I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this. Writing this is extremely humbling because it will give you a glimpse into my very critical, almost cruel, side. I know we all have that part of our old nature that likes to creep up every now and then, that part we wish we weren't capable of anymore. But man, God really nailed me on it this go-round, and I think writing it out will be the most helpful outlet for this particular Flesh lesson.
It's about worship. And what's not worship. And the fact that much of my worshiping over the years has probably been like cacophonous noise in the heavenlies.
Is worship important to the Christian life?
I think any seasoned Christian would respond with that sort of knee-jerk, auto-pilot response of, "Oh yes, very important!" Amazing how devoted we are as we wag our tongues but how complacent we get when it's time to lift our hands.
Sure, it's easy to "worship" God when the song is timely, the music energizing, or the message emotionally-charging. But what kind of worshipers are we when
the music is outdated?
the instruments are out-of-tune?
the mood is flat and emotionless?
our personal devotions are empty or routine?
I'll be honest, here. As a musical person, one that sings and plays an instrument, it is extremely difficult for me to overlook these variables in a time of worship. I'm so devoted to God until the violin goes flat, or a song from the early 90s pops up on the screen, or, God forbid, we enter into yet another verse of that archaic hymn. Without much thought, my mind slips into auto-pilot, my singing becomes rote, and I leave joyless, having totally missed an encounter with God.
And I blame the music leader.
Or the instrumentalists. Or the style of the songs, the lack of a band, the off-balance sound levels, or the lackluster involvement of the congregants around me.
I enter into these inner accusations without thinking; they are complete and utter assumptions, and then I go on my way.
And do you know the real tragedy of all this? Sure, it's horrific I would lay the responsibility for my personal worship experience at the feet of mere men. It's abominable that I would be unable to overcome the inevitable flaws of live instrumentation, technology, and divergent musical preferences. These things are horrible. Disgusting.
But the real tragedy of all of this is that I leave church each Sunday not having encountered the Living God and being totally okay with that.
I blow through the exit doors as if nothing vital is missing in my life, as if the church experience really is boiled down to an order of service and social encounters. Sure, I totally missed the Presence of God, but hey, two-hours of free childcare and some decent coffee would revolutionize any mom's week!
And how can I so easily breeze through my week without it? Well, let's be even more honest. Because truly worshiping the Creator isn't vital to my life. I haven't oriented my lifestyle around His Presence. I don't live in such a way where if I'm not intimately connected with the Creator, then my life will not only fall apart but simply come to a halt. My daily choices and routine are not intertwined into a dependent cadence based upon Who He is and has planned for my day; instead, my routine acts as an independent framework where He is the mere fire escape, the refuge I run to if--and that's a very big IF--my own carefully-constructed agenda just happens to fall apart.
But God does not want to be my fire escape. He wants to be my everything.
And so He faithfully began peeling back the layers to this major issue in my life by moving me away from home two months ago.
Being faithful church-goers (and we really do love the Body, for all my personal flaws and deficiencies when it comes to worship), one of our first tasks was to immediately embark on finding a new church home. This was the first time I had ever had to look for a church; I have attended, when not traveling in the ministry, my home church since the age of 7 and loved it. We never felt the need to change.
So we approached finding a new church in the usual pragmatic way of looking up different church names, reading a bit about them online, hearing the recommendations of trusted friends, and then choosing a handful that were within a ten-mile radius of our home.
Of course, first impressions are everything. How did they greet us? Were we acknowledged at all? Did we feel safe dropping E off in the children's program? Did it seem sufficient, caring, and organized?
Question after question, evaluation after evaluation. But they all inevitably lead to the "big" question, the one that happens to matter a lot to me.
How was the music?
Of course, my favorite question to ask is, "Was I able to worship Christ today?" This question of course presumes that if I was unable to do worship, then there is something wrong with the church.
Cross it off the list, dear. I'm afraid it's a no-go.
