My friend Jason Watson did an excellent analysis of the logic used here, which is definitely worth a read.

I have to say, I can relate with everything the guy in the video says. Yes, some churchgoers are hypocrites who do hurtful things; yes, some churches focus on rules at the expense of the big picture. I understand why he’s saying everything that he’s saying, and I’ve said some of these things myself. But I still don’t agree. In addition to everything that Watson said, here’s why:

The video’s poet completely ignores the fact that the “rules” he speaks of are usually pulled straight from the Bible. Not out of context, either. Some extremist views, such as his example of the single mother being denied community, carry this to an extreme; but, as Watson said, these are the actions of a very vocal minority, and none of them are woven into the “rules” of faith. I know a great many pastors, and I can’t think of a one that isn’t outraged by things like that.

(I also realize that there are some “rules” proclaimed by many, such as urging women to remain silent in church and banning short haircuts on women. I would argue that we have to examine the cultural climate of the Bible and dig into why these things were said. This is a much larger discussion for another time.)

If you’re not familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, here’s the Wikipedia article on it. If you don’t know, the hierarchy lists out needs in order of complexity. If simple needs like food and water aren’t being met, we’ll have a much harder time meeting higher-level needs like love and acceptance; similarly, if mid-level needs like love and self-esteem aren’t being met, we’ll have a much harder time meeting the self-actualization needs, which is where religion does the most good. In churches, we often find people who are really just there to try to meet lower-level needs like acceptance and self-esteem. I think these are important things and that the church can be a good place for those—but it should not be the only place we see those needs met, nor should it be the only reason we’re there.

Being religious to meet these needs is like turning on a fantastic movie to light a room. It’s frustrating. Movies weren’t designed to meet that need, so they flicker different images on the screen with varying levels of light. It’s not the best tool for the job. Really, we need to get the lighting under control so we can enjoy the movie.

When we rely on religion to meet needs it was not explicitly designed to meet, we’re frustrated with the gaps. And some go as far as to try to fill in those gaps themselves. If a need for acceptance isn’t consistently met, the emotional need for a common enemy can help to fill that gap; if a need for self-esteem isn’t consistently met, the need for a smug sense of superiority can seem like the missing puzzle piece.

I’m not saying that every Christian that says hurtful things or excludes others is simply immature—it’s not so simple. But I would wager that most of the polarity that the church exudes is due to a desperate desire to see these needs consistently met.

The “rules” are not the problem, as the video’s poet suggests. An unhealthy obsession with rules at the expense of their purpose is a problem, but that problem is not inherent in religion. Religion without rules is a system of belief with no defined expectations, which means its followers would have no idea how to live out those beliefs. Yes, Jesus’s grace does cover us in any circumstance—but if we have no desire to better ourselves because of it, we’re missing out on the most important part of that grace. We’re settling for spiritual certainty (a lower-level need) and missing out on being something bigger and better than what we are now (transcendence, the highest-level need on the chart).

So this video on missing the point ironically misses the point. Christianity should never be defined solely by its rules, but it shouldn’t forget them, mock them, or look down upon them. Replacing one extreme with another is rarely a good course of action.

I’m not one to belittle anyone’s spiritual beliefs, so please, if you want to believe in the metaphysical effects of emotion on water, I will support you 100%. Just don’t claim science as the basis for this. Science is usually a bad basis for matters of faith, just as faith is usually a bad basis for matters of science.

The reason I bring this up now is that there is now a Facebook event to try to use this phenomenon to help the victims of Japanese tsunami.

Again, if you choose to believe in the metaphysical effects of emotions (and there’s no hard scientific evidence against this), more power to you, and thank you for taking a sincere interest in the well-being of the Japanese people. Japan can probably use as much prayer and positive thought as it can get right now. But be very careful that slacktivism does not free your mind from bearing the burden of the Japanese people right now. Even if the metaphysical (prayer or positive energy) is your reaction to the pleas of Japan, one water ceremony isn’t going to cut it.

