18 :: Fire Church (Fellowship for International Revival and Evangelism)

 

Today I worshiped at Fire Church in Concord, North Carolina. I went there because this spiritual shift has a methodology now. I keep my ears and eyes open to see what church is mentioned to me by a friend or acquaintance - then I go to that church. In the absence of a church coming onto my radar screen through such a conversation, I choose one that I have been curious about on my own.

Fire Church ended up coming up in a recent conversation with a friend of twenty years. And I am glad he mentioned it. 

This post will be a bit different from prior posts, as there will be no pictures. I decided that this was likely a church where I wanted to get fully... immersed. As such, snapping some clandestine pictures of the service seemed like it wouldn't have allowed me to be present.

I was right. This was a different experience and chronicling it with my phone would have impacted it negatively.

But I did take this picture:

So much happened that I am at a bit of a loss for how to speak about it. When faced with such an inarticulateness, I always make an effort to break things down into threes. For this post, I will write about - a) what I saw in a social and culture sense, b) what I experienced in a spiritual sense, and c) the deepening mystery of this Holy Spirit thing, which I am encountering with an increased frequency, it seems.

Each section will be divided by a picture that captures the theme.

I

In a sociological sense, this was pretty different for me. This was a Pentecostal church, which is more of a category than a denomination. The unique aspects of Pentecostalism is the belief in the manifest presence of the Holy Spirit in a real and visceral way, almost always accompanied by things called "the spiritual gifts." These gits can include things like speaking in tongues, being given prophetic visions, as well as the ability to heal.

The seminal theological construct that infuses Pentecostal beliefs is what happened on Pentecost, the day when the Holy Spirit placed "tongues of fire" on the foreheads of The Apostles and they spoke to the assembled crowd in tongues. The Apostles spoke and the words that the people in the crowd heard were audible in their various languages.

Imagine I said something and three people heard my words in flawless German, Spanish and French, at the same time. For more context, read this.

Back to it - what was the unique sociological part of this morning? 

August marked my twenty-sixth year of living in Charlotte. I am fifty-two. That means that I have lived exactly half of my life Up North and half of my life Down South. Based on the fact that the first twenty-six years were in New England, I will always identify as a New Englander in a primary way. 

And let's just say Pentecostalism is a bit harder to find in Connecticut than it is in North Carolina. 

As such, this morning reminded me that we are indeed a diverse country with regional differences that are fundamentally real and historically meaningful. And that I am not from here. There will always be a part of me that sees what happens Down South and remarks, "Well, look at that. That's pretty different."

This morning was one of those.... cross-cultural moments.

II

The second thing that I can share is that I found this service to be incredibly invigorating. I have described my experiences at Freedom Church, Morningstar Ministries and other churches on this blog. They have a worship experience which, as I like to say, vacillates between enthusiastic and ecstatic. And I recently encountered someone whose life was apparently recast in an instant. 

With all of that preparation, I still found today's worship at Fire Church to be a very strong dose. In a really good way, don't get me wrong. The whole experience was about two and a half hours long and most of it was ecstatic worship while the band cranked away. 

I find that in such settings, I generally get into a special (and still mostly unfamiliar) zone where I pray with an intensity that is very unlike what I have done my whole life. My body in motion, eyes closed, hands lifted, carrying on a conversation with God. Sometimes on my knees, sometimes dancing a bit.

Very strong.

Quite a powerful flow.

At the risk of inviting a very mixed comparison, it had a very similar feeling to a Grateful Dead show. Masses of people being pulled inexorably forward in music, singular purpose of mind and an energetic enthusiasm unlike any other [concert] [worship experience]... they both share a great deal in terms of how I engage(d).

I experienced some powerful things during this service. 

About an hour into it, I was feeling something akin to exhaustion and walked to the back of the church. I took a few deep breaths and walked around for a while. I sipped some coffee and set my head back on straight.

As I went back in, I experienced more of the same. A crowd that was pleading for the fiery presence of the Spirit.

Eventually, the energy died down (just a little, really) and a sermon happened...

The sermon was excellent and spoke in clear terms about warfare. Additionally, there was a very clear theme that we are in a different time... right now. 

Candidly, I would have been rather surprised if the sermon weren't about these unprecedented times. 

The sermon was entitled "The Gates of Hades Will Not Prevail."

Boom.

Chris, the pastor, who was good enough to introduce himself to me before things got underway, is a powerful orator.

III

Did I "feel" anything unusual at Fire Church? Yeah, I actually did. At one point, I started to sing a song that came to me. Like a new song. With some of the words of this mysterious song, I would hold onto the vowel sound and let it flow through me for an extended period of time.

