room and offered a recited prayer (the refrain of which was “Lord, hear our prayer” and was recited by the congregation). Then the choir (comprised entirely of youth in blue T-shirts, by the way), sang a song as other blue-T-shirt-clad youth passed around the offering baskets.
After the offering, Bishop 2 stood and moved to the middle of the room. Some youth brought a largish basket and a large cup to the bishop, and they bowed to each other. They moved to the large table, which already had 8 small bowls and 8 small chalices set out on it. Bishop 2 brought the basket and the water to the table, where Bishop 1 was waiting.
Disclaimer 2: The administration of the communion/sacrament was a pretty detailed ritual, and I spent most of it on my knees or standing, trying to follow what was going on. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember some…
Bishop 1 washed his hands in a bowl of water provided by Bishop 2, and then everyone knelt on the kneeling benches. Bishop 1 held his hands hovering over the cup and bowl and chanted (Gregorian style) what I assume was some sort of blessing or prayer over the communion. Then he held up a single round cracker (wafer?) and, holding it up about eye-level, made a full, slow rotation, as if offering it to the whole room. He repeated this with the chalice of water.
After another chant we all stood again and, holding hands (with elbows bent and palms turned up, as if in supplication), everyone recited the Lord’s Prayer. We knelt again as Bishop 1 gave the bread and water to Bishop 2, and then about 15 people or so formed a U around the table and one by one received the communion from Bishop 2, crossed themselves, then were each handed one of the smaller bowls or chalices.
At this point it became clear to me that each person was going to receive the communion (and it didn’t stop at the symbolic rotation of the Bishop, like I had originally thought). Those who had the smaller cups and bowls distributed themselves around the room, and by rows the congregation stood and, in a line, received first a cracker/wafer and then took a sip from the cup. The person giving the wafer raised it to eye level, said “This is the body of Christ” (or something similar), and then the receiver ate it. Between each sip, the cup was wiped with a white cloth (antibacterial? Who knows). Then everyone returned to their seats. (Mark and I debated whether we should go with the flow but neither of us was very comfortable with that. Fortunately a few other people stayed seated, so we followed their lead and just watched.)
The administration of the communion took several minutes, and toward the end the choir sang another song. Some people just sat and others knelt while we all waited for the end of the communion. After some announcements (mostly related to Lent events), we stood again for another prayer. Bishop 1 stood and blessed everyone and again, rotating in a circle after he did so.
Finally, there was a recessional of the cross (similar to the processional at the beginning), where those same 15 or so people removed the crucifix on the pole from the front of the room and proceeded out of the room, joined this time by the bishops. There was another song during this, and after they were done everyone else began to disperse, each dipping again in the water fountain and crossing themselves on the way out.
What I got out of it
The bishop’s sermon (do they call them sermons?) was based on the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness, and how that relates to each of us being able to resist temptation. He pointed out that Satan doesn’t tempt us with ugly things, but desirable things that might even be good in another context. Ultimately, he tempts us to “worship at the altar of self and pride,” but following these worldly appetites will not satisfy.
He pointed out that we are not alone as we face temptation—God gave has given the Church, sacraments (which in Catholicism refers to communion, baptism, etc), and each other. He also reminded us that we will not be tempted beyond what we are able to bear. And, in fact, if we recognize temptation for the lie that it is, rejecting it actually leaves us stronger.
The Bishop’s struck me as dramatic and oratorically skillful, but not very spiritual.
Other thoughts
It was very interesting to me that even though the building seemed brand new, the chapel had the same distant austerity that you feel when you visit old cathedrals. It was large, open, and everything echoed. It might be best described by what it was not: warm and cozy. I wonder if that was intentional…?
This is the first church I have visited where I felt awkward and out of place. There was so much ritual involved with the worship experience that it was obvious that trying to blend in was kind of a joke. I wish we had told someone straight up that we were just visiting today, which would have given us license to not participate in some or any of the kneeling, standing, reciting, etc., and hopefully we would have been able to ask questions.
It wasn’t until after the service that we finally flipped through the small paperback book in the back of each pew. It was an outline of the services for the next two months, published by some higher Catholic entity. So it outlined that today, the first Sunday of Lent, certain scriptures would be read, creeds recited, etc. Next Sunday would be another routine, etc. I really wish we’d thought to look at that beforehand, as it would have helped us to know a little bit more what was going on.
As it was, I couldn’t wait for it to end so I could get out of there. The more kneeling and crossing and standing and reciting, the more I felt out of place, almost like an intruder. My awkwardness reached its peak when it came time to take the communion, as I battled between taking the communion—which I did not want to do—and acknowledging that we were foreigners who had been pretending all along to fit in. The fact that we didn’t even know if it was appropriate for a non-Catholic to take communion made us decide to err on the side of caution, and fortunately there were a few other people who stayed seated during the whole thing too. Phew.
Without an understanding behind the significance of all the rituals, it was difficult to imagine having any sort of spiritual experience through participating in them, especially because everything felt so…distant and impersonal. But some people seemed very spiritually involved in the experience, kneeling and praying with arms outstretched, crossing themselves often, etc. So who knows?
Overall, Catholicism doesn’t strike me as a very simple faith, so I’m not sure that “going to church” would be the first step in learning more about it…
St. Brigid is part of the Archdiocese of San Antonio, which I think is a geographically-based division of the Catholic church.
My experience
My eternal buddy and I arrived about 10 minutes before 12:30 mass on the first Sunday of Lent. I’m always conscious of what everybody else is wearing, and as soon as I noticed that most people were in jeans or similar casual attire, I suggested that Mark take off his suit coat and tie. I try to blend in when I visit these churches (which we will discover later may not be the best choice).
