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tskerritt
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Name: Tom
Country: Canada
Metro: Toronto
Gender: Male
Interests: My primary interests have to do with theology and church history; perhaps the majority of my posts will have to do with this.
In addition I LOVE Seinfeld and wry sarcasm. People tell me I'm funny and I tend to want to believe them.
Expertise: Theology of the Protestant Reformation; Church History; 1980's cartoons; Seinfeld.
Occupation: Administrative
Industry: Nonprofit
Message: message me
MSN: semperreformanda10@hotmail.com
Member Since:
5/4/2005
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| Rockin' the GenevansSomeone, probably from the West Coast, rocks out to Psalm 24 in the Anglo- Genevan Psalter. It sounds decent.
Listen here.
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| VariaIt's Sunday morning, about 7am. As God would have it, I've been up for a long time reading. I remembered when I was in my undergraduate years I would read a smallish epistle or minor prophet every day for a month in order to really encompass the message of a specific book in detail. So I read First Thessalonians five times this morning and I have to say that I don't know why I ever dropped the practice. Let me commend it to you all.
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Yesterday evening I found myself with nothing to do so I went for a very long walk, about five hours to be exact. I was sauntering around the Eaton Centre and ran into a crowd listening to a man wearing a sandwich board, preaching repentance. I listened to the man and he was telling people that they should repent or they will go to Hell...nothing more. He started talking about the sexual sins, quoting liberally from the Old Testament (I had been listening for about 20 mins. at this point) when he said something that made my blood boil. "I once lived in sexual sin" he told the people "but I turned to Jesus...and have never even looked down that path." Without even thinking about it I found myself calling out to him from the crowd, easily drowning him out with my booming, loud voice "By that do you mean that you've never sinned sexually since you became a Christian?" I asked. "Not once, sir." He proclaimed without missing a beat. "Do you sometimes entertain lustful thoughts?" I asked. "Sometimes" he responded. "Well then" I intoned "perhaps you should be a little less accusatory to these people. Jesus says that if you look at a woman to lust after her, you've committed adultery. Perhaps you should be busy telling people about what Christ has actually done on the cross to destroy sin as opposed to merely telling people that they're going to Hell if only they 'repent' because it's very obvious that if He didn't die that death you're going directly to Hell too not only for adultery, but also for preaching a Christless, crossless 'gospel.'"
He said that I was preaching an easy gospel and accused me of being a liar so I left.
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I've noticed lately that in Toronto everyone and their dog is wearing a keffiyeh. During the offering at church a keffiyeh-clad youth got up and played the violin. They're even selling them at Le Chateau and Roots. Do people have no compunction about wearing an article of clothing associated with terrorism, rebelion and antisemitism?
What gets me upset is that if you ask them, they'll tell you it's only a fashion statement. If they're wearing it to identify themselves with the Palestinian plight, fine. But to wear one because it looks hip, with no regard for what it symbolizes is the height of glibness. To wear the symbol of evil men, bent on destroying civilization just because it's trendy is like wearing knee-boots with white laces and a swastika armband because it's cool.
Am Israel Chai.
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| Uh-oh...It's 10:30pm and I'm feeling the pre-sick. I'm ill very seldom but when I am...well it's not pretty. In fact it's horrid.
I pray that God will cause this to go away.
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| Why I can't budge.Preface
What follows are the details of a transforming experience I had in the Fall/Winter of '01-'02 that I've never told anyone the full details about. The reason is this: I had no idea what meant until this morning and even now I only see the implications of these events in part.
During my first year of Tyndale I applied to be a youth worker/custodian at an Anglican parish in a wealthy area of North Toronto, and got the job. Now at the time I was very Baptistic theologically but I was willing to overlook this and the fact that at the time they had a woman priest because it seemed like a good chance to gain experience in ministry; plus they were paying me close to double what I'd ever been paid before.
