This is an assignment I completed for one of my ordination courses. It's the the first installment in a two-parter, discussing and analyzing our common use and misuse of terms, specifically "worship" and "church". This lesson deals with the first word, "worship". This lesson is complete with speakers notes and a booklet that can be used by those listening and learning.
The Movie
I went to see "the King's Speech" a little while ago with my wife and my parents, who were over visiting us (I'm from Wales and live in Canada). I love the movie. It's exceedingly well done: wonderful cinematography, a great story and an insight into a slice of history that most of us would have, otherswise, had very little knowledge of. Plus it stars three actors for whom I have a lot of respect: Colin Firth, Helena Bonham Carter and Geoffrey Rush.
There was a sense almost of reverence in the movie theatre as the story played out. As a friend of mine commented, it's rare that people will applause at the end of the film. But at the end of "the King's Speech", they did. Without a doubt, it's a rousing, life-affirming account that humanizes royalty and reminds us that societal strata form no barrier to the most inexplicable of afflictions; in this case stuttering.
I am a stutterer
But "The King's Speech" was particularly poignant to me. You see, I am a stutterer - at times I'm recovering, at other times regressing. I prefer saying stutterer to stammerer because of the onomatopoeic irony: the noun sounds like the sound, it's a term fraught with consonant-rich pitfalls for those inflicted with the impediment.. You can tell a lisper by how they say "lithp". You can tell a stutterer by how they stutter over the word st-st-stutter. I know Bertie uses the word stammer in the movie, and I use it too, sometimes. But for poetic injustice's sake, I will use stutter here. As an aside, my singing voice has always been exempt from this speech impediment. I'm sure there's a physiological or psychological reason. If only life was an opera, and I could sing my way through life...
Stuttering as a child
Some of my most formative childhood memories are spotlighted in my consciousness by the considerable stress stemming from my stutter.
Like the time I was playing the Psalmist David in my Church in Wales Primary School play. I had an angelic singing voice, but a devilish st-st-stutter After all these years, the relief is still palpable upon remembering my then-best-friend John Harris, rescuing me from an impassible vocal block by an ingenious save. Upon seeing my struggle, he proceeded to turn my question into his statement: "I bet you're wondering..." he said, continuing to say my line. I nearly collapsed with gratitude.
I remember when I was in comprehensive school we were all required to read out loud and I cannot express the dread that would sit, knotted and grotesque, in the pit of my stomach as I waited for the death knell signifying my turn to read. Though my teacher required us all to read, I was mercifully usually given small parts. But those small parts tended to grow out of all proportion in my mind, becoming the enemy. I used to flick forward in my book, looking ahead to my (usually singular-sentence) part and count down the pages, inwardly pleading for the bell (signifying the end of class, and my reprieve from a fate worse than death) to ring.
In this class, there was a boy who delighted in tormenting me because of my stutter and the facial contortions that ensued. His impersonations weren't that great: nothing like the real thing. But still they were like a knife to my heart. One time he mocked me and, driven by irrepressible rage and impotent outrage, I ran round to his side of the table and punched him. The manliness of my just onslaught was somewhat offset by the fact that I was crying like a baby. But beggars can't be choosers. The result was that I hit him, and he got in trouble. For that instant, life was sweet. Plus the fact that girls used to think my stutter was cute or adorable. Which would simultaneously infuriate and please me.
Oh, and I hated my name. I wished I was called Oliver or Sam; a name that lacked the curse of the hard first syllable. I would dream of walking up to people and saying "Hi, I'm Sam". I didn't dream of being Prime Minister or a Mighty Morphin' Power Ranger. I dreamed of being called Sam. I dreamed of speaking without resorting to facial contortions, tricks or run-ins to say what I wanted to say.
God's sense of humour?
All of this makes the fact that I am now a preaching Pastor even more ironic. That I can stand in front of people and speak, read, enunciate, articulate and express myself is a gift I revel in and do not take lightly. That being said, stutterers do generally have a good vocabulary - they are a veritable walking thesaurus of all the alternate, and easier, ways of saying what they really want to say! You see, I've always been the witty one, the funny one, the one with insight and the clever comeback. The only problem was, no one knew it except me. As a stutterer, I describe myself as an extrovert trapped inside an introvert's body. I'm not trying to compare the two in kind or severity when I say that stuttering to me has been a mental form of quadriplegia. But instead of being trapped inside my own body, I've been imprisoned behind my own tongue. Psalm 51:15 to me is not just a nice metaphor; it's has been an urgent literal scream of desperation: "Loosen my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise".