St. Brigid is a huge new building of white stone with an impressive foyer and a large chapel. Just as we were entering, 15 or so people gathered in the foyer were joining hands in circle to say a prayer. Two of the men wore long white robes with purple sashes, and one carried a pole with a crucifix at the top. I pretended to be really interested in some flyers at the side of the foyer so I could watch the circle out of the corner of my eye. They broke up after the end of their prayer and headed into the chapel.
I’m not sure what I expected, but it wasn’t what I saw. The chapel was a large, vaulted octagonal room. The side opposite the entrance had a small choir and a piano, and the other six sides had about 10 rows of pews each. The center of the room was slightly raised, and there was a table on one end (toward the choir), and a small podium, small table, and fountain on the other end. The fountain was more like a gigantic ceramic bowl or planter, just barely full enough that water spilled over all sides. I noticed that everyone entering stopped at the fountain, got their fingers a little wet, and then crossed themselves before finding their seats.
The pews had little padded kneeling benches folded into the pew in front, and many people were kneeling in prayer as we waited for the service to start. The meeting started with some business and welcoming of visitors—I debated whether this would include us, considering the size of the congregation (300 or so people, I would guess). When other visitors’ introductions included the name of the parish they were visiting from, I decided it would be best not to introduce ourselves. That should have tipped me off that trying to blend in with a bunch of Catholics at mass, considering you know nothing about what’s going on, is not a great idea.
During the opening hymn/song (which no one really participated in besides the youth choir, accompanied by a piano, guitar, and flute), a procession of about 15 or so people came across the room carrying the crucifix on the pole that I had seen earlier, as well as a large red and gold book, held high. I assume these were the same people who had been praying in the foyer earlier.
Now, before I go any further with this, a big huge disclaimer: I really know nothing about Catholic liturgy, and it turns out that it’s…involved. And since we were kneeling or standing during a lot of the meeting, my notes are kind of shoddy and there was no way I was going to remember everything that happened and in what order. So. Forgive any errors as I do my best to remember.
One of the white robed men (I think they are bishops. Here we will call them Bishop 1 and Bishop 2) came to the center of the room and welcomed everyone and then led them in a recited confessional.
A teenage girl then read from Genesis (not the KJV, though) from the pulpit in front of the fountain, there was another song, and teenage boy read from 1 Peter from the same pulpit.
At this point Bishop 2 knelt before Bishop 1 (who was seated off to the side of the middle of the room) and received a blessing. Bishop 2 then went to the table toward the choir end of the room and picked up the red and gold book. He held it to his forehead as he walked slowly across the center of the room to the back podium. He opened the book (which I guess was the New Testament) and read from Matthew. At some point the congregation knew it was time to cross themselves, and Bishop 2 raised the open book to his lips, kissed it, walked methodically around the podium to the small table, set the book down, and bowed to it.
He went back around to the podium and gave a brief (maybe 10 minutes) sermon about Jesus being temped by Satan in the wilderness, and how we today can recognize and resist temptation.
After some silence the congregation stood and recited a “profession of faith” that was hugely long (which I later learned was the Nicene Creed). Some people were reading it out of a little paperback book that was in the back of each pew, but many had the whole thing memorized.
Bishop 1 took his place behind the larger table at the front of the room and offered a recited prayer (the refrain of which was “Lord, hear our prayer” and was recited by the congregation). Then the choir (comprised entirely of youth in blue T-shirts, by the way), sang a song as other blue-T-shirt-clad youth passed around the offering baskets.
After the offering, Bishop 2 stood and moved to the middle of the room. Some youth brought a largish basket and a large cup to the bishop, and they bowed to each other. They moved to the large table, which already had 8 small bowls and 8 small chalices set out on it. Bishop 2 brought the basket and the water to the table, where Bishop 1 was waiting.
Disclaimer 2: The administration of the communion/sacrament was a pretty detailed ritual, and I spent most of it on my knees or standing, trying to follow what was going on. I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember some…
Bishop 1 washed his hands in a bowl of water provided by Bishop 2, and then everyone knelt on the kneeling benches. Bishop 1 held his hands hovering over the cup and bowl and chanted (Gregorian style) what I assume was some sort of blessing or prayer over the communion. Then he held up a single round cracker (wafer?) and, holding it up about eye-level, made a full, slow rotation, as if offering it to the whole room. He repeated this with the chalice of water.
After another chant we all stood again and, holding hands (with elbows bent and palms turned up, as if in supplication), everyone recited the Lord’s Prayer. We knelt again as Bishop 1 gave the bread and water to Bishop 2, and then about 15 people or so formed a U around the table and one by one received the communion from Bishop 2, crossed themselves, then were each handed one of the smaller bowls or chalices.
At this point it became clear to me that each person was going to receive the communion (and it didn’t stop at the symbolic rotation of the Bishop, like I had originally thought). Those who had the smaller cups and bowls distributed themselves around the room, and by rows the congregation stood and, in a line, received first a cracker/wafer and then took a sip from the cup. The person giving the wafer raised it to eye level, said “This is the body of Christ” (or something similar), and then the receiver ate it. Between each sip, the cup was wiped with a white cloth (antibacterial? Who knows). Then everyone returned to their seats. (Mark and I debated whether we should go with the flow but neither of us was very comfortable with that. Fortunately a few other people stayed seated, so we followed their lead and just watched.)