It may sound like people in the room would have stared at me as if I had gone mad. But I assure you, there were myriad intense things going on in that room and no one gave me a second look. 

I am still processing that song thing, so I won't say more about it right now.

During much of the service, the man behind me spoke in tongues. It sounded exactly like the utterances I heard in 2005, when I saw my friend (who is actually the same guy who mentioned Fire Church to me!) speak at St. Giles Presbyterian Church in Charlotte. I heard tongues that night. 

Those have been the only two times that I have heard tongues, but in neither instance did I feel anything except peace and amazement.

So, what to make of the presence of the Spirit on a personal level?

I suppose I am thinking about it with a paradox in mind. The strength of God's presence needs to be handled like a fragile egg. With great care I will continue to explore this Holy Spirit experience, ensuring that I don't get in my own way and get hooked on the excitement and adrenaline-rich nature of such worship.

Toward that end, I would do well to consider my favorite verse, John 3:30.

It is when John the Baptist was surrounded by a crowd of the spiritually lit of Ancient Israel. The crowd was offering their allegiance to him. Even though a new One had come, they weren't clear on who was who and what was what.

John the Baptist divested himself of these potential devotees, pointed to Yeshua and said simply, "He must increase, I must decrease."

And as I watch what is unfolding in my life right now, I say the same... with great gratitude.

He must increase, I must decrease.

Amen.

17 :: A Chance Encounter, Romare Bearden Park

 

This blog is named "...where 2 or 3 are gathered..." This post will honor that rubric, as it describes an unusual experience I had with one or two other people. I worshiped for a moment last evening with someone who was on fire in her own unique way. It made a profound impact and it's fair to say that it qualified as a "church experience."

Tuesday evening, August 25th. 

I was walking from my new home over to Reid's Fine Foods. I go over there just to get out of The Vue and walk around. This quarantine and full-time remote work sometimes has me in a challenging state emotionally due to the lack of mobility.

I wander by nature and was scratching my wander-itch last evening. I do that most days.

As I cut through Romare Bearden Park, I noticed a group of people assembled around a table. Jesus Saves stickers. Bibles. Talking to people around them.

Being how I am, I stopped and spoke with them. This group was part of Tent America, a revival group. The Tent America table in Romare Bearden Park was sponsored by local churches and had a small crowd milling around.

Interesting.

Included in the group of people was a woman named Wendy. As I was talking to the leader of the Tent America group, Wendy walked up and smiled at me. Her eyes were lit up. In the really good way. I smiled back and she interrupted our conversation.

In a flood of information, I learned that Wendy had been homeless and ended up in Charlotte from Florida about a year ago. Her children are alienated from her, and her boyfriend has oversight over them now. He lets her children smoke and drink, as did she when she was with them. She was in a car accident years ago that crushed her hand and left her with reduced use of it. She also had a torn labrum from the accident. It prevented her from being able to rotate her shoulder or lift her arm above her head.

I love extroverts, and am one. Wendy gave even me a run for my money on sharing, both in volume and speed. She gushed information and energy at me in a captivating way. I was focusing really hard to keep up with what she was saying.

Then she held her two hands out in front of me. I will fully admit, one hand looked very different from the other. Part of it was a difference in color, but also something about the shape. Both hands were healthy and moved perfectly in synch. 

No sign of injury in either.

She could move them equally.

The leader of Tent America watched me as I heard this and smiled in a reassuring way. Wendy was the real deal, is what her smile said.

Then Wendy spun her arm around in a 360-degree fashion. She lifted both of her hands above her head.

Her eyes were on fire and she explained that she had been homeless and was baptized two days ago. She kept saying with wonderment, "I was completely healed. I am well. My body and soul are clean now. I've been completely changed, Byl!" 

And on and on.

I held my arms out and she gave me a solid hug. For a long time.

The leader of the Tent America group then explained that they had been baptizing people every evening over by the baseball stadium. The leader explained that they had found Wendy days earlier and had ministered to her in her broken state.

I talked for a while longer and Wendy honestly seemed both stunned and ecstatic at what had happened to her. I eventually moved on and got over to Reid's. I came back to Romare Bearden Park a few hours later and checked in on the scene again. Wendy was dancing to the music (above) and occasionally stopping to tell a new person of the events that had transpired in her life.

I suppose there are only three options. 

1) Wendy was a con artist. The people from Tent America and she were mutually conspiring to mislead me and others. Of note is that they never asked me for anything. If con artists, it's not much of a scam to only share information of salvation. I mean, what kind of grifter would that be?

