Series on the Church

I am a Worshipper

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by Elizabeth

RealWorship

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I will sing to the Lord as long as I live. I will praise my God to my last breath.

Psalm 104:33

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I was nine years old when I attended my first week of Bible camp. I came back singing. The preacher’s daughter (who provided my transportation) told my parents this story about our four hour return trip: if I wasn’t singing, I was sleeping, and if I wasn’t sleeping, I was singing. And I’ve been singing ever since.

Years later it became a sort of joke in our youth group that “Let’s sing!” was all I ever proposed doing. And sing we would. Our church building had a back stairwell where the sound of our voices reverberated particularly beautifully, and when we wanted to sing, that’s where we would go.

I remember learning new worship songs at the Tulsa Workshop. We still used overhead projectors back then. Nowadays we have Zoe Group for teaching us new acappella songs, but when I was a teenager, the only group singing acappella worship songs was Free Indeed, and boy was I in love. They still produced cassette tapes back then. I remember collecting those tapes and singing my little heart out to and from school in a massive maroon Mercury Sable.

I was always singing. I took voice lessons. I was in choir at school. I sang in the shower. I joined the church youth group choir (Go CYC!). I wanted to be like my singer/songwriter hero Twila Paris — though this probably had more to do with my pride than anything else. In college I sang on the worship team at our campus ministry, but after a couple years of singing into a microphone, I quit. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that my singing up front was too much about ME.

I may not sing on a stage anymore, but I can’t get enough of worshipping God through song. It’s one of the strongest ways I relate to God. I crave it, whether it’s in a large group with modern worship anthems, or a small group singing “camp songs” around a fire, or by myself, picking out simple hymns on the piano or blaring worship music through my tiny purple iPod shuffle.

Worshipping in song is still my favorite part of a Sunday (or anyday) service. It’s where I most often and most consistently meet God. It’s what takes me “past the outer courts into the holy place,” and I can’t get enough of it. I get crazy excited singing songs about God’s worthiness and holiness, whether it’s Jesus Culture’s “Alleluia,” David Brymer’s “Worthy of It All,” Brandon Hampton’s “There is Only One Found Worthy,” or Kari Jobe’s “Forever.” Worship never gets old for me.

We preach to ourselves through our worship music. Laura Hackett Park puts it this way: “Sometimes you gotta sing your way into the truth.” Singing the truth tends to penetrate my heart much faster than someone simply instructing me — that’s especially true if I’m in a spiritually resistant phase. Singing is more participatory than preaching, and if feels safer too, as though I’m choosing to believe and obey instead of being ordered to believe and obey. A song might send the same message as a sermon, but it speaks to my heart instead of lecturing to my head.

Worship music opens the door for hearing God’s voice. That’s why we must make space for worship in song. We have to take the time to let the words sink deep into our souls and allow God to speak to us there. Some of the most important things God says to me happen in worship. Weird, unexpected things happen to my attitude. And they are holy moments, these times when I invite God into my heart in order to change it.

I’ve come to realize that my role in calling believers to worship may not be through “my” music or “my” singing, but it will be through sharing my experiences in worship. It will be through encouraging the Body not to neglect both private and public worship.

I may never be a worship leader or lead singer the way I used to dream. But may I always and ever be known as a Worshipper. May I be someone who calls people to worship. We must be a Church full of worshippers. The world needs to see us loving God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.  And honestly, when we worship? It’s just a little taste of heaven.

So I will be a worshipper. I will worship alone, in the secret place, and I will worship corporately, with other believers, and I will call the saints to worship even more deeply than before.

I will be a worshipper.

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Other posts in The Church series:

Hungry for Community

“Me Too” Moments

On Not Being the Casserole Lady

Dear American Church

Authenticity is Not New

Dear American Church

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by Elizabeth

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Dear American Church,

I love you. You are the Church that birthed me, the Church that raised me, the Church that sent me out — and I will always be grateful for you. I will always love you.

But, dear American Church, can you not see? The walking wounded are among you, and you seem blind to their pain. Have you no eyes to see, no ears to hear, no heart to care?

There are people among you who long to be listened to, who long to be cared for. Who better to care, than the Body of Christ? And who better to walk alongside, than the people of God?

But from my vantage point, American Church, you’re not paying any attention.

In all my stateside travels, the one constant has been people who want to tell their stories. Perhaps they’ve lived overseas for a time or moved here from abroad. Perhaps they stayed in America and simply accumulated some pain along the way.

These people, they’re hurting, and they don’t have anyone to tell their stories to. No one seems to be listening. For who could possibly be interested in anything besides American sports and American vacations and the relentless keeping-up-with-the-Joneses-American-rat-race life??

