Worshipful Worship
It will be the irony of ironies when my daughter Jada is all grown up and, when she has her hands raised high as she praises God at a worship service and is asked where she learned to do that, will answer, "At the Presbyterian church where I grew up." After all, it's not for nothing that our denomination is known as "the frozen chosen."
But worship at our church is quite lively. And so it is not unusual for congregants, including me, to raise our hands in worship. And as I raise my left hand and hold Jada in my right hand, she has also taken to raising her hand up high. It is the cutest thing.
I used to think that she was just trying to be like me, or that maybe she thought I was reaching for the lights up high and wanted to do the same. But Amy believes that she is truly worshipping, that she understands the presence of God in her own way and is responding with her body.
My pastor agrees, reminding me that this notion that adults are somehow more able to worship God than children because we know more is not necessarily Biblically grounded. After all, when told by His listeners perturbed by the many kids interrupting a good sermon, Jesus told them they ought to be more like the kids.
I think this is what makes worship at my church so, well, worshipful. Because I can look around and see a whole myriad of worshippers, worshipping in different ways and with different mental capacities. In fact, what is perhaps most stirring is the worship of those who the world might say would have the least capacity to worship, whether because of age or mental illness or physical handicap.
We aren't worshipping willy-nilly, completely lost in emotion and devoid of rational truth. But neither are we closed off to those who may not have seminary degrees or college degrees or any degrees, but who are stirred in their hearts by God and for God, and who respond with reverent dancing and vigorous clapping and, like my daughter, with raised hands.
But worship at our church is quite lively. And so it is not unusual for congregants, including me, to raise our hands in worship. And as I raise my left hand and hold Jada in my right hand, she has also taken to raising her hand up high. It is the cutest thing.
I used to think that she was just trying to be like me, or that maybe she thought I was reaching for the lights up high and wanted to do the same. But Amy believes that she is truly worshipping, that she understands the presence of God in her own way and is responding with her body.
My pastor agrees, reminding me that this notion that adults are somehow more able to worship God than children because we know more is not necessarily Biblically grounded. After all, when told by His listeners perturbed by the many kids interrupting a good sermon, Jesus told them they ought to be more like the kids.
I think this is what makes worship at my church so, well, worshipful. Because I can look around and see a whole myriad of worshippers, worshipping in different ways and with different mental capacities. In fact, what is perhaps most stirring is the worship of those who the world might say would have the least capacity to worship, whether because of age or mental illness or physical handicap.
We aren't worshipping willy-nilly, completely lost in emotion and devoid of rational truth. But neither are we closed off to those who may not have seminary degrees or college degrees or any degrees, but who are stirred in their hearts by God and for God, and who respond with reverent dancing and vigorous clapping and, like my daughter, with raised hands.
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