Arron did a great job sharing the impact of last night's NACC session. No doubt much more will be written and spoken about this week's events, and about the exchange of Bibles and embraces between church of Christ and Christian church leaders at the end of Thursday night's worship.

One thing I appreciated was that as Jeff and Dave, and then leaders of other churches from both groups, and then leaders of colleges and universities from both groups, and then the two worship leaders for the week all exchanged well-worn Bibles, it was an appropriate gesture--it was a meaningful gesture--but it wasn't a sentimental or theatrical gesture just intended to jerk tears. The conflict between the two groups was real, so it was great to see the steps toward reconciliation be just as genuine.

I'm hopeful that even now there are some family members from "across the keyboard" who are checking out Christian Standard and its blogs, just as I plan to begin reading more of your periodicals and websites. I'm happy to hear from all readers, of course, but if you are a young leader in the non-instrumental movement, I would love to hear from you--to meet you--to begin getting acquainted. We have a lot of catching up to do! Be in touch, won't you?

Until a few years ago, I didn't even know about a whole dimension of the worship wars.

I knew about the "contemporary" vs. traditional debate, of course, and the choruses vs. hymns, and the guitars vs. organs and baby grands, and the vintage and the emerging and the contemplative and the blended and the non-fat extra hot with soy. (Just seeing if you're paying attention.)

But until I applied to colleges, and considered Lipscomb University, I did not know much about the non-instrumental churches. Until I began working for the NACC and learning more about the Restoration movement through that experience, I did not know much about our split with them 100 years ago. And until this year's convention, with its emphasis on reunion, I did not know much about the efforts of both groups to begin working together in new ways.

So I was (and am) fairly ignorant of much of the history leading up to this event. However, that has not dimmed my appreciation for its significance. And I am excited about not just the reconciliation between instrumental and acappella churches, but the cease-fire (this week, at least) in the usual worship battles. Great hymns of the faith, favorite choruses, full band, no band, guitars, pianos, responsive readings, edgy videos, gospel, choirs, solos--you name it, we've experienced it in a high-quality way.

I'm tired of bickering about how we're going to worship Jesus and I'm glad to just have the chance to do more of it, with leaders who thoughtfully plan and who value excellence regardless of method or instrumentation.

My feet are sporting three blisters, I have a headache from going to bed late and getting up early, and I am thoroughly sick of the restaurants in the Marriott, but I am thrilled to still have another day and a half of the convention left.

During the years I worked at the NACC, my very favorite part was hanging out with the paid and volunteer tech crews that make the main sessions happen. For one thing, the job is inherently glory-free, so it only attracts those with a servant's heart. This is true of the professionals we work with each year, but even more so the 8 or 10 volunteers from around the country who fly or drive to the convention at their own expense, spend long afternoons and early mornings performing soundchecks and herding worship teams on stage, and run around dealing with last-minute problems. They give up their time to do this for little more than a hotel room and a per diem for meals. The worship services at the convention couldn't happen without them.

They are also a supremely fun group of people, who I still look forward to seeing each year. In fact, I volunteered to serve on the morning tech crew this year just so I could spend time with some of them again. (And to help the convention, of course, but mostly my motives were selfish.) I used to think preachers had the best stories, but I laugh harder with this crew than any other group I see all year.

I know, as only a one-time employee of the convention can know-- the main services don't please everyone all the time. They're too loud, too long, have too many sermons, have too few sermons, have the same familiar speakers, don't have familiar speakers, sing too many choruses, have one band the whole week, have a different band each service. I know the difficulty of creating a worship atmosphere in a concrete convention hall. But as I sit in my hotel and type this a few hours before the opening service, I'm looking forward to what's going to happen in there tonight, bad acoustics and all. And I'm so grateful for the team that's working even now to make it meaningful.

I wonder why people always clap after a worship song. The super-spiritual answer is we’re clapping for the Lord, but I don’t think most people do it as an act of worship. It seems to be a habit. Is it because we don’t know what to do at the end of one song and the beginning of the next? Is it because the transitions between songs take too long and we feel awkward? Is it because the worship experience is actually more a time of performance than a time of participation?

