aversion

a⋅ver⋅sion

/əˈvɜrʒən, -ʃən/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [uh-vur-zhuhn, -shuhn]
–noun

1.	a strong feeling of dislike, opposition, repugnance, or antipathy (usually fol. by to): a strong aversion to snakes and spiders.

2.	a cause or object of dislike; person or thing that causes antipathy: His pet aversion is guests who are always late.

"Aversion." I used this word today in a conversation with a friend over lunch. It's a good one.

Earlier in our conversation today (as in, before I rocked the use of the word "aversion"), my friend and I were talking about people who had left our church in the past few years. Each person had a unique story, but shared a common underlying reason for leaving:

They didn't like the culture we were creating, the direction we were heading, and/or the means we were using to create it and move towards it.

And this is a very common occurrence in churches (especially in Protestant America)--and, in fact, the Church (universally and historically). Groups of Christian people--or, perhaps better put, groups of churched people--have collectively decided that their church/tradition is either:

-too liberal/worldly/cultural/wishy-washy

or:

-not conservative enough/faithful enough to tradition/God-focused enough/biblically centered enough.

It was the same in Jesus' day.

On the "left," (that is, to the left of Jesus) you had the Sadducees, religious/political Jewish leaders who thought it best to cooperate and even appreciate their Roman captors, encouraging Jews to look up to the dominant Roman/Greek culture and all of its trappings.

On the right (of Jesus), you had the Pharisees, Jewish leaders who thought that a life of strict obedience to God's laws and the Pharisaic prescriptions thereof, over and against Roman culture, was the godly way to go.

On the far right, you had the Essenes, a group of people who thought that the last days were upon them, that they were the only "faithful remnant" of God's chosen Jewish people left on the earth, and that as such it was of critical importance for them to be completely separate from the culture they found themselves in, and to create their own. So, they withdrew into these pseudo-monastic communitites, separate even from their conservative Pharisaic counterparts, to ride out the storm, maintain their purity, and wait for the coming doom of everyone around them.

And then on the extreme right, you had the Zealots--people who thought that violence was the only option, and that God was calling them to be instruments of his judgment on the wicked, pagan Roman invaders. Terrorism was their business, and they did it in the name of God.

Enter Jesus.

The Sadducees didn't like Jesus. He threatened their power relationship with the Romans, mainly by claiming that he was the coming Messiah, the long-promised Son of Man from the apocalyptic book of Daniel--God's instrument of justice to establish his kingdom forever on earth. The Sadducees had already chosen their king, and were reaping the benefits of that choice. Jesus threatened those benefits.

The Pharisees didn't like Jesus. He threatened their concept of God, and their perceived status before God. The God of the Pharisee rewarded obedience, and punished the disobedient. So, status was self-willed: the "more" obedient you willed yourself to be, the better position you had with God. But Jesus had a diffierent concept of what obedience entailed--one that fulfilled God's Law rather than extended it to human preference and conviction. Jesus celebrated with pagans whom he forgave and accepted... so they called him a glutton and a drunkard. Jesus showed preference to the whores, the white-collar cheats, and the common person who responded to his love with their simple faith and repentance... so they devised a plan to kill him. Jesus threatened their concept of a righteous (read: merciless) God and a righteous (read: self-driven) life.

The Zealots... well, we don't know what the Zealots thought of Jesus, at least from the biblical record. We know that Jesus reached out to them--even counted one of them as one of his Twelve. My guess is that the Zealots probably enjoyed it when Jesus stumped the Sadducees and Pharisees, and admired his courage before the power brokers of his day... but some probably thought he was unwilling to take it "far enough." It goes something like this: if you don't bang people over the head with the truth (and in the Zealot's case, literally bang them over the head), you're really just afraid to tell them the whole truth, or something like that.

As for the Essenes--they were probably too busy stockpiling food "Left-Behind-Series" style, writing about the wickedness of all of those around them. They were too busy longing for God to come save them from the wicked world to even notice this Jesus who claimed power to forgive sin and rescue people from their wickedness. It's more than a little ironic that they were so passionate about waiting for the Messiah that they failed to encounter the Messiah.

All of that to say:

The same patterns and categories of people that have existed for millenia in the Church still exist in churches today.

And:

I love being a part of a church that is an aversion (see, I tied it all together) to churched people, for the same reasons that Jesus was an aversion to the Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and Zealots.

