good enough
Anyone who has ever been privy to the long-standing debate over the relationship between faith and works knows at least that it is not exactly orthodox to make a statement such as “I’m not a good enough person to work in the church.” As if there is the higher class of super-Christians who have very little wickedness to struggle over, and maybe at the worst, they have a a few unoffensive sins that cause them a little irritation. And the rest of the world that is deeply sinful would be better to work as plumbers, lawyers, teachers, politicians, or sundry other spiritually insignificant vocations.
But I can say right that I don’t feel as though I’m a good enough person to work in the church. Regardless of orthodoxy, there seems to be a tremendous amount of pressure on those who serve in the Church to essentially be perfect. If not perfect, than acceptably imperfect. No horribly offensive sins, anyway. The church will stand or fall on your perfection. And pastors are driven to the dark to sin quietly, in silence, alone, until they are discovered, and the church really does fall apart.
I don’t need this. I could be getting a M.M. in choral conducting, or music theory, and then a D.M.A. and running an amazing choral program at a University, composing and arranging music, and writing books. Or I could pursue a career in vocal jazz, get with a combo, and start singing standards all over. I could do that. I could be famous, successful, and I could just be a congregant who is expected to be a sinner, and is ministered to.
But I love church music. I love worship. I’ve studied it quite a deal. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve got strong opinions about most things in the field. I have a heart-wrenching desire to teach a congregation about Biblical worship, and to teach musicians in the church how to effectively lead it. I believe God has given me a gift. I think he’s called me to serve in the church. Sometimes I wonder. He didn’t make me mostly perfect, and I’m not interested in getting intimate with a church just to have them find out I’m a sinner and send me packing. The world of jazz wouldn’t send me packing. Christ doesn’t send me packing. I hope.
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