As we were traveling to St. Giles
Location, location, location: put a Starbucks across the street from a huge medieval castle, and some American tourist will take a picture of his pretty wife.And why not?
After Jamie finishes her caramel steamer, we wander through the Princes Street gardens and climb the hill once again. The pasta house where we dined last night was so good that the birthday girl decides we should return there for lunch. (She's looking remarkably well preserved in this picture, don't you think?)
But first we're going to worship at St. Giles Cathedral, mother church of the Scottish Reformation. After wonderful worship services at Iona and the Back Free Church, our expectations are high.Frankly, we are disappointed. The mid-day service is seven minutes long, consisting of a psalm, Gospel lesson, prayer, and benediction. All of it is delivered as if we aren't there. No passion, no interest, no concern to make a redemptive difference in the world.
Sure, it has to be disconcerting for the pastor to lead a service when tourists are standing around with digital camcorders, hoping to catch this quaint moment. I don't fault him for shooing them away. But when the moment of worship comes, why does it have to be so "quaint"? So oblivious? So sterile and detached?I left the building with a hunger for something more. After all, this great pulpit was the spot where John Knox preached the Gospel and denounced the queen.
Later in the day, we drop by the John Knox House. It is of dubious historical value (i.e. there's no proof that he ever lived or died here). Yet the house honors the man. A large plaque declares, "John Knox is able in one hour to put more life in us than five hundred trumpets continually blasting our ear." Ah, that's preaching! That's what I want -- and that's what I want to offer for others.
So I take a quick picture of Knox and me (I'm the one on the left). It gives me something to aspire to.Good preaching gives life to people. The Gospel demands nothing less, and the Spirit can make it happen.
posted by presbybop @ 4:26 PM
1 comments
1 Comments:
Bill, I'm not surprised by your reaction to St. Giles and the worship service. Our family's chief memory of the place is the odor of the stew wafting up from the basement cafe. We have found that the most meaningful worship for us as tourists occurs in the out-of-the-way places where real people can be found. York Minster on Easter Sunday was cold, both physically and spiritually. Westminster Abbey became real only when we attended a service where the choirboys sang with families and friends in attendance to mark a special day for them. One happens on those moments and is grateful to God for drawing us there. It's tragic that worship sometimes becomes more dry and dutiful than full of the Spirit. Thanks for your commentary. I'm loving it!
Post a Comment
<< Home