I'm sincerely curious how/why this got started--let me know what you think.

In the meantime, I head to Louisville for the NACC on Monday--hope to see you there.

The Father’s Day services at my church this weekend proved that you don’t have to spend a lot of money to create engaging worship experiences.

I am blessed to attend a dynamic, creative, fun, wealthy megachurch in south Orange County—but the Father’s Day worship services were meaningful because of the adjectives dynamic, creative, and fun—not the adjectives wealthy or “mega.” I love that while our leadership takes Jesus seriously, takes the Great Commission seriously, and takes faith seriously, they don’t take themselves seriously. The combination consistently creates an atmosphere of authenticity, informality and family.

Many churches do the “which father has traveled the farthest to be here” routine, and I cringed when the service headed that direction after several minutes of high energy music (including the ESPN theme song to kick off the service!). But true to form, a few of our associate pastors added enough uniqueness to make this trite idea seem like new. Half a dozen La-Z-Boy recliners and overstuffed sofas sat along the perimeter of the floor seats, and the guys who won the “newest father” or “most involved father” titles got to spend the rest of the service reclining in these comfy seats. Jeff and Bruce kept it moving (very important with this kind of thing) and prompted laughs with their creative emceeing. The newest father—a dad for just under three months—received a pillow and blanket and permission to nap in his recliner during the service; after identifying the most involved dad in the 3,000 seat auditorium as one who participated in “only” three of his kids’ activities, Jeff handed him a copy of How to Say No and remarked, “Apparently most of the dads here have read this already.”

The service continued with our worship minister sharing a story about his dad’s love and forgiveness. At the end of the story, he invited dad and the other three members of dad’s Southern Gospel quartet to share a song or two. It was done with excellence, of course, or it wouldn’t have made the stage, but the musical skill became secondary to the enjoyment of praising God together—especially when four of our worship ministry staff joined the quartet for a rollicking finale. (I couldn’t help thinking that for all of our focus on postmodern, “contemporary” worship, it’s funny how people always go crazy for this kind of thing.)

The sermon brought things back to a more serious place, but I noticed the same focus on the church-as-community. One of the most meaningful moments I’ve experienced at church in some time came when the minister talked about how God provides for us as a heavenly father. He commended fathers for honoring God by faithfully providing for their own families, and a short video showed children and adults of all ages thanking their dads. Finally, he asked all the fathers and grandfathers to stand, and the congregation erupted in several minutes of applause, whistles, and cheers—a simple thank you for the dads and husbands who work so hard. When we finally stopped our applause, the minister led us in a prayer of blessing for all the men standing.

Your church’s worship minister may not have a dad who travels with a gospel quartet, but I bet someone in your congregation could share a meaningful story of how her dad demonstrated God’s grace during a difficult time. You may not have a laugh-out-loud-funny associate to “work the crowd” on Sunday morning or a volunteer to deliver recliners on Saturday afternoon, but you could create your own way to "un-cliché" the usual traditions. You definitely could clap for your dads, pray for your dads, and thank your dads.

These ideas had little to do with the location or size of my church, and everything to do with thinking about ministry, about overly-familiar Hallmark holidays, and about church in creative ways. We don’t have great weekend services like this because we’re a big church—we’re a big church because we have great weekend services like this, and our community responds.

In her comment to my last post on small groups , Fiona makes a great point about these groups being more difficult for introverts. She also mentions the January Christian Standard article on ministering to introverts which is excellent.

Coincidentally or not, when I originally drafted that post I also jotted some notes about the introvert/extrovert thing. I am an introvert and I definitely think that influences my opinions about group Bible studies. (Pet peeve alert: Introvert does not = shy. The article summarizes this common misconception nicely: Author Mandy Smith writes, "Introverts are not always shy. In fact, research has shown that introverts are often very sensitive to subtle social signals and may simply be reacting to information others just don’t see. In our culture it’s a compliment to be told you’re extroverted—it means you’re happy and sociable. On the other hand, introverts are frequently thought to be reclusive, self-centered, or anti-social. But introverts care for others no less than extroverts; they simply show it in different ways.")

