Worship. It’s a funny thing. I thought my home church’s music was pretty loud. I thought our prayers during church were reasonably passionate. I’d never been in an African church.
The contemplation of worship hit a few days ago. Out team rode in one matatu to a village outside of Moshi. (It was a perfect jungle, complete with abundant banana trees, little streams, and women carrying bundles of things on their heads.) Our purpose: to share with the locals about a crusade happening that night. Okay. That’s normal. After a yummy lunch
(eaten with my fingers =D) and a 5-minute nap, I was rushed outside to dance. For those who don’t know me, I don’t dance much. Especially not to loud music with a beat. But, there I was, in my long skirt, dancing along. I assumed this would continue until the crusade began at 3. As 3 o’clock came around, the dancing just continued.
(These were the lovely gals we danced with)
For the next 2 hours, actually. I’ll be quite honest and admit that, at the time, my attitude was not what it should’ve been. I had let tiredness and irritation/lack of understanding and lack of comfort get the best of me. I got up and danced a little more during the last 2 hours, but I spent a while thinking about worship and how God saw these people. My funk clouded my thinking til I realized that He saw His people singing with all their might, dancing so intensely that sweat is streaming down their faces, and rejoicing in Him. He doesn’t care about the language, dance skill, volume or musical style. He is glorified through the deafening worship as much as the gentle acoustic worship or the silent prayer. It’s about the heart, and their hearts were in the right place.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I sat on my bed, with my worship music as a delicate background to my study. I cherished the gentleness of the sound. I felt God’s presence and I could delight in Him. Shortly after this, was a prayer service. A solid hour of people shouting to God, microphones, keyboard music and all. This time, I embraced it and prayed for a long while to be able to see the beauty in this worship. Sure enough, I did. One hour of hearing people be open with their God. And hour of hearing His children call to Him. It was beautiful. Not in the calm way I’m used to, but still beautiful.
Who am I to stumble them (by silent, watching and sometimes critical, eyes) as they give God everything on their heart, just because it’s not my preferred stye of worship? Seriously. Galatians 5:13 constantly came to mind: For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. ( I also had 1 Corinthians 10:23-33 in mind….the over-ruling idea that in non-substantial issues, I ought to seek the other’s well-being and enjoyment over mine.) That’s my calling: to love God and people. Loving His people means desiring their good above my own. It means setting aside my claim to freedom and worshipping with them. And you know what? I needed and loved that hour of prayer. It’s something I’ve dearly missed in recent years. Top it off with a 3-hour church service and I was set. I might have been a little mentally exhausted at the end of it (…okay, I was brain-fried from the loud music and a sermon being shouted at me in Swahili), but I’m still growing in my appreciation of that. In the meantime, I’ve asked God to help me join them in whole-hearted worship. It’s all about the heart offered to Him.
The contemplation of worship hit a few days ago. Out team rode in one matatu to a village outside of Moshi. (It was a perfect jungle, complete with abundant banana trees, little streams, and women carrying bundles of things on their heads.) Our purpose: to share with the locals about a crusade happening that night. Okay. That’s normal. After a yummy lunch
(eaten with my fingers =D) and a 5-minute nap, I was rushed outside to dance. For those who don’t know me, I don’t dance much. Especially not to loud music with a beat. But, there I was, in my long skirt, dancing along. I assumed this would continue until the crusade began at 3. As 3 o’clock came around, the dancing just continued.
(These were the lovely gals we danced with)
For the next 2 hours, actually. I’ll be quite honest and admit that, at the time, my attitude was not what it should’ve been. I had let tiredness and irritation/lack of understanding and lack of comfort get the best of me. I got up and danced a little more during the last 2 hours, but I spent a while thinking about worship and how God saw these people. My funk clouded my thinking til I realized that He saw His people singing with all their might, dancing so intensely that sweat is streaming down their faces, and rejoicing in Him. He doesn’t care about the language, dance skill, volume or musical style. He is glorified through the deafening worship as much as the gentle acoustic worship or the silent prayer. It’s about the heart, and their hearts were in the right place.
Fast forward to Sunday morning. I sat on my bed, with my worship music as a delicate background to my study. I cherished the gentleness of the sound. I felt God’s presence and I could delight in Him. Shortly after this, was a prayer service. A solid hour of people shouting to God, microphones, keyboard music and all. This time, I embraced it and prayed for a long while to be able to see the beauty in this worship. Sure enough, I did. One hour of hearing people be open with their God. And hour of hearing His children call to Him. It was beautiful. Not in the calm way I’m used to, but still beautiful.
Who am I to stumble them (by silent, watching and sometimes critical, eyes) as they give God everything on their heart, just because it’s not my preferred stye of worship? Seriously. Galatians 5:13 constantly came to mind: For you, brethren, have been called to liberty; only do not use liberty as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. ( I also had 1 Corinthians 10:23-33 in mind….the over-ruling idea that in non-substantial issues, I ought to seek the other’s well-being and enjoyment over mine.) That’s my calling: to love God and people. Loving His people means desiring their good above my own. It means setting aside my claim to freedom and worshipping with them. And you know what? I needed and loved that hour of prayer. It’s something I’ve dearly missed in recent years. Top it off with a 3-hour church service and I was set. I might have been a little mentally exhausted at the end of it (…okay, I was brain-fried from the loud music and a sermon being shouted at me in Swahili), but I’m still growing in my appreciation of that. In the meantime, I’ve asked God to help me join them in whole-hearted worship. It’s all about the heart offered to Him.
My new standard for worship: John 4:24. Anything fitting in that category is good worship.
P.S. My time in Tanzania has challenged me in many ways already, so any prayers ya’ll could send up for me will be much appreciated.