2) Wendy was indeed healed of many things, both inside and out. There's a psychological explanation to what Wendy experienced. It is to be understood in some sort of "mind over matter" phenomenon. The human mind and its manifestations are indeed very strong.

3) Wendy was knocked off her horse (broken body, heart and mind) on the Road to Damascus, by Yeshua, and was brought into an utterly new life (Saul becoming Paul) in an instant.

And here's the thing. One name for Yeshua is "The Great Physician." Healing bodies, minds, hearts and social relationships is documented as one of His manifestations. Would we have too small a faith if we relegated an experience of physical and spiritual redemption to either history or the realm of deception or some psycho-social suggestion?

Are the stories of such a redemption to be understood as only occurring two millennia ago?

I leave it up to the reader. Sit with it. Dig deep. Ask what in your heart and mind makes God "unable" to do a thing. Look at what a layer of cynicism (we all have some) can do in terms of putting God in a smaller box than what He offers.

As I walked around and pondered what Wendy's testimony might or might not mean, I kept my eyes open for things that might speak to me on the subject.

This did:

And this did:

I finally ended up later in the evening at a courtyard of an apartment complex where I have been sitting and praying and thinking on and off for decades. I was still full of the energy that Wendy was pouring out into the world. So much to think about.

My hope is that we can create space for each other's stories of redemption and deliverance. Doing so takes trust and, in fact, some form of innocence, and perhaps even love.

And love, dear reader, is the raw material from which a New Heaven and a New Earth will arise.

Oh, and for the record... I believe Wendy.

16 :: New City Church, SouthPark

 

This morning I worshiped at New City Church in SouthPark. This congregation is right around the corner from where I lived for many years, the Montibello neighborhood. Until 2018, this was the location of Church at Charlotte. During that year, Church at Charlotte and New Church merged into a new church named New City. New City has multiple campuses, including Matthews, SouthPark, Idlewild and an "online campus" (a new concept that is, of course, growing in the current environment).

If that all sounded like a great deal of detail and an egregious overuse of the word "new," suffice it to say I worshiped at New City Church at the 8:15 service this morning. The church holds two contemporary services after the 8:15 is over.

I had seen the sign change names in recent years during one of my infrequent visits back into South Charlotte, my erstwhile stomping grounds. Now I have more context on this merger and why the name changed.

I'll start the details section of this post with a question for the reader - Do you know who Bill Gaither is? I did not, beyond some vague sense that he might be a gospel singer. But this morning I sang songs by Bill Gaither in a crowd that was filled with seasoned citizens. It spawned a great deal of thought.

First, a few observations on the physical campus, the initial impression of every church. 

This place is really big. It sits at the base of some rolling hills and across Carmel Road for a pond. As such, it holds the characteristic lushness that characterizes so much of South Charlotte. You can see that the multiple buildings of this campus are infused with life and greenery. I believe my eyes see this in a new way because of my current domicile being in the urban center of Charlotte.

Here are some pics, inside and out:

An expansive and solid place, as you can see.

Because I went to the 8:15 service, I didn't experience the big sanctuary that you see above. I was brought into a smaller service in a rather small room that had a tiny group of worshipers (maybe twenty of us), virtually all of whom are slightly more seasoned than I. And thus I heard (and sang) some traditional hymns that I knew well, as well as some new songs by Bill Gaither.

We sang from a printed sheet, as well as had a chance to read the song from the screens at the front.

Gaither lyrics seen below:

There was a gentleman leading the group through the singing who was clearly classically trained and had a great baritone voice. He brought the rest of us through multiple songs. Then we transitioned into the section where the announcements and the sermon took place.

That came with a jarring rock and roll riff as the previously-black screens in the room burst into a nice color of blue and lit up at the same time. It was a moment of pivot, where the previous tone of worship shifted from traditional to modern. After the announcements, I picked up that I was in my first experience with a pastor being piped in, or perhaps on a taped sermon. 

As the shift happened, the body language of the people in the room indicated that they may have had some discomfort in the context switching that is required to go from "old church format" to "new church format." I don't believe I imagined it and I was sitting in the back, so I could see everyone.

No living pastor. A pastor on video. Soothing hymns were immediately replaced by guitar riffs and words pulsating on a bright blue background.

Switch.

I had heard of being in a church watching a video sermon, but have never attended such a service before.