Crashing and b-b-burning
When I stand before the congregation whom I serve as Assistant Pastor, I treasure this gift of (mostly) fluency. I know that, by God's grace and my local church's love, patience and acceptance I've become a speaker, when I have no right to be. That's not to say it's always smooth sailing. This past Sunday for example was my worst, eloquence-wise, for a long time. I was tired (strike one), I was nervous (strike two) and I took on too much responsibility in the service (strike three and I was out). After leading worship for about 45 minutes I began to read the text from which I was preaching. I stumbled over one word and, like an over-extended runner, I began to trip, flail, overbalance; eventually falling gracelessly to the proverbial verbal ground. Thereafter it went from bad to worse. I must have stuttered every sentence. I managed to claw my way on all fours towards the finish line and, when the final word of communion was u-u-u-uttered and the congregation was dismissed, I sat, exhausted in the sanctuary, too emotionally frail to meet my friends' concerned smiles or well-meaning encouragements or to perform the role of Pastor. I hung around for a bit, and then I went home and inwardly collapsed. I'm thankful that my wonderful wife knew me enough to pack me off by myself in the car to Starbucks to read my book in quiet. Just what the doctor ordered.
After the service, I journaled the following:
"I feel frustrated. I feel broken. I could not face people after the service; their pity or confusion or well-meaning encouragement. Lord, I feel like I let you down, but I can't help feeling like You let me down...
My greatest desire is to allow Your Spirit to convince others through my words. It's a fire burning in my bones; I cannot keep it in. See fit to free me for honest expression. I know there is a lot of self in these requests; but I had hoped that our interest in my fluency might be mutually beneficial"
The next morning, I spent a couple of hours on my own in the sanctuary, re-preaching the sermon to empty pews, so that I might be able to put into the hands of the people who graciously made it through the sermon on Sunday the 'intended result'. Did I preach the whole sermon again for God's glory or the sake of my reputation. I don't know. Perhaps both.
Deciphering God's will
It's at times like this when I question the will of God, too beat-up to pray for a miraculous healing (which I know God can do). It's at times like this when I wonder whether the best I can expect is to stumble through life, unfulfilled in what I think is my calling as a preacher. Perhaps my best work will be done on paper. Perhaps I should leave the ministry and, instead, work with my hands. I'm married with three kids, so becoming a monk vowed to silence is no longer an option. Who knows, perhaps God will raise me up, loosen my lips and I'll become the greatest expositor of scripture this world has even known. I doubt it, but it's nice to dream, isn't it? But that's the problem - stuttering makes one a realist. Life never is more real than when you've stalled your way through an agonizing preaching of God's word, followed by a backfiring observance of Holy Communion. If it wasn't so sad, it would almost be funny.
I still do get my "King's Speech" moments: when the stars seem to align and the words seem to flow and heaven seems to rejoice; people's minds get changed and the Church becomes a little more inspired towards holiness. However, I feel like right now I'm embroiled in the cursing scene of the movie instead: frustrated at my inability to articulate what I think would glorify God.
Making sense of it all
I vascillate between two poles - hope at what God can do in and through me, and the familiarity of self-loathing. I am grateful that at this moment in life, my life is lived largely at the former pole, with occasional days spent obsessing over the latter pole. I remember the despair from my childhood and rejoice that God has brought me thus far.
I know that my stutter has been formative: making me who I am. I know it's driven me to read and to write, because I need some outlet for what's inside. I know it's given me empathy towards people who are faced with struggles. I know it's helped tuned my inner-radar to those who exist on the periphery. I know that it's provided me with a sense of gratitude for what to many is a given: fluency. And when I do preach well - I know it's not me!
