When the Saints Come Marching In

When I was living in Phoenix a friend invited me to her new church. I told her I had looked at a number of churches when I moved there but that, as usual, none spoke to me in any real way. She was my age and had a similar opinion of religion (namely: There is probably some good there, but it’s not really for me). But this service, she said, was different. She was going there in part because of her kids, it was relevant to them, but the service also spoke to her.

I finally went with her. It was one of the first contemporary services I’d been to. The music was upbeat, powerful, and invigorating. It was also very successful in terms of the number of people it was drawing. This is a trend I’ve noticed ever since.

One of the first things I noticed at this church was that the cross was on the floor, leaning in a corner, as if it had fallen and someone had just stuck it there, out of the way. It almost looked forgotten. I commented on it to my friend, and asked her why it was like that. She didn’t know either.

When the service was over, a couple people sitting around us greeted us. One woman who had been sitting directly in front of us apologized for overhearing our conversation about the cross, and explained that for them the cross was no longer what matters, since Christ had arisen. There faith, she said, was in a living God.

That is all I remember of the service. I have no idea what was preached. But the cross on the floor, and the reason for it, has always stuck with me. Sometimes the simplest symbol can be the most powerful thing.

As it turned out, I wasn’t ready yet to consciously seek a relationship with God. I didn’t return to this church. But this experience was a small but important step in my journey. It is in part why as I begin my search for God it is a living God I seek. Most churches I’ve visited seem to have some notion that God lives. They at least threw out references to a living God from time to time. But most have failed to show that they really believe it. Either the message, or the music, or just the general mood has too often been more of mourning than rejoicing. One gets the feeling that their God is still up on the cross.

All this makes me think of the New Orleans style funeral services, where they are full of grief and mourning on their way to the gravesite, but then come back energized, happy, strutting around full of joy. Shouldn’t that be what a Christian service is like? Perhaps some quite reflection and contemplation in the beginning, perhaps even a little mourning at our fallen state, but then a joyous riot rejoicing our salvation – Christ Is Risen!

Isn’t that what distinguishes Christianity? Isn’t that its strength? Shouldn’t that be the focus? Isn’t the message one of Joy?


(Note: It would be a mistake to take this as a condemnation of any specific church. I fully appreciate that there is no such thing as a church that's right for everyone. It varies depending on one's path. My path, however, is such that I need the joyful noise approach.)

First published on MySpace, May 9, 2005