Here are some pictures from the switch and the sermon, which was from the Book of Nehemiah and explained the value of waiting for God's will:

It was a meaningful sermon and provoked thought. Patience in all things with God is essential to growth and I appreciated hearing that reiteration. The quality of the preaching was solid and I got something out of it. It provided a reflection on an idea that had been acknowledged in my mind before in a vague way, but it brought the idea of divine waiting into stark relief. Nice sermon from Chris Payne, Senior Pastor of New City. 

That is what good sermons are meant to do - make you think. Mission accomplished. 

And I got to learn something about the Medo-Persian Empire. Win, win.

Later in the morning, I went to Freedom House in South End. I experienced a very different worship experience, one I have become a bit more accustomed to and really enjoy. Top notch band, a place where the worship style vacillates between enthusiastic and ecstatic, and the sermon addressed themes that were powerfully relevant to the current state of the world (Diana Henderson nailed it today!).

When I attend an early church service, it is because I often hit Freedom House at 10:45, which I do with some frequency now. Additionally, I seem to have hit a cadence where I am in back-to-back Sundays that switch between traditional and non-traditional church (I would say "modern," but I am still at a loss for what to call Morningstar Ministries!).

And that brings me to my pondering for today that was stoked by my very enjoyable worship at New City this morning. 

The global church is changing. Everywhere. And it needs to change. The world is on an accelerated trajectory to a new place and has been for a while. As the world itself changes so rapidly, the church needs to evolve in-kind. The church needs to be the institution that unleashes the Holy Spirit into the world and knocks its worshipers off their feet. 

Yet we are also exhorted to be meek and mild.

The Holy Spirit can be a rush of mighty wind akin to a hurricane. It can bring an otherwise composed man to tears. It can crack boulders, cause the earth to shake, tear a thick veil in a temple in half and bring the dead to life (Matthew 27:51-52).

Yet God spoke to Elijah in a gentle whisper (1 Kings 19:12).

There are many such dichotomies in the romancing of our hearts by God. A great dichotomy that we are invited into is Yeshua urging Christians to be... "as shrewd as serpents and as gentle as doves" (Matthew 10:16). 

The difference between the churches with the older format and those with the newer format evokes strong feelings and a substantial amount of debate. Regardless of what opinions we have on the matter, the imperative of the church is to be accessible to people and to be changing hearts in a world that desperately needs it.

Thus, the church needs to change and adapt. Not in message, but in format and style.

At the same time, we are a community exhorted to honor our fathers and our mothers. This includes our literal fathers and mothers, but also our spiritual fathers and mothers - those who kept the church alive during the time of their generation. Those who ensured the perpetuation of a two-millennia old community named the Christian Church. In the Southeast of the United States.... those are often people who love Bill Gaither hymns.

The church needs to ensure we have a place of community, appreciation and, indeed, honor for those people who are closer to the cusp of eternity. People that have no desire to rock out to Run to the Father (Freedom House absolutely crushed this song this morning, it's fresh on my mind). The church needs to ensure we create a space that is contextually familiar to people who are ingrained in the traditional format of worship. Their wisdom is the bedrock on which we are built. And we owe them a debt of gratitude!

This is where my head is this morning - pondering questions of a generational sort as the beautiful composition of Bill Gaithers still rings in my ears, blended in a confusing-yet-pleasing mélange with Run to the Father. And I am also resting on the larger dualism that is around and within all of us, Christian and non-Christian alike.

Before departing, I needed to talk to someone at length before departing New City Church. That's part of what I do. A gentleman named Martin stood at the side of the church in a mask, holding a sign that said "We're Glad to See You!" 

Martin was making the inbound families for the second service feel welcomed.

In recent conversations about MBTI and the Enneagram, I have become more clear that people engage with the world in very, very different ways. 

In Martin, I found someone who was my extrovert equal, at the very least. Martin told me about his career, the church he used to attend in Phoenix, the merger of Church at Charlotte and New City, as well as multiple things about his activities to keep himself busy in retirement. 

All in about five minutes.

Simply awesome to meet someone who is quick to share and so friendly.

This morning was a great time at New City, where I saw a new worship format (video taped sermon) for the first time, enjoyed a blended worship style that felt slightly discordant in some way, as well as pondering with respect and awe the men and women upon whom the church of 2020 was carried forward.

Thanks, New City. Peace to you.

15 :: MorningStar Ministries

 

This morning I worshiped at MorningStar Ministries in South Carolina, just over the state line. This was a bit of an unusual church visit, as this is what is called a prophetic church. Prophetic churches are based on the idea that there are divine dispensations in the form of knowledge that speak to both the present and, at times, the future. And those dispensations come through prophets. 

In the case of MorningStar, Rick Joyner is the prophet. 

To ensure I had an understanding of what is meant by prophecy, I looked it up:

proph•e•cy prŏf′ĭ-sē

• n.
  An inspired utterance of a prophet, viewed as a revelation of divine will.
• n.
  A prediction of the future, made under divine inspiration.

When I first drove onto the property of MorningStar, I was immediately struck by the massive apartment tower on the property. It was in a state of disrepair, as a long-term decision for the use of the place appears still to be pending. Then I noticed even more structures across this massive property, all of which seemed to have some level of repair that was needed. It was not terrible, but there's a general sense that things weren't in tip top shape on the exterior.

The back story on MorningStar is that this property is a holdover from a time when some noted televangelists in the 1980s had an idea to build a community that had retail, housing, schools, child care, places of worship and much more. That couple encountered hardship of their own and the place was essentially abandoned. In 1985, Rick Joyner and others converted the location into MorningStar Ministries. It has been a slow-but-sure process of emerging from the disrepair, it seems.

With all of that said, it is an expansive and impressive location that does have many nice attributes. There are places for people to live, you'll see a couple apartments among the pictures below:

I had a good sense that this was not an ordinary church, in large part due to reputation. My buddy Jamie attended here for a period of time, perhaps around fifteen years ago. Additionally, my friend Heather has a relationship with this place, more recently. She has not been a regular attendee for about six years. Finally, this afternoon I spent time with my youngest son Jonah and he told me that one time he had a sleepover at a friend's house years ago and the next morning the family brought him to MorningStar. 

That especially blew me away. I had no idea!

In summary, I have connections of mine who are linked into MorningStar. But, until this morning, I had never been there myself.

I arrived early for an hour of prayer at 10 am, in advance of the service at 11 am.

When I first arrived, I was greeted by a band rocking out, a frequent facet of churches in the modern era. The band was from South Africa and they were really solid. One song they jammed out kept repeating the word "Adonai" over and over again. 

Adonai is the Hebrew word for YHWH, it means "LORD." In churches of this sort, the linkages back to Israel and Judaism is very evident. It's both felt and seen. As an example, there was a point in the service where a pastor (not Rick Joyner) was on stage reading the Scriptures and bowing back and forth with his upper body. I saw this exact thing at the Western Wall in Jerusalem in 2017. This type of movement is called "davening." Additionally, there is a facet of MorningStar named Vision for Israel. 

At MorningStar, Israel has a strong ally.

Here is a picture of the South African band. You'll notice that where the meeting happens is a bit like a lobby of a hotel. 

After the band knocked out a few songs, they stopped and there were some announcements. Normal church fare, really. A few mentions of members who may have been sick, one or two who had passed away. A few references to meeting that would be held in the coming week.

Then the pastor told people that it was time to pray.

Things changed right then. 

People stood in small groups and started praying earnestly. The sound of hundreds of people whispering prayers in a free-form, energized style is not something I am used to hearing. It was deeply engaging. I stood to the side and prayed on my own. Words came out of me in a really unique cadence, where I was offering things up that related to prior thing. These were the themes in my life that I was offering up. 

It was strong.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and an older gentleman had joined me for a moment. He prayed for me and described us as lamps. He asked for divine oil to fill us up, along with everyone in the place.

It was at that point that I realized that I was in a place very unlike any other place I had ever been.

As the gentleman walked away, I peaked up from my solo prayer and scanned the room. There were some people being moved in unique ways. Physically. Like something was moving through them. Hands raised. Some bodies moving in unique directions.

Fascinating.

I kept praying for a while and then the pastor announced that people could continue to pray as long as they wanted, but that there would be a break before the 11 am service.

At that point, I wandered around for a bit and suddenly found myself holding a Bible I had picked up. I was reading the 12th chapter of Luke aloud. This is the chapter that I have read more than any other in my life. 

I'll say that it read slightly differently this morning than any prior read. Things jumped out at me that hadn't quite done so in the same way in the past.

Again, really different and powerful.

After the reading, I sat alone in an inner courtyard and watched doves ascend and descend on the many bird feeders in the courtyard. 

At 11, I returned to the inside of MorningStar for service. I had reached out to my friend Heather yesterday, knowing she used to attend MorningStar along with her husband, Sam. She said she hadn't been in ages and would be glad to attend with me. We chatted on the periphery of the service, observing the ecstatic worship that was going on. There were people on their knees, many people with their hands in the air, and one woman doing an elaborate dance with massive bolts of bright cloth swinging from a long metal pole. Some people were doing something that might be best described as dancing, but perhaps a little different.

