Both Devo One and Devo Two this week are focusing on the church, specifically authenticity and relationships. What do you think? Leave a comment.
The Davio Factor
I was there in my coaching role, hoping to help a church in the Seattle area rekindle its fire. There was no apparent crisis --- there was simply and sadly a lack of passion, and purpose.
People were not entirely pleased with their pastor --- who was not entirely pleased with himself. He was open to new ideas (that’s why he invited me to come) but wasn’t sure about the direction he should take or the changes he should be making. The relationship of pastor with elders could be generously described as détente.
The church was in a funk. Nothing terrible going on, nothing much exciting happening either. A lot like many established churches in so many places in suburban America. Sometimes it seems like we are just going through the motions, not really expecting much to happen when we gather on Sunday mornings … but remaining mostly pleasant if mainly bored. It’s what we do.
The service began, the sanctuary was about half-full, and it was already beginning to drag. I sat close to the front, wanting to remain anonymous, intending to soak up the atmosphere. There wasn’t much.
We sang alternating hymns and praise songs, snapped off the liturgy, and settled in for the sermon. It was more like enduring than listening. I really do like this pastor, we’ve had some honest conversations. But he’s not enjoying church right now --- and that shows.
Mercifully, the sermon was shorter than I expected, and we were winding down toward some sort of finale. I was thinking about lunch.
In this church they take the offering at the end of the service, and the music director got up to direct this part. He stood on the floor below the platform and began to introduce the special music that would be presented while the offering was taken. And that shouldn’t take long. I was wrong.
The music director looked extraordinarily cheerful I thought, considering we were at the end of the ordeal. Now, I’m being too harsh, it wasn’t that bad, it was just terribly dull. It was almost over and we hadn’t connected yet --- with God, with the people leading us, with each other, with anything that was happening (or not happening).
“For the offertory this morning, I’ve asked a new friend that I just met to sing a song that he has written.” This almost sounds interesting, I thought. I wonder what’s coming.
I had noticed him. I knew it must be him. He was sitting in the front row. And I was certain he wasn’t a regular. He was way too engaged --- even with the sermon. And he couldn’t sit still or stand in one place during the music. He bounced. My awareness was mostly subliminal, but I was curious about him … even a little concerned.
The introduction continued. “I was walking out of the grocery store yesterday and passed a man who was selling the homeless newspaper. He asked me for a dollar. I asked him why I should buy his paper and he told me that he would sing a song for me if I did. I said OK … and prepared for the worst.” The music director paused for a moment and some of us quietly chuckled.
“He began to sing … and it was beautiful. So I invited him to come to church today and sing his song. His name is Davio. Please welcome him.” Polite applause followed.
I was right. The man I had been watching slowly got up and turned around, revealing an enormous smile. A sight seldom seen in this church.
There was something about him. Something out of place, to be sure, but something almost irresistible, right away. There was something about his countenance, his lack of inhibition. Clearly he didn’t know where he was and he didn’t know the rules.
“Before I sing, I want to tell you my story,” he began. Standing tall and reed thin, maybe 60 years old, exuding a distinctive dignity combined with an intriguing (and somewhat alarming) earthiness, his unexpected presence compelled rows of hibernating parishioners to lean slightly forward.
“A couple of years ago, my life was really sweet. I was married to a wonderful woman, had a great job, owned a comfortable home, had my health, had it made.
But my wife died suddenly. I lost the love of my life.
Then I was at work one day and got a call from a neighbor telling me that my house was burning. By the time I got home, there was almost nothing left. I moved in with a friend temporarily until I could rebuild.
The next month I had a heart attack and couldn’t go to work for awhile.
Soon after I got a call from my boss who told me that they couldn’t hold my job unless I could set a date to return. At that point, I couldn’t. He said he was very sorry.
Finally, my friend told me that he could no longer accommodate me in his home. I had nowhere to go and no job to support me. Even if I got well, I was going to become homeless.”
We were all riveted by now. We forgot the lateness of the hour, we forgot where we were, we couldn’t believe what we were hearing, we couldn’t imagine that this man was in our church --- taking over church. This was way too much reality for church. But it got worse --- which means it got better.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “So, one day I got up and walked down to the liquor store and bought a fifth of vodka. I took the bottle with me and hiked up to the railroad tracks on a berm out back of a strip mall. I sat down on the rail and drank the whole bottle. Before long I laid down right there and waited to die. What a blessing. A train would come and I was too drunk to move, even if I wanted to.”
