What did you come to see?

Jesus asks this of the folks who wander into the desert looking for John.

I ask this about the folks who wander into church and find our Wednesday service.

Last night's worship felt rich. Rich, as opposed to "thin," which services sometimes are. Thin is when we've just strung some popcorn on a wire... the pieces are all in place, but there's not much to it. Rich worship has a life of its own. Each part lives, carries something... and that thing gets passed from the call to worship on through to the benediction.

Yet, what happens in worship--where worship and living interact--is really not a function of what I do or what the musicians are able to do. A significant portion of the experience is conditioned by the expectations of those who attend. So: what do we come to worship to see?

"We want to see Jesus," scripture says. Perhaps.

Often it feels less than that. If someone catches a glimpse of Jesus--like Bigfoot scampering behind a sequoia--that would be great. But I feel like the truth is more quotidian: we come to hear some good music... for a moment to breathe, be quiet, be still... for a thought or two in the sermon that can be food for the week.

While I'm confident enough in my preaching, I still rarely feel up to the task of animating a worship service. I often wish I had gifts of charisma that I plainly don't have. I can be gentle and calm... but I rarely manage to get others' pulse to quicken.

At our small group Bonhoeffer discussion after worship, a long time member of the church commended me for taking myself out of the middle of the Wednesday service--so that the leadership and the ministry is visibly shared and not clergy-centric. I wonder if I really did that for theological reasons... or if I'm so uncomfortable with my own ability to carry worship that I step off to the side whenever I can.

What do we come to see? I wish it were only Jesus. But it ends up being partially to see me--and I'm both equipped, yet totally unprepared--and even unwilling, for that to be so.