For the first time in I don’t know how many years I worshipped – in a manner of speaking that I will get to later – on Christmas Eve at a church other than my home church, St. Hilda’s. It wasn’t even an Anglican church!

There is no ACNA church in the area, so that was not an option; we could have attended a TEC parish, I suppose, but my wife gets upset when I stand up in the middle of the sermon to contradict the preacher, so that was not an option either. We attended a community church that met on the beach.

Since I lead the musical part of the worship at St. Hilda’s, I have a keen interest in how others do it. In this case, the music, although the style and content was not entirely to my taste (surely “Little Drummer Boy” could be left in the hands of secular merchants), was performed with precision and great expertise. Sadly, though, the first half hour or so – the whole thing was exactly one hour – was Christianity lite entertainment. The congregation did not sing but they did applaud at the end of each act. We, not God, were the audience, the activity was one of aesthetics, a transference of pleasing feelings, not worship: congregational worship requires more and different participation than clapping at the end of a song.

Similarly, the dancing was, to my eye, at a professional level. I hesitate to call it “liturgical dancing” since it included – so my wife tells me – break dancing and other gyrations which defied the best efforts of both of us to identify.

This was not a liturgical church so there was no explicit liturgy. There was a tightly adhered to script, though, whose timing was mercilessly rigid but lacked the elements I’ve become accustomed to thinking comprise complete and satisfying worship – the Eucharist, Creed, Confession for example

The sermon occupied almost half the time. It was a simple, accurate and pure Gospel message. The preacher told us that Jesus was God, was born as man and died for our sin to save us from going to hell. There were about a thousand people there to hear that message. The same thing was repeated an hour later to, I expect, a similar sized crowd.

The sound, lighting, performers and setting (on the beach – we are  in Hawaii, after all) were all impeccable. Police were on the road – paid their overtime by the church, I presume – dozens of ushers were in the parking lot, greeters were smiling, multiple giant TVs were relaying the activity on the stage and…. the rain waited until everything was over.

I left wondering whether this is the future of Western Christianity: entice people to church by entertaining them and hit them with the Gospel after they have been lulled into a receptive frame of mind by the lights and cabaret dazzling their senses.

I hope not, because I am not temperamentally equipped to consume it. I fear it may be so, though.

Here is a cell phone photo of the crowd.

December 25

After attending a Christmas morning service at a different church, I thought I should write an addendum to this post.

This was another congregational church, so I still missed our liturgy with all its drama of the Christian story but, unlike last night, it was a small, warm and welcoming congregation of around 50 – 60 people. The music leaders were less polished, sometimes the words on the screen were out of sync, the congregation didn’t just listen, we sang, many people strolled in late, there was no need for traffic directing police and there were home made cookies following the service; I felt quite at home. Once again, the Gospel was preached quite explicitly.

So, just as our ultimate hope rests in the Christmas Child, I think there is still hope for his church. Even in the rapidly decaying West.

Another cell phone photo: