One of my favorite old weather-related church jokes goes something like this: “It was raining today, so of course many of the Baptists stayed home. If there’s one thing Baptists can’t stand, it’s a sprinkling.” This time of year we usually confront several bouts of severe weather as the season changes from winter to spring, and if we’re not careful, our church attendance can be affected.
Whether they are innocently sleeping or desperately screaming, we can’t take our eyes off babies. This is especially true during baby dedications at church. Spend any amount of time in church, and you’re likely to be a part of such a service, especially in Baptist churches with young families.
I happen to live in a city that has a rooting interest in Super Bowl LI, so I have more than a passing interest in the big game this year. But even when I don’t care about the outcome, the weeks of hype and constant media and social media attention invade my mental and spiritual space like weeds in my lawn.
I’ve had a fondness for Christmas cantatas, lessons and carols services, and other performances of sacred Christmas music since I was a boy fidgeting in the third-row pew while my parents rehearsed portions of Handel’s “Messiah.” Our choir this Sunday was as intriguing as their performance was beautiful.
It’s a season for thanksgiving and anticipation, but I have a confession to make: celebrating abundance and extending a call to give at the same time feels incongruent. I have mixed emotions, and it’s hard for me to sort it all out.
In the late 1980s and ‘90s, discussions of worship styles in churches were ubiquitous, heated, and all too often destructive to church unity. I was reminded of those old battles last week when I was catching up on the phone with a friend since childhood.
Lay people commonly serve in churches through committees. If you’re active in your congregation, chances are you’re on a committee. Over the years, I’ve found myself or planted myself on a number of such bodies with mixed results.
I’ve got a Wednesday night church attendance track record that rivals the Apostle Paul’s Pharisee credentials….
But now, for the first time in my life, I’m an erratic Wednesday night church attender.
If you have school-aged children in your life, it’s no secret that summer isn’t what it used to be. Here are five tips to ease the pressure and help your children’s spiritual formation remain at the top of your summer priority list.
“If you’re not here just bring me a bulletin from the church you visited, and everything will be okay.”
One of my pastor’s favorite jokes this time of year when his congregation disappears for the summer has an interesting premise: people go to church while on vacation.
Making the ultimate sacrifice is a central theme if not THE central theme of the Christian faith. It’s no wonder that the patriotic holiday Memorial Day resonates so deeply with churchgoers.
My grandmother was a florist, so maybe I get my appreciation of floral arrangers from her. But honestly, it wasn’t until I joined Highland Hills Baptist Church in Macon, GA in 1992 that I began to appreciate what role flowers played in worship.
Nothing throws off our seasonal awareness like an early Easter. It’s a seasonal version of what we experience with daylight savings. We’re not quite sure how to feel and everything about our celebration can seem just a little off.
We train ourselves to not pay attention. Whether it’s distracting technology, over-programming our schedules, entertainment consumption habits, the fall of civilization as we know it, or just human nature, I don’t know.
We are psychologically and spiritually drawn to opportunities to make a fresh start, and though we tend to make the same pledges year after year, there is value in trying.
I wasn’t introduced to Advent as a season of spiritual reflection and anticipation until well into adulthood. But for nearly 20 years now, this season has enriched my spiritual journey leading up to Christmas.
Though retailers would rather this time of year be known as “Christmas Shopping Season,” the American holiday of Thanksgiving is worth our time and energy as its own distinct observance.
For years I thought the end of October was solely the devil’s territory. Trick-or-treat, scary or revealing costumes, and general tomfoolery were reserved for Halloween leaving churches few good options for experiencing the season.
There are three ways you can tell what people care about: what they talk about, how they spend their time, and how they spend their money. The scoreboard in church vs. sports shows sports with a sizable lead in all three categories.
If your church is anything like mine, there’s a battle being fought this time of year that impacts the quality of worship more than the music, length of the sermon, or the translation of the Bible used. Of course, I’m talking about the air conditioning.
What is it about worship at camp that engages campers in profound ways while their weekly worship experiences in their home churches often fail to connect?
We are in the season of mission trips. Churches across America are sending members to a variety of ministry opportunities around the world and undertaking projects close to home.
Church is a place for celebration. That celebration gets tricky when we as the church are handed a set of holidays outside of our faith tradition and the Scriptures.
The Resurrection is for everyone. Infrequent attendance at worship services does not exclude a person from accessing the hope of the risen Jesus Christ. But for consistent church attenders, high holy days such as Christmas and Easter can create a sense of protective exclusion.
Whether or not you have ashes dabbed on your forehead this Wednesday, the season of Lent presents an opportunity to do more than say “I’m sorry.” The season of Lent is a chance to engage in active repentance.
There are many postures for prayer in Christianity, but nearly all of them involve closing your eyes. I followed the eye-closing rule for prayer in church dutifully until my twenties.
I have a confession: for reasons I’m about to explore, each week during worship, I silently count the members of the church choir. Bizarre, I know.
An unexpected resignation of a church staff member can feel like a punch to the gut. When a trusted staff member resigns, it’s not unusual to feel an acute sense of loss and even betrayal.
As a child, the most dreaded words uttered every July on the commercials interrupting TV reruns were “Back-to-school sale.” Like the first few bars of “Jingle Bells,” heard nowadays in late September, that phrase was the harbinger of homework, research papers, and exams.
Those minor inconveniences pale in comparison to the overwhelming benefits of giving up a few days of work or personal time to go to camp. This month’s dispatch comes to you live from PASSPORTkids Camp in Crossville, Tenn., where I’m wrangling four boys from Parkway Baptist Church.
It’s easy to see it from the pastor’s perspective: you visit the sick, you counsel the anxious, and you show up on Sunday with a heart and mind overflowing. But when you reach your seat on the platform and look out at the smaller-than-normal congregation during the prelude, you question your calling.
Of all the human frailties that impact my ability to worship God, none frustrates me more than fatigue. As a child, I never slept in church. I was always a wiggler, which in hindsight I prefer to describe as “an active listener.”
It is news to no one that church culture has shifted radically in recent years in most every area, from worship style to attendance. One such cultural move is toward more casual fashion choices by church goers. Only the most traditional of us pew sitters insist on wearing “Sunday clothes” anymore.
Long before I find myself in a chair or pew on a Sunday morning, preparations have been made for the corporate worship of God. Musicians have learned music through hours of rehearsal. Ministers have prayerfully selected texts to be read responsively.
I am not a dreamer. That’s not to say I lack ambition or that I don’t hope for certain positive life outcomes. No, I mean, literally, I don’t have dreams; at least I don’t remember dreams.
As I age, I find myself not only physically sounding more and more like my Baptist-preacher father but repeating his aphorisms. One of my favorites about church is “You should always sit close to the front because the sermon gets worn out by the time it reaches the back.”