This time, however, God's finger was heavy upon my heart. But why? Is it really so very wrong to prefer updated music selections? Is it really wrong for me to want a band and not an organ? To desire a blend of hymns and praise songs?
I wasn't sure why God was focusing on this so heavily, other than that my hesitations about a church's potential were steeped in petty criticism. And, of course, they were. But there was something more, something deeper at work within me that I could not even begin to imagine existed...because if I had known it was there, I would have been trembling.
During a quiet time one morning, one Sunday morning to be exact, I came across this quote by A.W. Tozer. Read it slowly. Let it sink in. And if you're not struck to the very core of your being by it, then read it again.
What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us...Worship is pure or base as the worshiper entertains high or low thoughts of God. For this reason the gravest question before the Church is always God Himself, and the most portentous fact about any man is not what he at a given time may say or do, but what he in his deep heart conceives God to be like.
Whoa.
I knew my worship was pretty empty, but base? Let me entertain you for a moment with the definition of that word:
base (adjective): lacking or indicating the lack of higher qualities of mind or spirit : ignoble b : lacking higher values : degrading
Lack of higher qualities. Ignoble. Degrading. Contrast those words with the powerful, glorious, pure, magnificent Creator God. They shouldn't even appear in the same paragraph. But somehow I casually bring low, ignoble, degrading worship to the Throne Room each Sunday morning and complain as if I've been deprived!
The real crux of all of this is the root of pure or base worship: whether or not the worshiper "entertains high or low thoughts of God."
It's not the publication date of the song I'm singing.
It's not the style of music.
It's not the out-of-tune violin.
It's not even the incredibly bored expression on the face of the person next to me.
If I'm not worshiping, if my worship is not an encounter with God, then it is solely because I am entertaining low thoughts of Him. Pure and simple. Because I think lowly of God, I dare to bring Him empty, meaningless, critical worship.
And that's really not worship at all. It's an insult.
In my quiet time that morning, I was confronted with God Himself, in all of His Glory--well, in all that I can humanly conceive, which is precious little. But to think that I would dare to entertain low thoughts of Him, One so beautiful, so faithful, so powerful, so creative, pure, loving, merciful, faithful, and true, One who brought only His Best to the table for me--low thoughts of such a One? It's heartbreaking.
It's tragic.
It's ironic, in a God-clearly-ordained-this kind of irony, that I headed to church mere hours after this soul-crushing revelation. It's also ironic, in a God-is-giving-me-an-opportunity-to-practice-this-truth kind of irony, that the worship songs selected for that Sunday morning were all written in the early 90s, songs and hymns I've sung since I was at least five years old. Nothing groundbreaking, new, or original about them.
But it was the most amazing worship experience I think I've ever had.
There was no band.
No lights.
No emotionally-charged atmosphere.
Not even a chic PowerPoint displaying the words. (I know, archaic, huh?)
But I cried. Wept. Worshiped with all my heart. Because, instead of focusing on the songs, the players, or the singers, I asked the Spirit to help focus my wandering mind and heart vehemently on the incredible Personhood of God.
He was so beautiful to me, so worthy of my adoration in those few moments. And for a minute, I finally understood that line I have so mindlessly sung many times before:
Awake, my soul and sing of Him Who died for Thee, and hail Him as thy matchless King through all eternity!
My soul has been asleep. It has been sleeping while my mouth has been singing. But no more. It has been awakened to my matchless King Who died for me, who is deserving of only my highest thoughts, and thus, my highest worship.
May the Holy Spirit train every mind and soul to wake up, refocus, and set our hearts on the only thing that matters when we worship: God.
We love to argue about music style and instrumentation these days in Christian circles. But now I can't help but think these issues are mere smokescreens for the larger, more cancerous problem plaguing our churches: we are more satisfied by a cool guitar riff than God Himself. And the sooner we get honest about this, the sooner we can wake up to all that He is and all that He is actively doing around us.
So, wake up. He has called us to life. Let us not be found sleeping.
