I heard the worst sermon of my life this morning. Kate was there. She can back it up.
With that said, sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I'd say I've been busy, but it's been more like uninspired to write. I have other things to be doing; I always have other things. Lately, blogging hasn't been the most important thing. From now on it might be. Who knows.
Anyway, back to the subject.
This was most bizarre, unfortunate 25 minutes I have ever spent in a worship space (This wasn't my home church and I won't say where it was; even if I did say, it was a guest preacher, so it is no reflection on the church in question). The pastor preached in a way, but really it was a show that had a little bit of interpretive dance and far more singing and playing of piano than should ever occur in lieu of a message. Please understand that I have no problem with music--even music in a sermon--but there comes a point where it is simply shtick. This was shtick in spades.
This is a classic example of theopoetry gone astray. Theopoetry is an attempt to speak of God not in systematic terms, as theology is wont to do, but with language that expands the horizons of how we might view God. It is creative language; and at its best it is splendid. I say this because I love theopoets who honed the skill. Rob Bell, Barbara Brown Taylor, John Polkinghorne, Madeleine l'Engle and even Garrison Keillor are theopoets in their own ways.
Yet, for each brilliant thinker who widens the net casting for God there are those who just don't get it. The pastor this morning just didn't get it. He destroyed the structure of the message but without offering a word that was the least bit creative. Rather than projecting us forward into what it might mean to live as human beings in God's creation, he seemed to be trying to call us back to something... something that I didn't understand; something vague and unreal. It didn't feel spiritual; in fact, it felt close to laughable.
I believe theology is useful to ground us. It is useful because it recalls the wisdom of those before and treats their witness as something spirit-filled. But many people who study theology tend to give it too much weight. To me, God hardly seems systematic. Life is poetic: the good and the bad. I love theopoetry because it admits that, lives in it, and at its best conveys what it means to be human.
My profound hope is that we stop with the gimicks; the singing preachers and half-hearted jokes, and let's start dwelling in scripture faithfully, preaching boldly and admitting that words fail. That would be a nice start.