Everywhere I go in America, I talk to people who’ve had life-changing experiences, who are lonely and hurting. When I sit down with them, their stories start flowing. When I ask them if they have anyone else to tell their stories to, they answer, “No.”

Won’t anyone listen to them?? Won’t anyone be a safe place for them to land??

Dear American church, people want to tell you their stories. They want to be heard. They want to be known. From the immigrant to the missionary, from the layperson to the local minister, these travelers are hungry for people who care.

Dear American Church, don’t you remember that we bear God’s image? And as image-bearers, don’t you know that God calls us to imitate Him in His question to Hagar: “Where have you come from, and where are you going?”?

Dear American Church, you know you don’t have to fix people’s problems, right?? All you have to do is open up your heart and show that you care. All you have to do is sit in silence and listen. All you have to do is offer up the occasional hug and prayer.

All you have to do is let their hurt, hurt you.

Dear American Church, let me tell you something. The wounded? They’re closer to heaven than you are. They’ve seen brokenness. They’ve watched the world break people. They’ve watched the world break them. And they are closer to the Kingdom because of it.

Blessed are those who realize their need for Him, for the Kingdom of heaven is theirs. These words come straight from the mouth of Jesus. The Kingdom is at hand, He tells us; it’s near the brokenhearted. And when we draw near the brokenhearted, we draw near the Kingdom, too.

Blessed are the pure in heart, says our Christ, for they will see God. Blessed are the ones whose hearts are honest in all things, whose hearts know their wounds and know their own deceit. They are closer to heaven than we are. They are the ones who will see God, who will experience Him.

The lonely and the hurting, they know what heaven is, because they know what heaven isn’t — it’s everything they’re not living. They know they need care and companionship, redemption and restoration. In their weakness and in their longing, they are that much closer to heaven, that much closer to the heart of our Savior for this broken world.

Dear American Church, stretch out your hand to them, and take one step closer to the rule of Christ. Touch their pain, and walk arm and arm into the Kingdom with them. Share in their sorrows, and taste of heaven.

Ask questions and listen to their answers. Cry with them, grieve with them, long with them. All they need is you, dear American Church, open-handed and open-hearted.

Dear American Church, I beg of you to do this with me. I cannot bear this burden alone. And neither can I bear the thought of losing my faith in you.  So won’t you enter the Kingdom with me? Won’t you take a look at suffering, and see God with me?

Let us enter into the Kingdom hand in hand with the hurting. They will lead us. They will guide us. The poor in spirit and the pure in heart, the ones who are honest, the ones who are needy, let them take us by the hand and lead us into the Kingdom.

I’m willing. Are you?

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Other posts in The Church series:

Hungry for Community

“Me Too” Moments

On Not Being the Casserole Lady

I am a Worshipper

Authenticity is Not New

The Church: On Not Being the Casserole Lady

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by Elizabeth

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Many a Casserole Lady has cared for me. The Casserole Lady brings food to the hurting, nourishment to the weary, comfort to the downcast. She’s first on your doorstep with home-baked bread and brownies, with meatloaf and soup, and of course, with casseroles galore. She ensures you don’t need to plan and prepare meals when you’re grieving a loss, are freshly postpartum, or find yourself in any other time of need.

I love the Casserole Ladies, but I am not one of them.

Sometimes I think about people with the gift of hospitality and get this gnawing, guilty feeling. Why can’t I be more like them? I wish I could, for hospitality seems like the Real Spiritual Gift. Delivering meals to doorsteps, inviting large groups into your home for meals, hosting people long-term as part of your family — this all sounds so very first century Christian. I sigh and start to think I must not measure up.

But I think my accounting system is off when I calculate this way. Maybe I shouldn’t be tallying things up like this. It shouldn’t be about me, me, me. It shouldn’t be about how valuable or useful my gifts are. We shouldn’t have a “usefulness hierarchy” — that’s a joy-stealer if ever I heard one. Instead, I’ve come to believe that it’s about the love behind my actions. It’s about my offering of love to the Lord’s Beloved, for I speak a language of love to the Church that is no less than those gifted in hospitality.

This idea of speaking a language of love originated in Gary Chapman’s book “The Five Love Languages,” where he specifies these 5 love languages:

Words of Affirmation

Physical Touch

Acts of Service

Gifts

Quality Time

I’ve mostly heard the idea of Love Languages applied to individual relationships, and to marriage in particular. It generally seems to be discussed in the context of getting your own needs met, explaining why you’re disappointed when they aren’t, and of course making sure you meet your spouse’s needs in return. [Note: I’m not saying that’s how it’s discussed in the book. I’m just saying that’s how I’ve usually heard it discussed amongst The People.]

