Praise

My relationship with God runs deep.  He is truly the source of everything I love:  His attributes frame the character of my beloved husband. His innocence and gentleness are reflected in my children.  His love is manifest through the fellowship of genuine friends.  His Word contains timeless wisdom, the intellectual challenge I crave.  I resonate with the summits and peaks that He fashioned into existence.  There is rich euphony in the songs of God.  (When I keep this in mind, then an eternity with Him is nothing but precious, even if it means parting with all of the aforementioned.)

God has equipped me (and you) with means for connecting with Him, a bond that moves something deep inside of us.  This kinship is nothing less than rich, yearning, desperate, gasping, and savory.  You've all heard me refer to it as "resonance," as if all light and sound and time come together into a reverberant harmony for just a moment.  The world can even seem to slow and blur, and we take a step back in awe and reverence of God.  It can unexpectedly move me to tears.  Of the many ways this sense can be evoked in me, corporate worship is not one of them. 

I was recently planted into a corporate worship experience while at Catalyst, a leadership conference in California.  I guess we've all had these 'corporate' worship experiences: a large body of people, all singing or directing their attention to our Creator, in praise.  The music is stirring, the words are written to prick the heart for God.  Every eye is closed and head is raised Heavenward.  Hands are open, and raised in ready offering to God.  Then why exactly am I irritated?

Honestly, I feel manipulated; as if I am a hungry dog and the worship leader is bribing me with the kibble of sentimentality.  It feels cheap, hollow, and unsatisfying.  The more repetitive and 'sappy' the lyrics, the more disconnected I become.  (I recently reasoned with myself that God Himself is holy holy holy, and any more than three repeats is just showboating.)  Jesus spoke and taught truth in new ways without resorting to mindless repetition. 

I do recognize and value the commonality of our praise in corporate worship.  Thousands of raised voices in unity  mirror the Biblical descriptions of Heaven:  the 144,000, nay, the countless believers in eternal praise to God.  In that day there will be resonance beyond description! 

Part of my bias may be cultural.  I was blessed to serve three months in Bangkok, Thailand, where there is a hierarchy to the body parts.  The feet are considered unclean, and are therefore not to be pointed toward anyone; stepping over another person is an insult since it places the foot above them.  The head, on the other hand, is more sacred, and is not to be touched.  The head of a respected elder should be above the heads of the lowly.  (It was somewhat difficult as a tall woman in a country of short Asians-- I constantly had to stoop when passing others!)

Praise is so much more than a song or an action.  It is not a constraint placed upon us when we enter into gatherings.  Psalms depicts the raising of hands to God as a sort of offering; the sacrifice of praise replaces the sacrifices of the law.  Praise can be offered through the conduit of the hands, the voice, instruments, the words of our mouths, shouting, dancing, and even our feet.  As my favorite artist Rich Mullins once put it, we are "a people who've learned to walk in faith, with mercy in our hearts, and glory on our faces."  That is as good a depiction of praise as I can think of.  I offer the daily works of my hands as praise to Him, but I continue to feel awkward, out of place, and disconnected when raising my hands in song in the assembly.

So as I stood in the congregation at Catalyst, the music swelled, and I was surrounded by countless hands raised in praise toward God.  My heart responded and I chose instead to remove my shoes.  In that moment, I was truly standing on holy ground.   I can only pray that my offering will be acceptable to my God, even with my hands at my sides.