Snarky Church Lady

It takes nerve to write about her. But I was convicted today, because she was me.

I always go to church pumped for the worship music and fellowship. But today was different. I got a call last night that our praise band leader was ill and we’d be doing the traditional service rather than the contemporary format. I run the projector with the song lyrics, so it was just a heads up.

Or was it a hearts down?

My participation, interest, and thus my deepening of faith really ramped up when we started doing contemporary worship. For 5 years now, it’s been rockin’, jammin’ praise. Music I can sing to where nobody notices that I can’t carry a tune in a bushel basket. Or that I’m really doing the Milli Vanilli trick because, yes, I know all the words to all the songs, but dare not let my voice drown out that of my perfect-pitch husband. The few traditional services I’ve attended since then have felt rote, boring, and have left me less than passionate about worship. That always felt wrong, and provided me with some well-earned guilt. I should have it in my heart to worship and praise God no matter the environment.

But I needed a catalyst and I found it. Or rather, He met me where I was.

So here I sat, back in Old School church. On the way out the door, I made some snarky comment to my husband about going to the Adams Family service because that’s what organ music reminds me of. I wanted guitars, drums, and keyboards. Organs do nothing for me. In my mind, organs are made to be donated. I saw Chris Tomlin perform less than 36 hours ago. Don't give me organ music.

The words of the first song hymn brought my horrible attitude to a screeching halt:

“Blessed Jesus, Blessed Jesus, Hear us children when we pray…”

Immediately the vision of my Grandma B was in my mind. She loved that song. I loved her homemade bread, her sugar cookies, and the look on her face every time I walked through the door of her dilapidated, but immaculate house. My heart and my attitude softened.

But the part I really wasn’t going to like was yet to come – the liturgy. Though the words are straight from The Word, we had sung the same ones for so many years that they had become rote and meaningless and it wasn’t a part of the service I ever enjoyed.

“This is the Feast of Victory for our God…”

I was moved again. This time I was taken back 27 years and literally felt my 3 year old daughter standing on the pew next to me in her ruffle-butt tights singing at the top of her lungs:

“This is the feast of Hickory Dickory Dock….”

And I was barely able to flip to the next slide because my tears were blurring the screen. I was reminded of how far I’ve come in my faith walk. These old hymns were really a part of who I am and a stepping stone to where I am today. My preferences for worship have changed, but the God I worship is the same. He never changes. There’s a mouse in my hand and a monitor in front of me, but during the hymns, I’m doing the same “baby sway” as only a mother with a sleepy toddler in church knows how to do, even decades later, with no baby in her arms to sway.

“Beautiful Savior,

Lord of the nations,

Son of God and Son of Man!

Glory and honor,

Praise, adoration,

Now and forevermore be Thine.”

Little Miss-Smarty-Pants-Too-Good-for-Traditional-Worship was convicted.

And the thoughts of selling the church organ on eBay quickly passed.