I get bored in church.
A lifelong church addict, son of a preacher man, confessing, I feel relieved, unburdened.
I do not, however, attend a boring church. Neither of my pastors preaches boring sermons. They research wisely, tell good stories, are often funny, and challenge us to live faithfully in all parts of our lives. We in the pews are stimulated emotionally, intellectually, and spiritually.
We have creative services that include laypeople who express the gospel in myriad ways. Dancers dance; poets recite; actors act. Singers sing, sometimes songs one wouldn’t expect to hear in a church. We have had services with themes ranging from humor-as-grace to depression to righteous anger to “breaking up” Christmas—a service inspired by an Appalachians-partying-for-several-days tradition; it ends with a conga line snaking through the aisles.
If I’m bored, the problem is me.
Maybe I have SADD: Spiritual Attention Deficit Disorder.
Regardless how interesting a service might be, my mind scampers. I might think about a movie. Wasn’t that actor what’s-his-name, the same one in that whatchamacallit movie? Then I’m back to the sermon, urging myself to pay attention, then I’ve floated off to the movie. Or a photography exhibit at the High Museum of Art. That picture with the bridge and all those shadows was intriguing. Or what I should and shouldn’t put in our compost pile. Should I rinse the egg white residue out of the eggshells—to avoid attracting rats? I think of what I need to do that week, that afternoon, what I did last week, what I wish I had done last week.
Oh, look, Dolores has a new hair ribbon. Or did she wear it on Easter?
Once, out of some obligation that I can’t recall, I invited someone for dinner that I didn’t really want to share dinner with. The invitee said they couldn’t make it, and, instead of relief, I wondered: What’s wrong with me? Am I not likable? Did I offend them? Likewise, I felt bad about my bored-in-church problem until I devised a way to defeat (well, lessen) it: the alphabet.
I listen for words in the sermon that contain the letters of the alphabet, in order. When the sermon starts, I listen for a word that contains the letter “A.” If the preacher says, “Following Jesus means…,” I note the word “means,” then listen for a word that includes the letter “B,” and so on. The game usually breezes along until I reach “J,” not among the most commonly used letters, but since we’re Baptists, we fawn over Jesus, so “J” eventually appears–if not in “Jesus,” then “joy” or (in my progressive church) “justice,” or, if it’s Advent, possibly “Joseph,” although he is overshadowed by Mary and the Christ child.
“K” may take a bit to appear, but the real next snag (or, as my Mom likes to say, “bugaboo”) is “Q.” That letter is shackled by usually requiring a partner (“U”), so it doesn’t pop up willy nilly like, say, “E” or “T.” Fortunately, my church, instead of hammering away at the fundamentals of the faith, encourages “questioning.” It is a well-educated congregation, so I may hear fancy words like “quintessential.” Or “acquiesce,” as in, “Don’t acquiesce to temptation.” Or, since we’re a church that “welcomes and affirms” gay people, “queer.” The preacher might say a biblical story is “quite inspiring.”
If I hear a “Q” when I need one, I usually slide on through until I reach the last three letters: “X,” “Y,” and “Z.” “Y” is common, but not “X” and “Z.” I will hope the preacher says she has an “example” to illustrate the message, or that a peculiar passage of scripture (there are quite a few, you’ll discover, if you look), is “vexing.” Maybe she’ll refer to something in the “text,” a word academically trained folks are prone to use about the Bible.
By this point, the sermon is usually near the end, and if I advance past “X” and “Y,” my fingers are crossed as I hope, in the little time left, the preacher says the selected passage of Scripture has made her “realize” something. Or something she saw or read was “amazing.” (We don’t talk much about “evangelizing” in my church, alas.) Whenever “Z” does appear when needed, I celebrate, then start over at “A.”
That almost never happens.
Often, I never get past “Q.” If I do, I’m lucky to later hear an “X,” and it’s a miracle if I hear a “Z” at the right time. I wince when I hear “Q” or “Z” words early in the sermon, before I need them. “Quizzical” too soon? That’s a killer.
This game (in addition to helping me overcome boredom) helps me listen to sermons. Hopeful for the next letter, I follow the words closely. If there’s an inspirational point in there somewhere, I’m bound to notice.
FYI: A preacher could thrill me by sermonizing this: “A beacon to redemption for good heroes of faith is Jesus, who kindles many open questions that raise touching visions that reward excellent ways of being spiritually ablaze.”
I might shout, “Amen!”
Which is a start.
APRICITY 