Complicating matters even more, I am a list-maker extraordinare (see Brian Jones' recent post for more on that) and place a premium on my "free" time, so when the weekly meeting drags on an hour or more past the agreed-upon parameters, my frustration multiplies. Attention group leaders: when the group was supposed to end at 9:00, but isn't ending until 9:45 because it also started an hour late, it is NOT the time to suggest twenty minutes of prayer requests ("My cousin has a friend, and her mother and one of their neighbors don't get along, and....").

Small groups puzzle me.

I know the arguments for them—they make big churches seem smaller, provide accountability, encourage ministry of the group to its members rather than a few ministers to the whole church body, promote learning in safe environments, build community.

But therein lies the problem—I already HAVE my community, and groups often attract those who don’t. (A favorite was the group I joined--and quit--a few years ago; at our first meeting one of the women started sobbing 15 minutes into it and didn’t stop for the rest of the night.)

It’s not that I don't care about other people's hurts; the church should be where all of us find healing and acceptance. But “life groups” and “cell groups” always seem to have a touch of the sorority about them—“I’ve never met you before tonight, but let’s share our deepest feelings and be sisters.”

So when my small group started back up last week, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

On one hand, I already have the friends I can call at 3 in the morning. I have single friends to prowl with on Saturday nights and married friends with small children to spoil on Sunday afternoon. I have friends in ministry, friends in business, friends who stay at home and friends who are never home, friends who share my faith, friends who challenge my faith, and friends who reject my faith. What I didn’t have were friends who hadn’t read The DaVinci Code but nevertheless declared that seeing the movie was “spiritual adultery.” Thanks to my small group, I now do.

On the other hand, and to be fair, I also didn’t have a lot of friends my own age at my very large church, and I now have those as well. These new friends attended my 30th birthday party, accepted me with all my own considerable faults, and pray for me regularly. Many of them are a lot of fun, and it’s nice to see some familiar faces each weekend.

But when I’m faced with a crisis, these probably won’t be the first people I call. Our weekly meetings, while enjoyable, do not challenge me.

So tell me what you think. How many good small groups have you been part of? What made them work? Is my experience typical, and is forming a few casual friendships reason enough to participate in a group? If not, how do we build real community, something more organic and less artificial?

Last weekend a good friend of mine walked all 26.2 miles of the San Diego marathon. For six hours, 50 minutes and 24 seconds she speed-walked (sped-walked? Anyway, she walked fast), downed power bars and salt capsules, and struggled against record-high heat and a stress fracture in her left foot. Around the 21st mile, dizziness and nausea set in because she forgot to eat at mile 19; her electrolytes became unbalanced, her entire body hurt, and her poor feet were bruised and swollen—but she finished.

After hearing all this, I felt like a slug. I think the folks waiting for the bus along my morning commute should stand and applaud the three days a week I do 30 minutes on the treadmill, and Anna walked until she was so deprived of nutrients that she couldn’t taste salt. Her efforts make my little “exercise routine” seem insignificant.

The editorial in this week’s online edition of Christian Standard reminded me how easy it is to feel this way spiritually. Just as my little exertions pale in comparison with the truly heroic, my “stress” can seem silly compared to Paul’s life of shipwrecks, beatings, and hunger.

However, as is true in much of life, a different attitude changes everything. I can choose to see my friend’s accomplishment as overwhelming or as inspiring. I can feel down on myself because I’m not the same league, or I can allow this knowledge to push me into five more minutes on the treadmill, ten more pounds on the benchpress, or one less serving of ice cream.

Similarly, I can feel unworthy when I look at Paul’s life. But I don’t think Paul wanted his readers to feel like spiritual slugs—I think he wanted to encourage them. Right after he lists the variety of dangers he experienced, Paul describes the one thorn that repeatedly torments him and he shares his repeated prayers for healing. “If I must boast, I will boast of the things that show my weakness,” he writes.

Although I can’t relate to three shipwrecks or days without food, I can certainly relate to weakness. I may not experience whole nights without sleep, but I definitely understand tossing and turning while pleading with God for the same thing yet again.

My exercise routine will (hopefully) never include stress fractures and nausea, and God’s plan for me may not require physical danger. Either way, I feel encouraged by Paul’s struggles—because parts of his race look a lot like mine.