The administration of the communion took several minutes, and toward the end the choir sang another song. Some people just sat and others knelt while we all waited for the end of the communion. After some announcements (mostly related to Lent events), we stood again for another prayer. Bishop 1 stood and blessed everyone and again, rotating in a circle after he did so.
Finally, there was a recessional of the cross (similar to the processional at the beginning), where those same 15 or so people removed the crucifix on the pole from the front of the room and proceeded out of the room, joined this time by the bishops. There was another song during this, and after they were done everyone else began to disperse, each dipping again in the water fountain and crossing themselves on the way out.
What I got out of it
The bishop’s sermon (do they call them sermons?) was based on the story of Jesus being tempted in the wilderness, and how that relates to each of us being able to resist temptation. He pointed out that Satan doesn’t tempt us with ugly things, but desirable things that might even be good in another context. Ultimately, he tempts us to “worship at the altar of self and pride,” but following these worldly appetites will not satisfy.
He pointed out that we are not alone as we face temptation—God gave has given the Church, sacraments (which in Catholicism refers to communion, baptism, etc), and each other. He also reminded us that we will not be tempted beyond what we are able to bear. And, in fact, if we recognize temptation for the lie that it is, rejecting it actually leaves us stronger.
The Bishop’s struck me as dramatic and oratorically skillful, but not very spiritual.
Other thoughts
It was very interesting to me that even though the building seemed brand new, the chapel had the same distant austerity that you feel when you visit old cathedrals. It was large, open, and everything echoed. It might be best described by what it was not: warm and cozy. I wonder if that was intentional…?
This is the first church I have visited where I felt awkward and out of place. There was so much ritual involved with the worship experience that it was obvious that trying to blend in was kind of a joke. I wish we had told someone straight up that we were just visiting today, which would have given us license to not participate in some or any of the kneeling, standing, reciting, etc., and hopefully we would have been able to ask questions.
It wasn’t until after the service that we finally flipped through the small paperback book in the back of each pew. It was an outline of the services for the next two months, published by some higher Catholic entity. So it outlined that today, the first Sunday of Lent, certain scriptures would be read, creeds recited, etc. Next Sunday would be another routine, etc. I really wish we’d thought to look at that beforehand, as it would have helped us to know a little bit more what was going on.
As it was, I couldn’t wait for it to end so I could get out of there. The more kneeling and crossing and standing and reciting, the more I felt out of place, almost like an intruder. My awkwardness reached its peak when it came time to take the communion, as I battled between taking the communion—which I did not want to do—and acknowledging that we were foreigners who had been pretending all along to fit in. The fact that we didn’t even know if it was appropriate for a non-Catholic to take communion made us decide to err on the side of caution, and fortunately there were a few other people who stayed seated during the whole thing too. Phew.
Without an understanding behind the significance of all the rituals, it was difficult to imagine having any sort of spiritual experience through participating in them, especially because everything felt so…distant and impersonal. But some people seemed very spiritually involved in the experience, kneeling and praying with arms outstretched, crossing themselves often, etc. So who knows?
Overall, Catholicism doesn’t strike me as a very simple faith, so I’m not sure that “going to church” would be the first step in learning more about it…
February 15, 2009
Oak Hills Church
Oak Hills Church, 19595 IH 10 West
Before 2003, the congregation was “Oak Hills Church of Christ,” so I assume that they fit into the general Church of Christ denomination, but, like Grace Point, have downplayed the denomational aspect to broaden appeal.
My experience
The main Oak Hills campus is a massive building just off the freeway as you’re leaving northwest San Antonio, and security officers direct traffic at every parking lot entrance. I arrived a few minutes early and was greeted warmly at the door and handed a very nice weekly handout. It wasn’t really a program for the service as much as an overview of the programs offered by the church, and this full-color, heavy stock, matte paper tri-fold (with a perforated flap for a prayer request) was very professionally done—like everything else at Oak Hills (their graphics are impressive!).
The “Worship Center” was a large auditorium similar to Grace Point’s, but with the addition of three camera stations to record the service, as well as project it on three screens above the stage. One of the first things I noticed were the stacks of golden plates on tables throughout the room, and my first thought was that it was kind of a tackily conspicuous reminder to pay those offerings!
I had about 10 minutes to enjoy some absolutely beautiful choral prelude music, which was unique in that there was no accompaniment at all. They sounded great, and I am beginning to think that my favorite part of this church tour is all the different kinds of music I get to listen to.
I noticed as people moseyed in that everyone had a copy of this yellow book with “The Story” written across the front. I recognized the design as matching the church’s website, and at first I thought it was strange to have everyone bringing a book other than the Bible to church. (Full disclosure: I thought it was a sly mercenary tactic. I repented of that thought when I found out what it really was.) I asked the lady next to me about the book, and she explained that essentially it was an abridged, chronological version of the Bible that reads like a novel, complete with brown ink and ragged page edges. Interesting.
We opened with prayer and then we all stood and sang several worship songs along with the choir. An elder indicated that the offering would be taken now (though there was no injunction to consider our financial priorities, etc. to accompany this announcement), and during this time a video played promoting a Christian conference coming to San Antonio this year. I was surprised to see that to collect the offering they were passing around deep, woven baskets rather than the golden plates I had seen.
We had a moment to shake hands and say hello to the people around us, and then Max Lucado (yes, the Max Lucado, of You Are Special fame) took the stage. He is not the regular Oak Hills preacher anymore, but he was filling in this week, which is why I chose to go when I did. He asked everyone to hold up either a copy of the Bible or a copy of The Story—way to go for accountability!