So:

Which group do you fall into?

And before you say "I fall into God's group," remember:

So did the Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes, and Zealots.

insulated

After coming back from two days up in a deer stand, out in the woods overlooking the Mississippi, in the midst of the wind, the cold November rain (insert GNR reference here), the dawns and dusks, I came to this realization:

It is just so easy to be insulated.

Insulated. Not literally. Metaphorically.

It's so easy to be metaphorically insulated.

Here's how I get insulated:

Work. I'm a pastor. I live that vocation. Rarely am I not engaged with it (except for times out in the woods, like these past couple of days). I'm thinking about people, about how to do church, about who's doing what, about struggles, about vision, about values and church culture, about theology, about sermons, about communication, about staff dynamics, about elders and deacons, about musical style, and I could go on and on even longer than I already have.

I become insulated--surrounded by churchy things--so much so that it's sometimes difficult to engage with things outside of it.

Here's another way I get insulated:

Personal comfort. I lay on the couch. I eat what I want, when I want. I exercise when I want, and don't when I don't want to. I get insulated in my personal comfort to the point where things that just aren't as comfortable (but perhaps good for me) get pushed away.

And another way I get insulated:

Academia (for lack of a better word). I can think in lofty terms, write in lofty terms, keep up with the news, with current events, with trends, with opinions, with idealism. I have that vein in me. I enjoy reading about what people are saying, thinking, feeling, joking about when it comes to this country, our politics, our economy, the state of Christianity, the state of the evangelical church in America, it's relationship to the rest of America, etc. Sometimes I get insulated to the point where I go to an ivory tower with all of the other academics--people who think, talk, and write in the way that I do, at the expense of those who do not.

When did I come to this realization? Well, it was at about 5:45 am Wednesday morning, in the pitch dark, roaming the hills of Lansing, IA, unable to find my treestand, having slept for one hour the night before and just finished driving another two. And I thought to myself:

"Why do you like to do this? You're cold, you're tired, you're frustrated. Just go back to the car. Take a nap. Wait for it to get light. Then, if you feel like it, get up into the stand."

And then I thought:

"You're being a baby. When did you get to be a baby? When did the stuff in you get to be so soft, so easily overcome?"

So, I did what is incredibly difficult for an older brother to do: I walked to where I knew my younger brother was sitting, had him climb down, and show me to my stand (and yes, I heard about it for the rest of the weekend, and I'm sure I'll be hearing about it for the rest of my life).

But the alternative was worse. It was to settle for being soft. To be defeated. To become how I had been insulated.

Now, on the back end of the trip, I'm energized. I've regained some perspective. I've started back down a good path--one toward reclaiming some parts of myself that just plain get lost in the insulation of life. It's good to be gentle, but not good to be soft. It's good to be sensitive, but not good to be weak. It's good to be in church, to be comfortable, to be academic, but not good when that's all you are, and that's all you can relate to.

How do you get insulated?

help

In searching through the Google news feed today, I came across a headline that reads:

"Fannie Mae posts record $29 billion loss in 3rd qtr."

The subtext reads:

"Fannie Mae said on Monday it is losing money so fast it may have to tap the government for cash to avoid shutting down after the largest source of funding for US homes reported a record $29 billion loss."

And I'm sitting here, wondering:

How is a follower of Jesus supposed to view and respond to that?

This isn't the first time I've asked myself this question.  I would say that I've endeavored to have an informed, well thought out opinion about the economic crisis, so that I could converse and vote accordingly.  I've tried to weigh out the balance between mercy and justice--to live in that tension, even as it concerns financial policy.

But what struck me is this: $700 billion dollars later, this problem is not fixed.  They are asking for more money.

And that's scary.  It scares be because the presence of a large amount of cash was supposed to solve the problem.  Not instantaneously... but measurably, at least.  It did not.  It scares me because I think we're putting our trust in money--liquidity, to be more economically precise--rather than in the strength of character that comes from owning poor decisions, accepting the consequences thereof, and operating differently to change things over the long haul.

This makes me wonder:

-I wonder if we are too afraid to experience the pain of our poor financial decisions.  I wonder if we are willing to learn the hard lessons that come through grappling with the real consequences of our choices.

-I wonder if we're afraid to be tested.  I wonder if we're willing to live on a lot less, or if we're even able, having lived on more that we could afford, much less need, for so long.

