Thursday, October 12, 2006

the heart of worship

Can you read my heart on my face? Do I need to raise my hands to love my God? The drum beat filling my chest - I want it to pour out through my eyes - why? Do I have something to prove to this room? I am questioning myself on a second by second basis.
The beat of worship overtakes my body - it is all I can feel - it has become my heartbeat. I want to be in this moment with not another single person. Alone with only my God - no one to judge - no one to prove this to - no one to question me or cause me to question myself. Drowning in this worship. The beat of worship filling my ears as if I were under water. Overtaking the beat of my heart until the blood coursing through my veins is pumping at the impulse of the music.
Suddenly the impulse is to jump. Jump with the rhythm of the music, and as the singer screams out the words - I AM FREE TO RUN, TO DANCE, TO LIVE, I AM FREE! My hands are propelled up, lifted high above my head, jumping to the rhythm of the music and screaming I AM FREE! at the top of my lungs. In that moment, I am suddenly alone with my God.
I realize later why I never feel comfortable lifting my hands in worship. It never feels authentic - not when you have to make a decision to do it. You think - maybe I should praise God by raising my hands, then your brain contemplates it momentarily, and if the answer is yes, your brain begins to communicate with your body, tapping out Morse code to your spinal cord which in turn passes it on to your nervous system, which in turn sends out thousands of tiny runners to the muscles in your shoulders, back, arms - and then and only then do your arms begin their ascent. It doesn't feel genuine to me when my brain has to do so much to make it happen.
But, in this one precious moment, hands held high, jumping to the rhythm of the music, screaming about freedom - it occurred to me THAT process wasn't the force that got me to this place. The love of God and His gracious message of freedom had swept through me - straight from His heart to mine - rushing through my body with such crushing force that my arms were above my head before my brain even began to tally the votes on this one. It was authentic and genuine - and I couldn't question that - because I never made a conscious decision to worship my God in that moment by raising my hands. For the first time in my life - my hands were held high because my heart moved them - not my brain.

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