This week was a discussion of Chapter 19 of The Story, “The Return Home,” which encompasses Ezra 1¬–6, Haggai 1–2, and Zechariah 1 and 8. Everyone was supposed to have read it. Lucado gave what I thought was an insightful, doctrinally-based sermon on making sure that we keep God’s priorities our priorities.
After he finished, they passed around the communion, which I repentantly noticed came around in the golden plates I had seen earlier. With a humble pang I realized that after coming here once, you remember communion as you come in and see those stacks of golden plates throughout the room, not the offering as I had thought. The “bread” consisted of little wafer-crackers about the size of a Chiclet, and the “wine” was grape juice (I think) that came in tiny plastic cups.
Then it was time for silent prayer, or you could step into the aisle to pray with an elder if you chose. Lucado then came back to the stage to sum up the message: it’s never too late to set your priorities right and start putting God in the center of your life. We were dismissed after a closing prayer.
I was intrigued by The Story book, and I had every intention of visiting the church bookstore (the greeter had brought its existence to my attention) to pick up my own copy, Sabbath or not. But just as I was scribbling a few notes after the closing prayer, the woman who I had asked about the book struck up a conversation with me. She asked me what I had thought of the service, and what had brought me to Oak Hills today. I told her I enjoyed it quite a bit, and that I had heard a lot of good things about Lucado and I knew a lot of people who attended this church. She told me that the regular preacher is just as good and has a style similar to Lucado’s. I told her I liked Lucado’s Bible-based teachings, and that The Story was intriguing to me. I was just about to say, “I think I’m going to go buy a copy for myself” when, with a shaking hand, she passed me her copy and said, “Keep this. And come on back.”
I expressed my gratitude as best I could and she left. I was deeply touched by this gesture, especially because I could tell that for her, this was a nerve-wracking Gospel sharing moment. Not only did I appreciate her generosity in giving me her copy of the book, but even more I was touched by the courage it obviously took to share a Christian message and invite me to come back. She seemed to feel a sense of accomplishment at mustering up the guts to give her book away, a feeling I can relate to. I sat back on the chair and had a good little cry, that’s how moved I was. That woman may have done more for my own courage to share the Gospel than anyone else in my life so far.
What I got out of it
Like I said, Lucado was wonderful. I didn’t feel like he was performing, not for a minute. He obviously knew the Bible, but he wasn’t haughty at all. His delivery was engaging, but I felt drawn to the message rather than the speaker.
He spoke of the Jews returning to Judea from Babylon with the intent to rebuild Solomon’s temple. They started off okay, but as time went on they got caught up in their lives and the temple was neglected for 16 years. Well, it turns out that they didn’t prosper so much during that time, because when we “let God’s big things become our small things,” we end up feeling unfulfilled—that’s God’s way of reminding us that we should put him at the center of things, and then the rest of life falls into place.
I was impressed with his ability to tell this Old Testament story (which I’m sure I’d heard, but I can’t keep all that temple building and Babylon-and-back straight) while applying it to modern life. This guy is excellent at likening the scriptures to our own lives.
What was even more interesting was his discussion of the temple. Why a temple? Lucado asked. It was 1) “a teaching aid” for Israel, and 2) evidence of “God’s desire for proximity” to his people. “What do you know about the temple?” he asked. “Hmm…” I thought.
“Could just anyone go into the Holy of Holies?” he asked. No, obviously. The temple, he said again, was a teaching tool and a type for Christ and the shedding of Christ’s blood.
This is the second time in my experience with mainstream Christianity that I have been impressed by how non-LDS Bible scholars’ interpretation of the ancient temple parallels the LDS understanding of the purpose of modern temples—at least the symbolism aspect of it. The other time was in the manual for a Bible study I participated in last year. It’s… reassuring.
It was interesting, though, to hear Lucado say that “God no longer uses a temple of stone and mortar”—instead, we are the “living temple.” We ought to “build God’s temple in San Antonio,” and reach the city and “let God’s temple permeate San Antonio.” I imagine this idea comes from 1 Corinthians 3:16, but to me it seemed kind of abstract. I might have been affected by the little voice in my head that said, “But there IS a temple of stone and mortar in San Antonio!”
Other thoughts
I haven’t read any of The Story yet, but I think it’s a great idea—at least to get a big picture of the Bible narrative. Besides, who could pass up a “good story…filled with intrigue, drama, conflict, romance, and redemption”? (That’s from the back cover.)
After the service I strolled around the Oak Hills campus, which is huge. It includes indoor and outdoor play areas, coffee, a bookstore, a library, some nicely landscaped garden areas, offices, and four wings for Bible study by age group. It almost felt like a mall. But it’s an impressive and beautiful building.
If you live in San Antonio, I encourage you to visit. If you want a buddy to come along, let me know—I’d like to go again.
Broadcasts of the three most recent sermons are available online at http://www.thestorynow.net/.
Before 2003, the congregation was “Oak Hills Church of Christ,” so I assume that they fit into the general Church of Christ denomination, but, like Grace Point, have downplayed the denomational aspect to broaden appeal.
My experience
The main Oak Hills campus is a massive building just off the freeway as you’re leaving northwest San Antonio, and security officers direct traffic at every parking lot entrance. I arrived a few minutes early and was greeted warmly at the door and handed a very nice weekly handout. It wasn’t really a program for the service as much as an overview of the programs offered by the church, and this full-color, heavy stock, matte paper tri-fold (with a perforated flap for a prayer request) was very professionally done—like everything else at Oak Hills (their graphics are impressive!).