If you want to help Japan, be relentless. Pray every night for them. Give money to charities that are helping them. If you have skills in influencing others or organizing things, try to get together some sort of organized effort to raise or send money to help them. But above all, don’t forget about them. The pain will probably go on a lot longer than the sympathy will.

I realize that there are probably some for whom this water ceremony is a natural extension of a lot of other caring acts, including some very tangible ones, and I really want to commend those people for coming at this from multiple angles; but I also know the popularity of slacktivism on Facebook, because it’s fun to think that we can take a stand without getting out of our seats. Participate, or don’t—just don’t fall into that second camp.

But the philosophy of the Pharisees wasn’t always so bad. It was, at one point, a revolutionary concept. The roots of the Pharisee philosophy emerged under the oppressive rule of Antiochus IV, who openly persecuted anyone who practiced the Jewish faith and tried to change their customs as well. The word Pharisee actually means “separatists.” They sought to figure out exactly what they could let go, and what they had to hold onto, for the sake of the purity of their faith.

So the grave mistake of the Pharisees wasn’t instantiating a bad philosophy; it was overcorrecting. They took a good idea and they let it become the whole of their faith, to the detriment of some other very important parts.

What does this have to do with modern Christianity? Quite a bit, actually.

A recent study shows that, on average, atheists and agnostics know more about the Christian faith than Christians. (Thanks, Mina, for bringing that to my attention.) There will likely be some people that take issue with this finding, but my personal experience has been that this is largely true. There are a lot of knowledgeable Christians out there; but there are a lot more that claim to believe without really understanding what it means to believe.

I know a great many people who carry Jesus in their pocket like a good luck charm, pulling him out when it’s convenient and praying for whatever profits them. This fair-weather faith has become one of the most popular faith choices in America. For many people, it’s something they’re born into; for many, they would choose to leave if the inconvenience of leaving didn’t outweigh the inconvenience of staying.

Here are some thoughts from Kierkegaard, who lived in Denmark at a time when it was a Christian state, meaning Christians were made by birth rather than choice:

Every one with some capacity for observation, who seriously considers what is called Christendom, or the conditions in a so-called Christian country, must surely be assailed by profound misgivings. What does it mean that all these thousands and thousands call themselves Christians as a matter of course? These many, many men, of whom the greater part, so far as one can judge, live in categories quite foreign to Christianity!…People upon who it has never dawned that they might have any obligation to God, people who either regard it as a maximum to be guiltless of transgressing the criminal law, or do not count even this quite necessary! Yet all these people, even those who assert that no God exists, are all of them Christians, call themselves Christians, are recognized as Christians by the state, are buried as Christians by the Church, are certified Christians for eternity!

That at the bottom of this there must be a tremendous confusion, a frightful illusion, there surely can be no doubt.

- Soren Kierkegaard
The Point of View for My Work as an Author

Like Kierkegaard, I don’t think there are a lot of pastors or dedicated Christians who are happy about this; but we’re not exactly helping either.

I’m Methodist now, but my background is in the Southern Baptist church, where the emphasis was on evangelism—how many souls can you win for the Kingdom? It seems the most common outreach tactic is to focus on how easy it is to become a Christian. We memorize quotes like, “for my yoke is easy and my burden is light,” and we’re quick to point out that Jesus didn’t like religious folks either. I’ve actually heard someone say, “It’s hardly any work at all,” to a potential convert.

I’m not saying these things aren’t true—compared to the Pharisees in Jesus’s time, his yoke was easy and his burden light—I’m just saying that the face we’re presenting is a little off-balance. Like the Pharisees, we’re overcorrecting, and, while we’re not as far gone as they were, we need to be careful that we don’t ever reach that point.

