Jamie Janosz

I’m sitting in the airport at Charlotte, North Carolina, on a Thursday afternoon. I am on my way home after a business trip. To my left is a grand piano where a pianist is offering a very energetic rendition of the Friends theme song. Also to my left, is a blue haired young man in his 20s with a nicely contrasting lilac bandana across his forehead. He is sitting on the ground, back against the staircase, enthusiastically singing along with the piano player, throwing in special requests (Do you know any Beatles?) and then, without luck, asks if he could jam on the piano for a bit. To my slight right sit two suit-coated men. The older man has white hair, a mustache, and glasses. He’s slowly drinking a beer. His lunch companion (it’s almost 4 pm, so maybe not lunch in airport world?) is a tall young man that looks like a mix of Anglo and Asian. He’s sporting a pin striped linen sport coat that is slightly wrinkled. All of a sudden they jump up and gather their suitca...

I should clarify my title. Worship itself, honoring the almighty God , has never made me sad. But, today's church service, congregational singing often does. In an age where we are putting more effort than ever into staging, multimedia, and expertly-coordinated worship bands, I fear we may have missed the point and lost something crucial: the beauty and joy of singing corporately in worship to our Savior. A series of events brought me to this conclusion. First, I attended the memorial service for a dear member of my childhood church, the parent of one of my best friends. Mr. Charles "Chuck" Aarup was a father and a working man - he repaired trucks, so you know he was big and strong. But despite his manly exterior, he was not a gruff man. He had a ready smile and friendly eyes that always gave me a wink. He led congregational singing at First Baptist Church in South Holland, not because he was the best singer, but because he knew how to stir up the crowd. We had ...

It is surprising to hear quotes by author C.S. Lewis and comedian Louie C.K. in the same book. Perhaps this is why I found Mark Eckel’s new book , I Just Need Time to Think , so provocative. Mark was a colleague of mine on the faculty of Moody Bible Institute. He is an avid film-buff, a reader, and an insightful commentator on culture. He values words and abhors unthinking censorship. A provocative line in the book states: “Kill the words. Kill the words’ meanings. Kill the wordsmiths...Why are authors, playwrights, cartoonists, and intellectuals the first to be killed in totalitarian takeovers? Because words are power.” His book is divided into sections on the intellectual and spiritual disciplines, exploring concepts like: study, retreat, discipline, holiday, reading, reflection, obstacles, walking, path, and place. Each chapter provides an opportunity to sink in and ponder these ideas. As I read, it pushed me to think about the way I live. Am I rushing headlong in...

Every Friday, Miss Wolflin would let students in our 8 th grade music class bring in their favorite record album to play. Slim with short, black hair and a cheerful smile, our young teacher was enthusiastic and friendly. Her class was a place I loved to be, even if I couldn’t exactly sing on key as we belted out hippie-era songs like “Time in a Bottle” and “Leaving on a Jet Plane.” I loved music. The daughter of a piano player, I had played keyboard since I was 8-years-old and had recently learned to play the flute. I could sing, although my voice was basically monotone, and had even joined Miss Wolflin’s choir. Music was a safe haven in the train wreck of my junior high life. Smart, shy, and painfully skinny, I was a misfit. I tried so hard to fit in, but even my new Gloria Vanderbilt designer jeans and black t-shirt somehow looked out of place on my angular figure. I was not only shy, but decidedly less worldly wise than my peers. My classmates were gen...