Inevitably, we have now come to the part of this post that deals with the Holy Spirit, sometimes also called the Holy Ghost.

There were things happening in the center of the room, right in front of the stage, that made clear to me where the real party was happening. I told Heather that I planned to "go in" and experience it. I then walked into the middle of the crowd and felt the same thing that I have felt only a few times before. A huge wave of... something... hit me. 

Peace?

No question.

Ecstasy?

A form of it, for sure.

Power.

YES.

Conviction?

Undoubtedly.

Emotion?

Deep.

And... I wept. 

Most guys don't like to admit that too readily, so let me say a bit more.

If this experience is to be contextualized as my encountering the Holy Spirit (which I think it makes sense to do), I will note that I always have the same reaction. My heart breaks in a beautiful way, I guess I'd have to say. It's hard to explain. But it is unmistakable.

How much of this is psychology, how much of it is from within me, how much of it is truly divine... ?

These are very fair questions and I would never contest anyone's ability to ask such things. Or even to be utterly skeptical. I think some people would say that I was susceptible to group suggestion or even some mild form of hypnosis. 

Here's what I would counter with:

I've been me every second for the last 52+ years, I am fully acquainted with every part of myself. I can distinguish the endogenous from the exogenous (what comes from within versus what comes from outside) as it relates to my self. 

That kind of Spirit encounter and what it does to me is absolutely unique. And while it is experienced within, I do not believe it also originates from within. 

It's from outside of me.

Also, I can say that I am undoubtedly wired to experience things like this. When all of the factors line up just right, I become a divine mess. Every. Single. Time.

After a time, the ecstatic prayer died down. Rick Joyner came onto the stage and spoke for about an hour. It'd be hard to encapsulate everything he said, so I will go with the high-level details. 

• We are on the cusp of a new time. Right now!
• This is all going to get a good bit worse before it gets better. 
• When it gets better, it'll be better for eternity.
• We all need to prepare for what is ahead - mind, body, spirit.

There's more, but I don't feel like I can reasonably unpack it all here. Instead, I'd make an offer - if you have any desire to plumb the depths of our current situation, the coffee will be on me. Or the Zoom. Or the phone call.

Here is Rick Joyner, giving his word:

After the sermon, Heather and I talked for a long time. Virtually all of our discussion was on the subject matter from the sermon. It was good to have company with someone who knew the place, as well as has a solid grounding in prophetic ministry. Thank you, Heather. I am grateful for our friendship!

As we finished up, we walked around a section of the church that was like an internal shopping center of some sort. It was really unusual, but by this time I was completed free of any assumption that I was in an ordinary place. 

Here is a picture of that place:

Eventually, I emerged out into the light of day, nearly five hours after I had entered. Energized, a bit off kilter (in the good way), thoughtful about life's big question, slightly alarmed (but, I mean, aren't you?), filled with a discernible form of peace and ready to return back to whatever the Apocalypse is ready to throw my way.

I had a strong sense that this visit was going to be extra-ordinary church visit and I was not disappointed. 

Grateful for this experience. All praise is due to Adonai, now and forever. And thanks Rick Joyner and the crowd... y'all are indeed an interesting bunch.

14 :: Ascension Lutheran Church

 

Today I worshiped at Ascension Lutheran Church, near the center of Charlotte. Based on its position on Morehead Street, this is a church that literally has tens of thousands of people driving past it daily. It is an older church and when it was built, the traffic was not so dense and Charlotte was not so large. 

In short, this little church has seen a great deal of growth around it over the years.

Of interest, this congregation has a small section of its property set aside to minister to deaf people. It is called, somewhat intuitively, The Chapel for the Deaf. I don't know much more about it, but it is an interesting and noteworthy feature of this church.

While driving to the church, I had my windows down, enjoying a morning respite from the grueling heat of August in North Carolina. I told my phone to map me to Ascension Lutheran (I have an appallingly bad sense of direction, one of my few shortcomings). 

A woman in a car next to me smiled and yelled, "I heard you say Ascension! It's straight ahead, see you there!" 

On Sunday mornings, Charlotte can still feel like a very small city, it seems.

I parked and headed toward the church where I was met by a gaggle of kind, masked greeters. I had my temperature taken. Cleared to go in, I sat in a sanctuary that is built to look like an inverted boat, a very cool interior. 

Here are some pics:

It was easy to feel at ease in such a place. The Pastor was a very young guy, likely in the pulpit for the first or second time in his career, but he was a very personable and thoughtful guy. His sermon engaged me and made me think. More on that shortly. 

