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Swimming the Bosporus, Chapter 2: Steeplechase
In my first post, I set the table. Born Lutheran, became Evangelical in my teens, and eventually became a model citizen of megachurchville. Everything was swell. Sure, I had nagging questions about my beliefs but I’d figure those out eventually.
My generic American evangelicalism was a mélange of the zillions of churches and Bible studies I attended, along with the popular books I read. Nearly all were non-denominational with a few Baptist churches here and some Calvinist leanings there. Few sermons dug deep so I relied on the books for that.
Read this post for Chapter 1 and a thorough disclaimer.
The foundational belief they shared was that each individual had to admit their sins to God and accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior. Once you did that, you were eternally saved. In theory, you could immediately charge into a life of depravity and remain on the Big Guest List in the Sky.
Now, if someone prayed the born-again prayer on Sunday morning, then spent the night on a drunken two-state rager stealing cop cars and shivving hobos, Pastor Chad would wonder if you actually meant it. But, if one was sincerely saved as a young adult, drifted away over the decades, stopped going to church, got divorced and remarried five times, started selling meth to schoolkids, etc., he’s still in. Once saved, always saved.
If you want to have a spiritually fulfilling life, however, live like the Bible tells you. Breaking bad will ultimately make you miserable and, who knows, maybe God might offer discipline to get you back in line.
So, in my own flawed way, I lived rightly. Went to church, read the Word, prayed, got married, had 2.5 kids … the whole nine. After our favorite pastor retired and the new guy didn’t click, we started visiting other places. Yet another steeplechase.
Every time I’d move to a new town for the Navy, college, or job, I burned up months looking for the right fit. This church is too charismatic, that one’s too rigid; this music is too modern, that choir is clunky.
And if what you really care about is the sermon, finding the right pastor is a very big deal. My favorite preachers pointed fingers at their own flaws instead of at mine, mostly because I’m very good at beating up on myself. My innate perfectionism applies to spiritual matters, and I already knew I was a pathetic, sinful wretch. A pastor harping on it was redundant.
I also liked preachers who wouldn’t sugarcoat the difficult teachings and would regularly challenge me to be better. It was always a balancing act; tough but not mean, deep but not pedantic. Deep down, I was troubled I wanted a church that conformed to me, not for me to conform to the church. Seemed backward somehow, but I didn’t know what else to do.
We settled on a megachurch in the suburbs. Within a couple of years, that pastor retired too. So, off to a larger assembly further out.
Six months in, that’s when it happened.
I’m grumpy most mornings but this Sunday was worse. Overly enthusiastic parking lot attendants cheerfully directed me through the labyrinth to a spot on the outer rim of asphalt. Crossed the soccer field to drop off one daughter at Xtreme Kidz, the other at Impact Adventure!, and was issued barcode bracelets for secure pickup. Walked 100 yards to Holy Grounds Espresso to buy a large black coffee, then to the Worship Center for the main attraction. (All names invented to protect the very good people doing their best.)
The lights went down, the fog machine cranked up, and a row of multicolored synced spotlights singed my retinae. Here I was for the zillionth Sunday morning getting my eardrums pounded by low-quality soft rock with vaguely Christian lyrics.
I know the drill. Just keep chugging my coffee, shield my eyes with the church program, endure the tear-jerking video, then enjoy a nice sermon. It’s almost Easter, so it’ll probably be about Christ’s final days before he suffered crucifixion.
The pastor leaps on the stage, thanks the Worship Team, adjusts his wireless headset, and begins.
Wait. He’s not talking about the Passion. Or our need to repent. Or Christ. I glance at the program and find the sermon title.
“Three Ways to Succeed at Work.”
Hold on … I showered, dressed, wrangled the kids, drove 15 miles, and navigated this maze of a campus for a bad light-rock concert followed by a TED talk?
I could have watched 100 better videos on YouTube and spared my eyeballs and eardrums. This isn’t a sermon, it’s a LinkedIn post.
I leaned to my wife. She knew what was coming.
“I know, the music,” she said.
“Why is he telling us how to succeed at work? What does this have to do with God?”
“Shhh. Just listen.”
I shift my weight in the chair. I do it again. “He should be teaching us ‘Three Ways to Be Such an Uncompromising Christian at Work, Your Boss Fires You.’”
