Glory Hallelujah

The strum of the guitar filled this crowded little room. We had squeezed the chairs into this makeshift office that was under construction to listen to this young guy play and sing and see if he would be a good fit as a worship leader for this new church we were starting. I don’t remember what he sang, I only remember a little about the conversation, but what I do remember was an overwhelming sense that this Mark guy was the one God had chosen for this new congregation.

In the middle of the night in a dark community building in Sneedville, Tennessee, I held my head in my hands softly weeping as music poured through my earphones. “I’m coming back to the heart of worship / It’s all about You, it’s all about You, Jesus.” This mission trip to this rural area provided an opportunity for me to pause and reflect on the ways God had been moving me over the last year or so. Our little church was growing, people’s lives were changed and I could see my own relationship with God transforming. And here, humbled before God in this quiet, private space, I realized for the first time that worship isn’t an adjective that describes a church service.

“I just have to tell you that I really feel like I have been learning how to worship,” I told Mark one Sunday after I returned home. “Really,” he said. “When did you feel like you started learning that?”

“Oh, several months ago; around the beginning of the year, I guess.”

“Well, that’s interesting. That’s about the time I felt like I was really learning how to lead in worship.”

That’s the beauty of the Body of Christ. As we use the gifts He has given, we build up one another in such a way that we all fix our eyes more firmly on our God. And when we see Him more clearly, we can’t help but worship.

See, worship is not somewhere we go. It is something we do. And we will worship whatever object grabs our attention. We humans are so fickle in our worship. Webster’s defines it as “extravagant respect or admiration for or devotion to an object of esteem.” And incidentally, “worship” is currently in the top 20% of lookups on Merriam-Webster.com. We want to know what worship really is and what deserves our “extravagant respect.” I think in those early days of beginning to worship, I followed Mark’s gaze. I wanted to see what he saw. And when I focused my heart’s eyes on God I sang those words with a new conviction and reverence that I hadn’t grasped before.

Richard Foster says “singing is meant to move us into praise….If singing can occur in a concentrated manner it serves to focus us. We become centered. Our fragmented minds and spirits flow into a unified whole. We become poised toward God.” Music is powerful. It is meant to move us. I want to be moved toward the “Object of esteem” that is worthy of my full devotion. It takes intentionality to mean what I sing, though, right? Worship is not at 11:15 a.m. on a Sunday. An opportunity to worship is at 11:15. I want to take advantage of every opportunity. Certainly the more I pay attention to the words and their meaning, the deeper I am drawn into the Throne Room and I am moved. 

So it’s no surprise that it is Mark’s new music that is pointing me again to this God that I love. Words that become prayers. Somehow others’ words can be used to set my heart straight and can even express what my soul so desires to say to God. And sometimes the words are beyond what I feel or experience and so as I sing my prayer becomes “God, help me to believe this! Give me the desire to love You like this!” It has long been practiced to recite the prayers of others as a means of solidifying your own faith. And that’s how this new music moves me. My prayer with all of our brothers and sisters through time /[who sang] of the blood of the same sacrifice is that we worship in spirit and truth. That the songs we sing don’t rest in our enjoyment, but are offered to God as worship. This is our song / we lift it to You / singing Glory Hallelujah!

We're Dippers, Not Sippers

“Can we get some Jesus bread, Daddy?” My little buddy skipped down the church hallway holding his daddy’s hand. His dad looks at me, smiles and explains, “That’s what he calls the communion bread.” Britton adds, “I like it! It’s good!” I love seeing my “graduates” from the two year old room excited to be at church and experience God’s presence in beautiful, child-like ways. My own kids like it, too. Jacob calls it “holy bread.” Several weeks ago we had a conversation about how holy it is: that when it is blessed and consecrated, we treat it with special care; we ensure that it is consumed and not disposed of. This past Sunday Jacob asked if we could have the bread to take home so after church we were given a baggie of broken pita bread.  

Lunch that day? Yep. We actually happened to have grape juice, too. 

We’re dippers, not sippers. Intinction is the method of choice.

Which reminded me of the time my daughter was about six. When we got home from church she pulls out tortillas and pours some grape juice, sets it on the table and calls us all into the kitchen. The table had been made ready. Now, there was no consecration of the elements, no liturgy. Don’t even remember if we prayed. But I tell you as we gathered around that table and dipped our Mamacita Flour Tortillas into some off-brand Welch’s in a glass tumbler, God’s presence was palpable.

There’s such mystery wrapped up in the sacrament of Holy Communion. So many different perspectives on what it actually means, what it does, why we do it. And yet one thing cannot escape us: His presence.