But Jesus!

This past Sunday, the 3s and 4s Sunday school teachers rejoiced to discover it was quarterly review--the weekend without a craft for us to organize or story for us to tell (especially gratifying since last time it was my turn, the lesson was on the Holy Spirit. Centuries of theologians can't fully comprehend the trinity and I'm supposed to explain it to a preschooler?). Instead, most of the hour consists of a large group review of the songs, stories, and memory verses of the last three months. The teachers just shush and corral the little people, and make sure they remain seated "criss-cross applesauce" (Indian-style) on the floor.

But I enjoyed this quarterly review even more than usual for one reason: Jacob. As the teacher told the story of Jairus' daughter, her illness and her death and her family's grief, Jacob smiled and said, "But Jesus." As she talked about the crowds with nothing to eat but a little bread and fish, Jacob said knowingly to his teacher, "But Jesus." And as she told the (age-appropriate) version of the crucifixion, Jacob yelled, "But Jesus!"

An article by Paul Thigpen in a 2000 issue of Discipleship Journal explores the mystery of Jesus' claims to be the First and Last, the Beginning and the End. When Jesus says he is the Alpha and Omega, Thigpen writes, "He's revealing Himself as the very Framework of history, who stands at its beginning as at its end, encompassing the whole within Himself. When we ask, 'Where did the human race come from? Where is it going?' the Scripture replies: 'It began in Him, and it will end in Him.'"

The old joke is if you don't know the answer to a question at church, just say "Jesus." It's the Sunday school answer, but Jacob reminded me it works for all of life. He may not fully grasp the Holy Spirit, but he knows what many adults never learn: the answer to every protest, to every sadness, to every question and dark circumstance and trouble is always "But Jesus!"

It takes a forest.....

A small sign at the San Diego Zoo informs visitors of a horrifying statistic: each week, it takes an entire forest of trees to supply the paper just for the Sunday newspapers in America. I used to buy the paper each Sunday for a quick scan of the front page, the TV guide, the Target ad, and the comics. I rarely recycled it. I need to change both habits.

I’ve been puzzled for years how Christians can justify intense, vocal involvement in some issues (abortion, gay rights) and not others like the environment. Although God created the earth, called it very good, and charged humans with its care, the protection and conservation of natural resources is seen as a “liberal” issue. (And of course no good Christian is a liberal.)

So I read with interest an article in the latest issue of Fast Company magazine about two pastors— Richard Cizik and Jim Ball—who also co-lead the Evangelical Climate Initiative. In February, the two leaders began the ECI by holding a press conference to share the biblical foundation for the program and to ask for tougher environmental laws. (Cizik is also a lobbyist for the National Association of Evangelicals, or NAE.) Fast Company reports that 86 evangelical leaders, including Rick Warren and several college presidents, pledged their support.

However, others did not—most notably Stuart Shepard, an editor and spokesman at Focus on the Family. “There are certain issues that define what it means to be an evangelical,” he says. “Global warming doesn’t fit into that.” Focus and 20 other groups pressured the NAE to remove Cizik after the announcement of the initiative.

I find this staggering, and disturbing. Apparently, some in the religious right feel the inclusion of these concerns weakens the political impact of their position on abortion, homosexuality, and other “moral” issues. Yet the April 3 Time reported the huge potential consequences of disregarding the damage we're causing. Cizik points out that 20 to 30 million people could be victims of these catastrophes--flooding, hurricanes, drought, and more. Many of those affected will be the poorest of the poor, and many of them will not yet be Christians—how does concern about these people not qualify as a moral issue? Every church I know donated money and organized volunteer teams to help the victims of Hurricane Katrina—is it somehow less “Christian” to work toward preventing the next round?

Natural disasters happened before global warming, of course. But even if no human being ever suffered from our treatment of the planet, Genesis 1 still reminds us we are called to be careful stewards of the world God created.

Cizik says, “Reducing pollution is loving your neighbor.” If evangelicals feel compelled to participate in politics, I wish our worldview could be truly global—broader than just a few hot-button issues, and concerned with the globe itself.