Kierkegaard’s view was that we didn’t need to make it easier to become a Christian—we needed to make it harder to become a Christian. We needed to know that Christianity required sacrifice, because anything worth having is worth sacrificing for. We needed to know that Christianity was a choice that held some weight—something that actually means something.

When presenting our faith to the world, let’s not leave out verses like this:

“Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer.”
- Romans 12:12

“And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance.”
- Romans 5:3

“Beloved, do not be surprised at the fiery ordeal that is taking place among you to test you, as though something strange were happening to you. But rejoice insofar as you are sharing Christ’s sufferings, so that you may also be glad and shout for joy when his glory is revealed.”
- 1 Peter 4:12-13

I realize these are a little extreme. (In America, Christians are hardly persecuted.) I don’t propose replacing one extreme with another. Like most extremes, the truth usually lies somewhere between them.

I know that there are other factors at play in the epidemic of fair-weather faith; but we, as Christians, can work toward minimizing that, and that’s going to take some intentionality on our part. Let’s stop before we get as off-course as the Pharisees were. Most importantly, let’s not be afraid to teach that our faith shouldn’t come without a lot of careful thought and consideration. We owe it that much.

Kierkegaard made a number of quotes along these lines, all using the phrase, “by virtue of the absurd.” This is the kind of stuff that a few indignant atheists have a heyday with. But I think this deserves a closer look. Here are my thoughts on the matter.

People are scared of faith. Nobody will admit this. For this reason, many Christians spend their daydreaming on thinking up ways to conclusively prove God’s existence. We attempt to find logical proofs of Christian doctrine or scientific evidence of creation, and we look for miracles because we want undeniable proof of God working in the mortal realm. We even go as far as stretching the truth to create miracles where there aren’t any. The concept of faith scares people so much that we try to rationalize it and change it from belief in the unprovable to objective acceptance of observable facts.

If this sounds familiar, it might be because I had similar things to say about Existential freedom, meaning freedom of choice (and, ultimately, personal responsibility for that choice). This is pretty much the same concept. If we accept a fact, we can’t be held personally responsible for our choice; if we uphold a belief which can never be proven, we hold a lot more responsibility for that belief. So, just like many people try to give their freedom of choice and independent thought away, many Christians try to give their faith away in exchange for flimsy truths and smoke and mirrors.

This is really damaging to many Christians. If our beliefs in God are firmly supported on a table of perceived facts, so to speak, and one of the legs of that table gets kicked out from under us, we scramble to find new support for our belief. Sometimes, we find it; sometimes, we don’t; but sometimes, we replace those legs with other legs of shoddy workmanship, and we trust in that support as much as the old legs. That happens enough times, and eventually the entire table just collapses. When that happens—and there’s a good chance that it will eventually happen—we need faith to fall back on. With enough faith, we don’t need that table at all.

Now, I’m not saying that we should ignore logical fallacies and cease working out our own salvation with fear and trembling. I’m just saying that we need to realize that there are some aspects of faith that can be neither proven nor disproven. If we seek out false certainty as a crutch, it’ll carry us for a while—maybe even our whole lives—but we’re missing out on the deepest parts of faith.

“The fundamental fact of existence is that this trust in God, this faith, is the firm foundation under everything that makes life worth living. It’s our handle on what we can’t see. The act of faith is what distinguished our ancestors, set them above the crowd.”
- Hebrews 11:1-2 (The Message)

Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation’s final law
Tho’ Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shriek’d against his creed
- Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam A. H. H., Canto 56

With the debate raging about whether to teach intelligent design in the classroom, some in the science community have also suggested that stupid design be taught right alongside it. Why can’t all the nutrients needed for animals to live be found in pond water? Why does nature revolve around a cycle of killing?

Darwin wrote about the Ichneumon spider, who paralyzes its victims, keeps them alive, and lays eggs in them. The victim is still alive when the eggs hatch and the baby spiders eat the live flesh as their first meal. Many in the science community, such as Dawkins and Pinker, point to this as evidence that the natural world was not designed, or, at least, not by a loving God.