Here's a picture from afar of him in the act of preaching:

Three main things happened in my mind as a result of this morning's service.

First, I pondered the Lutheran denomination itself. I considered the fact that my Uncle and Aunt have historically attended a Lutheran Church, although neither were raised Lutheran. They are both from western Pennsylvania and now live in Charlotte, so I tried to think through the history of the denomination. 

Who are these Lutherans?

I know a bit about Martin Luther, father of the Protestant Reformation. The denomination carries his named and he was German. There were huge waves of German and Scandinavian immigrants to the US. Pennsylvania is the state that historically had a "Pennsylvania Dutch" population... and on and on I thought about what this denomination in the context of its part in the American spiritual landscape.

After the service, I found some validation for my musings. The below map is of Lutheran denominations in the US. Pennsylvania and Ohio are among the most dense. The Upper Midwest, where Norwegians, Danes and Swedes came in major numbers, is also heavy with Lutheran congregations.

This distribution is, of course, mostly an artifact of history. American Protestants who go to church largely ignore denominational distinctions, selecting the church that is the best fit for them based on style, format, social networks and perhaps proximity to home. But, seeing the historical distribution of where Lutherans have settled was interesting. 

Secondly, the sermon was thought-provoking. The Pastor described it as "a miracle" when an individual who was used to thinking about only him- or herself started to think of others. He said it is a miracle when the impulse toward self-centeredness is given over to consideration for the welfare of others. I have never heard the word miracle used in such a seemingly mundane context. 

A dead man rising from the grave after three days?

Miracle.

The lame walking?

Miracle.

Yeshua, Moses and Elijah transfiguring in light on the top of a mountain?

Miracle.

Someone healed of a grievous illness without explanation?

Miracle.

A person no longer thinking of themselves first?

Sure, that change of heart writ large could change Charlotte and change America and change the world, but that's not like...

Miracle.

Ok, but....

Miracle.

I stopped thinking about anything other than what insights might be coming from the sermon. It is a deeply profound point. 

What examples are there of hearts that shift from a self inclination into compassion for others? 

Two people choosing each other as partners through life. Parents creating a child through their bodies and focusing on the nurturing of new life that follows. Stopping to talk to a homeless person even though you might already be late for something. A comforting touch to someone weeping.

Miracles?

Miracles.

It's actually a beautiful sentiment and I'm still pondering it. There are mountaintop experiences that rewrite the heart in a split second. There are divine encounters that can knock a man off the back of his horse and rob him of his vision. There are events that mark the opening of a covenant as a man stares into a bush that is consumed in a fire that does not destroy it.

Those are miracles.

Then there are mundane acts that are a sign of a human heart that has pivoted away from self-absorption and into active love.

Those are also miracles.

I'll sit with this idea for a while.

Third and finally, I reflected on water as a spiritual theme. I was sitting in a place that looked like an upside-down boat, after all. 

The New Testament reading this morning was the story of Peter getting out of the boat and walking on water for a moment. Water is in the first chapter of the Bible, as the face of Adonai moves over the watery chaos. Water is used to baptize. Yeshua and a woman met at a water well and spoke about her soul. Moses smashed his staff into a boulder and water gushed out, slaking the thirst of the Israelites wandering the Desert of Sin. Even Yeshua Himself is referred to as the provider of Living Water.

And on and on it goes. 

Water as spiritual simile. 

I have a Psalm that I have always enjoyed a bit more than the others. It is Psalm 42, where verse 7 says, "Deep calls to deep in the roar of your waterfalls; all your waves and breakers have swept over me." 

When I read this Psalm years ago, I was going through an interesting spiritual phase during which there seemed to be new depths carved out in my life. Deep calling unto deep.

The imagery of being struck by waves and billows of water appealed to me and seemed to match what I was going through. Being tossed to and fro by the power of moving water can be intimidating, even lethal. Yet if one learns not to fight that power and even yield to it, one can frolic, be transported elsewhere and perhaps even joyously surf!

The Holy Spirit pours like water, too. I see that now.

At the end of the service, an usher named Scott with whom I had chatted upon entering spoke to me. He said he hoped I had an amazing experience on my "sojourn" to one hundred churches. He also used my name, which I had stated in the brief exchange. 

An usher with a warm smile and a kind word who was polite enough to recall my name... evidence of basic goodness and one person thinking about another. It reminded me that miracle do indeed still happen in mundane ways and even in little exchanges.

I had a great time at Ascension Lutheran Church this morning. It's a special place to ponder small miracles that can have a huge impact.

