As I was watching the Grammys last night, I noticed that each time a presenter would introduce a performance for the evening they would say, "This Grammy moment includes..." or "Here to create another Grammy moment..." Perhaps they've used this terminology in other years, but for some reason the phrase "Grammy moment" stuck out to me.
As you probably know, the Grammys have been famous for electric performances...
...for beautiful combinations...
...for frankly strange combinations...
...for heart-felt tributes...
...and sometimes for political statements...
I'm sure many of us can remember watching these moments and reacting to them. For some, we reacted positively. I simply love Elton John and believe he makes everyone on the stage better. For some, we reacted negatively. I vividly remember Pink's performance of flipping around on a piece of fabric hanging from the ceiling, but I wish she'd have left her singing voice on the stage because I dislike her music. When they mention Grammy moments, I think what they mean is that deep, palpable emotion that rises within us when we experience something together. That moment when Ed Sheeran sings a line and John Mayer makes the guitar whine at the just the right time and you think, oh yeah, I know that feeling. That moment when Kanye West storms the stage to declare who his winner should be, and we all collectively gasp, the anxiety rushing our veins. That moment when everyone agrees that Taylor Swift is the most overrated musician of all time (oh, wait, that hasn't happened yet...someday...hopefully...).
We are a people who live for these rushes in our lives. A year ago, I was planning for my wedding, and it seemed everywhere I went there was someone or some TV show or some advertisement reminding me that this would be the most magical, special, emotional day of my life. For months before that, men and women alike gave Alex advice on the perfect romantic proposal. In November, we renewed our vows with family and friends from all over the country. Instead of the traditional father of the groom "giving away" the bride, we decided to invite all of our guests to stand in support and affirmation of our love. As we turned to see a crowd of smiling faces standing and supporting us, I felt so loved, so grateful. A romantic moment.
Three years ago, Alex and I managed to get tickets to a playoff game for the Pittsburgh Pirates. It was the first playoff game that the Pirates had played in for more than 20 years. The entire crowd was dressed head to toe in black, pirate hats proudly perched on brows and huge black flags waving. The thrill of the crowd was like nothing I had ever experienced before. A sports moment.
8 years ago, I stayed up until late into the night watching the votes tally in as we learned that Barack Obama would be our next president. I can vividly remember the joyful faces on TV, and the next day, as I drove through the predominantly African American neighborhood in which I worked, there were people dancing in the street with excitement. A political moment.
These are moments when you can physically feel the action of joy bursting through your veins. These are moments we know we will always remember, that somehow change a core piece of who we are. And most importantly, these are moments when strangers gathered for a sporting event or concert become friends, even family. In some way, we are weirdly united to the strangers next to each other in our love and passion for something. It is truly the gospel at work.
Jesus moments?
The challenge we face in our culture is a desire to make Jesus into a moment. We long for these good feelings, this electrifying energy, this passion to permeate our churches. And why shouldn't it? We should long to serve the Lord our God with the greatest passion, with the strongest fullness we can muster.
As a recent graduate of high school, I attended Trinity Youth Conference, which I highly recommend to students now, as I'm still involved with the conference. I can remember singing the camp song "Someday" with the girls around the campfire, tears in my eyes, as I longed with my sisters for a time of peace and justice, a time of God's reign. I can remember hugging the members of my small group tightly wishing that I did not have to say goodbye. I can remember writing poetry and dancing with my friend Eric under a beautiful tree in the sunlight. Every time I drive down the mountain into the basin where Camp Living Waters rests, it is as though a cool refreshing drizzle of water is dripping gracefully down my neck. I breathe in the rich, earthy scent and know that I am breathing in the Spirit of God. When I see the line drawn where the dark green trees graze the powder blue sky, I know that I am home, that God is there. When I am sad or doubtful, I close my eyes and imagine the green of the trees; when I have struggled with difficult issues in my faith, it is my experience at TYC which propels me to understand it more deeply, to pursue it more passionately. Surely this high is what God intends for us to pursue.
And yet "moments" are not what Jesus is after.
When the Lord brings the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, he does not immediately bring them to the Promised Land where they have warm-fuzzy feelings and the latest praise and worship bands come for a never-ending worship-fest. No, God leads them into the desert intentionally. Exodus 13 tells us that God considered leading them the way of the Philistines as it would be shorter, but chose to lead them the longer "roundabout" way so as to earn their faith and trust.
The same is true for us. I believe that God does lead us to the highs and the strongly emotional experience, God also leads us out from those experiences in order to do ministry in the world. While spiritually rewarding experiences are a part of the spiritual journey on which we are all embarking, they are simply just that: a part of the journey, not the whole thing. Sometimes we come to worship and feel nothing. Sometimes we do a mission project and it feels boring or painful. Sometimes we give money or time or talents, and we never see the fruits of the labors we have done.
This, my friends, is God's call for us in Lent. In Lent, we are called to walk through the desert, through the roundabout way, so that we learn to trust the Lord our God, so that the Promised Land can be experienced with God not just because of God. In Lent, we are called to toss away our comfort and reward, and to pursue God simply because he is God. Because God's divinity is worthy of praise. Because we were made to praise and worship and love our God.
The challenge
This all sounds really nice until we look at our calendars. Our calendars are so jam-packed that we can't fit in anything that doesn't directly benefit us in some way. We could schedule cleaning out our closets on Friday to give to Goodwill, and that will kill two birds with one stone: cleaning our closet and helping those who need clothing. We could schedule in church on Sunday morning, but we'll skip Sunday School because we'd have to get up earlier and we don't feel we get anything out of it. We might skip worship this Sunday morning because Jo-Jo has a basketball game at 1:00, and we'd just be rushing too much to get there. I myself am guilty: it would be wonderful to have a real weekend to sleep in and enjoy an extra cup of coffee and an extra kitten cuddle.
I challenge us, including myself, to reach deeply within ourselves, trying to rid ourselves of our self-feeding actions. I challenge us to find something in this season of Lent to involve ourselves in, whether it's Sunday school or Wednesday night studies or what-have-you, even if they present obstacles and effort for us, so that they might mold us spiritually in ways we might not notice at first.
Lent is a difficult challenge if we take it seriously, and I pray that together we might seek the roundabout way in order to know God better.
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