Immersion Worship

Nobody likes having their picture taken for ‘official’ documents. I’m one of those people that never likes having their picture taken for anything really, but I especially don’t like having a photo taken for such things as my passport, my Green Card, and as we are about to find out, my Drivers License.

The thing is that it’s almost impossible to look half way decent on such official documents. They always require you to use backgrounds that are way too clinical, and then they overlight it so the picture comes out all washed out. Its hard not to look like a corpse in those kind of photos, I find.

Having said that, when I was going through my immigration shenanigans back in 2004, I was quite pleased with the picture that the friendly guy at the Department of Motor Vehicles (who happened to look exactly like Mr. Miyagi, by the way). Look:



That’s not too shabby, in my opinion, and is actually a very close approximation of what I look like, so all in all I was quite pleased with.

That picture was taken back in 2004. My Drivers License expired this year and so I had to go and renew it and get a new photo taken. And this is where my disdain and hearty detestation for the DMV really shows through. After I’d paid my $28 renewal fee and filled out the paperwork, I go over to the desk with the camera to be processed for a new photos. Mr. Miyagi was no longer there (and that makes me wonder if it actually was Mr. Miyagi last time, since Pat Morita has died since then). Instead, the desk and its camera were being controlled by a rather furious and angry looking matron who was clearly having a bad day. I cheerily handed her my paperwork with a smile, and she grunted something to the effect of “stand over there and face the camera”. I moved to the position, began to turn around to compose myself for the picture, and while I’m mid-turn, the flash goes off and Photo Matron declares that I’m done, hands me a print out of my temporary license, and tells me to wait a couple of months to get my new one in the mail.

I swear I shall forever be scarred by what that lady did to me. I am certain she photoshopped that picture or something. Last week, to my horror, this arrived:



“Oh dear” doesn’t quite capture the emotion, does it? Not only is this just a…terrrible…nay, AWFUL…picture that has caught me in a candid moment of a mid-turn, post breakfast burp, it also concerns me that, should I ever be stopped by a cop for a traffic violation, there are some questions that I just know are going to come up.

1. You are clearly drunk in this picture. Are you drunk now?
2. Are you still taking your Tourette’s medication?
3. Do you have any other photo ID taken after your heart had been restarted and you were released from the morgue?
4. Where did that suspicious double chin come from, and where do you keep it now?

Perhaps worse of all is the expiry date on this. I have to carry this thing with me until 2013. Any time I get asked for ID, this is what I have to show.

Oh the humanity.

I have to confess something: I have a real problem with Christian diction and terminology. Maybe it’s the purist in me, but I consider myself to be someone who doesn’t say anything unless there’s something worth saying, and even then, I consider my delivery and choose my words carefully.

And so it irritates me, greatly, when I hear people say “Wow! Service was amazing! God showed up!” or when people pray “Holy Spirit, we invite you here”.

Let’s get one thing straight: God doesn’t show up. God is everywhere, all the time. That’s a part of His infinite nature. Now, I know what people mean when they say “God showed up”. What they really mean is that they, as fallen humanity, have finally gotten past the barriers that they themselves have created, obeyed Him, and through the Holy Spirit have finally tuned in to the fact that God never disappeared and He’s been there all along. This is the big difference between being where God is present and being in God’s presence.

Likewise, who are we to “invite” the Holy Spirit in to anywhere other than our hearts? We can welcome Him, we can ask Him to move in our midst, but “inviting” our God, who is everywhere all the time, in to our little country club services smacks of exclusivity and “by invitation only” participation.

I’m the first to recognize that there is an unhealthy and insane absence of God from many churches. I will even hold my hand up and say that, early on, there were days when I kind of felt like God was absent from The Summit. But let’s be clear on this: God’s absence from our churches is only indicative of His absence from our hearts, and if God seems distant or absent, then guess who moved?

The answer is ‘us’, if you were still guessing.

In an age where so many churches, mine included, are focused on impacting the community through culture, using high impact media, socially cool elements, and culturally relevant messages, it’s so easy to program God out of our services. It’s a fine line, and it’s a dangerous line since it’s easy to slip in to the mindset of “let’s cut a couple of songs so we can play this neat video” or “let’s not do communion this week since we want to highlight our ubercool church website”. Translated, that means “let’s rob the body of Christ of the opportunity to worship together and obey Him together and instead we can look cool and sound cool and be cool”.

Harsh? Maybe. Reality? Definitely. I’m not bashing the use of the ‘cool’ factor in services; I’m all for it. But not when it detracts from what we really should be gathering for. I for one am acutely aware of this after some recent discussion with some of my team on using Igniter Tracks with our worship (which I elected not to use after applying the ‘distraction and detraction’ rule), and I’m becoming more and more focused on the pivotal, focal point of our worship. I refuse to water it down. I refuse to offer to God something that might sound great and have flashy lights and impressive visual elements but lacks motivational excellence. In short, I refuse to program God out of my worship.

Instead of expecting God to “show up”, how about we start entering in to His presence prepared and expecting to meet with Him? There’s a big difference between the two.

Thoughts?

Have you ever played the game “Chubby Bunnies”? You know, where you put a marshmallow in your mouth, say “chubby bunnies”, then add another marshmallow, say it again, add, say, add, say, until you either choke, become incoherent, or puke? If you have, then you’ll know what a voice sounds like when it’s all marshmallowed up like that.

Now I’ve been a Five For Fighting fan for a a few years; really since their America Town album hit, but there’s always been something about John Ondrasik’s voice that has bugged me. He’s not a great singer anyway, but there’s a tonal characteristic that has always just annoyed me a little bit, and I’ve never been able to put my finger on it. That is, until today.

As I was driving to work today, I was listening to the radio, and they were playing a Dave Matthews Band song (The Space Between) and they followed it immediately with a Five For Fighting song (One Hundred Years), and it suddenly dawned on me.

John Ondrasik sounds like Dave Matthews playing ‘Chubby Bunnies’.

This is an unfortunate realization, since every time I hear Five For Fighting from now on, I’m going to think of Dave Matthews trying to sing with a mouth stuffed full of marshmallows, and that shall taint my listening pleasure for the rest of my days. I know this to be true, because about 5 years ago my wife pointed out to me that Billy Corgan from The Smashing Pumpkins couldn’t actually sing, and since then I’ve not been able to really enjoy listening to The Smashing Pumpkins because I just can’t get past the fact that his singing sucks.

I don’t know what’s worse; scratching the itch concerning John Odrasik’s voice and thus dooming my enjoyment of Five For Fighting, or knowing that sooner or later I’ll also figure out why I’m bothered by James Morrison’s voice and I’ll be forced to add another to the ‘unlistenable’ pile.

Tsk tsk.

I came to blog, and my mind went blank. I got nothing. Sorry folks. I’ll try again in a few days.

On Monday night my good friend Danny took me to see Coldplay at The Forum in LA (more on that to follow). The evening in general was fantastic - I really enjoyed the show - but not before injury was thrust cruelly and unwittingly upon me.

Remember how I dislocated my knee almost two years ago? On Monday, I was making my way back to my seat between support bands, and as I made my way along my row to my seat, somehow my foot got caught between the step and the seat in front of my, and my knee literally just came apart. The lower half of my leg went left. The upper half of my leg went right. There was bone-on-bone action. I yelled. I almost cried. Danny ran and got ice. I spent the rest of the gig in my seat with an ice pack held firmly against my knee.

Getting older sucks.