13 :: The Cathedral Church of St. Patrick

Today I worshiped at The Cathedral Church of St. Patrick, a beautiful church that I have walked and driven past for decades in Charlotte's Dilworth neighborhood. This was my second Catholic Mass as part of this spiritual shift. I enjoyed myself... although I would offer this was more of an aesthetically gratifying morning than a spiritual one. 

More on that below.

The approach to the church reminded me what a beautiful property this is. This Catholic Church is more than eighty years old, making it one of Charlotte's oldest Catholic congregations. And this church was founded when there were still relatively few Catholics in the South. A true gem.

Like most Catholic Churches in the South, you'll notice the statue of the Virgin Mary is in the back. This degree of self-consciousness on the part of Catholics in this region dominated by Baptists is a complicated thing. But being raised in the part of the US with the highest percentages of Catholics in the US, it is a difference that I definitely noticed when I moved down here. 

And that self-consciousness is certainly no longer the case.  Charlotte's Catholic community is huge and vibrant now.

Here are some pics:

The interior of the church was among the nicest I've ever seen. The combination of age, unique artwork, as well as the naturally exotic nature of a Catholic Mass to a lifelong Protestant made for a great deal of staring on my part. Stained glad windows, the bas relief Stations of the Cross, artwork across the ceiling, ornate tile work - all simply stunning.

This structure stood in some contrast to St. Gabriel Catholic Church, a more modern church building and the only other Catholic Church I have been to in Charlotte.

Some glimpses for you:

The Mass itself was candidly a bit... challenging in a couple ways. 

First, there was a child screaming in the balcony (the place where the choir sings in a Catholic Church) during the whole service. I revel in hearing babies shriek and squeal in church, historically. It is a reminder of new life and is always to be celebrated within the walls of a holy place. 

With that said, this young one was almost forming sentences. Far too old to be yelling like that. Plus, it went on for the full seventy-five minutes. And the obligatory exit on the part of the parent or caregiver, with child in tow, never took place.

Patience and deep breaths can clear the mind spectacularly, I remembered. And that worked. 

Candidly, I think I owe the rowdy tike a debt of gratitude for making me meditate in church. I am better for having done it.

Secondly, the Priests at St. Patrick's are both from outside the US. One is from Latin America and the other from West Africa. The Priest from West Africa gave the homily. It was about Yeshua feeding a multitude with a modest number of loaves and fishes. The idea was that there is enough bounty on Earth for everyone's needs.... but not for everyone's greed. 

Beyond that, I had a very difficult time understanding him.

I didn't feel my mind or heart pierced by God's Word this morning. It certainly wasn't his fault, but I couldn't wade through the accent. 

How did I occupy myself while hearing a screaming child and a nearly incomprehensible homily? I thought about the Protestant Reformation.

How was it that I ended up being raised as a Protestant when some people in my lineage were certainly Catholic? With an ancestry that is heavily tied to the British Isles, I undoubtedly trace back to some Catholic ancestry. Who were they? Who made the change? When?

As I pondered this during Mass, I did some math on this subject. 

Let's assume that many or most of my Catholic ancestors became Protestants four hundred years ago. And let's assume that my average ancestor was twenty-five when they gave birth to my next ancestor. That means that it was a full sixteen generations back that most my ancestors would have made the sectarian change. 

And four hundred years ago I had a whopping 65,536 people in my lineage!

Yes, by these assumptions, there were more than 65,000 people who were alive at the same time and in my family tree. 

Who converted in secret? Who went to war over the schism? Who simply became Protestant when Scotland did? Who changed out of convenience, or love, or perhaps laziness? Who was born from above in a radical transformation? Who acquiesced to what their parents taught them from birth? Were homes divided over the religious convulsions of the time? Were marriages tried and tested... even broken? 

Indeed, what happened over the full arc of human history that caused me to be the Protestant in the Catholic Church in Charlotte, North Carolina this morning?

Surely, there are myriad stories to which we cannot be privy. But I am sure there are some exquisite lost tales.

I snapped back to attention when the service was over and the people got up to depart. As I left, I noticed that the next Mass was going to involve a Byzantine service. From what I could tell, there was an Orthodox Priest wandering into the Church for the next service. 

I am candidly bummed I missed that. I bet it would have been interesting to see these Brothers in Christ share space with each other, despite the upheaval that was caused between their faiths by the Donation of Constantine, the document which split East from West (and is widely believed to be a forgery!).

Here's a pic of that Orthodox Priest:

I hope it was fascinating and enriching for all.

Peace unto you, St. Patrick's.