My wife sighs.
“Maybe ‘How to Sacrifice Your Job and Get Thrown to Lions in the Colosseum?’”
The next sigh was more insistent.
I pick up Daughter #1. “What did you learn today?”
“Hunter is so funny!” she squealed. “He lost the contest so the other leaders shot him with Silly String.”
Asked the same of Daughter #2.
“I dunno. Can we stop at McDonald’s?”
The drive home was silent as I tried to remember other recent sermons. Those I could excavate were about living your best life. Getting healthy. Being mindful. Oprah episodes with Bible verses as punctuation.
Previous churches were a bit better, but even those had several variations on how to get along with people, to be a good guy so you could rise in the workplace, to achieve your dreams.
As a fortysomething, I was sick of my dreams; I wanted God’s.
I looked around the church’s neighborhood. Nicer than mine, better cars in the driveway. Row after row of red-tiled homes filled with perfectly nice people with promising careers eager for three quick tips to get that next promotion.
But I already read books on management and self-help. It would be nice to have a few more bucks, but I need something more from church. Something to take my eyes off that new Volvo and onto what actually matters.
What is the point of this? What am I even doing here?
Next Sunday, I slept in.
Chapter 3.
“Swimming the Bosporus” is a series on my journey from the megachurch to the Orthodox Church. Installments every Sunday morning. The previous installment is here.
Published in Religion & Philosophy
Thank you for taking the time to share your journey, Jon. I appreciate it.
Jon, this is really good stuff. I can relate to so much of it. I remember when you did a story about your favorite beverage, coffee, so the Holy Grounds espresso is too much! It reminded me of our local Methodist church where I used to go. Everyone always sat in the same place, and this church member always brought his free coffee from the Narthex with him, and sipped it during the service. It bugged me. Then once when we were saying The Apostles Creed and the part came, “We believe in one Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church”, the pastor said we could leave out the Catholic part, and guy snickered. He and his family were good people, but it began to solidify that I was in the wrong place.
I made the leap to the local Episcopal church because my next door neighbor was the priest and his very liberal wife and I became good friends. He retired and they moved back to their home turf. I did not return, but heard “good things” about the new pastor and his clergy wife. This coronovirus virtual on line services has been an eye opener. I am appalled at the content from the new pastor and his wife – even the visit from the Bishop recently. I could write a post on it. I have been watching our local Catholic Church and it has been like coming full circle. I’ve been a closet Catholic for a long time – the faith of my ancestors and I am making the decision to go forward. I love your story so far for many reasons.
If your pastor says the word “relevant” more often than the word “Revelations…”
A non-demominational Protestant (raised Methodist) friend was surprised when I confirmed that yes, I believe a Christian can reject salvation and go to Hell. If the private revelations of various saints are believed, there are even priests in Hell. (That was probably a more shocking idea 50 years ago.)
Baptism is admittance into Christ’s holy family, being reconciled to our Creator and oriented toward grace. Through baptism our Lord lifts the penalty of death, a consequence of sin. But baptism does not eliminate free will. Ultimately, we must choose to be grateful beings of love and not to abandon the gifts we have been given.
Faith and works are joined. If one has faith, one will do good deeds because of it. And if one does good deeds, one will be opened and prepared for faith.
So says the Lord:
Thanks, Jon. I look forward to the next installment.
I’ll name names.
One Sunday, right about the same time that @exjon’s family was enduring that, ahhh, “worship” service, my family walked into Sun Valley Church in the Phoenix suburbs.
We dropped the kids off that their Sunday School (what, worship together as a family? Are you MAD?) and I opened the bulletin, only to find out that this Sunday, the church was starting a four-week sermon series based on the music of the Beatles.
The Beatles. Because nothing says “Hey, we’re hip,” than a sermon series based on the music of a band that broke up before I went to middle school. Funny, but I don’t remember the churches in my youth doing sermon series based on the music of bands from 40’s. I wonder why that is…
Okay, ignoring the fact that this was obviously a pathetic attempt for the church to be culturally relative, they played Beatles tunes before the service started. My attempts to quiet my heart and prepare to hear God’s word had to compete four followers of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi singing “Come Together” over the church PA system.
Seeker-friendly? Maybe. Unfriendly to the Holy Spirit? Most definitely.