This may be my equivalent of Paul's thorn (1 Cor 12:7). It may be part of God's inconceivably great plan. God's ways are definitely higher than my ways, as are his thoughts (Isaiah 55:9). Whatever it is, I know that I am (mostly) thankful for it. And even now, still reeling after Sunday's sermon, as I'm eyeball to eyeball with my stuttering self; even as those childhood feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness are somewhat resurfacing; even as I wish, hope against hope, that this stuttering affliction could cease, and I could share with you from the side of victory; even with all of this, I have a sneaking suspicion that this bane of my life might actually be my greatest blessing. The means by which I am constantly driven back to the throne of grace as I flee from my own shortfalls. It's my quickest reminder that I'm not 'all that', when I'm tempted to think I am.
I was moved to write in my journal this week, after a study group at my house in which we discussed the persecution of the Christians (both historical and current), the following:
"Lord, I ask whether it is enough for me to know that you are Yahweh. Would it be enough for me to know that you are glorified in my stutter, even if You never intended to take it away. O God, I long to be free from it; to know the freedom of an untroubled tongue. Yet, my soul finds rest in God only. My hope is in You"
"Lord, I ask whether it is enough for me to know that you are Yahweh. Would it be enough for me to know that you are glorified in my stutter, even if You never intended to take it away. O God, I long to be free from it; to know the freedom of an untroubled tongue. Yet, my soul finds rest in God only. My hope is in You"
Everyone has warned me not to tell you what I am going to tell you in this last book. They all say ‘the ordinary reader does not want Theology; give him plain practical religion’. I have rejected their advice. I do not think the ordinary reader is such a fool. Theology means ‘the science of God,’ and I think any man who wants to think about God at all would like to have the clearest and most accurate ideas about Him which are available. You are not children: why should you be treated like children?
In a way I quite understand why some people are put off by Theology. I remember once when I had been giving a talk to the R.A.F., an old, hard-bitten officer got up and said, ‘I’ve no use for all that stuff. But, mind you, I’m a religious man too. I know there’s a God. I’ve felt Him out alone in the desert at night: the tremendous mystery. And that’s just why I don’t believe all your neat little dogmas and formulas about Him. To anyone who’s met the real thing they all seem so petty and pedantic and unreal!’
Now in a sense I quite agreed with that man. I think he had probably had a real experience of God in the desert. And when he turned from that experience to the Christian creeds, I think he really was turning from something real to something less real. In the same way, if a man has once looked at the Atlantic from the beach, and then goes and looks at a map of the Atlantic, he also will be turning from something real to something less real: turning from real waves to a bit of coloured paper. But here comes the point. The map is admittedly only coloured paper, but there are two things you have to remember about it. In the first place, it is based on what hundreds and thousands of people have found out by sailing the real Atlantic. In that way it has behind it masses of experience just as real as the one you could have from the beach; only, while yours would be a single glimpse, the map fits all those different experiences together. In the second place, if you want to go anywhere, the map is absolutely necessary. As long as you are content with walks on the beach, your own glimpses are far more fun than looking at a map. But the map is going to be more use than walks on the beach if you want to get to America.
Now, Theology is like the map. Merely learning and thinking about the Christian doctrines, if you stop there, is less real and less exciting than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. Doctrines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But that map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch with God-experiences compared with which any thrills or pious feelings you and I are likely to get on our own are very elementary and very confused. And secondly, if you want to get any further, you must use the map. You see, what happened to that man in the desert may have been real, and was certainly exciting, but nothing comes of it. It leads nowhere. There is nothing to do about it. In fact, that is just why a vague religion-all about feeling God in nature, and so on-is so attractive. It is all thrills and no work; like watching the waves from the beach. But you will not get to Newfoundland by studying the Atlantic that way, and you will not get eternal life by simply feeling the presence of God in flowers or music. Neither will you get anywhere by looking at maps without going to sea. Nor will you be very safe if you go to sea without a map.
In other words, Theology is practical: especially now. In the old days, when there was less education and discussion, perhaps it was possible to get on with a very few simple ideas about God. But it is not so now. Everyone reads, everyone hears things discussed. Consequently, if you do not listen to Theology, that will not mean that you have no ideas about God. It will mean that you have a lot of wrong ones — bad, muddled, out-of-date ideas. For a great many of the ideas about God which are trotted out as novelties to-day are simply the ones which real Theologians tried centuries ago and rejected. To believe in the popular religion of modern England is retrogression — like believing the earth is flat.
