Sometimes I get worn out by worship. It is not my desire to whine or be cynical or critical of any worship style or leader--the fault is my own. I just confess that worship at times can become a mindless exercise to me, another 30 minutes on the spiritual treadmill.
I've never heard of someone being diagnosed with ADSD (Attention Deficit Spiritual Disorder), but I think I have it. I feel the continual need to turn my spiritual attention in some new direction. Like an antsy kid in the classroom I'm always anticipating recess when I can get outside and run. I love my church, but I also love the breaks.
Recess this past weekend led me to the Iron Horse Motorcycle Campground in the mountains of western North Carolina. Campgrounds like the Iron Horse dot popular motorcycle routes all across the country, and they are usually a treat. Bikers congregate there every afternoon as the sun lowers. Dinner and breakfast are always available, as well as a hot shower, campfire and a whole lot of BS from likable bikers of all shapes and backgrounds.
The Iron Horse is more upscale than most other camps. It offers some nice cabins, popular among couples who ride together, and has a large, comfortable dining room and social hall. There is Internet access there, and a huge projection television that usually flips between SpeedVision and The Weather Channel.
A few years ago I was at the Iron Horse on a Sunday morning and playing on the big screen during breakfast was video from stand-up comedian Ron White. I remember feeling awkward, embarrassed and assaulted by White's profanity laced "humor" at such an early Sunday hour. It was the antithesis of worship. It was more like rolling around in mud. Who put the tape on, I don't know.
The owners of the Iron Horse are Christians, and a wonderful couple. I'm betting they didn't care for the Ron White video either.
This most recent trip was different. While eating breakfast (and glancing at The Weather Channel for news about imminent rain) I noticed one of the Iron Horse staff, a woman named Jo, setting up a music stand and guitar. When I asked what she was preparing for, she answered cheerfully--"Church!"
My riding buddy Raymond and I were in our seats at 9:30 when church began. We were part of a small group, only about 10 of us, but what we lacked in numbers was more than compensated by an overflow of enthusiasm and sincerity.
Jo played guitar and led the singing--mostly selections of Southern Gospel from the 19th Century. The mostly monotone men in the congregation sang out, using lyric sheets Jo prepared.
It was clear Jo was a student of old hymns. She told the story behind each song, when it was written, and for what purpose. She wasn't the greatest singer herself, or a great guitarist, but she was a great worship leader. Her joy, her passion, her love of God filled up the room along with her soft, sweet voice.
We sang Leaning On The Everlasting Arms, which Jo told us was penned by a minister in 1887 to comfort two friends whose wives had died. It was provocative to think about these reassuring words, reaching out to us over the centuries:
What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
The usual pastor, an older gentlemen named Loy, prayed a beautiful prayer, and a guest speaker--a biker from Cartersville--talked about the daily choices we make to follow Christ or follow self. Loy closed us with a blessing for safety on the roads, and then Jo sent us out into the rain with a lively rendition of Uncloudy Day.
They tell me of a home far beyond the skies
And they tell me of a home far away
They tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise
They tell me of an unclouded day
I walked out of this rag-tag church service lifted up, encouraged and thoroughly focused on the reality of Jesus Christ in our world and in our lives. Among strangers, in the simplest of settings and with the most basic of instruments I participated in worship and felt totally energized by the process.
It is so wonderful to be reminded we are in God's family, and that there are no limits to it. His word tells us that where two or more are gathered, He is there. His word also tells us that He inhabits the praises of this people. My Sunday at the Iron Horse reminded me that His people are everywhere.
While they are wonderful to have, a worship center or cathedral, organ or choir, seminary graduate or evangelist or even a Sunday morning are not required to worship the Lord. Sometimes our expectations or familiarity with the trappings of worship can even get in the way. Worship is simply about us focusing all our attention on the Lord.
This special Sunday at the Iron Horse I did just that, and it seemed effortless.
I've never heard of someone being diagnosed with ADSD (Attention Deficit Spiritual Disorder), but I think I have it. I feel the continual need to turn my spiritual attention in some new direction. Like an antsy kid in the classroom I'm always anticipating recess when I can get outside and run. I love my church, but I also love the breaks.
Recess this past weekend led me to the Iron Horse Motorcycle Campground in the mountains of western North Carolina. Campgrounds like the Iron Horse dot popular motorcycle routes all across the country, and they are usually a treat. Bikers congregate there every afternoon as the sun lowers. Dinner and breakfast are always available, as well as a hot shower, campfire and a whole lot of BS from likable bikers of all shapes and backgrounds.
The Iron Horse is more upscale than most other camps. It offers some nice cabins, popular among couples who ride together, and has a large, comfortable dining room and social hall. There is Internet access there, and a huge projection television that usually flips between SpeedVision and The Weather Channel.
A few years ago I was at the Iron Horse on a Sunday morning and playing on the big screen during breakfast was video from stand-up comedian Ron White. I remember feeling awkward, embarrassed and assaulted by White's profanity laced "humor" at such an early Sunday hour. It was the antithesis of worship. It was more like rolling around in mud. Who put the tape on, I don't know.
The owners of the Iron Horse are Christians, and a wonderful couple. I'm betting they didn't care for the Ron White video either.
This most recent trip was different. While eating breakfast (and glancing at The Weather Channel for news about imminent rain) I noticed one of the Iron Horse staff, a woman named Jo, setting up a music stand and guitar. When I asked what she was preparing for, she answered cheerfully--"Church!"
My riding buddy Raymond and I were in our seats at 9:30 when church began. We were part of a small group, only about 10 of us, but what we lacked in numbers was more than compensated by an overflow of enthusiasm and sincerity.
Jo played guitar and led the singing--mostly selections of Southern Gospel from the 19th Century. The mostly monotone men in the congregation sang out, using lyric sheets Jo prepared.
It was clear Jo was a student of old hymns. She told the story behind each song, when it was written, and for what purpose. She wasn't the greatest singer herself, or a great guitarist, but she was a great worship leader. Her joy, her passion, her love of God filled up the room along with her soft, sweet voice.
We sang Leaning On The Everlasting Arms, which Jo told us was penned by a minister in 1887 to comfort two friends whose wives had died. It was provocative to think about these reassuring words, reaching out to us over the centuries:
What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.
The usual pastor, an older gentlemen named Loy, prayed a beautiful prayer, and a guest speaker--a biker from Cartersville--talked about the daily choices we make to follow Christ or follow self. Loy closed us with a blessing for safety on the roads, and then Jo sent us out into the rain with a lively rendition of Uncloudy Day.
They tell me of a home far beyond the skies
And they tell me of a home far away
They tell me of a home where no storm clouds rise
They tell me of an unclouded day
I walked out of this rag-tag church service lifted up, encouraged and thoroughly focused on the reality of Jesus Christ in our world and in our lives. Among strangers, in the simplest of settings and with the most basic of instruments I participated in worship and felt totally energized by the process.
It is so wonderful to be reminded we are in God's family, and that there are no limits to it. His word tells us that where two or more are gathered, He is there. His word also tells us that He inhabits the praises of this people. My Sunday at the Iron Horse reminded me that His people are everywhere.
While they are wonderful to have, a worship center or cathedral, organ or choir, seminary graduate or evangelist or even a Sunday morning are not required to worship the Lord. Sometimes our expectations or familiarity with the trappings of worship can even get in the way. Worship is simply about us focusing all our attention on the Lord.
This special Sunday at the Iron Horse I did just that, and it seemed effortless.
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