The “Worship Center” was a large auditorium similar to Grace Point’s, but with the addition of three camera stations to record the service, as well as project it on three screens above the stage. One of the first things I noticed were the stacks of golden plates on tables throughout the room, and my first thought was that it was kind of a tackily conspicuous reminder to pay those offerings!
I had about 10 minutes to enjoy some absolutely beautiful choral prelude music, which was unique in that there was no accompaniment at all. They sounded great, and I am beginning to think that my favorite part of this church tour is all the different kinds of music I get to listen to.
I noticed as people moseyed in that everyone had a copy of this yellow book with “The Story” written across the front. I recognized the design as matching the church’s website, and at first I thought it was strange to have everyone bringing a book other than the Bible to church. (Full disclosure: I thought it was a sly mercenary tactic. I repented of that thought when I found out what it really was.) I asked the lady next to me about the book, and she explained that essentially it was an abridged, chronological version of the Bible that reads like a novel, complete with brown ink and ragged page edges. Interesting.We opened with prayer and then we all stood and sang several worship songs along with the choir. An elder indicated that the offering would be taken now (though there was no injunction to consider our financial priorities, etc. to accompany this announcement), and during this time a video played promoting a Christian conference coming to San Antonio this year. I was surprised to see that to collect the offering they were passing around deep, woven baskets rather than the golden plates I had seen.
We had a moment to shake hands and say hello to the people around us, and then Max Lucado (yes, the Max Lucado, of You Are Special fame) took the stage. He is not the regular Oak Hills preacher anymore, but he was filling in this week, which is why I chose to go when I did. He asked everyone to hold up either a copy of the Bible or a copy of The Story—way to go for accountability!
This week was a discussion of Chapter 19 of The Story, “The Return Home,” which encompasses Ezra 1¬–6, Haggai 1–2, and Zechariah 1 and 8. Everyone was supposed to have read it. Lucado gave what I thought was an insightful, doctrinally-based sermon on making sure that we keep God’s priorities our priorities.
After he finished, they passed around the communion, which I repentantly noticed came around in the golden plates I had seen earlier. With a humble pang I realized that after coming here once, you remember communion as you come in and see those stacks of golden plates throughout the room, not the offering as I had thought. The “bread” consisted of little wafer-crackers about the size of a Chiclet, and the “wine” was grape juice (I think) that came in tiny plastic cups.
Then it was time for silent prayer, or you could step into the aisle to pray with an elder if you chose. Lucado then came back to the stage to sum up the message: it’s never too late to set your priorities right and start putting God in the center of your life. We were dismissed after a closing prayer.
I was intrigued by The Story book, and I had every intention of visiting the church bookstore (the greeter had brought its existence to my attention) to pick up my own copy, Sabbath or not. But just as I was scribbling a few notes after the closing prayer, the woman who I had asked about the book struck up a conversation with me. She asked me what I had thought of the service, and what had brought me to Oak Hills today. I told her I enjoyed it quite a bit, and that I had heard a lot of good things about Lucado and I knew a lot of people who attended this church. She told me that the regular preacher is just as good and has a style similar to Lucado’s. I told her I liked Lucado’s Bible-based teachings, and that The Story was intriguing to me. I was just about to say, “I think I’m going to go buy a copy for myself” when, with a shaking hand, she passed me her copy and said, “Keep this. And come on back.”
I expressed my gratitude as best I could and she left. I was deeply touched by this gesture, especially because I could tell that for her, this was a nerve-wracking Gospel sharing moment. Not only did I appreciate her generosity in giving me her copy of the book, but even more I was touched by the courage it obviously took to share a Christian message and invite me to come back. She seemed to feel a sense of accomplishment at mustering up the guts to give her book away, a feeling I can relate to. I sat back on the chair and had a good little cry, that’s how moved I was. That woman may have done more for my own courage to share the Gospel than anyone else in my life so far.
What I got out of it
Like I said, Lucado was wonderful. I didn’t feel like he was performing, not for a minute. He obviously knew the Bible, but he wasn’t haughty at all. His delivery was engaging, but I felt drawn to the message rather than the speaker.
He spoke of the Jews returning to Judea from Babylon with the intent to rebuild Solomon’s temple. They started off okay, but as time went on they got caught up in their lives and the temple was neglected for 16 years. Well, it turns out that they didn’t prosper so much during that time, because when we “let God’s big things become our small things,” we end up feeling unfulfilled—that’s God’s way of reminding us that we should put him at the center of things, and then the rest of life falls into place.
I was impressed with his ability to tell this Old Testament story (which I’m sure I’d heard, but I can’t keep all that temple building and Babylon-and-back straight) while applying it to modern life. This guy is excellent at likening the scriptures to our own lives.
What was even more interesting was his discussion of the temple. Why a temple? Lucado asked. It was 1) “a teaching aid” for Israel, and 2) evidence of “God’s desire for proximity” to his people. “What do you know about the temple?” he asked. “Hmm…” I thought.
“Could just anyone go into the Holy of Holies?” he asked. No, obviously. The temple, he said again, was a teaching tool and a type for Christ and the shedding of Christ’s blood.
This is the second time in my experience with mainstream Christianity that I have been impressed by how non-LDS Bible scholars’ interpretation of the ancient temple parallels the LDS understanding of the purpose of modern temples—at least the symbolism aspect of it. The other time was in the manual for a Bible study I participated in last year. It’s… reassuring.
