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A critic, torn
by A.J. Daltorio I am torn between critic and disciple. On the one hand, I am eager to point out the annoying things I notice about church; on the other hand, I want to follow Jesus. Is there such a thing as a critical disciple, or are these two aspects of me diametrically opposed? I am brand new to the city of San Diego, and with that, I need to find a church. In fact, there's a list on my desk in front of me, and find a church is at the tippity top (followed by find a wife. . .which is followed by break a Guinness world record). My exploration began a few weeks ago when I attended the closest church to my apartment. I saw it was non-denominational, which I liked, and on top of that, they had a cool website. But who am I kidding? The service didn't start until 10:45. That's what sold me. My first red flag went up before I even made it into the building. Blaring from the sanctuary, loud as could be, was one of my least favorite worship songs of all time. It was a song you could expect to hear on one of those cheesy compilation albums from the 90's-the ones they would always show commercials for. And not only was it a song I hated, but it was being performed horribly. The singer was out of her range, the drummer could barely keep time, and the guitar was way too loud. The musician in me wanted to turn and run, but a different part of me-the part that kind of enjoys crappy worship music-was eager to step inside. What can I say? I think it's lovely when people's sincerity makes up for what they lack in talent. Have you ever wondered how atrocious singing voices sound to God? I walked in and took a seat towards the front. As badly as I wanted to join in with the singing, I couldn't help but feel like a fly on the wall. I'm so different from everybody here, I thought. They all seem so. . .sheltered; like this is all they have ever known. I don't belong here. The critic in my head would not shut up. I closed my eyes to reflect on my attitude. How did I already know so much about these people? Had I met any of them? Also, what might they have been thinking about me? Wasn't I, too, wearing a nice collard shirt and holding my Bible? I was reminded of a part from The Screwtape Letters, by C.S. Lewis, where Screwtape, a devil in hell, is trying to teach Wormwood, a devil on earth, how to lead a man towards hell. In speaking of the man going to church he says, "Your patient, thanks to Our Father Below, is a fool. Provided that any of those neighbors sing out of tune, or have boots that squeak, or double chins, or odd clothes, the patient will quite easily believe that their religion must therefore be somehow ridiculous." I didn't want to be that fool, and yet, no matter how hard I tried, I could not shut my inner critic up. Things got even more difficult when the pastor took the stage. First, he seemed way too happy. The last thing I want to encounter after I wake up is somebody with a lot of energy who will not stop smiling. I could not tell if he was being fake or real, so I decided he was somewhere in the middle. I could not fault him though; after all, my happiness at church is often completely fake. I will be hating life, but then perk up with a smile when someone asks how I'm doing. "I'm great!" I'll say. "It's so good to see you!" Second-and I know this sounds horrible, but hear me out-he had a southern drawl. I'm from California, so the only people I hear with drawls are the dumb ones they show on television. Everyone knows the formula: Dumb character? Southern drawl. Smart character? British accent. I made it over this hurtle quite easily, however, when I realized I am a surfer who talks like Michelangelo from the Ninja Turtles. Third, he spoke at length on the importance of tithing. After giving the usual speech on how all of our resources come from God, he brought up Malachi 3:10, where God says He wants us to test Him with our giving. This is nothing more than a business, I thought. He went into how the early church used to lay money at the apostles' feet, and how the apostles would then use that money to further God's kingdom. This part actually got me thinking. If I viewed this guy as nothing more than a businessman, how would I have viewed Peter and John? How would I have felt when Ananias and Sapphira were struck dead for being dishonest with their giving? I was caught off guard when, after the service, a friendly looking guy walked right up to me and extended his hand for a shake. He looked me dead in the eye and said, "Hey man, we're really glad you came." He was sincere. He made me feel welcome. How such a small gesture could have such a huge impact, I do not know. What I do know is that I saw Jesus in him. He reminded me that this was a place to be honest and loving, not critical; moreover, he reminded me that this was not some social club I could freely take shots at-this was the Bride of Christ. Since that day, I have come to decide that even if there is such a thing as a critical disciple, I do not want to be one. I'm through dwelling on crappy worship, sheltered kids, and southern drawls, and I'm ready to be open to all the wonderful things God is doing through His bride. I'm A.J., and I am falling in love with God. I hope my writing inspires you to do the same. Take care Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |