Hosanna

by Pastor James Bell

I was the kid who was bored in Sunday School and fantasized about playing baseball as the pastor droned on in his weekly sermon. How did I get to be so religious?

I can’t blame it on my middle-class, church-going, upbringing. Mother and Dad were faithful to the church, but more generous than most others in our flock about understanding when their kids simply got worn out from “churchianity”. They did worry a bit more about my eternal destiny than that of my two sisters, and rightfully so, because I seemed to relish not being religious. I changed lyrics, shared them with my little friends, and sang them lustily to the appreciative glances of adults who had no idea what I was actually singing. Mother did check me out occasionally to make sure I was not about to commit the unpardonable sin. Dad warmed the seat of my pants in response to a verse he felt disrespected the pastor.

I thought it strange when the pastor announced one Sunday morning that I had been saved, and there was weeping that erupted from the children’s ministry workers. One lady looked over at me and began to pray in tongues. My state of bewilderment was further evidence that a religious person I was not. The pastor even dropped me in the baptistry while I was being immersed, giving me an immediate disconnect with the sacredness of the moment and a strong suspicion that he was not above revenge.

For me, the rites of passage that brought out the worst in many of my friends actually centered my thinking on Jesus and his church. The seed sown by my school teacher parents, as they filled my mind with scripture, began to take root. Serving Jesus made sense to me. The fact that I really did experience salvation, unlike some of my pre-adolescent buddies who just went along to get along, made a huge difference. The Christian lifestyle fit perfectly with the verses I had kept in my heart.

But even in Bible college I wasn’t religious. Even as a future minister, I found much liturgy to be embarrassingly outmoded or hilariously funny. I related strongly, as did every young person in the 60′s and early 70′s, to the word, “real”.  To many of us, that word meant embracing transparency and rejecting hypocrisy. Religion was out. Spiritual expressiveness was in. Not being very expressive by nature, I found myself, once again, on the outside looking in.

After wandering through the wilderness of self-promotion and ambitious striving (I was Jonah in retailing), I arrived back at my original starting point. Religion opened it’s intricately decorated doors to me. I came right on in. But before long I was questing for something more, driving my newest set of mentors to distraction. The result was a leap of faith back into ministry, back into my true calling, back right square in front of the big “R” once again, but this time I had a determination to avoid all things religious. Except maybe Christmas.

Hosanna has drawn like-minded people into a big family. We cherish the teaching of the Word. We give ourselves to unbridled worship without the bondage of religious tradition. We celebrate our freedom in  spiritual things. Then at times we, at least some of us, look in the mirror and repent for things that might not be religious or hypocritical, but are surely just as detrimental to our walk with God.

Time has woven the realization that everything religious is not bad or even outdated. The Lord’s Supper and baptism are our heritage. Places of worship serve as reminders of what God has done (and will do).
There is a place at the altar area of our sanctuary that is sacred to me. I experienced a huge personal victory there. Hymns like “When I Survey The Wondrous Cross” and others can bring me tearfully close to the Master, even though my daily worship usually involves worship songs from this present era of music composition (thank God for Baloche and Redman), and Mississippi Mass ranks high on my iPod playlist.

I don’t worry about being religious anymore. Instead, I am grasping, reaching with a passionate heart, sometimes running and often stumbling, to that place of refuge, that secret place of the Most High. Just “being” with Jesus is worship in it’s most intimate sense. Elijah knew that, as did Rahab and John the Baptist. I like to think they were were about as religious as I am. And yet, we are surrounded with a cloud of witnesses like them from pages throughout the Bible.

So I suppose, in fact I deeply believe, that when we gather to worship these days, we are all in pretty good company.

Blessed abundantly,

James

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