We were all mesmerized by his words. By the depth of his pain. By the fact that he was here in church telling us all this.
“I should be dead,” he said. He paused, recalled the agony, and sighed deeply. “But I heard a voice. It was the voice of a little girl crying out. The voice said ‘Mister, mister, please help me. I’m lost. Please help me!’”
“I said ‘Go away, I can’t help you.’ And waved my hand. I didn’t even open my eyes to look around. I felt sick. I was so tired. Too tired to move.”
“But she kept calling out to me. I didn’t answer her again but somehow she found me, took my hand, lifted me up on my feet, I don’t know how, and walked me down to the parking lot behind another store. The sun was blinding me and I had to stop. She stood next to me, this little girl, couldn’t have been more than 7 years old, still holding my hand.”
“Then her mother came out of the store, shouting for her daughter. ‘I’m over here Mommy! I got lost and this nice man found me.’”
“Her mother thanked me and walked off with her daughter, leaving me alone and confused, with a splitting headache. All I could do was thank God for sending me an angel and saving my life that day.
And so I wrote this song in my head as I walked home. I’d like to sing it for you now.”
He began. And something happened to every one of us in that room. Because something was happening to him. As he sang in a soul-stirring tenor range about the day he came back to life, a torrent of tears poured down his cheeks. He made no effort to suppress the flow. It was incredibly moving, and all of us were melting.
The impromptu a cappella performance was impressive, but the spirit of the man was totally disarming. We were all spellbound and defenseless against this spectacle of salvation. When he finished, the unnerved congregation sat in stunned silence, except for the sound of muffled sobbing.
“I hoped you liked it,” he said. “I’ve written some more songs and I want to record them. If I make any money it will go to help the homeless. I’m doing well now but so many are not. That’s why I stand outside the grocery store every Saturday and sell the paper. God is taking real good care of me but so many are suffering …”
The pastor came down the steps and interrupted Davio in mid-sentence. He put his arm around our unexpected guest, embracing him with a grimace, and politely thanked him for his music. It was obvious the pastor was trying to close the service since we were running late. Who knew how much more testimony we might get … and how much more we needed to hear.
But the man who had invaded our sanctuary with his story and his song did not object. He put his arm around the pastor’s waist in return and rested his head softly on his shoulder, and spoke no more.
This rarely happens, but at that moment I started to tremble. It was a moment suspended in time. A glimpse of heaven on earth. It felt like church as I once imagined it … the church I still long for.
Afterwards I sat down over lunch with the pastor who was perplexed by what we had just witnessed at the end of the service and uncertain as to what it meant. “From now on,” I said, “we’re going to refer to this as the Davio Factor. Let’s unleash it.” I waited for a response but got none, so I continued.
“That was a blast of authenticity … so rare, so disruptive, so necessary.” I’m searching for words, trying to penetrate the indifference I seem to be getting. “This was an outburst of pure passion, an expression of the Gospel of Jesus that hit everyone in that room right in the heart. And we’ll never be the same.”
“So, do we bring him back?” the pastor wondered out loud.
“Of course, you do! But what I hope you don’t miss is where he brought us this morning. It wasn’t church as usual --- and never should be again! Even though his story is unique, his awakening to God’s grace is an invitation to all of us to share our stories without censoring or shame --- that will draw us to the mercy that meets us in places of great need, and even greater miracles.”
He looked at me like … “What are you talking about?!” Like … “How would we plan a worship service around that?!”
We continued in our conversation for a long time. Because it takes a long time and a new paradigm to debrief a heavy dose of God’s Presence. It is mysterious yet obvious. And cannot be programmed, but only anticipated and received and embraced. When love breaks through, you don’t want to miss it.
This volley of love brings us back to life, wakes us up, defies our low expectations and overwhelms our well-practiced defenses. Upending our pride and restoring our identity as beloved sons and daughters. How do we prepare for it, discern its overtures and effects, stop neglecting and deflecting and blocking it?
Davio knows. And so do you and I when we dare to take God at his word and let this love have its wonderful, powerful, unsettling way in our anxious lives, in our sadness, in our tragedies, in our complacencies, in the uncertainties of our everyday world.
Are you ready for church?
Doug Stevens
The Renewal Project
Austin, TX
I was there in my coaching role, hoping to help a church in the Seattle area rekindle its fire. There was no apparent crisis --- there was simply and sadly a lack of passion, and purpose.
People were not entirely pleased with their pastor --- who was not entirely pleased with himself. He was open to new ideas (that’s why he invited me to come) but wasn’t sure about the direction he should take or the changes he should be making. The relationship of pastor with elders could be generously described as détente.
The church was in a funk. Nothing terrible going on, nothing much exciting happening either. A lot like many established churches in so many places in suburban America. Sometimes it seems like we are just going through the motions, not really expecting much to happen when we gather on Sunday mornings … but remaining mostly pleasant if mainly bored. It’s what we do.
The service began, the sanctuary was about half-full, and it was already beginning to drag. I sat close to the front, wanting to remain anonymous, intending to soak up the atmosphere. There wasn’t much.
We sang alternating hymns and praise songs, snapped off the liturgy, and settled in for the sermon. It was more like enduring than listening. I really do like this pastor, we’ve had some honest conversations. But he’s not enjoying church right now --- and that shows.
Mercifully, the sermon was shorter than I expected, and we were winding down toward some sort of finale. I was thinking about lunch.
In this church they take the offering at the end of the service, and the music director got up to direct this part. He stood on the floor below the platform and began to introduce the special music that would be presented while the offering was taken. And that shouldn’t take long. I was wrong.
The music director looked extraordinarily cheerful I thought, considering we were at the end of the ordeal. Now, I’m being too harsh, it wasn’t that bad, it was just terribly dull. It was almost over and we hadn’t connected yet --- with God, with the people leading us, with each other, with anything that was happening (or not happening).
“For the offertory this morning, I’ve asked a new friend that I just met to sing a song that he has written.” This almost sounds interesting, I thought. I wonder what’s coming.
I had noticed him. I knew it must be him. He was sitting in the front row. And I was certain he wasn’t a regular. He was way too engaged --- even with the sermon. And he couldn’t sit still or stand in one place during the music. He bounced. My awareness was mostly subliminal, but I was curious about him … even a little concerned.
The introduction continued. “I was walking out of the grocery store yesterday and passed a man who was selling the homeless newspaper. He asked me for a dollar. I asked him why I should buy his paper and he told me that he would sing a song for me if I did. I said OK … and prepared for the worst.” The music director paused for a moment and some of us quietly chuckled.
“He began to sing … and it was beautiful. So I invited him to come to church today and sing his song. His name is Davio. Please welcome him.” Polite applause followed.
I was right. The man I had been watching slowly got up and turned around, revealing an enormous smile. A sight seldom seen in this church.
There was something about him. Something out of place, to be sure, but something almost irresistible, right away. There was something about his countenance, his lack of inhibition. Clearly he didn’t know where he was and he didn’t know the rules.
“Before I sing, I want to tell you my story,” he began. Standing tall and reed thin, maybe 60 years old, exuding a distinctive dignity combined with an intriguing (and somewhat alarming) earthiness, his unexpected presence compelled rows of hibernating parishioners to lean slightly forward.
“A couple of years ago, my life was really sweet. I was married to a wonderful woman, had a great job, owned a comfortable home, had my health, had it made.
But my wife died suddenly. I lost the love of my life.
Then I was at work one day and got a call from a neighbor telling me that my house was burning. By the time I got home, there was almost nothing left. I moved in with a friend temporarily until I could rebuild.
The next month I had a heart attack and couldn’t go to work for awhile.
Soon after I got a call from my boss who told me that they couldn’t hold my job unless I could set a date to return. At that point, I couldn’t. He said he was very sorry.
Finally, my friend told me that he could no longer accommodate me in his home. I had nowhere to go and no job to support me. Even if I got well, I was going to become homeless.”
We were all riveted by now. We forgot the lateness of the hour, we forgot where we were, we couldn’t believe what we were hearing, we couldn’t imagine that this man was in our church --- taking over church. This was way too much reality for church. But it got worse --- which means it got better.
“I didn’t know what to do,” he said. “So, one day I got up and walked down to the liquor store and bought a fifth of vodka. I took the bottle with me and hiked up to the railroad tracks on a berm out back of a strip mall. I sat down on the rail and drank the whole bottle. Before long I laid down right there and waited to die. What a blessing. A train would come and I was too drunk to move, even if I wanted to.”
We were all mesmerized by his words. By the depth of his pain. By the fact that he was here in church telling us all this.
“I should be dead,” he said. He paused, recalled the agony, and sighed deeply. “But I heard a voice. It was the voice of a little girl crying out. The voice said ‘Mister, mister, please help me. I’m lost. Please help me!’”
“I said ‘Go away, I can’t help you.’ And waved my hand. I didn’t even open my eyes to look around. I felt sick. I was so tired. Too tired to move.”
“But she kept calling out to me. I didn’t answer her again but somehow she found me, took my hand, lifted me up on my feet, I don’t know how, and walked me down to the parking lot behind another store. The sun was blinding me and I had to stop. She stood next to me, this little girl, couldn’t have been more than 7 years old, still holding my hand.”
“Then her mother came out of the store, shouting for her daughter. ‘I’m over here Mommy! I got lost and this nice man found me.’”
“Her mother thanked me and walked off with her daughter, leaving me alone and confused, with a splitting headache. All I could do was thank God for sending me an angel and saving my life that day.
And so I wrote this song in my head as I walked home. I’d like to sing it for you now.”
He began. And something happened to every one of us in that room. Because something was happening to him. As he sang in a soul-stirring tenor range about the day he came back to life, a torrent of tears poured down his cheeks. He made no effort to suppress the flow. It was incredibly moving, and all of us were melting.
The impromptu a cappella performance was impressive, but the spirit of the man was totally disarming. We were all spellbound and defenseless against this spectacle of salvation. When he finished, the unnerved congregation sat in stunned silence, except for the sound of muffled sobbing.
“I hoped you liked it,” he said. “I’ve written some more songs and I want to record them. If I make any money it will go to help the homeless. I’m doing well now but so many are not. That’s why I stand outside the grocery store every Saturday and sell the paper. God is taking real good care of me but so many are suffering …”
The pastor came down the steps and interrupted Davio in mid-sentence. He put his arm around our unexpected guest, embracing him with a grimace, and politely thanked him for his music. It was obvious the pastor was trying to close the service since we were running late. Who knew how much more testimony we might get … and how much more we needed to hear.
But the man who had invaded our sanctuary with his story and his song did not object. He put his arm around the pastor’s waist in return and rested his head softly on his shoulder, and spoke no more.
This rarely happens, but at that moment I started to tremble. It was a moment suspended in time. A glimpse of heaven on earth. It felt like church as I once imagined it … the church I still long for.
Afterwards I sat down over lunch with the pastor who was perplexed by what we had just witnessed at the end of the service and uncertain as to what it meant. “From now on,” I said, “we’re going to refer to this as the Davio Factor. Let’s unleash it.” I waited for a response but got none, so I continued.
“That was a blast of authenticity … so rare, so disruptive, so necessary.” I’m searching for words, trying to penetrate the indifference I seem to be getting. “This was an outburst of pure passion, an expression of the Gospel of Jesus that hit everyone in that room right in the heart. And we’ll never be the same.”
“So, do we bring him back?” the pastor wondered out loud.
“Of course, you do! But what I hope you don’t miss is where he brought us this morning. It wasn’t church as usual --- and never should be again! Even though his story is unique, his awakening to God’s grace is an invitation to all of us to share our stories without censoring or shame --- that will draw us to the mercy that meets us in places of great need, and even greater miracles.”
He looked at me like … “What are you talking about?!” Like … “How would we plan a worship service around that?!”
We continued in our conversation for a long time. Because it takes a long time and a new paradigm to debrief a heavy dose of God’s Presence. It is mysterious yet obvious. And cannot be programmed, but only anticipated and received and embraced. When love breaks through, you don’t want to miss it.
This volley of love brings us back to life, wakes us up, defies our low expectations and overwhelms our well-practiced defenses. Upending our pride and restoring our identity as beloved sons and daughters. How do we prepare for it, discern its overtures and effects, stop neglecting and deflecting and blocking it?
Davio knows. And so do you and I when we dare to take God at his word and let this love have its wonderful, powerful, unsettling way in our anxious lives, in our sadness, in our tragedies, in our complacencies, in the uncertainties of our everyday world.
Are you ready for church?
Doug Stevens
The Renewal Project
Austin, TX
OH my gosh! What a powerful story and a powerful wake up to those Sundays where we are just going through the motions. I often tell my students that life can change in an instant and that each day should be lived to the fullest because "we are exchanging a day of our life for it". Despite this, I often cant wait for Fridays and forget to truly appreciate what difference I can make and how God can work through me. This was wonderful!
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ReplyDeleteThank you, Reggie! WOW, what a wonderful story!
ReplyDeleteI am sending it to a pastor friend of mine who is also an interim pastor.... :)
We can get so complacent in our routines and insular lives and communities. We have a choice when we get interrupted, be open or clam up. The story clearly demonstrated that. It is my prayer that I will be open when interruptions occur and embrace change instead of running away from it.
ReplyDelete