That approach just doesn’t satisfy me anymore. I want to reframe the gifts discussion, and I want to reframe the love language discussion. I want to stop talking about the gifts we receive from God and start talking about the love we offer back to Him. I want to move beyond just determining how I prefer to receive love, and start embracing the way I most wholeheartedly give love.

Some people, like the Casserole Ladies, love through their Acts of Service. (And we’re all grateful for them!)

Some people love through monetary Gifts. (And building funds and charities everywhere are grateful for them, not to mention those of us in support-based ministry who rely on Gifts for our daily bread.)

Some people love through Physical Touch. (And we’re all grateful for the huggers and the greeters and, let’s not forget, the tireless nursery workers and stay-at-home moms.)

Some people love through Quality Time. (And we’re all grateful for the preachers, teachers, and small group leaders who painstakingly prepare lessons week after week, and for those who sit with people, whether sick or well, whether discouraged or not, giving their time to them.)

Obviously this is not an exhaustive treatise on all the ways members of the Body might speak these five different love languages! I just want to ask this question today: How do you speak love, out of an overflow of your own heart, to the Church? Not what you think you should be doing to serve. Not what you see someone else doing. Not what you’ve always done. But, how do you speak love in such a way that brings you joy?

For me, the way I most wholeheartedly give love to the Body of Christ is through Words of Affirmation. I use words with the hope of blessing people, not for my sake, but for theirs. I offer words, and not just in blog posts — though they’re here too. I also pour all my love into emails and private messages, just because I want to, and because it brings me joy. It is through words that I give gladly and love fully.

I take my counsel from Peter, who says “Do you have the gift of speaking? Then speak as though God himself were speaking through you,” and from Paul, who says, “If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging.” I hear their commission to speak and encourage not through the lens of gift or skill or talent, but through the lens of love.

I want the discussion of love languages to be about what we give, for the pure joy of it, and not what we need from others. I want to approach service from the vantage point of love, and not of giftings. Not from a focus on me and what God has given me, but from a focus on offering my love to others. Not in order to pigeonhole myself into speaking only one “language,” but to embrace the way I show love and to give my whole soul to it.

I want our love languages to be an outpouring of love, a breaking open of our alabaster boxes.

 

What is your offering of love to the Church? What Language do you speak to her?

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8RF2MXNPhpI

Check out Julie Meyer’s song Alabaster Box, in which she talks about pouring out all her love for Jesus.

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And we cannot end without a quote from Henri Nouwen who, in his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, expresses my feelings and experiences so well:

“When I first saw Rembrandt’s painting, I was not as familiar with the home of God within me as I am now. Nevertheless, my intense response to the father’s embrace of his son told me that I was desperately searching for that inner place where I too could be held as safely as the young man in the painting. . . .

I have a new vocation now. It is the vocation to speak and write from that place back into the many places of my own and other people’s restless lives. I have to kneel before the Father, put my ear against his chest and listen, without interruption, to the heartbeat of God. Then, and only then, can I say carefully and very gently what I hear.

I know now that I have to speak from eternity into time, from the lasting joy into the passing realities of our short existence in this world, from the house of love into the houses of fear, from God’s abode into the dwellings of human beings. I am well aware of the enormity of this vocation. Still, I am confident that it is the only way for me.”

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Other posts in The Church series:

Hungry for Community

“Me too” Moments

Dear American Church

I am a Worshipper

Authenticity is Not New

The Church: “Me Too” Moments

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by Elizabeth

I always feel so discouraged about motherhood on Sundays. Sundays completely wear me out, taking care of my youngest children’s needs. I feel so out of my league. I think about all the mom blogs out there and wonder how these women have all this energy just to spend on their kids’ intellectual and spiritual development? I’ve got sin issues of my own that need working out; how can I give 110% to each kid???

Once I confessed this to another mom, who surprised me by confessing the same thing back. I felt so relieved. (And so did she.) I told her that every Sunday I think I’m not cut out to be a mom, and she told me, “Every day I think I’m not cut out to be a mom.” So we lamented together, and we laughed together, and I was so relieved to know I’m not the only one who thinks she’s failing in this motherhood venture.

One Sunday I was feeling particularly discouraged about motherhood.  My husband was praying with and ministering to teenagers. This is something I love doing with him, and I miss it. (For our family’s sake, I stepped back from youth ministry when I became pregnant with our third child.) So instead of participating in shiny, glittery youth ministry, I was responsible for the mundane task of picking up my kids from their Bible classes — and proceeding to keep an eye on them afterwards. That morning in particular, I had an intense feeling of missing out on the good stuff.