Here’s another quote from British philosopher John Stuart Mill:

If there are any marks of all special design in creation, one of the things most evidently designed is that a large proportion of all animals should pass their existence in tormenting and devouring other animals.

Looking at all of this, I don’t blame people for jumping to those conclusions—the violence inherent in nature does seem to be at odds with Judeo-Christian teachings, and also with the consciences of many. If the universe is built to a plan, to a purpose, then that plan and purpose seems to revolve around suffering. Why, for example, does creating life (giving birth) involve so much pain?

Here’s another quote, from Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard:

Listen to the cry of a woman in labor at the hour of giving birth—look at the dying man’s struggle at his last extremity, and then tell me whether something that begins and ends thus could be intended for enjoyment.

So if there is a purpose to this life, it is clearly not for our enjoyment.

So why is suffering such an inherent part of the natural world? From an evolutionary standpoint, it makes for a stronger natural world. Survival of the fittest. If only the strong survive, then only the strongest genes are passed on to the next generations. Gazelles are bred by nature to be fast, and wolves are bred by nature to hunt in teams to take down the faster gazelles.

So why wouldn’t that be true on a philosophical or theological level as well? With suffering as a part of our everyday lives, only the strongest beliefs and philosophies get handed down to the next generations. This is obviously less dramatic than the violence in the animal kingdom, but it’s no less important. People who haven’t been tempered by toil and suffering are weaker philosophically. Evidence of this? Paris Hilton.

Here’s a quote from the apostle Paul:

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.
- Romans 5:3-5

Christianity, as a religion, was not introduced at a time and place really conducive to the spread of a new religion. The Jewish people were enslaved by the most powerful empire of all time (at that time, at least), and they had their own religion. If God got to pick the time and place to introduce a new revelation to the world, why in the world would he pick this time and place? To ensure that only the strongest and most meaningful ideas got passed down to the next generations of Christians.

At the end of that chain of causes and effects is hope. A common response to the violent and chaotic natural world is a desire for transcendence—a desire to rise above our animal natures, to conquer them, and build something greater. This is something that I believe is built in to humans, although some never see it grow into maturity. And I mean all humans. Christians certainly don’t have a monopoly on transcendence, nor do we all achieve it.

So God doesn’t necessarily want us to be happier—he wants us to be stronger, always growing and maturing. Happiness is a good thing, but it is not a good ultimate goal, either by natural or theological standards.

Anyway, just some late-night musings from your amateur philosopher friend. If I’ve botched or overlooked something, or if you have something to add, click that comments link just below this to speak up.

[And before you say anything, no, I don’t believe that we should allow suffering to happen when we see it. Things like hunger, killing, and foreign worker exploitation are things that are talked about at great length in the Bible, so it’s pretty clear that as a part of our transcendence we’re supposed to take a stand against those things.]

It is so on the stage, as you know well enough, that someone sits and prompts by whispers; [he is hidden;] he is the inconspicuous one; he is and wishes to be overlooked. But then there is another, he strides out prominently, he draws every eye to himself. For that reason he has been given his name, that is: actor. He impersonates a distinct individual. In the skillful sense of this illusory art, each word becomes true when embodied in him, true through him—and yet he is told what he shall say by the hidden one that sits and whispers. No one is so foolish as to regard the prompter as more important than the actor.

Now forget this light talk of arts. Alas, in regard to things spiritual, the foolishness of many is this, that they in the secular sense look upon the speaker as an actor, and the listeners as theatergoers who are to pass judgment on the artist. But the speaker is not the actor—not in the remotest sense. No, the speaker is the prompter. There are no mere theatergoers present, for each listener will be looking into his own heart. The stage is eternity, and the listener, if he is the true listener (and if he is not, he is at fault) stands before God during the talk. The prompter whispers to the actor what he is to say, but the actor’s repetition of it is the main concern—is the solemn charm of the art. The speaker whispers the word to the listeners. But the main concern is earnestness: that the listeners by themselves, with themselves, and to themselves, in the silence before God, may speak with the help of this address.

