Drab-tinted spectacles?

Some weeks ago I received a letter about the parlous state of worship in churches today. The writer clearly felt passionately about it and was writing to every minister she could in order to disseminate her views - relying on the old techniques of photocopying and the Royal Mail rather than publishing on the internet. Her point was that worship may be informative, interesting and of a high standard, but it is not honouring God. It doesn't drive us to our knees in penitence. It doesn't set before us the saving power of the cross. It doesn't centre on the awesome nature and love of God. Her conclusion was that practically every service of worship across Britain causes God to shake his head in disappointment. She said she had only once in her life attended a service that could count as 'true' worship. She didn't say where and when this remarkable event took place.

I filed this letter in my recycled paper box thinking, "it can't be as bad as that!" But today's breakfast reading painted a similar picture of the church regarding discipleship, pointing out that we have almost entirely forgotten the great command of Jesus - not to convert people, but to make disciples. Who, in today's church, seriously devotes every waking moment to working out how to do things in the way Jesus would do them? (See the two previous posts.) It left me feeling mildly depressed. The world is in a mess. The church ought to be a beacon of light but isn't. The state of my own discipleship is nothing to write home about. What a gloomy prospect.

Or am I seeing things through whatever the opposite of rose-tinted spectacles is? Does God really look at the state of the British church and throw up his hands in horror?

How did Jesus cope? The world was just as awful a place in his day, and the state of religion was as bad, if not worse. Did Jesus despair? No - he enjoyed life to the full. He had a reputation as a glutton and a winebibber. (A lovely word - a shame it's fallen out of fashion.) How could he go to parties if things were so bad? The way he coped with the mess was to do something about it. He knew he was surrounded by pain, problems and sinfulness, but he didn't wallow in despair. He talked to God about it. He helped the people he came across. He taught and demonstrated the right way to live. Ultimately he gave up his life to redeem the world from its awfulness.

So then - nil desperandum! "Not all is dark. Take courage, Lord of the Mark; for better help you will not find." (As Gandalf said to Theoden.) When I went into the kitchen this morning to find it in a mess, did I despair? No - I set to work washing up. I admit the church and my life (among other things) are way off being perfect, but there's nothing wrong with them that can't be put right with prayer, time and effort.