It was interesting, though, to hear Lucado say that “God no longer uses a temple of stone and mortar”—instead, we are the “living temple.” We ought to “build God’s temple in San Antonio,” and reach the city and “let God’s temple permeate San Antonio.” I imagine this idea comes from 1 Corinthians 3:16, but to me it seemed kind of abstract. I might have been affected by the little voice in my head that said, “But there IS a temple of stone and mortar in San Antonio!”
Other thoughts
I haven’t read any of The Story yet, but I think it’s a great idea—at least to get a big picture of the Bible narrative. Besides, who could pass up a “good story…filled with intrigue, drama, conflict, romance, and redemption”? (That’s from the back cover.)
After the service I strolled around the Oak Hills campus, which is huge. It includes indoor and outdoor play areas, coffee, a bookstore, a library, some nicely landscaped garden areas, offices, and four wings for Bible study by age group. It almost felt like a mall. But it’s an impressive and beautiful building.
If you live in San Antonio, I encourage you to visit. If you want a buddy to come along, let me know—I’d like to go again.
Broadcasts of the three most recent sermons are available online at http://www.thestorynow.net/.
February 01, 2009
Oxford United Methodist Church
Oxford United Methodist Church, 9655 Huebner Rd.
The United Methodist Church is one of the largest Christian denominations in the United States. It has one central governing body, and it's organized geographically. You can learn a little more from Wikipedia, the source of all knowledge.
My experience
I was greeted warmly upon entering the building, and I felt quite at home in the chapel (it was similar to LDS chapels--they must order carpet and pews from the same distributor). There were hymnals and Bibles in the back of each pew, along with donation slips and prayer request forms. The room angled downward, stadium-style, to a raised stage area at the front. The stage had a table with large two candles, a piano, an organ, a portable podium, and a section boxed off for the choir, who were all wearing matching robes.
The congregation was smallish--maybe 150 people or so--and the age bracket definitely skewed toward the geriatric end. But there were a few families, and everyone seemed to know each other.
The meeting started with welcome and announcements, which included the recognition of greeters, ushers, and acolytes (children who assist with lighting the candles and such). The pastor then invited any visitors to stand and introduce themselves (I wasn't paying close attention, though, and he went so quickly that I missed my chance...oh well...), and we we sang "Praise to the Lord the Almighty"...which included a verse I was unfamiliar with that referenced a Mother in heaven (I think), but I can't find it online anywhere. Hmm.
There was a "Time for Young Disciples," where the 10 or so little kids, age 5 and under, sat up at the front to hear a very brief (like 2 minutes brief) Bible story, then they were dismissed for "Children's Church." We then had a silent prayer of confession, recited a prayer for understanding, listened to some scripture reading, and enjoyed a lovely choir number. Then Bob Buck, the guest pastor (the usual pastor was out of town), stood to give his sermon, "Just Keep Breathing," based (loosely, I might say) on Psalm 23.
We then had some time to reflect, sang "Be Still My Soul" (in 4/4! it was fast!) and recited an affirmation of faith. At this point we were reminded to consider where our priorities lay--financial priorities, specifically--and the bright, golden collection plates were passed around for members to put in their offerings.
We had another moment for silent prayer, then Pastor Buck prayed individually for those whose names had been submitted from the congregation, and sometimes his requests were very specific to the person's troubles (cancer, a death in the family, etc.). We ended by reciting the Lord's Prayer and singing a nice little "choral blessing" (you can't go wrong when it says "Shalom" every line in the song). Then there was free coffee in the foyer on your way out!
What I got out of it
I wasn't terribly moved by Pastor Buck's message--he spent a good portion of his 20 minute sermon introducing it, which included a relatively detailed synopsis of the movie Castaway. The gist of the sermon was that when we reach the absolute lows in our lives -- the valley of the shadow of death -- you have to "just keep breathing." I think it was meant to be a "hang in there when it's rough" message, but I got more of a "survival is possible" vibe.
I did appreciate a few of his more doctrinal points, which were that even though the sheep may lose sight of the Shepherd, the Shepherd never loses sight of the sheep, and that though change -- particularly abrupt, unwelcome change -- is one of the most difficult challenges in life, the most important things in life never change: God's word and the provisions for salvation.
Other thoughts
Oxford United Methodist offers a traditional service (the one I attended) and a contemporary service; I'd be interested to see what the difference is, and if the contemporary crowd is younger than the traditional one.
I liked the congregational participation at this church--when it was time to stand, recite, and sing, everyone did it, and you couldn't really hide in the crowd or the volume of the music. The congregation, and the choir, I might add, struck me as very sincere. People were dressed up (mostly)--many women wore skirts or nice slacks, and the men were dressed nicely too.
It was homey for me...it was reassuring to think that if someone from that congregation were to come visit an LDS sacrament meeting, they wouldn't feel too out of place -- there were announcements, mediocre congregational singing (though this congregation was more warbly than most), and a nice message.
I think my favorite part was the pianist, who managed to direct and accompany the choir at the same time, all the while looking absolutely radiant with the joy of gospel music. He was cool.
The United Methodist Church is one of the largest Christian denominations in the United States. It has one central governing body, and it's organized geographically. You can learn a little more from Wikipedia, the source of all knowledge.
My experience
I was greeted warmly upon entering the building, and I felt quite at home in the chapel (it was similar to LDS chapels--they must order carpet and pews from the same distributor). There were hymnals and Bibles in the back of each pew, along with donation slips and prayer request forms. The room angled downward, stadium-style, to a raised stage area at the front. The stage had a table with large two candles, a piano, an organ, a portable podium, and a section boxed off for the choir, who were all wearing matching robes.
