I went to an Andy Squyres concert the other evening. He’s a musician that I got turned on to by Mockingbird. A “Christian musician,” but not like that.
“Contemporary Christian Music” is a big business. It has a certain template, sound, and style. You might call it, to use Luther’s term, “a theology of glory.” Success through faith. Sort of an “I found it!” religion.
Squyres’ music is more of a “theology of the cross,” meaning that faith isn’t just the cherry on top of a successful life. Faith isn’t a matter of confidently thanking God for all our well-deserved blessings and the eternal security guaranteed by saying Jesus’ name all the time.
Faith is meeting God, actually being met by God, when we’re down (maybe out), in suffering, when we’ve failed. Which is how life really is, at least some of the time. More of a “God found me! (Oh crap! What now?)” faith. Found me, got to me in the most unlikely places and through the least likely people. A shattered, scorned man hanging on a cross. Talk about unlikely.
Squyres sings his songs and shares some poetry about the mercy that is somehow still there despite . . . well everything. Grace when life is broken. The light that comes through the cracks. The God revealed in suffering, in the brokenness. Praising God when the evidence would strongly suggest otherwise. Or as the prophet Habakkuk puts it: “Though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit is on the vine . . . though the flock is cut off from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord” (3:17–18).
This is delivered by Squyres with love and wry humor. You’ll get those qualities in this piece from Squyres that a couple of pastor friends shared recently. It’s called “Go To Church.”
Go to church. If the sermon is boring, take a nap. If the sermon is compelling, well then, you’re blessed. Chances are you’re not gonna like the preacher or the worship leader or something like that. All churches are pretty lame tbh, but thank God. I can’t really handle a church that is so slick that I would actually pay attention enough to listen to the announcements.
Hopefully at some point there will be a notice in the bulletin reminding you of the upcoming pot-luck directly following the service. Bring a covered dish: macaroni salad, turkey-noodle casserole, ambrosia salad or pineapple and mayonnaise sandwiches. Hot dogs will be provided.
Go to church. Maybe the praise team stinks. That’s okay. They’re giving it their all. Hopefully there is a song that everyone in the family will like. If the guy leading worship is wearing cargo shorts, believe everything he says LOL. But if the pastor has big muscles cuz he works out all the time, then there will be issues, LOL JK. I’m not working out I don’t care what anyone says. That’s not really true. I’ve been walking 4 miles a day lately cuz I’m trying to live a long time cuz once every seven days I’m sitting my ass down IN CHURCH.
I go where the weirdos are: the crazy charismatics, the sexy liturgical types (them with their vestments and icons) and occasionally I might even hang with some of those middle-of-the-road-safe-as-milk Evangelicals who will do just about anything to make sure people don’t go to hell.
The Church is sure as hell complicated. Have you ever endured a church where all they have going for them is their perfect theology? Those people are kinda the worst LOLOL. I think churches should have smoking sections and free beer. Honestly, we have kinda killed this whole coffee thing. Not cigarettes and beer for the sake of being cool but as icons of grace.
I’m going to church to thrash about and make the perfect theology crowd nervous. I’m going cuz I need to be made nervous too. Life is too short not to go to church, where the old ladies go on and on about nothing, where the teenagers are given the gift of boredom, and where I can get saved from my own perfectly curated life.”
We saw him at Illume, a kind of offbeat church in northeast Seattle. Illume occupies what used to be a Methodist church. Their thing is fostering spiritual community/house churches. The sanctuary doubles for performances like the one Squyres did. The woodwork inside is plain but beautiful. “Where’d it come from?” I asked. “It used to be the floor. All native Douglas fir, logged once in this area. We took it up, cleaned it up, and used it to frame the space.” Kind of a theology of the cross there also. Beauty from the scarred floor.