The address is not given for the speaker’s sake, in order that men may praise or blame him. The listener’s repetition of it is what is aimed at. If the speaker has the responsibility for what he whispers, then the listener has an equally great responsibility not to fall short in his task. In the theater, the play is staged before an audience who are called theatergoers; but at the devotional address, God himself is present. In the most earnest sense, God is the critical theatergoer, who looks on to see how the lines are spoken and how they are listened to; hence here the customary audience is wanting. The speaker is then the prompter, and the listener stands openly before God. The listener, if I may say so, is the actor, who in all truth acts before God.

- Soren Kierkegaard, Purity of Heart

This is spoken so simply that I don’t actually have much to add except a little context.

Remember that in Kierkegaard’s time and country, Christianity was the state religion, so everyone was a Christian. It was pretty preposterous to think of other people as the theatergoers, since they were all supposed to be actors, playing off of the pastors’ script, so to speak. Today, things are a little different in that not everyone is an actor in this sense of the word, and those who are neither actors nor prompters become theatergoers, observing and passing judgment on the actors whether they realize they are performing or not.

I could go on a little rant about how church and pop-Christianity are turning into entertainment, but that’s aside from the point. The point is that we, as church leaders, need to place the responsibility of this “performance” (although the stage is eternity, so there’s no breaking character—these are not alter-egos, but our regular everyday selves) on church congregants. I’ve talked before of church leaders measuring success not by the merit of their own efforts but by those of their congregants. This is just another reminder that our ultimate success, whether as worship leaders, pastors, small group leaders, or anything else, is to be measured in how much our listeners reflect God and change the world.

If you’re not a church leader but you are a Christian, remember that you are always on stage, whether for God or others; if you are not a Christian, I welcome any dialogue you have on the matter, as I’m sure there are a lot of experiences to be shared, both good and bad.

After a few solid years for this, I realized that I really had trouble relating to people who hadn’t had some sort of anguish (either external or internal) or Existential crisis. (I’m not quite that pretentious anymore. But if you knew me or read my journal while I was in college, you probably know what I’m talking about.) It seemed to me that people without that kind of life experience had a propensity for identifying and solving all the wrong problems (of problems dealing with anguish or personal crisis, anyway). I had enough trouble identifying those problems by myself, so I pretty much avoided anyone who “just wanted to cheer me up.”

You know that old saying, adversity breeds character? The opposite is also true. All of that really seemed to come together when I read this quote from Nicholas Berdyaev:

Not the worst but the best of mankind suffer the most. The intensity with which suffering is felt may be considered an index of a man’s depth. The more the intellect is developed and the soul refined … the more sensitive does one become to pain, not only the pains of the soul but physical pains as well. … But for pain and suffering, the animal in man would be victorious.

So it wasn’t just that suffering sharpened intellect—intellect also sharpened suffering. And it makes sense. More acute senses equate to more acute sensations, so why wouldn’t greater insight into the nature of life equate to a more acute awareness of the pains of living? Also, the smarter you are, the more dumb people grate on you, but that’s aside from the point.

But this isn’t just a matter of intellect. As it adds above, “and the soul refined,” so there is an emotional component to this too. This is also self-aggregating. As you grow to understand suffering, you grow to have compassion for those who experience it, and as you grow in compassion, you enter into the crushing realization that even intense caring from one man or woman cannot hope to put a dent in the suffering of the world. Once you decide to give a damn, you suddenly feel yourself pulled in about eighty different directions. Speaking from my own Christian experience, those who had never really experienced suffering did not really know how to solve the right problems regarding suffering.