-I wonder if we lack courage.

-I wonder if we crave freedom--pure, unadulterated freedom--like we used to.  Freedom from debt.  Freedom to give out of what we have earned.  Freedom to help those around us from the means that God has blessed us with, and the freedom to trust him with the rest.

-I wonder if the American people, apart from the American government, could or even would help one another through difficult times.

-I wonder if war is the only thing that has the power to bind us together, spurring us toward a common goal.  I hope not.

-I wonder if we are willing to endure discipline.

-I wonder why we expect so little from ourselves and so much from our government.

Several realizations are being reinforced in me through all of this:

-We are all connected.  All of us.  We are not just a group of individuals, each taking responsibility for himself or herself alone.  What I do affects those around me--my consumer debt, my education debt, my home debt, my whatever debt.  I'm giving my money away to people who may or may not use it appropriately.  And they may be giving my money away to people who either don't deserve it, didn't earn it, or will misuse it.  We are all connected in that way.

-The government should help the people, but should also help the people take ownership for their decisions.  Legislation should be passed and supported to help those who can not help themselves.  But laws should be enforced that penalize those who make unlawful decisions--including spending borrowed money without the means to pay it back.  

-The American people should strive for mercy toward one another, and justice for themselves.  This was inspired by a story that my grandmother told me recently, as we were discussing the economy, and the recent election (at the time of the conversation, it was the upcoming election).  She recounted what it was like when her and her then husband (my now deceased grandfather) made a bunch of poor money choices when they were first married.  She said, as-a-matter-of-factly: "You know, there wasn't anyone around to help us out then.  But, we knew what we had to do.  There were a couple of real hard years there, but we pulled ourselves out of it."  

Now, that doesn't negate our obligation to show mercy toward those in need.  I hope that a church family or community would see a young couple like my grandparents back then, come around them, and provide support for them to make it through.  But: I hope that their community would do it in such a way that encouraged my grandmother and grandfather to take responsibility for their actions, to admit to their fault, to accept the consequences, and to strive to live better.  Mercy should never replace justice.  It should work with it, work towards it.

That's the kind of help we should want, and that's the kind of help we are obligated to give.

incorruptible

When I was a young kid, my experience of the Bible came in the form of the King James Version, with all of the "thees" and "thous" and "shalts" and "shalt nots." That was just the tradition my family lived in for generations, and something into which I was born. And while I am grateful that I have since grown to embrace more relevant translations of God's words, every once in awhile I am reminded of a King James word that seems to perfectly capture something about God and life with God.

Here's the King James word that has snuck up on me recently:

"Incorruptible."

It comes from 1 Peter 1:4, King James version. Verses 3-5 read like this:

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, which according to his abundant mercy hath begotten us again unto a lively hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead to an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation ready to be revealed in the last time."

Incorruptible: meaning unable to be corrupted. Beyond the reach of impurity. Never can be wounded, broken, soiled, dirtied up with the stuff that dirties up my life.

I have something in me that, despite my best (read: most evil) efforts, remains just as pure and holy as the day it was born in me.

I can't think of anything else in the world that works this way. Something that forever remains just as perfect and complete as the moment it came into being.

Nothing else in my life works this way. On the contrary: I have to keep things from getting dirty, from falling apart, from falling out of working order.

Like:

-I have to work to keep my body healthy--and even then it is becoming more fragile.

-I have to work to keep my house in order--and even then there are things that will eventually need to be replaced.

-I have to work to keep my work habits and spiritual habits disciplined--and even then they go out of wack and out of order more often than they remain healthy.

-I have to work to keep my relationships healthy--whether that means seeking forgiveness from those I have wronged, or confronting those who have wronged me--and even then each has its season, a date in which that relationship will end.

Something impure from the outside always seems to creep in and dirty up what was once good. And unless I do something to clean it up, it'll just be dirty.

But not so with this thing that is in me--this thing that is incorruptible. This thing that was perfect when I received it, and just as perfect today. This thing that does not seem to bow to the rule that seems to govern everything else in my life and my world.

For the first and only time, I have something in me that neither I, my life, nor my world can mess up. Which means that for the first and only time, I have something in me that I don't ever have to fix or to clean up.

I have a hope that doesn't depend on me.

Another King James word in that passage that I love is "begotten." It's this beautiful word that means something along the lines of "proceeded from," or in human terms, "birthed."

