Leadership — Clayfire Curator

Epiphanipulation

by Eric Herron | December 27, 2011

We all want to see people ‘get it.’ As creators, we long for our art to be understood—especially with little or no extra explanation. As curators, we struggle to gather disparate elements and create new meaning with the express desire that the meaning we portray is not lost on those who come. We not only want worshipers to rudimentarily grasp our meaning, but to deeply internalize it. It is a pleasing bonus if the worshiper is surprised, maybe even startled with epiphanic understanding.

These desires are so strong for worship creatives that we will often go to great lengths to ensure an emotional impact is felt, an elusive intellectual concept is comprehended. We long for hundreds of little invisible light-bulbs, hovering over each and every gathered one’s head.

In this longing, we can cross over from simply creating powerful messages to crafting seductive manipulation. Where is the line? If we hope to instigate ‘epiphanies,’ what is appropriate and what is going too far?

Art that ‘goes too far’ might resemble image exploitation, using pictures that are mostly composed for ‘shock value.’ It might also involve unbalanced emotions—excess sadness or joy, extreme violence (as in The Passion of the Christ), exceptional stories with melodramatic details.

Worship events that ‘go too far,’ might involve spiritual manipulation in the form of misused scriptures—theologically squeezed for preferred interpretations. Manipulation in worship also takes the form of activities that allow for only one kind of participation, with the illusion of options. For instance, imagine a time of public confession in which people are invited to share at will, but are forced to sit in extended, uncomfortable silence while no one chooses to stand up and share. In this example, we are not attempting to manipulate individual emotional responses—as with manipulative art—but instead to humanly create a ‘spiritual environment’ that may not be what the Holy Spirit has in mind for the moment.

In all of these cases, we are hoping, striving for epiphany. Epiphany at any cost.

I don’t make it a habit of manipulating epiphany in worship, but I do recall one event in particular that perhaps may have crossed some lines. One of the first times I led a team in creating a large-scale Stations of the Cross event, we saw some very strong emotional responses by the worshipers who came. If one were to have stood at the exit—where the last chronological station was positioned—one would have witnessed a high percentage of people exiting with visible tears. I happened to speak to one woman as she was leaving. She said that when she first arrived to attend the event, she became angry.

Our team hadn’t foreseen such a large number of people showing up for this open house-style worship event. Because we were only allowing a few people in at a time to control the pace, nearly everyone who gathered was forced to wait outside in the frigid air for 20 min or longer before actually being allowed to enter the building and walk with Jesus to the cross and tomb. This woman said the cold waiting had brought up all kinds of anger in her. “How dare they make me wait to worship!” “Why didn’t they plan this better?!” she thought. By the time she had made it through the stations and been very graphically reminded of Jesus’ suffering via video, drama, images, recorded storytelling, and interactive art, she had realized her anger and felt “guilty” for the way she acted before.

I remember being quite satisfied (not in front of her) that our curation had caused such an epiphany in her heart and mind. However, upon further reflection, I’m wondering how much we—intentionally or not—manipulated her through our set up and the content of this event.

What do you think? Did my team manipulate emotions by making people wait in the cold before being reminded of the “real” suffering of Jesus? Or, was this physical experience of waiting an appropriate way to engage the whole person, beyond simply the intellect?

How much, as worship curators, are we allowed to ‘press the buttons’ of worshipers toward their own spiritual enlightenment? Or, is this too much like playing Holy Spirit?

Can you share with us a worship event or singular moment in which you may (or may not) have crossed the line between appropriately using art and manipulating worship?

Image © iStockphoto

Categories: Leadership

X’ing Out X-mas

by Eric Herron | December 9, 2011

So far this month, I’ve received two requests from local churches to come and lead their musical worship on December 25. One request came from a pastor I have never met at I church I’ve never visited. The other came from a church for whom I led the music in 2008 and haven’t heard from since. My suspicion is that even though Christmas Day is still a little more than two weeks away, my phone might ring another time or two. What’s going on?

