How I Fared

Read “I Wonder How I Will Fare” before reading this blog.

I have returned from my worship experience at West End United Methodist Church. As I surmised in my previous blog, the service style is upper-end traditional, complete with a cross-bearer, torch- (their word, not mine) bearers, and a classically dressed (read that black cassocks with white surplices) choir of more than 45 voices.

As I arrived at the domineering wooden doors (both of which were pulled back into a welcoming position, fortunately) of West End I was promptly greeted by three women who handed me a bulletin, with a polite “good morning.” Within seconds they continued the conversation they had already been having with one another. Deciding to play the devil’s advocate visitor, I interrupted them by saying, “Excuse me. I’m visiting today, and I wonder if there’s anything special I need to know?”

My self-revelation caught them off guard, and for a moment they didn’t know quite what to say. Then followed an uncoordinated attempt to make me feel even more welcome. “Well, welcome, welcome. We’re glad you’re here this morning,” I heard all three voices chiming in without the pleasure of stereophonic composition. “Well, there aren’t any assigned seats,” one of my erstwhile guides informed me. “And,” the second person of the greeting trinity offered, in a manner which seemed relieved, “there’s no communion this morning, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

I smiled inwardly, thanked them for what I perceived to be their awkward communications, and ventured into the Gothic sanctuary. The sanctuary is a traditional worshiper’s dream. Vaulted ceilings, pillars, a long narrow nave with an exalted chancel and altar, all centered upon an organ whose serpentine pipes snaked across the front of the sanctuary. If you are a church building afficionado, you will understand when I say it smells like “old church.” It is not an unpleasant scent, but the aroma of years and years of worshiping upon wooden pews, wooden floors and concrete. I suppose “Gothic” and “warm” never really go together, and my experience today revealed that. The temperature within the sanctuary was cool to me, and if it is cool to me, then it must be frightfully frigid to natives of Nashville.

As an introvert I do not mind when I enter a new worship space and have little interaction with others. In fact, I prefer those moments of reverence and quietude as opportunities for me to focus and center myself. In a congregation as large as this, I did not expect to receive any personal welcome of any sort, and my expectations were well met. Other than the garralous greeting trinity at the door, not a single expression of welcome was directed toward me. While I do not mind, the population of extraverts in the world would probably experience this as “cold” and “unfriendly.”

Worship was spectacular for the liturgically oriented. After an organ prelude the choir sang an introit from the narthax before their auspicious entrance. Cross, torches, and forty-five choristers processed in before the four worship leaders (two elders, one deacon and a lay person) as together we sang “Immortable, Invisible, God Only Wise.”

The liturgical components of the service were well ordered and traditional worship lived this morning. The sermon was preached from Micah’s injunction to seek justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God. The preacher spoke in a confessional fashion of her interactions with the scripture text thorughout the week. She spent carefully planned time explaining her dilemma (that she realizes how she needs to live more consciously around God’s commands as recorded in Micah), exhorting the congregation to consider her plight, and ended with a plantive, convcting, “Will you help me?”

The offertory was a Beethoven piece sung by a gifted soprano. While I enjoyed her offering, I smiled within as I thought about how our youngest son might have evaluated her voice and the musical piece which reaches back several centuries. “Screechy,” might be a word he, not I, would use.

The service ended with a round based on the words of Micah we had heard proclaimed during worship. It was a moving service for this tradition-bound worshiper. And, I sensed, for those gathered in the sanctuary with me. I was impressed with the age diversity in the crowd. From college students to young adults to middle aged and elderly (not many children; perhaps there is children’s worship in another area), all segments were well represented. I was impressed to see how relevant for many of the younger ones traditional worship can be. This is certainly not a blanket statement, but I recognize again that “contemporary worship” is not necessarily defined by age, nor is traditional worship.

So. I worshiped well in a service whose tradition uplifted my heart and fed my soul. I was remidned of God’s blazing glory in the liturgical niceties of the morning. I was challenged to consider my relationship with God and the justice, mercy and love people of faith are commanded to pursue. I met God, but I’m not sure I met my fellow worshiper.