So, as weird as it may sound, I am expecting.

Yep. Pregnant.

Pregnant with the hope that this Jesus who I met one day and trusted the next is now within me and can not be rooted out. Pregnant with the hope that nothing I can do will loosen his grasp on my life. Pregnant with Someone who remains good despite my continuing battle with everything about me that is not.

I have Someone in me who refuses to be defined by my mistakes or my wounds. I have someone in me who sees everything I have ever done and never changes the loving expression on his face. I have someone who truly knows how to discipline out of perfect love, a love that casts out fear of rejection or hopelessness.

I'm not saying I'm gonna pop out another tiny ol' infant 9lb. 8oz. baby Jesus, to quote Ricky Bobby.

What I am saying is that my belly is bulging with the hope that he that is within me is greater than me and greater than this world.

A begotten, incorruptible hope that I didn't manufacture and that I don't have to maintain.

It's a beautiful thing.

political

I have to say this.

It annoys me to no end when people unabashedly, self-assuredly, unquestioningly, abrasively, unapologetically, uncritically, and unexamined-ly present their political stance in squarely religious terms.

As in:

"Vote for _______ _______. He/she best represents our Christian values."

You know, I'm a pastor... and I couldn't say that even of myself-- let alone stand for someone else to say that of me. "Vote for Jesse. He'll represent our Christian values." Maybe I'd represent some of them. But not all of them. Not all of everything that Jesus stood for. Not to the extent that he did. Not even me, a pastor.

Think about that, would you, the next time you use a political candidate's name and Jesus' name in the same sentence? Think about:

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' ethic (do you know what Jesus' ethic was)?

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' lifestyle and socio-economic status (i.e., homeless)?

Which candidate comes closer to Jesus' way of sacrificial, simple living?

Which candidate demonstrates a better ability to love like Jesus loved?

Which candidate would you say would probably love their neighbor better?

Which candidate would be more likely to extend love to his enemies?

Which candidate is more likely to serve God, and not money?

I don't know how you would answer each of those questions. But I can almost guarantee that your your answers to those questions are not informing your statement about your candidate best representing Christian values.

See, the assumptions behind those questions represent "Christian values." Love your enemy. Love sacrificially. Serve God, not money. Do justice, especially to those who can not do it for themselves. Love kindness. Those are the things that Jesus said and embodied.

So if you claim that I should vote for your candidate because he best represents Christian values, please... let's be talking about the values Jesus himself actually held and lived out--not your own political preferences and views projected on to Jesus' life.

And if you are wondering if I'm trying to sway your vote in a particular direction, you've missed the entire point of this entry.

Because, let's face it: neither candidate comes close to Jesus' values. As much as John McCain has sacrificed, and as much as Barack Obama has organized on behalf of the poor, both of them fall miserably short (just like the rest of us) of representing Jesus.

So who are we to say that one candidate is overwhelmingly more like Jesus than another? We are either misinformed about our candidate, or we are mistaken about our Savior. It's either one or the other.

Sorry for the rant.

grace replaced

"Out of his fullness we have already received grace in place of grace already given. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ."
-John, disciple of Jesus

Help me, O my God.
This Jesus--
Who replaced grace
Already given
Help me receive
His grace and truth.

How do you replace grace?
Put in its place
A better One?

And how do we replace this Grace
With one
Or several
That suit our tastes better?

How do You keep on
Graciously giving Grace
And Truth
To us who replace Him
With lofty ideas
With base desires
To me who rejects Him
In favor of
Nothing valuable and everything vain?

But then again
It would not be a better grace
If it could have been attained
By my own effort
Because I deserved it
Deserved Him
For if righteousness could have been attained
By the grace that has been replaced
Then a better grace
He would not be.

But right here
Here in this moment
A better grace seems out of reach
Simply because I can not reach it.

How frustrating.

But how beautiful.

I sit here, O my God
In the wee hours
Of the morning
Unable to reach your grace
In need of You
To reach down to me
Like you reached down to my world
So long ago
With the grace
And the truth
Of the cross.

It is better that I cannot reach it
Cannot reach him
Because it is better
For him to reach out to me
Because as he does
I know
And cannot doubt
That He loves me
That He forgives me
That He saves me
That He is my brother
That You are my Father
Not simply because you created me
But because you adopted me.