Due to the fact that I never really bothered to understand the situation among the mainline churches I was totally unprepared for the rank liberalism I faced as soon as I assumed my duties. The youth over whom I had charge had up until this point, I learned, were excused from the worship service, retiring to the youth lounge where they played darts and foosball and generally enjoyed themselves. Immediately I set about to change this; during my first meeting with the kids, after introducing myself and learning there names I told them that every week we'd study the Gospel of Mark until we were done the entire book. I told them that at any time they could ask me any question they wanted, but told them that while we'd do fun things, Sunday morning would generally be reserved to study. During that meeting there was about twenty people at the meeting. Over the next few months the numbers shrank and shrank until more often than not there were no youth at the service. Nonetheless every week I showed up with a lesson prepared. Even if there was only one kid, I'd give over the lesson...and more often than not it was impossible to generate any kind of discussion. On two or three Friday evenings I organized a games night, where the youth could come and pretty much have the run of the church facility. These nights, oddly enough, were attended by as much as thirty youth, all the while my Sunday morning class continued to dwindle.
The custodial end of my job I actually enjoyed, really enjoyed. On Friday evenings I'd show up in the morning and prepare for Sunday's worship services. I putting the hymn-numbers up on the board, printing the liturgy sheets, cleaning the silver communion ware and all the other little things I'd busy myself with. The church building itself was very old and full of interesting things to look at. In fact I enjoyed it so much I began to think I might to become a janitor (I'm serious).
One Sunday after church the priest approached me and asked if I'd like to preach in the service two weeks hence. I accepted the offer and immediately started to consult commentaries concerning the lectionary portion for that week, which had to do with the preaching of John the Baptizer in Luke 3. That Sunday I arrived in church and was startled to find that I was required to wear a big, puffy cassock with a huge oversized white t-shirt over top. Needless to say, as a Baptist I felt very silly.
The sermon, I thought, went rather well. I preached only for ten minutes, explaining from the text, utilizing three points that piety, prestige and parentage aren't what entitle people access to the Kingdom. Only the one to whom John pointed, the very substance of the Kingdom would. I have a hard copy of the sermon in front of me, and while I can't say that I was that profound, I was organized and sensitive.
No sooner than when I hung up my big, poofy dress, the priest bursts into the room, demanding to know why I was so "accusatory" and "insensitive" in my preaching. The content of my sermon, I assured her, was completely drawn from Anglican sources. She informed me that that was to be the last time I would address the congregation. I almost quit right there.
The very next Sunday I had all the motivation I needed to leave. In her sermon the minister made mention of the fact that "Christians, for the first 1,800 years of the church indeed believe that Jesus rose from the dead" then she let the cat out of the bag..."but we've got much better ways of explaining that now." After the coffee social I asked the priest to speak with me in her study. I explained that I could not continue my employment. Not satisfied to let me go, she demanded that I tell her why or I wouldn't get my final pay cheque. "1 Cor. 15 says that if Jesus didn't actually rise from the dead," I explained "everything we do here is vain and we're the most pitiable people in the entire world. When I became a Christian, I didn't sign up for that and I'm certianly not here to tell people they're losers." Seeing I was convinced, she told me that I didn't have to come back.
Life continued and I wasn't phased at all by the experience...at least not at this stage. One afternoon about a month after I left the church I was sitting in my room preparing for an exam. My phone rang and to my surprise it was the priest of the Anglican church. I had borrowed a book of hers, she told me, and that I should send it back. Now I wasn't in the mood to go back there so I said that I would mail the book back ASAP. I wanted to be polite so I asked about the church, to which she said everything was tickety-boo. I asked her how the youth programme was and after a long pause she said "They've all come back to church." I ended the discussion, and wished her a nice summer.
Neither before this experience or after have I felt something quite like what I felt after I hung up the phone. As the flaming darts of the enemy pierced my soul I was overwhelmed by a flood of sheer disappointment, fear and nausea. I ran to the bathroom and vomited, after which I showered and took a 3 hour nap. After waking up I remember praying to God that if there was something else other that my own failure working in that situation then He should let me know. I picked up a Bible and started reading 1 Corinthians and by the time I got to chapter two I found something I was sure was an answer from heaven. In 1 Cor. 2:2 Paul says "when I was among you I knew nothing but Christ and Him crucified." Paul, blessed with charisma and intelligence came to the city of Corinth and spoke to them about nothing but Jesus. It was this preaching about Jesus that brought these people to faith.