I sat there, all alone and lonely, when another woman came up to me and started a conversation. Suddenly I didn’t feel so lonely. As we talked and shared about life, I discovered that she, like me, needed some encouragement. That she, like me, dislikes conflict. I felt so relieved. I’m not the only one!? I had been feeling so useless. And I thanked God for His kindness: He sent me one of His own to encourage me. He didn’t have to, but He did. And neither did He let me walk out of church that morning feeling as utterly useless as I had begun.

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One day I was surprised to hear a Christian I really respect talk about the struggle to find time for God in the chaos of overcommitment. I literally breathed a sigh of relief. I’m not the only one!! When I accept too many social or ministry commitments, I struggle to find time to spend with God. And it’s hard for me to say “no.” I felt less like a failure knowing that someone I love and respect also struggles with setting boundaries with their time. I felt less like a failure knowing I’m not the only one whose overcommitments interrupt their tight connection with God.

I tend to look at Christians I respect and think they don’t have struggles anymore. I tend to white wash their humanity, to view them through a lens so hazy I can’t see any flaws, to assume that one day, they just “arrived” and must surely be consistent in fighting against sin and in consecrating their time to God. But I’m always relieved when I learn I’m not alone in whatever struggles I happen to be facing.

Community with other believers is where we learn we’re not alone. It’s where we collect our precious “Me too” moments. Ah the joy and relief of a “Me too” moment! Nothing compares. These “Me too” moments are the ties that bind. They are the mutual woes, the mutual burdens we bear. We share our fears, our hopes, our aims, our comforts, and our cares.* It’s what I love about the Church: endless opportunities for “Me too” moments.

*From John Fawcett’s hymn “Blest Be the Ties That Bind”

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“Not far away from us, there is someone who is afraid and needs our courage; someone who is lonely and needs our presence. There is someone hurt needing our healing; unloved, needing our touching; old, needing to feel that we care; weak, needing the support of our shared weakness.

One of the most healing words I ever spoke as a confessor was to an old priest with a drinking problem. ‘Just a few years ago,’ I said, ‘I was a hopeless alcoholic in the gutter in Fort Lauderdale.’ ‘You?’ he cried. ‘O thank God!’ When we bring a smile to the face of someone in pain, we have brought Christ to him.”

Brennan Manning

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Other posts in The Church series:

Hungry for Community

On Not Being the Casserole Lady

Dear American Church

I am a Worshipper

Authenticity is Not New

The Church: Hungry for Community

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church series1

by Elizabeth

Last week I posted this on my Facebook wall:

This morning at church we sang “We welcome You with praise” (from Chris Tomlin’s song “Here For You”). Sometimes it’s easy to welcome Him with praise. Other times, not so much.

I remember in early 2006 when we learned that Jonathan’s dad had brain cancer. A dear friend dropped everything to come sit with me. I couldn’t pray; she prayed for me. She told God that we bring a sacrifice of praise to Him, for today, it is exactly that, a SACRIFICE. She welcomed God with praise when I couldn’t do it myself.

I love the story in Exodus where Moses holds up his staff, and the Israelites gain the advantage over the Amalekites. Soon Moses’ arms are so tired he can’t hold them up, and Aaron and Hur find a stone for him to sit on. Then they stand on either side of him, holding up his hands. And his hands hold steady.

I remember when Jonathan’s mom was dying of cancer. It was Jonathan’s turn to lead singing, and his mom was in the congregation. As he was leading “God Moves in a Mysterious Way,” he got to a point where he couldn’t continue. An elder took over the song leading, and two men came and stood on either side of him and literally held his arms up as we sang.

May we be people who band together, holding each other’s arms up in the battle. May we be people who join with the tired, the weary, and the hurting, and welcome God with praise even when some in our midst cannot.

He is still with us.

The next day I wondered why I’d felt so compelled to share that. Then I realized that it was because I was writing about the Church, and I love the Church. In fact, I get irrationally happy talking about the Church. I’m captivated by God’s great idea. His magnificent idea.

I didn’t expect my Facebook post to resonate with so many people, but it did. That tells me that we are hungry for the kind of community God designed, even as we sustain damage from His people through unhealthy or abusive church environments.

A couple years ago I wrote about all the reasons I love the Church. But it felt incomplete. There’s so much more to say, so much more to flesh out. My thoughts on the Church have been percolating for a while now. So this is my launching point for a series on the Church. It won’t be in any particular order or on any particular schedule. I’ll add to the series whenever I get the chance, and I’ll unashamedly share how I feel about Christ’s Bride, the Church.

*photo credit

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Other posts in the Church series:

“Me too” Moments

On Not Being the Casserole Lady

Dear American Church

I am a Worshipper

Authenticity is Not New