A grace replaced
With Grace
With Truth
With Jesus
Is a better grace
Indeed.

snakes & circumcision

Provocative title, eh?  The funny thing is this: I'm actually writing about both snakes and circumcision.  So, it's not just a edgy title to make you feel compelled to read this (although I won't apologize if the title is what caught you).

Let's begin with an exercise in imagination.  For a moment, imagine one of the most intensely worshipful, meaningful times you have ever experienced.  Take a moment just to fix that memory in your mind.

Explore that mental image.  Was there anyone else there with you?  Was someone or something leading you into that experience?  Was it a church service?  A song?  A conversation?  A time of intimate and passionate prayer?  A timely message?  A broken relinquishment long overdue?

As you fill in the blanks of that memory, recall how that moment came to be.  Was there something someone did to create an environment that was conducive to you worshiping?  Was there a mood that was created through a particular type of music, lighting, or other creative element?  Was there an illustration that was used--a story, or perhaps an object that allowed God's message to slip into your heart and invite you to respond?

Ok.  End imagination time.  For now.

If I were to ask one of the ancient Jews (or even an Orthodox Jew of today, for that matter) that same question, "What is one of the most intensely worshipful or meaningful experiences that you've had?", I'm guessing that some of them might answer: "When my wife and I had our son's bris.  Circumcision is a long standing and meaningful tradition in our faith.  I really feel like God is near when we follow this command that he set up for our forefathers so long ago."

Begin imagination time again.  Imagine what it would be like to participate as a Jew in something like that.  To do something that your ancestors have done for literally thousands of years.  To read a text Genesis or Deuteronomy where God himself--God himself--first set this practice up... and then to experience it firsthand.  The stories there on those pages wouldn't just be stories from long ago; you would feel connected to them, in solidarity with them as you witnessed this ancient practice and were bathed in the spiritual significance of it firsthand.

Now imagine that someone within your Jewish faith came to you and said, "I feel like this tradition of circumcision is really no longer applicable to today's culture.  In fact, I think that this practice can actually be really dangerous.  It seems to separate us in ways that are no longer holy.  We should consider not doing it anymore, or at least not making it a part of our worship or a staple of our faith."

How would you react?

Well, that really happened, as most of us know.  And most of us know why.  And most of us would agree with why.  And most of us have benefitted from the decision to remove circumcision from its place as the defining characteristic and practice for people to be considered "in" the family of God.  And so, most of us would have trouble feeling the tension of that decision that was made almost 2000 years ago now.

So, end imagination time.  Again, just for now.

But consider this.  A very similar story to the one about circumcision occurs in 2 Kings 18:1-4:

"In the third year of Hoshea son of Elah king of Israel, Hezekiah son of Ahaz king of Judah began to reign.  He was twenty-five years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem twenty-nine years.  His mother's name was Abijah daughter of Zechariah.  He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, just as his father David had done.  He removed the high places, smashed the sacred stones and cut down the Asherah poles.  He broke into pieces the bronze snake Moses had made, for up to that time the Israelites had been burning incense to it. (It was called Nehushtan.)"

A story like this takes a little bit of contextualizing.  "High places" were places on hilltops designated for worship specifically because of their location, closer to the sky where the gods supposedly dwelt.  Asherah poles were trees or poles that were set in the ground designated to the mother-goddess Asherah.  Both of these elements were clearly idolatrous, and a blight on the uniquely Israelite belief in One God.  Worldly forms of worship had infected the Israelites' worship of the One True God.

But the attacks on pure and God-focused worship weren't coming from the outside only.  In fact, the most sinister attacks on true worship usually don't come from the outside; they come from the inside.  Like circumcision. Such was the case in Hezekiah's day.

If you think about it, the task to destroy the high places and the Asherah poles in Israel was pretty clear--definitely not easy due to their broad acceptance and appeal, but nevertheless clear.  They were blatant forms of idolatry, worship of a God other than Yahweh.  So, whether you like it or not, Israel, what you are doing is here is wrong, because God has given us clear evidence in both his spoken and written word that there is only One God, and we are to worship him only.  Thus saith King Hezekiah, thus saith the religious community, and thus saith God in his spoken and written Law.