Again, from my Christian experience, Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly” (John 10:10). Most Christians tend to focus on the positive aspects of that. But he doesn’t just say, “I have come that they may have happiness”—he came to give more life. All of it. The good and the bad. (I don’t know the actual Greek word here, so if any of my more scholarly friends have any additional insight into this passage, feel free to enlighten me.) A journey of faith is a continual growing of both emotion and intellect, so this makes sense.

Now, please note, I am not speaking of suffering solely as the effect of bad events. Looking back at my life objectively, it wasn’t really all that bad (aside from having a mental disorder). Suffering is a funny human experience in that it doesn’t have to be a tangible experience at all. Consider this quote from Sartre:

It is in suffering alone that he can feel himself to be free, because it is the only feeling which can come from within himself. Unless one is a god, one cannot become happy without the cooperation of the universe; but to be unhappy, one needs only oneself.

One quick aside: unhappiness can be a natural reaction to suffering and is perfectly natural in most people, but for some, it is a chronic condition. For some, it’s not a matter of circumstance or even brain chemicals—they continually choose to be unhappy. Now you know why: they’re exercising a degree of control because they likely feel a loss of control in other areas. I know, there are other reasons to choose perpetual unhappiness, but this is one of the more interesting reasons.

Anyway, all that to say, you’re not necessarily lacking in character if you haven’t had a rough life. There’s plenty of suffering to be had right in your own head.

The moral of the story is, I’m not opposed to suffering. I’m opposed to people not having a choice as to whether they have to suffer, but, again with the saying, adversity breeds character. Have I been depressed, overwhelmed, or even defeated in my life? Yes, a great many times. But would I trade that for any amount of happiness? Absolutely not.

And if you’ve read this whole post and it doesn’t make any sense to you, do not attempt to “cheer me up.” You have been warned.

Just a warning: This isn’t really one of my fun posts. I’m doing some real soul-searching here, so you get bonus points if you stick with me.

Here’s a primer on each of them (taken from the Wikipedia articles):

Calvinism

• As a consequence of man’s fall into sin, every person is born enslaved to the service of sin.
• God’s choice from eternity of those whom he will bring to himself is not based on foreseen virtue, merit, or faith in those people; rather, it is unconditionally grounded in God’s mercy alone.
• Jesus’ atonement of sin was definite and certain in its design and accomplishment. It would be unjust for God to pay the penalty for some people’s sins and then still condemn them for those sins, all those whose sins were atoned for must necessarily be saved. Moreover, since in this scheme God knows precisely who the elect are and since only the elect will be saved, there is no requirement that Christ atone for sins in general, only for those of the elect.
• The saving grace of God is effectually applied to those whom he has determined to save (that is, the elect) and, in God’s timing, overcomes their resistance to obeying the call of the gospel, bringing them to a saving faith. So if He wants you to be saved, you will be saved.
• Since God is sovereign and his will cannot be frustrated by humans or anything else, those whom God has called into communion with himself will continue in faith until the end. Those who apparently fall away either never had true faith to begin with or will return.

Armenianism

• Humans are naturally unable to make any effort towards salvation.
• Salvation is possible only by God’s grace, which cannot be merited.
• No works of human effort can cause or contribute to salvation.
• God’s election is conditional on faith in the sacrifice and Lordship of Jesus Christ.
• Christ’s atonement was made on behalf of all people.
• God allows his grace to be resisted by those who freely reject Christ.
• Believers are able to resist sin but are not beyond the possibility of falling from grace through persistent, unrepented-of sin.

I’ve considered myself an Armenian for my entire adult life, which I think actually led me to my interest in Existentialism. Armenianism seems a natural fit with Existentialism, with the focus on individual choice and the rejection of essence before existence. Also, Armenianism seems to mesh more with what I believe to be God’s character. So I know what I believe. But, if I’m going to call myself a Christian, I need to go back to the source documents (the Bible) and check my beliefs against that, which is something I haven’t done extensively in this manner.

