I know it’s politically incorrect to admit this, but I’ve never been comfortable with the church’s fascination with inclusiveness. It’s seemed to me, we Presbyterians have become so fixated on including everyone who walks through our doors that we’ve excluded the One who is most important: Jesus.
Or maybe it’s just me who feels excluded.
The General Assembly’s Sunday evening worship service is case in point. I’m sure the high, Anglican-ish liturgy touched many in the congregation. But it left me feeling like I’d landed on Mars. How would I ever survive a week of this?
I assured my sons that the service did not represent the complete face of Presbyterianism in Canada. I told them the rest of Assembly would be different. Since I’d never actually been to an Assembly, though, I was pretty much whistling Dixie.
Then came Monday. A contemporary praise band lead us in a morning worship style more familiar to me. I knew the songs. I could raise my hands. (The lady beside me lifted her hands too.) And I felt like I’d come home.
Tuesday’s worship was more traditional. We sang hymns I’d memorized as a kid and again, I felt at peace worshiping within this group.
Wednesday our hymns of praise reminded me of the new Celtic influences in our churches—something I’ve been exposed to while we summer in Nova Scotia. And Thursday, well Thursday was downright contemporary Christian evangelical. Hallelujah!
Married to a minister I know that worship is more than music. Preaching is central. And I am pleased to report that no matter what the style of music and/or liturgy, the daily messages were God focused and Christ honouring.
On Thursday I was challenged by the concept that God created the church for the birds. (For those of you who missed that message, see Matt 13:31-32, the parable of the mustard seed. “It [the mustard seed] becomes a tree so that the birds can come and make their nests in its branches.”) Are our churches a place where the birds can come and abide?
This dove-tailed perfectly with two books I read this year: The Shack by William Young, and The Music of Creation by John Michael Talbot. Both challenged the exclusiveness of my faith. No, they don’t preach a universalist’s doctrine, that there are many paths to God. They say God will take many paths to reach us.
I realize my theology has limited the approaches God is allowed to take. In doing that, I have limited Him.
Before arriving in Hamilton, I was told General Assembly was a gathering of the clans. So I kept my eyes and ears open. I watched for relationship-building experiences. I searched for where I fit amidst of the hundreds of people there. And I found it. No, I have not become an Anglicanized Presbyterian, nor a Celtic one. I may have ventured from my traditional roots to the evangelical (dare I say charismatic?) camp. But there is a place for me in the tree called the Presbyterian Church in Canada, and I now see that our inclusiveness means me too.