Great post. I was raised Christian Scientist but left before the megachurch period hit Protestantism so I missed all that. (Thank you Lord!) Looking forward to your next post.
Churches are always looking for catchy phrases to put on those signboards along the street, sometimes to announce an upcoming sermon. In a few years most of them are going to be LED signboards, so the messages should be upgraded to match. These can be done with animations.
St. John Chrysostom said the road to hell was paved with the skulls of bishops.
I had that megachurch experience at our church prior to the last one. Very familiar.
How often did you see crosses on display? I saw them in the gift shop, but not in the auditorium.
I was in a communications meeting at a prior evangelical church I attended and they kept saying they wanted to be “relevant.” I said that Christ is always relevant, we just have to get out of His way. Apparently, I wasn’t very persuasive.
I remember that!
Every once in a while, there would be a single cross, either on the lectern or behind the stage. That was at older churches. The newer megachurches were more like warehouses and no cross was in sight. The bookstore (just across from Holy Ground Espresso) had a few crosses and several tchotchkes among the Bibles and books they sold.
A crucifix is a good sign of a serious church. Not a guarantee but a start.
I endured church as a kid. It was something you did, your parents made you, as much a cultural touchstone as a religion. We swamp yankees went to the Congregational church, the remains of the old Puritan tradition. It was old, conservative, generically informative, predictible and good. No fire or brimstone here, though the ministers’ sermons could get a little tedious. Not much was asked of the congregants, however many gave freely and generously of their time and their treasure. We were a breakfast and bean supper church. The music was traditional; most hymns were written before the 17th century.
The more liberal swamp yankees went to the agnostic church, you know, the Unitarians. The more well-to-do WASPs went to the Episcopal church. It was a bit more rigid and there were Priests (Fathers), rules and the sermons were shorter. There were two large, boisterous Baptist churches, a prelude to today’e evangelicals without the soft rock. And there were the Catholics; masses were a mystery as no protestant could pass the vestibule (you know, lightning.) There were a few other small denominations – the vegetarians (Seventh Day Aventists), Scotts (Prebyterians – a cross between Episcopals and Congregationalists) and the Orthadox (they do everything three times; they miss the early football games at least.) I’m sure I’m missing some, but does anyone really care?
Of all these, only the Baptists were “born again.” In keeping with the old Calvinist teaching, we Congregationalists had no real say in our salvation, just in our time here on earth. We didn’t talk about it. The big lesson? Be good, like ET said. Chances are you’ll end up in heaven, but you can’t earn your way there by praying a lot, giving money or doing good deeds. Those things were understood. Some people were definitely not going to heaven and we knew some of them. If they knew, some didn’t care. Nothing anyone could do about it.
It wasn’t until I came to Phoenix that I experienced the Megachurch phenomena; wholesale salvation! Every service, a concert and a multi media experience! Imagine, a church that can guarantee your everlasting soul! These churches are dependent on the charisma of the pastors, which is a problem as you have experienced. It’s hard to get comfortable with the new guy. They come and go. Let’s face it, worshippers notice when “Holy Grounds” changes from Yuban to Costo Cuban. Some find it disturbing enough to try another Megachurch.
The Congregationalists started their Peter, Paul and Mary phase and eventaully joined with many of the Methodists to form the United Church of Christ. Their motto: there is nothing you can’t do if you don’t know if you believe in anything or not.
I stay home. To steal from Groucho, I can never belong to any church that would have me for a member.
I just try to be good.
I think you would be surprised at what you find at an Orthodox church. While yes, some folks can get a bit hung up on the rituals and “doing things properly”, there is an underlying joy just being in the presence of God and worshiping.
Wouldn’t a steeplechase in the Bosporus be kind of sloshy? The horses could try to jump the chains and landmines that have been put across it in the past, but I question how elegant that would look.
I guess those would just be mines, not landmines.
I agree. With either an Orthodox, good Roman Catholic, or one of the Catholic rites (Byzantine, Rutherian, etc) service, you can pray and praise in a special way. I know one can do those on your own but with other people in all their glorious and not so glorious humanity, it is great. Would I like to get through a service without a crying baby or coughing or too much movement as the sermon goes on too long? Of course. But we, at times, need to face our Father and let our prayers rise up together.