On Worship and Imagination

For a long time growing up, I may have enjoyed corporate worship but I still felt a strange sort of awkwardness or dragging to it, on those days when I couldn’t somehow connect to the rippling force of joy that I’ve experienced on other days. I never liked to raise my hands or clap along, but half the time I felt obligated to since everyone else was, or since the songs were talking about raising hands. All I knew was that it didn't feel right. I didn't like being forced to do something just to conform, but I also didn't want to do something that no one else was doing and then get judged for it. No matter what the majority was doing —  kneeling, standing, sitting, with their eyes shut, eyes open, feet tapping, feet still, hands signing, fingers snapping… I just couldn’t find any particular thing that worked for me every time.

Then one day I figured out: that’s kind of the point. No single song or choreographed action is going to work for you every time you try to worship. Some days you’ll be too tired to do anything but sit and read your Bible. Other days, you’ll be dancing and belting out every note until you go hoarse. But often times, the thing that will distract you from worshipping freely is the self-consciousness that comes from being in a big crowd. If no one else is standing, should I really be standing? Raising my hands? Kneeling?

Ask yourself this: if you were either all by yourself in a room where nobody could see you, or else in a huge crowd where everyone was doing something completely different and not paying attention to you, what would you do?

Hopefully, when we come to worship, that’s what’s supposed to happen - whatever ‘it’ is to you, on whatever particular day you come to do it. We’re supposed to enjoy God and tell him how much we love him, with whatever language or actions we want. Dancers should go to the back and dance; singers should sing; shouters should shout; weepers should weep; spinners should spin around! Nobody should bother to pay attention to what anyone else is doing.

So me? Well, I used to just stick to singing. I didn’t like the whole raising-hands thing, because to me it just felt insincere. Sometimes I would have the instinct to sway, like there's a habit or force that's deep in my spine that has to glide along to the music. And even if I didn’t consider myself a dancer, when I shut my eyes and let my voice run free, for years I would still imagine angel dancers. Their feet would stomp with every beat and their hands would writhe into a sort of sign language that confirms every word being sung. They’re all choreographed and glorious, faces painted with great and terrible symbols and robes flowing like ribbons. I loved the beauty of it all, the joyful fury, and I would long to one day join the painted dancers… blending in and swooping about and swinging my arms in wide arches to illustrate just how great God is. But you can’t really do that in a church sanctuary without getting some weird looks.

Then one day, I was in a worship service, but had lost my voice more severely than I ever had before. I knew I would be perfectly fine in a day or two, but I wanted to worship God right then, and for once I couldn’t let my tongue do the work for me. I couldn’t sway back and forth and just listen… I had to do. But what to do?

Since I couldn’t sing, I used my hands: gesturing and signing whatever few words I knew… funny how “signing” need only switch two letters to become “singing.” And even though my body was signing, it was indeed my soul that finally started singing. Without my own voice or the notes to concentrate on, my energies went into finding new ways to express the old words I’d heard so many times. And I’ve found that at least in my case, it’s near impossible to make wide gestures without feeling something. I (and many other human beings) talk with gestures and hand movements all the time… but for some reason when worship starts we either put our hands down or occupy them with a few basic motions. Sometimes our hands are meant to swoop and point and spread out! Sometimes our fists are meant to pound along with the drums! If no one cared, then stomp I would! My hands would do their own interpretive dance, my voice would roam free, and sometimes I would bellow other words beside the chosen lyrics in the current song.

So that’s what I do. When I worship, I ignore everyone else. I join those dancers that my mind invented, and I don’t give a fig for what others might think of my interpretive choreography. Don’t get me wrong, though: often times I stand still for God, simply to check my heart and make sure I’m not dancing or signing to get noticed by anyone else. Better an insincere statue than an insincere dancer… but if you just so much as put your hands in front of you, palms up, something will happen. You’ll feel the need to move them and gesture, as if you’ve received something. At least I do. I barely move in worship if my arms are crossed, but after I open my hands and hold them out for just a few moments, I feel the need to use them just like when I talk. So I talk to God, and when I can’t contain myself, I dance.

Not everyone need imagine the dancers that I imagine.

For some of you, you see lines like soldiers: straight, tall, rapt at attention. Faces held high and hands at salute while music pumps their blood. So stand at attention and salute your King.

For others, you see an empty room where you're the only one, in the dim warm light of ancient candles. And there you can kneel to the floor and whisper. You can write on the walls what you’re afraid to say in broad daylight.

You may be sitting in the home you never had, merely breathing in.

Or strolling back and forth through a garden, belting out each note.

I imagine that Place where thousands have gathered, in a wide empty field where the dawn has just begun and the sun is before us. There is room for all, not just to dance but to kneel, to sit, stand, to move, to spin, to run, to leap, to fly, to lie sprawled out in the tall grass, to slowly change from stance to stance with measured precision, to spin until they collapse without hitting a single bystander… and all the while, the music courses through our veins.

For some of you, you're right in front of the crowd, close enough to touch the sunlight in the center.

For others, you’re standing in the back, to soak in the view of so many others joining together in this Place. Or because if they all have their backs to you, you can feel like a part of them but still do what you wish because they can’t see and judge you.

For me, I'm in the middle. Just another figure in the masses, to move and blend in as I choose. Because nobody cares; all they see and all they wish to do is to soak their souls in the sun. When you come to worship, first put your mind right and go to a place where it doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing, nor do they care what you’re doing. But we’re all doing. Any action is welcome: just focus on the sun.

Even if my body stands still, in my mind I always see at the head the audience those figures dancing incredible dances.  The thunder of the kettle drums pounds into my heart and down to my toes until I beat out the pleas of my spirit with the soles of my feet.

Some days I kneel, some days I sing, many days I dance along. But all days, I can finally worship.

When you close your eyes to imagine the Kingdom, keep mind of which people you choose to watch there. Just maybe that's the section that you really want to join. And you are welcome to run to them without fear of judgement from anybody else.