The Easter Yawn
For the past month of Sundays, I’ve been back in the chancel again, doing what I’ve done for forty years – Preaching. Leading worship. Blessedly familiar territory.
By contrast, I was in unfamiliar territory the previous thirty weeks stretching back to my retirement last August. Prior to our move to Columbia, MO, for this season of interim ministry at Broadway Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), Jennie and I visited thirty different congregations on Sundays. Different denominations, racial demographics, sizes (from a dozen to four hundred), locations (urban, suburban, small town, rural), styles of music, attire, high church and low church, formal and casual, conservative, moderate and progressive. For the first time in my marriage, I sat in the congregation next to Jennie.
The view from the pew/padded upholstered seat was a pleasure to behold. For the first time other than vacations, I got to look at preachers, worship leaders, elders, choirs and ensembles straight on from a seat in the sanctuary rather than in profile from a chair behind the pulpit.
I liked what I saw and heard. A lot. To the point I decided early on that I would write a letter to the pastor of each church we visited and express my gratitude for what they did. I scribbled on my bulletin (if there was one) things that were said and done during the service that engaged, challenged, delighted, inspired, and taught me. I never failed to come home with a bounty of marginalia –- Gleanings of hymn lyrics, anthem verses, and ensemble choruses. Exquisite lines from elders’ prayers. Exegetical gems from the preacher’s delving into the Scripture. Rhetorical flourishes that delighted my ear and mind. The Bible read with verve by lay readers. Prayers that gave language to my praise and petition. Services that flowed from Prelude to Postlude, each element uplifting the morning theme, evidence of creative, prayerful planning.
On Monday morning after my prayer time, I’d retreat to the Maple Loft, take up residence at my desk, and write a letter to the pastor(s) of the congregation where we’d worshipped, naming the good things I’d seen and heard. I know what it takes for worship to be done with reverence and reverie, intelligence and inspiration. I strived to do it for forty years and was blessed to have alongside me pastoral colleagues, music directors, lay leaders, instrumentalists, choirs, and ensembles who complemented and enhanced my effort. There is no greater responsibility or pleasure than leading God’s people in worship.
I have one beef with something I sometimes saw, a dynamic that is the bane, the wet blanket, of worship leadership. It manifests itself in many ways. I saw it evidenced most egregiously in The Easter Yawn.
Jennie and I worshipped Easter Sunday in a full congregation. All generations were present. The beauty of the day was magnified by the splendor of the sanctuary’s décor. The scent and sight of lilies rendered creation’s praise. The lay leader read the Easter scripture with verve. The choir sang with gusto. The preacher preached a Word that set my head nodding and pen scribbling. Everything was Day of Resurrection fine except for The Easter Yawn.
The congregation had guest musicians and singers complementing their organist and choir. The singers were sprinkled among the choir. The instrumentalists, strings, and brass were seated in a semicircle adjacent to the communion table. Is there anything more steeling of the spine and spirit on Easter than a choir and congregation in full voice singing “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” accompanied by organ, strings, and brass?
But then this: two minutes into the preacher’s sermon, the trumpeter sitting in a chair perched at the edge of the chancel steps in the position most visible to the congregation opened his mouth and let loose with a slow motion, face stretching, tooth baring, eye squinting y – a – w – n.
Preacher: “The angel said to the women, 'Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said!”
Trumpeter: y – a – w – n
That was merely the opening salvo. The trumpeter’s yawns became a call and response chorus to the preacher’s proclamation. The preacher, equal parts inspiration and perspiration, poured heart, soul, mind, and might into the gospel message. Twelve feet to his right, however, front and center, the trumpeter repeatedly yawned in a virtuoso display of utter disinterest. Were that not enough dissonance, as the preacher headed down the homestretch to a verbal fanfare fit for the King, the trumpeter picked up his instrument, drained the spit valve of his instrument into a towel, tossed it under his chair, and sat back, thump, against his chair.
Note to all who lead worship on Sunday and sit facing the congregation (choirs, musicians, instrumentalists, pastors, lay leaders): your countenance on the chancel either livens or dampens worship. In addition to the words spoken or sung that come out of your mouth or the notes that come out of your instrument, the look on your face accompanies worship for good or for ill. Smile. Lean in attentively. Nod your head. Say Amen. Fake it until you make it if you have to, but don’t yawn or nod off or scroll through your cell phone or stare blankly into space or sit tight-lipped with your arms crossed sternly or look like you’re having severe gastrointestinal discomfort. Countenance counts.
Note to all who worship on Sunday and sit facing the chancel: the look on your faces matters, too. For forty years, I’ve had an unobstructed view of worshippers’ visages, some of which reminded me of Fred Craddock’s story about the preacher who stopped mid-sermon, came down out of the pulpit, and, alluding to a séance, said, “Let’s all stand, join hands, and see if we can communicate with the living.”
On the first Easter, the yawning faces belonged to the Roman soldiers who snoozed through the epochal moment of all time, the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.
Do everyone a favor when you worship. Whether you sit on the chancel or in the congregation, you are in the presence of One whose life-giving Word and risen splendor call for a responsive radiance that begins on our faces. Let them shine!