But then there's this other thing--this thing that's not an altar to another god.  It's a bronze snake - the same one that God told Moses to craft and lift up in Israel during the time of the exodus, when Israel was disobedient and being punished.  God used this snake to heal his people from the plague they had brought on themselves.  This was a symbol--one that God himself had told Moses to make, one that had brought real life redemption to them, one that had come to symbolize everything that was once good and right about Israel and her relationship to God.  It had even acquired a personal name over time--Nehushtan (a combination of the Hebrew words for "bronze," "snake," and "unclean thing").

We aren't told which Israelites were burning incense to Nehushtan--if they were the same ones who were worshiping at the high places and at the Asherah poles, or if they were different ones. If I were to make a guess, I'd say that for the most part, the people burning incense to Nehushtan probably wouldn't have anything to do with those other "worldly" idolaters. Perhaps they considered themselves the keepers of proper worship, longing for the glory days to which the bronze snake testified.

I think the young king Hezekiah had a bigger challenge facing him on the Nehushtan front than he did on the high places/Asherah pole front.  I'm sure that he found no shortage of allies when it came to ridding Israel of explicitly idolatrous practices.  Purists and reformists can easily be found throughout history and even today, and sometimes in great numbers, especially in church where many of us consider ourselves to be the guardians of proper and pure worship.  But when it came to a sacred religious symbol like the bronze snake which God himself directed the revered patriarch Moses to fashion--something that housed such great and powerful imagery, perhaps even viewed as a beacon of true worship--I bet Hezekiah found much fewer allies.  It could have been that the allies he had found in his campaign against the high places quickly turned out to be his enemies when his vision of purity included destroying the symbol of purity.

And yet the bronze snake was just that--a bronze snake.  That's all it ever was, really.  Just a bronze snake.  It was the Great Spirit-God Yahweh himself who energized it with his healing presence at one time.  Even during that time, it was only a bronze snake.

But Israel had made one of God's instruments into an image of God.  It began to illicit their worshipful affections, and they responded to it like they should have responded only to God and God only.  And so, the courageous and godly young king Hezekiah did the most holy thing he could have done: he killed the snake.  And in so doing, he freed Israel from a form that had begun to restrict their view and worship of the great, mysterious, personal, present, perfect God.  

Let's imagine again.

You are an Israelite who has shunned the worldly forms of idolatry and have stuck to your convictions to worship the One True God.  You go to the temple regularly to worship.  You love to look upon the bronze snake.  It's symbolism stirs your heart and your affections for God in a way that no other method or form does.  You see absolutely no problem with expressing your worship of God through burning incense at the foot of the snake.  After all, God is a God of healing; it's not like you're claiming that God is something he is not as you worship through burning incense at the snake.

But someone comes along, and without discussion or forewarning, destroys the thing that you have held with such reverence and awe.  Even more, he does it claiming that it is an idol just like the high places or the Asherah poles.

How would you feel?  How would you react?  How would you view the person responsible for destroying what you held sacred, without consulting you or anyone else who preferred to worship like you?

End imagination time.  If you can.

But maybe you can't stop imagining, because maybe the implications of these stories are already starting to press on you right here, right now, today.  And it should.  We have bronze snakes all over the place in our places of worship.

"Our music should be..."  Reverent?  Powerful?  Relevant?  Peaceful?  Created by a Christian artist?  God-centered?  Jesus-focused?  Rock?  Hymns?  Gospel?  Excellent?  Timeless?  Culturally appropriate?  Simple?  Deep?  Authentic?  All good things, some even necessary.  But if you let any one of them push their way into a place where you can't see or connect with God in their absence, then they have become a bronze snake.  And you need to kill it.

"I just can't worship like I really want to unless I'm up on stage."  Bronze snake.  God is equally present everywhere.  Kill it.

"Secular music has absolutely no place in the church.  Only Christian music can draw people into the presence of God."  Bronze snake.  God is the creator of all music, secular and Christian, and he can, will, and does use any of it that he pleases to draw people closer to himself.  Kill it.

"Piano-led bands/guitar-led bands/choirs are really the things that invite people into worship."  Bronze snake.  God created every single instrument and authored all rhythms, tones, and principles of arrangement, and uses all of it to speak to all of who he is.  Kill it.

These forms, symbols, and convictions can either serve us by opening our eyes, minds, and hearts to one of the many perfections of the God Who Is Spirit, or they can enslave us by restricting our vision of God to a particular truth contained in a particular form.  And when one of those forms begins to embody God to us, it is up to us to kill it in favor of the God without form.