Sunday, October 25, 2015

A Sunday Prayer

Dear Lord:

Why—yes, “why,” that accusatory word—why have you made your place of worship frightening? Perhaps it isn’t you who have done it, but have you allowed it? Or is it that you allow my fear? Fear of the people, the words . . . fear of you.

People: there are so many. Even in a congregation as small as Redeemer. So many. And they want to talk, and greet, and not shake hands, but hug, and, naturally, I assume they are judging.

Words: hurt. The words that come out of the pastor’s/preacher’s/priest’s/vicar’s mouth are a mystery: what they will be and what they mean. Will it be a “better yourself” sermon? That I cannot take anymore.

You: sure, the Bible says to fear the Lord, but I don’t believe the fear I feel is the fear required. And it isn’t a singular fear. I fear that you will show up, even though I also hope you will. (You have been quite absent.) And I fear what you will be if you do. I fear the existence of my half-hearted belief is trivial.

Sincerely and brazenly,

1 comment:

  1. A "better yourself" sermon. Wow; yes. Somehow that phrase is so nails-head for me, so precisely descriptive of an entire wide swathe of sermons that hurt to listen to, though you cannot put your finger on what it is, nothing *seemed* wrong with the content, it's just...

    Thank you for that.