Christmas is always the 25th of December, but can occur on any given day of the week—unlike Easter, that steady and reliable “movable feast”. Sometimes, I think Christmas would be better-off if it was more like Election Day. You know, like the Tuesday before the last Monday of December every year? At any rate, this is not the case with our Savior’s birthday (or at least the day on which we’ve traditionally chosen to celebrate his birth). In 2009, Christmas was on Friday. 2010, Saturday. Here we are in 2011 and Christmas falls on a Sunday.

Being in the worship “business” as we all are, the shifty nature of the Christmas calendar poses for us a quandary every seven years or so. The quandary is this: When Christmas Day falls on a Sunday, what should we do?

Confronted with this question, some might respond with another question: What do you mean, ‘What should we do’? Why is it a question? We simply have Christmas services like every other Sunday, of course! ”Business” as usual.

Others hold a different philosophy when December 25th is the first day of the week. Some in this latter category actually put their philosophy into action the last time this occurred. Willow Creek Community Church (Barrington, IL), Mars Hill Bible Church (Grand Rapids, MI), and North Point Community Church (Alpharetta, GA) among numerous other “mega-churches” chose to cancel worship services for Christmas Day, 2006.

No matter on which side you land in this debate (and it is a debate, see this article from Christianity Today, 2006) I believe there is a good case to be made either way.

Maybe this year you are having a hard time finding leaders that aren’t going out-of-town. Or, maybe you simply need some artillery to argue your choice one way or another to those in your congregation who disagree with your decision.

Whatever the case, I’m providing some arguments for both sides of the Christmas morning worship debate…

Reasons for canceling worship services when Christmas Day falls on Sunday:

There is a lot of worship that takes place in homes when families celebrate Christmas Day together. People pray, share, love, sing, eat, give —all practices that also take place when the larger body of Christ is gathered.

People are busy around Christmas time. After the rush of parties and shopping, Christmas vacation is one of the few times throughout the whole year that people have a chance to truly slow down, relax, and regroup. Why create another event to attend?

Most worshipers attend a Christmas Eve service on Christmas week. Having a worship service on Christmas Day Sunday as well is, in effect, doubling the number of events to attend Christmas week.

Many families have Christmas morning traditions that go back for decades, if not for many generations. Having a worship service on Christmas morning interferes with these.

“Church” is people not buildings and programs. If we can’t easily choose to cancel one worship program every six or seven years, is this because we maintain a faulty understanding of the nature of church?

Worship is a 24/7 activity. Maybe canceling regular gathered worship could be a teaching moment. Leaders could intentionally (during the days and weeks leading up to that Sunday) invite worshipers to worship God in some unique way in lieu of worshiping in the regular, large meeting sense.

Reasons for keeping worship services when Christmas Day falls on Sunday:

By canceling worship on Christmas Sunday, aren’t we communicating to Christians (as well as the greater culture) that worship doesn’t matter that much?

Apparently, many people who are not Christ-followers attend Christmas worship services. By canceling worship we are erasing one of the few opportunities throughout the year that we have to speak to persons beyond our regular congregations about the love of God through Jesus.

Is gathered worship optional? By canceling it, we are saying it is.

By canceling worship on Christmas Day we are risking the future loss of another one of our historical rituals, that ritual being the communal adoration of Christ on one of the holiest of days in the Christian calendar.

Choosing to spend Christmas Day with family instead of the larger “community of the faithful” illustrates how we have subtly subordinated our faith to cultural icons such as the “traditional family” (see Robert K. Johnston’s comment in the CT article).

For many churches, missing just one Sunday of worship meetings means falling behind on the mortgage. Not a very sexy reason, but it is reality.

Where exactly do you stand in this debate? If it was up to you (and maybe it is) what will your church be doing this December 25th?

Categories: Leadership

On Not Making Safe Spaces

by Jodi-Renee Adams | October 20, 2011

“You should never be comfortable, man. Being comfortable fouled up a lot of musicians.” From the Gospel of Miles Davis. Okay, so actually it’s from an interview Miles gave in December 1969 to Les Tomkins for Crescendo magazine.