One of my favorite roles as a servant is when I get to participate as a communion steward with my husband. As the congregation comes forward, he hands them the bread, I hold the cup (for dipping, not sipping. I only had one sipping attempt last week. It’s always a challenge to respectfully wrestle it out of their hands and hurry and get them another piece of bread. And there was that one time when that lady started to take her piece of bread out of her mouth so she could dip it. I’m pretty sure I put my hand over the cup).  Because of the diverse background of our congregation and the number of first time visitors we have on any given week, there’s always a bit of uncertainly for them as they try to figure out what they’re supposed to do. I, myself, don’t really know what the “proper” response is to someone who offers you the elements of communion. I grew up kneeling at an altar with those little cups and pellet wafers so no one ever handed them to me. However, I’ve come to accept the body and blood of Christ with an affirming “Amen” – a yes! So shall it be! But I would say most of the folks that hear my words “The blood of Christ shed for you” respond with “Thank you.” After all these years, I heard that “thank you” with different ears this time. I’m holding Jesus out to them, I’m sharing Him and offering them an opportunity to know Him in a new and deeper way. Holding that cup as a vessel of His grace and presence.

Later that night I opened the pantry and saw that baggie of Holy Bread. I took out a piece, felt that awed sense of reverence and whispered “Thank You.” Thank You, Jesus, for Your blood and sacrifice. Thank You for Your presence. Thank You for every person that has ever offered me the opportunity to know You more. Let me be a vessel. Let me offer You to others in everything that I do and everywhere that I go. Amen.

With all your mind...

She stands before her easel, artfully blending her paints on the brush and again as she strokes the canvas; the odor of turpentine fills the dining room and kitchen. My mom steps back, tilting her head, and evaluates the colors against the image clipped beside the easel. She touches her brush to her palette, wooing her painting to be exactly as she desires it. This childhood memory flooded back to me this week as I journeyed to Asbury's Florida campus for an intensive seminary class.

I pressed my forehead to the window as if I could actually get closer to the artistry that was unfolding on the horizon.  The whir of the plane pulsed through my skin as I watched God perform His original masterpiece with a display of colors, weaving clouds and light in a dramatic dance. I imagine Him evaluating His own work, whisking a cloud with a flourish of breath to blend the light just right. Watching the sunset six miles above the earth is like witnessing a tenderness that is almost too intimate but invites you to intrude and see the artist at work.

 Author of time ... Creator of all

The hand that paints every setting sun...*

I pulled into the parking lot at Asbury, anxious for this new experience of an intensive week-long class wondering if the reading I had poured over for three weeks had settled in my mind and heart enough to even begin to formulate questions. It felt a bit like having all the paints and brushes in front of me and staring at a white canvas with no vision of creating anything that would convey my passions. The tree, shrouded in fog, stood in front of me in the parking lot giving me hope that perhaps what is unclear can still be beautiful, purposeful and delightful. 

 

Word into flesh … water to wine

Invisible God in human form

Strength to the weak and SIGHT TO THE BLIND…  

Basic Christian Doctrine. Systematic theology. The study of God. How is it that God is three Persons in one Being? Why did God have to become human? How can we know that Jesus was God? Why was his death on a cross necessary for humanity’s salvation? Who is the Holy Spirit? And where does humanity fit into this picture? These are not new questions. These are not unanswerable questions. I have always hungered to think deeply on the things of God and these are questions that I have pondered at a comfortable distance, a distance that allowed me to see the larger canvas without much necessity for understanding the intricate details. But in this class I was challenged to peer into the brushstrokes, to see the individual colors, like focusing on a single tile in a grand mosaic. 

And I long to know, I long to know You more...

I’m not sure why I was surprised, but in this new depth I realized how vital it is to “love the Lord your God with all your mind.” With the guidance of a brilliant professor and delightful classmates, intensely focusing on God’s known-ness, I found my love for Him growing immensely. Awe and reverence overcame me as I was struck anew at the grandness of the cross.

Your willing exchange – my life for yours…

Oh, these are words that I have known, but seeing the brushstrokes, the choice of colors, the delicate pinnacle on which humanity and deity exist in One for my sake caused my knees to buckle and my face to flush, overcome with emotion as I loved God with my mind!

Holy, Holy!

Worthy of infinite honor and glory 

Holy, Holy!

With all that I am,  I adore Thee 

Holy Lord!

Heart. Soul. Mind. And Strength. Oh, how is it that we have decided that theology and academics are stuffy and overrated and have no passion? I have found just the opposite. Study that exhausted my thoughts and focused me on details that I once thought nit-picky and too complicated has generated a flood of love for my God that cannot be contained! 

Sent in His Name, You fill every void 

in every direction uncontained…

HOLY, HOLY!

WORTHY OF INFINITE HONOR AND GLORY

AND I LONG TO KNOW YOU MORE!

*My friend and worship leader, Mark Roach, penned and recorded these lyrics that have allowed me to express my heart and mind in song this week. Enjoy a listen of Holy Lord.