Last Sunday I was in Cuba and went to four different churches in the morning. (I’m not implying that you are a slacker for only attending one church last Sunday morning, I’m just reporting that I happened to be in four). In fact, I’ve known people (nice people) who don’t make it to four church services in a month. Since all the churches were wesleyan in theirleanings, one could say on Sunday I experienced a Wesleyan quadrilateral of worship. (That was a little theological humor for the two Wesleyan theologians who still happen to read these musings. Don't sweat it− they didn't think it was funny either.) And don't be too impressed by my worship-times-four morning− according to our Sunday School counter extraordinaire, Ruth Vail, I only get credit for one Sunday attendance in my permanent record in heaven. Ruth knows these things.
The first church wasn’t technically having a service when I was there— but I was still there with the pastor and the folks on our Cuban Partnership Vision Team− and we prayed together. Haven’t you ever read the verse about if two or three are gathered in Jesus name? I say that counts.
The second church was meeting in a shed. A small shed. Behind a small house that most of us would say also looked like a shed. I’m not sure which was bigger the worship house shed or the house that looked like a shed− or exactly what differentiated the shed from the house. But I know this—the people were praising the Lord as if they were in the biggest church in the world. They didn't seem to mind that they were worshipping the Creator of the universe in a shed.
The third church we referred to as the “bouncing church” because they were bouncing as they praised the Lord. They were singing loud, waving their arms like they were trying to run down a city bus in New York City, and, of course, bouncing like their shoes were equipped with springs. We could use a little more bounce in our church. Bouncing is good.
The last church allowed me to preach. No one bounced when I was done—but they didn’t throw rotten tomatoes or, more probable, rotten mangoes either. So I’d say it went well.
Here’s what I observed in the four churches I visited last Sunday:
No one seemed to care that the music was loud.
No one complained that the pews weren’t padded (maybe if our pews weren't padded we'd bounce more).
No one seemed to care that the conditions were not pristine.
No one seemed to notice that the preacher didn’t have a tie on. (Well, I preached in a tie, but the guy in the shed didn’t have one.)
No one fussed that the sanctuary was too cold (with 70 people jammed into the shed on a tropical island, I don't think that is ever a problem).
No one seemed bothered with the expectation that every member tithe. (In all four churches, even the shed, there was a tithing billboard next to the door with an envelope for each member to contribute. They all did.)
No one seemed to look at their watch to see if it was time to leave or checked for the latest news on their iPhone− they simply worshipped God with all their heart, soul, mind and strength until they were done (OK− truth be told, I don't think any of the folks even owned a watch and I doubt they had ever seen an iPhone).
The people gathered with one purpose: they were there to praise the Lord and praising the Lord is exactly what they did. I kind of wish we were more like that.
I wish all the external things that occupy our time and thoughts on a Sunday morning were put away, and we just determined to worship God when we gather. I hope we could be like my new found Cuban friends. Not worry so much about many of the things we worry about, and just gather in Jesus name, ready to be fully engaged in worshipping and praising our God.