It’s not that I reject Calvinism in its entirety. For instance, the concept of total depravity (the first bullet point under Calvinism above) has a very valid place in many Christian schools of thought. I think total depravity is a gateway drug into Calvinism, actually, but that’s a thought for another time. Anyway, I don’t think either school gets it entirely wrong (or, most likely, entirely right either).

I’m going to be making a few posts over the next few days examining each of these. I know I have some smart friends out there who have given this far more thought than I have, and I also know I have some very smart friends who may not have given it critical thought but still have opinions on it. I’d like to hear from all of you. I realize this is opening up my blog to the flame wars that have been ensuing since the 16th Century, but it’ll help me discern the truth here, so I welcome all of it.

When a man turns his back upon someone and walks away, it is so easy to see that he walks away, but when a man hits upon a method of turning his face towards the one he is walking away from, hits upon a method of walking backwards while with appearance and glance and salutations he greets the person, giving assurances again and again that he is coming immediately, or incessantly saying, “Here I am”—although he gets farther and farther away by walking backwards—then it is not so easy to become aware. And so it is with the one who, rich in good intentions and quick to promise, retreats backwards farther and farther from the good. With the help of intentions and promises he maintains an orientation towards the good, he is turned towards the good, and with this orientation towards the good he moves backwards farther and farther away from it. With ever renewed intention and promise it seems as if he takes a step forward, and yet he not only remains standing still but really takes a step backward. The intention taken in vain, the unfulfilled promise leaves a residue of despondency, dejection, which perhaps soon again leave behind only greater languor. As a drunkard constantly requires stronger and stronger stimulation—in order to become intoxicated, likewise the one who has fallen into intentions and promises constantly requires more and more stimulation—in order to walk backward.

- Soren Kierkegaard, Works of Love

So what does this have to do with worship leadership? Let’s take a look back at an unorthodox, although very Biblical, definition of worship.

“Why do we fast, but you do not see? Why humble ourselves, but you do not notice?” Look, you serve your own interest on your fast day, and oppress all your workers. Look, you fast only to quarrel and to fight and to strike with a wicked fist. Such fasting as you do today will not make your voice heard on high. Is such the fast that I choose, a day to humble oneself? Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush, and to lie in sackcloth and ashes? Will you call this a fast, a day acceptable to the Lord? Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?

Isaiah 58:3-7

So, by this definition, the point of worship is not an internal choice, but an external life in line with God’s ideals—and, again, an external life measured by its impact on others rather than its own perceived morality. Worship is measured in love and love is measured in sacrifice.

I think, as a worship leader, that I sometimes struggle with trying to bring people to outward signs of an internal choice, but I have no real desire to make sure that internal choice (and its eventual external expressions) are actually being made real. For instance, I feel I’ve succeeded most when I see a congregant raising her hands or singing with feeling—those are our fasting and sackcloth and ashes—but I have no idea how many of the congregants at my worship service are participating in service activities.

To make matters worse, I feel I reward those initial expressions rather than meaningful, impactful change by measuring success based on that criteria and altering my approach to elicit more of those responses that may or may not spring into something more.

Such an approach can turn into a backwards march when we fail to connect the cause with the effect, turning the mean into the end in our minds and theirs. Don’t get me wrong—worshiping God through intellectual, emotional, and philosophical self-sacrifice are important—but the goal is to lead them into a deeper level of love through a deeper level of sacrifice on all levels. Let’s say a congregant goes to the worship service on Sunday, and then has to choose between another worship experience or a service opportunity. As a worship leader, I feel like I would measure my own success by counting attendance at the former when I should be counting attendance at the latter. So really, we’re not worship leaders so much as worship instigators.

Please don’t read that I think true worship is limited to service opportunities. I just think one should not be at the expense of the other.

Anyway, those are my thoughts, and my confession, as a sometimes-misguided worship leader. Any other thoughts? Any other ways we lead a backwards march?