I’m a fan of Miles Davis. Don’t get me wrong; the guy could be a real piece of work and I don’t mean that in a kind or generous way. Regardless of how one may feel about his, um, personality, no one can argue that he influenced the world, changed music and even affected how people listened to music. Why? Because he was a better player? No, in fact he lost a few gigs in his early years because he couldn’t blow high and fast—the signs of a “skilled” player. Miles was so fascinating because of the risks he took in his playing and in his musical expression. He dared to do what wasn’t popular or easily accessible or expected. He was never content to be comfortable.

There is a difference between success as we tend to define that in our capitalist culture and an experience of deep enjoyment, creativity and a total involvement in life [which some might argue is the liminal space to spiritual transformation and divine encounter].

Psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi set out to unpack this difference in his book Flow. Ultimately, he’s coming at this from the perspective that finding true happiness and being completely alive calls us to take risks, to move outside our comfort zone, to find that thin place where we’re asked to do more than we think we could and stretch ourselves; but then, beautifully, through that goal comes other benefits of creativity, awareness, “consciousness,” and personal transformation. In all of his study, he constantly breaks down our conception that stability means monotonous, risk-less lives; that happiness is rooted in comfortability and passivity, or that we resign ourselves to what we know in the name of maturity, peace, or safety.

This is what we mean by optimal experience… Contrary to what we usually believe, moments like these, the best moments in our lives, are not the passive, receptive, relaxing time–although such experiences can also be enjoyable, if we have worked hard to attain them. The best moments usually occur when a person’s body or mind is stretched to its limits in a voluntary effort to accomplish something difficult and worthwhile. (Csikszentmihalyi, 3)

Risk-taking fosters participation. It improves physical and sensory skills while also developing symbolic skills. It leads to the discovery of new solutions. It fosters a mental and spiritual environment where meaning is created. But here’s the thing: it all depends on the risk and the goal.

Why are you taking a risk? What are you asking of yourself? Risk for risk’s sake is not going to lead to the same purposeful outcomes. In fact, one might argue that the habit of just simply being a “risk-taker” leads to a recklessness devoid of relationship and self-awareness. Think of people you know who like to be different just to be different, just to say that they’re “not like you.” What do they stand for? What do they accomplish? How do they shape their environment? I’m going to wager that it doesn’t happen in the same way as those who weigh the invitation of an invisible kingdom and take a leap for the sake of what might be. To do the latter is quite simply to walk in the footsteps of a risk-taking Christ.

This invitation always dances in front of us as the faithful, almost in the peripheral vision of our best intentions. The shadow side of human nature is drawn to the comfortable — not to be confused with the ritualistic or the practiced — and thinks that safety is what gives people the best chance to grow. What if your job as a worship curator or poet or hymn-writer or teacher or visual artist wasn’t to create a safe place, but to create a safe place to take the risk, to make the leap, to stretch? It’s risky, but try it. Reach inside it. See how it feels. Then create. Go.

Image © iStockphoto

Categories: Leadership

Failure to Risk

by Eric Herron | October 18, 2011

Years ago, I was part of a creative design team for my church. It was our assigned task to come up with the content for three services. We were a “worship curation” team before the term existed.

Our team consisted of several experts, in drama, secular music, worship music, and theology. We were all silly creatives. Those weekly meetings were always something I looked forward to for their free-association brainstorming sessions and frequent episodes of unbridled laughter.

I wish I had a catalogue of all the wacky things we came up with and never tried. We were constantly pitching new ideas to each other and in that kind of environment of freedom and trust, no one was afraid to share an unfinished, unpolished thought or to present an idea that seemed risky.

What would I categorize as “risky”? Risky was a dramatic sketch based on a current TV show with cultural content that some would think didn’t belong in church. Risky was speaking on a biblical theme or scripture that many people would find offensive as it pushed harder than usual on their own comfortable lifestyles. Risky was inviting people to get up from their seats and move around in a way that was not typical for our gatherings. Trying something — anything — we had never, ever tried before always felt like risky business.

