I have no interest in resurrecting the debates over styles of worship music. Whether your church uses a pipe organ or a banjo makes little difference to me. But the form of worship, what the worship team or praise band does once they begin to play, that may have some important implications which we often overlook.

Or at least that’s what James K.A. Smith suggested in a recent post, and I must admit I’m inclined to agree with him.

Speaking to praise bands he says,

“I sometimes worry that we’ve unwittingly encouraged you to import certain forms of performance that are, in effect, “secular liturgies” and not just neutral “methods.” Without us realizing it, the dominant practices of performance train us to relate to music (and musicians) in a certain way: as something for our pleasure, as entertainment, as a largely passive experience.”

He goes on to discuss how the tendency to turn the worship experience into a concert (regardless of whether the concert is folk, rock, or Gospel) encourages passivity in the congregation and a consumerist understanding of worship. It becomes something we take in, not something we take part in.

Luke Larson recently pushed back on Smith’s post, and there are no doubt areas of it that could be challenged or at lease nuanced. But still, after years of participating in worship at evangelical churches and schools, I think Smith may be on to something.

What do you think? Is the form (not musical genre) of corporate worship inherently neutral? If so, why? If not, what might the worship-as-concert form be teaching us?

“The two terms, ‘spiritual’ and ‘theology’, keep good company with one another. ‘Theology’ is the attention that we give to God, the effort we give to knowing God as revealed in the Holy Scriptures and in Jesus Christ. ‘Spiritual’ is the insistence that everything that God reveals of himself and his works is capable of being lived in ordinary men and women in their homes and workplaces.

‘Spiritual’ keeps ‘theology’ from degenerating into merely thinking and talking and writing about the feelings and thoughts one has about God. ‘Theology’ keeps ‘spiritual’ from becoming merely thinking and talking and writing about God at a distance. The two words need each other, for we know how easy it is for us to let our study of God (theology) get separated from the way we live; we also know how easy it is to let our desires to live whole and satisfying lives (spiritual lives) get disconnected from who God actually is and the ways he works among us.” – Eugene Peterson

I’ve long been wary of pragmatic books on “spirituality,” mostly because of how often they seem to be frivolous self-help affairs that wrap their message in God-talk while being utterly detached from anything resembling the witness of the Scriptures or, more to the point, the Word-In-Flesh.

But I’ve come to realize there is an opposite danger, one I’m particularly prone to as an avid reader of books on biblical studies and theology. That danger is one of detachment from day-to-day life, of talking about God and other people’s experiences with Him without that changing the way I live and love.

On a whim I started reading Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places, and I think that Peterson’s concept of Spiritual Theology is exactly what I need to bridge that gap. A spirituality that is intensely theological, and a theology that is spiritually furnished to change not just my mind but also my heart.

So, that in mind, I’m putting together a reading list. I plan to read the rest of Peterson’s Spiritual Theology series, and I’ve also added Foster’s Freedom of Simplicity, Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son, Williams’ Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel, and Brueggemann’s The Prophetic Imagination and The Practice of Prophetic Imagination.

No doubt this will shape the content of my post for quite some time. If you have any suggestions for additional reading, or would perhaps like to work through one of these books together on the blog, let me know!

Grace and peace.

Peter Rollins was recently interviewed by Whitworth University about some of the themes in Insurrection.

I find myself especially interested in his push back on the idolatry inherent in the way we use God-talk as a talisman in our quest for a narrative that tells us why we are right/ good and they are wrong/ evil.

Not because right and wrong, or good and evil, don’t exist. But because we all too easily assume that we are “on God’s side,” that we are playing the role of the good and the right in the story being told. And we then craft a narrative about faith, or love, or politics that uses God-talk to reinforce that assumption without ever really allowing the living God to challenge our actions and our beliefs.

“When something needs to be fixed, when I need something to change, my first and abiding instinct is to read. I think I can read my way to a solution. Or at least an evasion.” – Lauren Winner, Still

As I first came across that quote from Still I was struck by how true it is of me. Reading is often my plan of first resort, whether I’m trying to solve a problem, understand a complex issue, or process the varied events of this life.

So, with a daughter on the way, I’ve started to worry myself over my ability to be a  good parent, and I’m looking for recommendations for parenting books. I’ll say from the start that many of the books I’ve examined so far, both secular and faith based, have seemed deeply flawed in all sorts of ways. But I imagine there have to be at least a few worthwhile volumes out there, so I’m turning to you for help.

If you’re a parent, or work closely with parents and children, what parenting books have you found to be especially helpful?

Frank Viola interviewed Christian Smith about The Bible Made impossible, and guest-posted about Beyond Evangelicals for Kurt Willems.

Peter Enns responds to Kevin DeYoung.

Craig Keener asks, Are Miracles Real?

Tim Gombis on how Jesus Transforms our Corrupted Assumptions.

New studies reveal that women, long a majority in the pews, are stepping away from the Catholic Church.

Jenell Paris’ Memo to the Masses sparks an interesting discussion of how bloggers often inadvertently give a wider audience to the very things they oppose.

Kathy Keller explains the benefits of raising kids in the city.

Scot McKnight on The Story and Daily Life.

Andy Unedited shares What Publishers can Learn from Airlines.

This year for Lent the community I’m a part of is taking time to focus on simplicity, particularly as articulated in this quote from John Stott which we came across in Common Prayer.

“Simplicity is the first cousin of contentment. Its motto is, ‘We brought nothing into this world, and we can certainly carry nothing out.’ It recognizes that we are pilgrims. It concentrates us on what we need, and measures this by what we use. It rejoices in the good things of creation, but hates waste and greed and clutter. It knows how easily the seed of the Word is smothered by the ‘cares and riches of this life.’ It wants to be free of distractions, in order to love and serve God and others.”

Brilliant. Quite a challenge to actually live out in our culture, but brilliant in spite of and even because of that inherent challenge.

And as we read this quote and discussed what that looks like in our lives, I was reminded of a section from Eugene Peterson’s Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places that might be worth adding to the conversation.

“In our present culture all of us find that we are studied, named, and treated as functions and things. “Consumer” is the catch-all term for the way we are viewed. From early on we are looked upon as individuals who can buy or perform or use. Advertisers begin targeting us in those terms from the moment we are able to choose a breakfast cereal.

For those of us who are reared in North American culture, it is inevitable that we should unconsciously acquire this way of looking at everyone we meet. Other people are potential buyers for what I am selling, students for what I am teaching, recruits for what I am doing, resources for what I am building or making, voters for what I am proposing, clients for the services I am offering. Or, to reverse the direction, I identify myself as the potential buyer, student, recruit, resource, client, and so on. But it is consumerism either way.

I have no complaint about this at one level. I need things, other people offer what I need; I am happy to pay for and take advantage of what is offered whether it is food, clothing, information, legal or medical help, leadership in a cause that is dear to my heart, advocacy in matters of justice, or victims-rights that I care about. I’m quite happy to be a consumer in this capitalist society where there is so much to consume.

Except. Except I don’t want to be just a consumer. I don’t even want to be predominantly a consumer. To be reduced to a consumer is to leave out most of what I am, of what makes me me. To be treated as a consumer is to be reduced to being used by another or reduced to a product for someone else’s use. It makes little difference whether the using is in a generous or selfish cause it is reduction. Widespread consumerism results in extensive depersonalization. And every time depersonalization moves in, life leaks out.”

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