scripture
A few thoughts on formation
Sunday in an adult forum discussion at church we talked about how our theology is formed by prayer, and our prayer shaped by our singing, and today that leads me down the rabbit hole thinking about formation.
When I was in first grade my church started an AWANA program. Being the over-achieving type, I started with the kindergarten-level book, started memorizing bible verses, caught up the year I’d missed, and kept memorizing all the way through high school. I have written before about the misgivings I have about the way AWANA selectively chooses memory verses to push a specific theological perspective. But for better or worse, I was formed by those verses. They are phrases that immediately jump to mind in any appropriate (and sometimes inappropriate) situation. The beautiful cadences of the King James Version are forever burned into my neural pathways.
There were other formative works. As a tween I read the covers off the paperback box set of The Chronicles of Narnia. I was reminded of this last week on Thanksgiving when a friend’s daughter tried to pull a classic children’s prank on me. I really should’ve given her the joy of pulling one over on the old guy, but I’m too competitive for that, so instead of biting on the joke I gave a sideways answer, deflating her 10-year-old anticipation just a bit. Her mom then asked me what the discussion was about, and I related the story, chuckling “do you think I didn’t try that same prank when I was your age?” Immediately my friend spoke a line that reminded me that she, too, was formed by those books. “Do not cite the Deep Magic to me… I was there when it was written.” This is the power of formation. You don’t go searching for a line like that deep within your memory banks when it’s needed. It’s already so ingrained in your mind that it’s just the first, most natural thing to come out.
It need not be from sacred or serious sources. (I can’t hear someone say “bye, boys” without at least silently tagging on “Have fun storming the castle!”, nor can I hear someone say that they’ll “ping” someone without mentally following up “one ping only, please” in my best Connery-esque pseudo-Russian accent.) This brings me back to the prayer book.
I was first introduced to the Book of Common Prayer through Brian Zahnd and his prayer school. Brian is doing an interesting mix of evangelical, Pentecostal, contemplative, and traditional prayers within his prayer approach, and while I haven’t adopted it for the long term, it was my first taste of what my now-Episcopal self knows to be classic texts from the prayer book.
Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you, in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
For the sake of your son Jesus Christ have mercy on us and forgive us, that we may delight i your will and walk in your ways to the glory of your name. Amen.
I remember coming upon those words for the very first time and thinking “wow, this is so beautifully… comprehensive”. It covers things clearly, specifically, with reference to scripture, without dropping down into excruciating detail about each individual sin… what a brilliant confession! Really wise words! Oh naive evangelical that I was, not knowing the riches shared by those who had gone before.
Over the past 18 months in the Episcopal church there are new words forming me.
We believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is, seen and unseen…
It is good, and a right and joyful thing, always and everywhere, to give thanks to you, Father almighty, Creator of heaven and earth…
The gifts of God for the people of God. Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.
The body of Christ, the bread of heaven…
Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep….
As Rich Mullins said in an appropriately-named song: I did not make it—no, it is making me.
And I have now written an entire post about formation without even touching the topic of singing… that will have to keep for another time.
Psalm 126
1 When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dream.
2 Then our mouth was filled with laughter,
and our tongue with shouts of joy;
then it was said among the nations,
“The Lord has done great things for them.”
3 The Lord has done great things for us,
and we rejoiced.
Psalm 126 has been chasing me around this past year. I read it shortly after the COVID shutdowns started in March 2020. Our church had just stopped meeting in person on Sundays. I was the music ministry leader, and I made a mental note to remember this passage for when we started meeting again. Once things got back to normal, I thought, that first Sunday back would indeed feel like a dream, with good cause to rejoice.
Three months later our church’s insistence on a mask-optional reopening was the last straw in a multi-year struggle over whether to stay. I resigned from my music ministry duties and let the pastor know we’d be looking for a new church once things reopened.
It’s now January 2021 and we’re still waiting.
4 Restore our fortunes, O Lord,
like the watercourses in the Negeb.
5 May those who sow in tears
reap with shouts of joy.
This past summer a friend invited us to join their church group’s Zoom meetings. They’ve been a godsend this year — a regular time of discussion, prayer, and Bible study with some likeminded people. It’s not the same as a local in-person meeting, but I’m already anticipating the loss when they start meeting in person again and the Zoom is no longer available to us.
2020 was hard for lots of reasons, in lots of ways; some of them public, some personal. One Monday last month during Advent, the pastor of our online group had us read this psalm. It felt different. There’s still a lot of going out weeping, a lot of sowing tears. We’re still in verses 4 and 5. Searching for hope, praying for joy on the other side of all this sadness. It’s January. The days are short and cold. I always feel fragile in January; this year even more so.
At this point in a post like this there are traditionally some words of hope, something about spring coming and things getting better. But I don’t really have those words in my heart today.
I’m thankful there’s still a verse left in the psalm.
6 Those who go out weeping,
bearing the seed for sowing,
shall come home with shouts of joy,
carrying their sheaves.
Matthew 6, a modern paraphrase
Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.
So when you do your good deeds, do not announce them with hashtags, as the hypocrites do on Instagram and on Facebook, to be honored by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.
But when you do your good deeds, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your doing may be in secret. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
And when you have your Bible study and quiet time, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to do this with Twitter pictures of coffee and their Bible, and on Facebook statuses to “encourage” others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.
But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you.
Inspired by nothing in particular and many things in general.