From that point I became 100% convinced that the Gospel is what God uses to bring people to salvation, not gimmicks. Yes there are times when there is no discernable harvest, but that doesn't mean the God isn't glorified. Paul came to Corinth armed with what? Jesus. It worked. Right away I asked the Lord to never let me lose sight of this truth and He hasn't. From that point on I knew that ministers of the Gospel talk about Jesus because He's Someone worth talking about.
This is why, I think, I'm so averse to liberalism or any flirtations pertaining thereto. More times than I'd like to recount I've been labeled as anachronistic but the fact remains that I believe there should be nothing in church which would shift our focus from Him. Being in a church that compromises isn't worth it therefore, even for the sake of ministry May it be that I'll never budge, at least in this regard.
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| A few reasons I'd be a bad Minister...(perhaps).1. I'm brutally direct. Growing up my dad wasn't exactly Mr. Scruples and it's rubbed off on me in a big way. When people present me with a problem, I go directly for the solution. In the search for clarity I have committed innumerable social faux pas, much to the consternation of my female friends.
Now a minister should be relatively BS free, I believe. But let me give you an example. I remember when I was in Tyndale, one afternoon I was sitting in my room preparing for a test the next day. My roommate and his friend were listening to some kind of Christian Hardcore Metal music that was physically attacking me. Seeing that I was obviously annoyed my roommate's friend asked me what I thought of the music, poking fun at me in an innocent way. "I think it's godless, depraved crap." I said "I could pull better music out of my rear end." Now I was totally sincere in expressing my unadulterated hatred for this music but my friends were less then impressed. Thank God I'm a lot better in my regard and lately some people have come to me for an honest appraisal of specific things but there's still some major work to be done.
2. I'm naturally resistant to changes in the church. You wouldn't know it from my blog but I'm very conservative theologically and in praxis (this is probably why I love Rev. Berends so much). Deep in my heart-of-hearts I know that women deacons (yes, women deacons) are the worst thing since the Counsel of Trent (note the hyperbole). The "Joint Songbook Committee" should realize that near-perfection has already been attained and should adopt the Book of Praise, minus the four ugly-sounding hymns. This would be problematic because sometimes there are good reasons to change things, but like 98% of the time I don't understand the need for change and have a hard time sympathizing with those who do.
3. Dutch-Canadian culture completely mystifies me. There's this older gentleman in my church; every time I speak with him he asks me if I've found a girlfriend (I wasn't aware I was looking) or if I've found work (I didn't know I was unemployed). I also find the general disdain for education to be quite strange. When I told people that I was pursuing a Master's Degree they'd look at me with quizzical eyes and ask "What are you going to do with that?" Also, I'm sure you've noticed, among the Dutch Canadians the small talk stage of the discussion/relationship is quite protracted. This may be because all their relational needs are met by their huge families but I can only talk about Junior A hockey and mortgages for so long.
Dutch Canadians can also be very insular. In many churches people have many family members, all the kids go to the same Christian school and many adults work at the same places. So very often people socialize in groups, unaware of the fact that there's a 20-something from downtown standing there with no one to talk to. In my church, which is becoming increasingly non-Dutch, I see an interesting thing happening. The Dutch-folk do their thing, and the non-Dutch-folk do theirs. Now the church is still 75% Dutch but over the course of a Sunday 85% of the people I talk to are non-Dutch. So we have a "Dutch Crew" and a "Non-Dutch Crew." Whenever a Dutch person joins us, they fall in with the other Dutch people. Whenever a Non-Dutch person arrives, we take care of him.
Now if I were a non-Dutch pastor in a Dutch church, would I still be considered an outsider? I tend to think so.
4. I intimidate people. I don't smile a lot. I have a deep, booming voice. I'm told I walk like I'm on my way to kill someone. People have told me that they were intimidated by me when we first met, so much so that they thought I hated them. It sometimes surprises people that I like to have fun and that I love Kareoke.
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