On a recent evening I had the opportunity to have dinner with a very close friend, a guy I feel I can share anything with. Tom, is a guy who is really easy to be around and is a wonderful husband, father, business leader and friend. He is also a man of great faith and a wide array of talents. Quite often when we are together the subject of our Christian faith comes up, as it did at our recent dinner together.
Tom and I share some common experiences about “religion” from our youth and we talk about the impact those experiences had on our faith journeys as we grew from boyhood to manhood. We also talk about the difference it made when we discovered what the difference is between religion and faith. I am not going to bore you with another lecture about religion and its man made origins. What I do want to share with you is how long it has taken me to throw off the bonds created by religion, to begin enjoying the freedom of faith and in turn how that has impacted my view of the Holy Trinity. And as always, I hope you can learn something from my stumbling and fumbling.
Growing up as a Lutheran, my parents’ choice not mine, certainly shaped my first thoughts about God. We Lutherans were all about rules, expectations, ritual and all the stuff that goes with religion. First, please understand I am not going to go into a dissertation criticizing the Lutherans, or any other organized Christian religion. They all have their plusses and minuses and as with most things it is different strokes for different folks. For me, going to church and trying to be a good Lutheran was almost more of an obligation and unfortunately, a part-time job. First lesson – your relationship with God should never be part-time. He isn’t a part-time God, nor is Jesus an hourly employee of His and the Holy Spirit is always with you – not just when you might think you need him. Reaching in a little further, I felt like I was on a treadmill, always a little behind and never really doing enough to prove my obedience to the rules and requirements that kept coming my way. Church services were a repetitive schedule of singing hymns (none of which really said much to me at the time,) an Old Testament reading followed by more hymns, a new testament reading, reciting the Apostles Creed, then a too long sermon from the Pastor (it was always exactly 20 minutes long – I know because I couldn’t take my eyes off my watch hoping it would end soon.) The sermon was then followed by passing the plate for the offering and finally the closing hymn and the closing benediction. It was the same thing, repeated week after week. If you didn’t already know what the next week was going to hold, you could read the bulletin. Like a famous female comedian said, “we didn’t read the Bible, we read the bulletin.”
Yes, they would mix it up a little for Christmas and Easter, but not much. Our Pastor wasn’t a hell and damnation kind of preacher but he didn’t hesitate to call out his congregation if he didn’t think we were in line with the church’s doctrine. Communion was served once per month, always on the last Sunday of the month and you couldn’t participate unless you were 14 years old and had completed what was called “Confirmation.” Confirmation was a two year process which included weekly sessions with the Pastor learning all the doctrine of the church and at the end, if you passed, you became a “member” of the church and were “allowed” to take communion. Believe me, for a 13/14 year old it was no fun and as a result I did just enough to get by. I don’t remember any place in the Bible that dictates how old you need to be or how much you need to know to participate in The Lord’s Supper. Nor does it say anything about being a “member” of a church.
I’m going to stop hammering away at religion, I told you I wasn’t going to do that and that is exactly what I have been doing. Besides, by now you probably get the jest of the impact it (religion) had on me. That impact extended well into my adult life and even affected how I approached introducing my sons to church. When we were looking for a church to attend with them the denomination became an over-riding factor rather than looking for a church where we could all grow in our faith through Biblical teaching and a community we could relate to. My context was those first years in my parents church. I had to choose a denomination, that’s just what a person was expected to do. Sadly, it was almost like a competition and I found myself taking sides. I could not imagine going to a nondenominational church.
Even after I finally realized what having a relationship with Christ is truly all about, the bonds that kept me tied up restricted the joy I should have felt through worship and faith in Him. Faith in Christ is all about freedom, not about obligation or required works. When I first experienced people worshiping out of joy it scared me. It was at a nondenominational church that our youngest son encouraged us to try. Those zealots were raising their hands in the air and some would even say amen out loud when they heard something that was profound for them. Until recently, the thought of raising my hands in praise caused me to feel like they were tied around my waist with barb wire. Real Christians don’t do things like that! Real Christians only sing out of a hymnal. They don’t sing the words of artists like Chris Tomlin, Michael W. Smith, Amy Grant, Matthew Maher, Lauren Daigel, or any of the numerous modern, talented, faithful singers and song writers. Where was the pipe organ – there were people up on stage playing guitars and drums. And where was the alter? It can’t be a real church without an alter can it? Real Christians wear a coat and tie to church, the women wear dresses that extend below their knees, they would never think about showing up in jeans and a t-shirt or heaven forbid shorts. There were guys with ball caps on, real Christians don’t do that. Sure, women might cover their head with a scarf out of “reverence” but a man wearing a hat in church? If I would have even thought about wearing a hat in church my mom would have had a heart attack. The bonds of religion go on and on and on. And the bonds of religion continue to chase people away from the opportunity to discover the joy and freedom a relationship with Christ should be all about. God doesn’t care if you wear a Zena suit to church, he just wants you there, as you are.
So if you happen to see me in church sometime in the future, don’t be surprised if I have my cowboy boots and jeans on. Please don’t look down at me if I am clapping to the music of Bid Daddy Weave or TobyMac. Don’t be shocked if the Pastor doesn’t have a frock and collar on. If I thrust my arm above my shoulder it’s not because I have a cramp! If you see a little tear running down my cheek, it’s not out of sadness or fear, it’s out of the realization that I’m finally casting off those bonds that I have lived with all these years and experiencing the real freedom and joy of worshiping the king of the universe. And no, I have not turned into “one of those zealots.” I’m still just good old DE Fresh, and thanks to casting off those bonds I am having some of the best times of my life.
Doug's Journey 