In our environment (a young, growing church without many ties to tradition) those risky ideas were often tried. The way this came about in our meeting was, first someone would make the suggestion. We would laugh at the daring involved. There would be more discussion about it and soon a consensus would form: Was the team up for it or not? Sometimes, by the end of the discussion only one person — usually the person who had the idea — would still be serious about trying it. Instead of squashing the ego of the lone ranger with a nod to democratic protocol, we invented what we called ‘the silver bullet.’ Once a quarter, you were given a ‘silver bullet.’ You used your silver bullet when you were the only one on the team that believed in a risky worship idea, and wanted to try it despite the questionable potential for success and high possibility of failure.

One silver bullet moment that comes to mind was when someone had the idea to write (or adapt, I can’t remember) a skit based on the concept of ‘the frog in the kettle,’ presented to us at the time by George Barna’s book of the same title. Apparently, if tossed into a pot of already boiling water, a frog will immediately hop out to avoid the danger. However, if you place a frog in a pot of cool water and slowly raise the temperature to boiling, you’ll be eating frog’s legs for dinner. Can you detect the spiritual/cultural correlation? One of our team members proposed a scenario in which two actors dressed as frogs would sit in a large pot, having a casual conversation, completely oblivious to the imminent danger. Good concept. A bit of a strange presentation for the context. The script – which was very funny when rehearsed came across as rather morbid in performance. The actors’ pauses for laughter were instead filled with awkward silence. It came off like a dark, Lynchian piece instead of the light-hearted skit it was supposed to be.

A failure? We said so at the time. In hindsight, the freedom to risk and fail in our creative pursuits – even in the ‘serious’ environment of worship – fostered frequent successes. And, by “successes,” I mean worship moments facilitating deep connection with the Spirit, whether joyful, poignant or any point in between.

Categories: Leadership

Confessions of a Religious Tourist

by Ryan Marsh | September 23, 2011

Two international trekkers from our community had recently returned from hiking in the Himalayas and brought home gifts they had acquired on their adventure. They presented our community with a shiny “singing bowl” (which rings out for minutes when you ding it) and a strand of multicolored Tibetan prayer flags.

Throughout the season of Easter our community had been writing prayers on small colored papers and pinning them to twine strung throughout our worship space. The result of the growing prayer installation closely resembled the flags brought by the world travelers. All we were missing was the wind to blow the papery rows of petitions about, and Pentecost could not have been a more perfect culmination of this season.

The children led us in procession from our worship space to the community garden out back, where we tied the prayers of our community from one bean teepee over to a sweet pea trellis and then finally over to an arch. The plan was to hang the Tibetan prayer flags alongside the prayers we had created, but before we did this, a member of our community, Christa, pulled me aside. “Ryan, I don’t think you know what’s written on these Tibetan prayer flags. It’s not simply ‘peace, love and harmony.’ They are prayers to other deities that are not the Trinity. I don’t think it’s right to do this.”

Christa had lived in Northern China before moving to Edmonds and joining our community and knew a lot about Tibetan Buddhism and Hinduism. I felt unprepared to care for her concern while also honoring the people who had brought the gift, so in my insecurity and anxiety I deflected by inviting her to share her experience and perspective with the two trekkers. Which she did, respectfully, while I made myself busy barbecuing. I checked in with the trekkers later on. “Oh, I wasn’t offended at all,” one said. “Actually, if you remember, you were the one who had asked us to bring back the prayer flags.”

How could I have forgotten?

The next day, I wrote an confessional and apologetic e-mail to Christa and the trekkers:

I was being a ‘religious tourist’ who intended to remain superficial. Then, when I got scared of being exposed, I passed the buck. Obviously, this is terrible leadership. I’m sad about that. If any conversations occurred yesterday about ‘what might it mean to be a Christ follower in a pluralistic world,’ or if anything positive resulted, it was because the Spirit of God is with us. Please forgive me.

All three individuals were gracious to me, and generous conversations did follow.

Our community may not have seen tongues of fire rest on our heads during the Pentecost service, but the Spirit moved in ways I didn’t expect – through a fumbled liturgy, open communication, and forgiveness. As curators of worship, we don’t get everything right all the time, especially the more we are willing to risk, and yet, Lord willing, something beautiful still emerges.

Categories: Leadership