From The Joyful Christian by CS Lewis
In a way I quite understand why some people are put off by Theology. I remember once when I had been giving a talk to the R.A.F., an old, hard-bitten officer got up and said, ‘I’ve no use for all that stuff. But, mind you, I’m a religious man too. I know there’s a God. I’ve felt Him out alone in the desert at night: the tremendous mystery. And that’s just why I don’t believe all your neat little dogmas and formulas about Him. To anyone who’s met the real thing they all seem so petty and pedantic and unreal!’
Now in a sense I quite agreed with that man. I think he had probably had a real experience of God in the desert. And when he turned from that experience to the Christian creeds, I think he really was turning from something real to something less real. In the same way, if a man has once looked at the Atlantic from the beach, and then goes and looks at a map of the Atlantic, he also will be turning from something real to something less real: turning from real waves to a bit of coloured paper. But here comes the point. The map is admittedly only coloured paper, but there are two things you have to remember about it. In the first place, it is based on what hundreds and thousands of people have found out by sailing the real Atlantic. In that way it has behind it masses of experience just as real as the one you could have from the beach; only, while yours would be a single glimpse, the map fits all those different experiences together. In the second place, if you want to go anywhere, the map is absolutely necessary. As long as you are content with walks on the beach, your own glimpses are far more fun than looking at a map. But the map is going to be more use than walks on the beach if you want to get to America.
Now, Theology is like the map. Merely learning and thinking about the Christian doctrines, if you stop there, is less real and less exciting than the sort of thing my friend got in the desert. Doctrines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But that map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch with God-experiences compared with which any thrills or pious feelings you and I are likely to get on our own are very elementary and very confused. And secondly, if you want to get any further, you must use the map. You see, what happened to that man in the desert may have been real, and was certainly exciting, but nothing comes of it. It leads nowhere. There is nothing to do about it. In fact, that is just why a vague religion-all about feeling God in nature, and so on-is so attractive. It is all thrills and no work; like watching the waves from the beach. But you will not get to Newfoundland by studying the Atlantic that way, and you will not get eternal life by simply feeling the presence of God in flowers or music. Neither will you get anywhere by looking at maps without going to sea. Nor will you be very safe if you go to sea without a map.
In other words, Theology is practical: especially now. In the old days, when there was less education and discussion, perhaps it was possible to get on with a very few simple ideas about God. But it is not so now. Everyone reads, everyone hears things discussed. Consequently, if you do not listen to Theology, that will not mean that you have no ideas about God. It will mean that you have a lot of wrong ones — bad, muddled, out-of-date ideas. For a great many of the ideas about God which are trotted out as novelties to-day are simply the ones which real Theologians tried centuries ago and rejected. To believe in the popular religion of modern England is retrogression — like believing the earth is flat.
From The Joyful Christian by CS Lewis
Escaping the Island Adrian Plass
Those of us who have mapped out the geography of ourselves know what a dispiriting exercise this can be. We start off okay, marching boldly towards the edge of our talent or our goodwill or our patience or our generosity, and then, suddenly, we are brought up short by a precipice, usually at the point where we were just beginning to believe that the firm ground would go on forever. Setting off in a different direction, we find that exactly the same thing happens. In fact, it happens again and again and again, until we start to learn that there is a shape and a limit to what we are. For some this is a welcome piece of learning - Settle down and get on with it, they would say, but for others, those with the blood of explorers in their veins, it is a kind of prison - A kind of island. We look for enough compassion to truly care about the world and we find a pathetically limited ability to place our arms around the suffering of others. We search for the strength of will to set ourselves and those we hate free from chains of resentment and bitterness. Only to find weakness and a cherishing of hurts. We hunt within our hearts for the courage to fight when everything in us wants to lie down, and for the obedience to wait quietly when we are full of anger, but we discover instead a self-indulgence that will have what it is greedy for.
We stand on the shore of our own lives. Calling out to God that we can go nowhere unless He provides a way.
© 1999 Little Room Music
33 Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments and how inscrutable his ways!
34 “For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?”
35 “Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid?”
36 For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen.
1 I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. 2 Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.(Romans 10:34-11:2 ESV)
34 “For who has known the mind of the Lord, or who has been his counselor?”
35 “Or who has given a gift to him that he might be repaid?”
36 For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever. Amen.
1 I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. 2 Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.(Romans 10:34-11:2 ESV)