The congregation was smallish--maybe 150 people or so--and the age bracket definitely skewed toward the geriatric end. But there were a few families, and everyone seemed to know each other.
The meeting started with welcome and announcements, which included the recognition of greeters, ushers, and acolytes (children who assist with lighting the candles and such). The pastor then invited any visitors to stand and introduce themselves (I wasn't paying close attention, though, and he went so quickly that I missed my chance...oh well...), and we we sang "Praise to the Lord the Almighty"...which included a verse I was unfamiliar with that referenced a Mother in heaven (I think), but I can't find it online anywhere. Hmm.
There was a "Time for Young Disciples," where the 10 or so little kids, age 5 and under, sat up at the front to hear a very brief (like 2 minutes brief) Bible story, then they were dismissed for "Children's Church." We then had a silent prayer of confession, recited a prayer for understanding, listened to some scripture reading, and enjoyed a lovely choir number. Then Bob Buck, the guest pastor (the usual pastor was out of town), stood to give his sermon, "Just Keep Breathing," based (loosely, I might say) on Psalm 23.
We then had some time to reflect, sang "Be Still My Soul" (in 4/4! it was fast!) and recited an affirmation of faith. At this point we were reminded to consider where our priorities lay--financial priorities, specifically--and the bright, golden collection plates were passed around for members to put in their offerings.
We had another moment for silent prayer, then Pastor Buck prayed individually for those whose names had been submitted from the congregation, and sometimes his requests were very specific to the person's troubles (cancer, a death in the family, etc.). We ended by reciting the Lord's Prayer and singing a nice little "choral blessing" (you can't go wrong when it says "Shalom" every line in the song). Then there was free coffee in the foyer on your way out!
What I got out of it
I wasn't terribly moved by Pastor Buck's message--he spent a good portion of his 20 minute sermon introducing it, which included a relatively detailed synopsis of the movie Castaway. The gist of the sermon was that when we reach the absolute lows in our lives -- the valley of the shadow of death -- you have to "just keep breathing." I think it was meant to be a "hang in there when it's rough" message, but I got more of a "survival is possible" vibe.
I did appreciate a few of his more doctrinal points, which were that even though the sheep may lose sight of the Shepherd, the Shepherd never loses sight of the sheep, and that though change -- particularly abrupt, unwelcome change -- is one of the most difficult challenges in life, the most important things in life never change: God's word and the provisions for salvation.
Other thoughts
Oxford United Methodist offers a traditional service (the one I attended) and a contemporary service; I'd be interested to see what the difference is, and if the contemporary crowd is younger than the traditional one.
I liked the congregational participation at this church--when it was time to stand, recite, and sing, everyone did it, and you couldn't really hide in the crowd or the volume of the music. The congregation, and the choir, I might add, struck me as very sincere. People were dressed up (mostly)--many women wore skirts or nice slacks, and the men were dressed nicely too.
It was homey for me...it was reassuring to think that if someone from that congregation were to come visit an LDS sacrament meeting, they wouldn't feel too out of place -- there were announcements, mediocre congregational singing (though this congregation was more warbly than most), and a nice message.
I think my favorite part was the pianist, who managed to direct and accompany the choir at the same time, all the while looking absolutely radiant with the joy of gospel music. He was cool.
January 04, 2009
Grace Point Church
Grace Point Church, 9750 Huebner Rd.
According to Wikipedia, Grace Point is a Southern Baptist church, but “downplays” the denominational aspect to “maximize reach.”
My experience
Along with hundreds of other congregants, I was greeted at the door by a pastor couple who shook my hand and welcomed me. As I entered the large, dimly lit auditorium, a young man in a bright yellow T-shirt handed me a program.
The program introduced the sermon series “One” and gave information about Grace Point. Inside the program I found an outline of the day’s sermon and a place for notes. It also included “The Ticket”—a half-sheet for visitors to fill out and turn in after the service.
At the front of the auditorium was a large stage with three screens hanging above it. On the stage there were about 11 people arranged around various microphones and instruments—a piano, a keyboard, electric guitars, a bass, drums, and five vocalists. Right at 9:30 the music started.
I loved it.
The music was pop-rock style—it was catchy and loud—but with spiritual lyrics that were projected on the screens. At first it jarred me, since I was in my quiet “Sunday mode,” but I quickly acclimated and thoroughly enjoyed the worship music. The musicians were talented and very enthusiastic. The congregation, standing, sang along…sort of. I saw a few lips moving and some toes tapping, but the music was so loud that you couldn’t hear anyone but the performers, so there was no real obligation to sing your heart out.
After a few songs, Pastor Jeff Harris gave a little introduction to Grace Point and the new year, and then the collection plates were passed around. The yellow-shirted ushers passed a large shallow bowl down the rows, and people left either cash or a small donation envelope (which were available on all the chairs when you arrived). I took the plate and passed it along.
Then we enjoyed a few more songs—including a beautiful, spirited rendition of “Amazing Grace”—before Pastor Harris gave a 40-minute or so sermon on being “one with Christ.”
After his sermon, a few more rousing, rock-style worship songs were played and we were dismissed.
What I got out of it
Pastor Harris shared an excellent message about how each of us has a unique opportunity in this life to effect good for others. The intersection of my identity (who I am in Christ), my story (how God has changed my life), and my purpose (the reason I am here) give me a unique opportunity to influence others. What if I took full advantage of this opportunity? What if each one of us brought just one person to Christ? The effect would be amazing. We shouldn’t be ashamed to share the “good news”—that is, what Christ has done for us, personally.
When we become one with Christ, we are the same person at church, work, school, home—everywhere. Pastor Harris pointed out that a lot of people want to come to church for "fire insurance" without really being willing to make the sacrifice of becoming one with Christ.
Other thoughts
I took away some new insights on important points, and I felt motivated to be more open about “my story”—that is, what God has done in my life. I felt like I had attended a motivational speech because it was apparent that Pastor Harris was on intent entertaining while he presented his message. The insights I gained came in the form of “Huh—that was a good point,” but not spiritual feelings in my heart.
The music was by far my favorite part and made me want to come back next week. It reaffirmed my hunch that it is possible to feel the Spirit when listening to pop rock-type music, and that the genre/instruments aren’t in and of themselves aspiritual, rather it’s what lyrics you set to them and how they're played.
Because of the nature of the sermon and the music, the service overall felt like a performance. The music, the lights, the screens—everything was perfectly timed. It made for a quick, motivational hour, and I thought to myself, “I could imagine paying to attend this every week.”
According to Wikipedia, Grace Point is a Southern Baptist church, but “downplays” the denominational aspect to “maximize reach.”
My experience
Along with hundreds of other congregants, I was greeted at the door by a pastor couple who shook my hand and welcomed me. As I entered the large, dimly lit auditorium, a young man in a bright yellow T-shirt handed me a program.
The program introduced the sermon series “One” and gave information about Grace Point. Inside the program I found an outline of the day’s sermon and a place for notes. It also included “The Ticket”—a half-sheet for visitors to fill out and turn in after the service.
At the front of the auditorium was a large stage with three screens hanging above it. On the stage there were about 11 people arranged around various microphones and instruments—a piano, a keyboard, electric guitars, a bass, drums, and five vocalists. Right at 9:30 the music started.
I loved it.
The music was pop-rock style—it was catchy and loud—but with spiritual lyrics that were projected on the screens. At first it jarred me, since I was in my quiet “Sunday mode,” but I quickly acclimated and thoroughly enjoyed the worship music. The musicians were talented and very enthusiastic. The congregation, standing, sang along…sort of. I saw a few lips moving and some toes tapping, but the music was so loud that you couldn’t hear anyone but the performers, so there was no real obligation to sing your heart out.
After a few songs, Pastor Jeff Harris gave a little introduction to Grace Point and the new year, and then the collection plates were passed around. The yellow-shirted ushers passed a large shallow bowl down the rows, and people left either cash or a small donation envelope (which were available on all the chairs when you arrived). I took the plate and passed it along.
Then we enjoyed a few more songs—including a beautiful, spirited rendition of “Amazing Grace”—before Pastor Harris gave a 40-minute or so sermon on being “one with Christ.”
After his sermon, a few more rousing, rock-style worship songs were played and we were dismissed.
What I got out of it
Pastor Harris shared an excellent message about how each of us has a unique opportunity in this life to effect good for others. The intersection of my identity (who I am in Christ), my story (how God has changed my life), and my purpose (the reason I am here) give me a unique opportunity to influence others. What if I took full advantage of this opportunity? What if each one of us brought just one person to Christ? The effect would be amazing. We shouldn’t be ashamed to share the “good news”—that is, what Christ has done for us, personally.
When we become one with Christ, we are the same person at church, work, school, home—everywhere. Pastor Harris pointed out that a lot of people want to come to church for "fire insurance" without really being willing to make the sacrifice of becoming one with Christ.
Other thoughts
I took away some new insights on important points, and I felt motivated to be more open about “my story”—that is, what God has done in my life. I felt like I had attended a motivational speech because it was apparent that Pastor Harris was on intent entertaining while he presented his message. The insights I gained came in the form of “Huh—that was a good point,” but not spiritual feelings in my heart.
The music was by far my favorite part and made me want to come back next week. It reaffirmed my hunch that it is possible to feel the Spirit when listening to pop rock-type music, and that the genre/instruments aren’t in and of themselves aspiritual, rather it’s what lyrics you set to them and how they're played.
Because of the nature of the sermon and the music, the service overall felt like a performance. The music, the lights, the screens—everything was perfectly timed. It made for a quick, motivational hour, and I thought to myself, “I could imagine paying to attend this every week.”
January 01, 2009
How it started
My favorite bike ride in San Antonio is a short little jaunt through an area of the city that still has an almost rural feel. The first time I rode it (and every time since) I was impressed with the variety of churches/houses of worship that I passed in just six or so miles of "country." There is a Chinese Methodist Mission Home, a Sikh Center, a Jehovah's Witness Hall, a Presbyterian Children's Home, a Buddhist Temple, a Maronite Church, a Catholic church, and a handful of Christian churches.
I have always been curious about other religions, but growing up in Utah County doesn't exactly lend itself to exposure to religious diversity. Passing all these churches on my bike rides piqued my interest anew, and I toyed with the idea of visiting some of them. When the Buddhist Temple started building some spectacularly white statues (shrines?) in the field next to the temple, curiosity got the best of me and I knew I had to find out more about this place.
Visiting one religion led to visiting another, and another...and the San Antonio Church Tour of '09 was born.
I have always been curious about other religions, but growing up in Utah County doesn't exactly lend itself to exposure to religious diversity. Passing all these churches on my bike rides piqued my interest anew, and I toyed with the idea of visiting some of them. When the Buddhist Temple started building some spectacularly white statues (shrines?) in the field next to the temple, curiosity got the best of me and I knew I had to find out more about this place.
Visiting one religion led to visiting another, and another...and the San Antonio Church Tour of '09 was born.
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