Back when men still wore watches, we preachers had a rubric. If you saw people glancing at their watches, you were in trouble. If you saw them tapping the watch and holding it up to an ear to see whether it was still running, you were finished. Close in prayer and try to do better next week.
So what is the difference? What makes one service glorious and uplifting, the kind you could stay in for hours, and another one grindingly slow?
Years ago I was in a class on worship at Covenant Theological Seminary, a dozen of us from different traditions, and on a break we got to talking about what makes a worship service come alive for the people who do this every week for a living. The answer surprised me enough that I wrote it down. Hold that thought.
A woman changes the subject
Jesus is traveling through Samaria, hostile territory for a Jew, and he stops at Jacob's well outside a town called Sychar. A woman is drawing water in the heat of the day, which is odd — women drew water in the cool of the morning or evening. She is out there alone because she is not well thought of in town.
He speaks to her, which breaks two rules at once: men did not speak to women they did not know, and Jews did not speak to Samaritans. He asks for a drink, then tells her to go get her husband. She says she has none. He tells her she has had five, and the man she lives with now is not one of them.
So of course she changes the subject. Sir, I perceive you are a prophet. Our fathers worshiped on this mountain; you say Jerusalem. Which is it?
And Jesus answers: the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth — for the Father is seeking such people to worship him.
Worship is about internal realities, not external appearances.
What we are actually doing here
If you are new to us, have you considered how strange this is? We bring you into a big room you have never been in, full of people you have never met, and ask you to greet them. Then we ask you to sing songs you have never heard — the only other time anyone does that is at a concert. Then we ask you to repeat back words from a book you may never have read, and to hear a man read from that book and call it binding truth for everyone everywhere. And along the way we may ask you to contribute money for the privilege.
That is weird. And if you know Jesus as Lord, it is also the heartbeat of your life.
The word worship comes from the old English worth-ship. To worship is to declare someone's worth. And notice where the attention goes. Not to the preacher, or the music team, or the kids. When our vocalists sing, they minister to you — but you are not their audience. When I preach, I hope I minister grace to you, but you are not my audience either. You are not an audience at all. You are a congregation. There is an audience of one.
So much of what passes for worship is not God-centered. It is me-centered: educate me, affirm me, convict me, excite me, entertain me, heal me. Every one of those has the same common denominator.
In spirit, and in truth
In the Greek, when Jesus says in spirit, there is no definite article. It is not the Holy Spirit. It is the human spirit: the way you think, the way you feel, the way you speak, the way you relate to people. Everything that makes you human, brought into the room — intellect, affect, will, and yes, your body.
The old covenant people worshiped standing for hours in the sun, hands raised, weeping, face down in the dust. Somewhere along the way somebody started the rumor that the Reformed are supposed to sit on our hands. Absence of emotion is not evidence of spiritual maturity.
Which brings me to a nerve I will touch on purpose: music.
Some of us love the old hymns, and they have lasted for a reason. Amazing Grace. A Mighty Fortress. Be Thou My Vision, from the thirteenth century. A hundred years from now the church will still be singing them.
Some of you only want the new songs, the ones that have been on the radio for two weeks. I like them too. But contemporary music is meant to be disposable, and that is fine — whenever God blows the winds of renewal through the church, it comes with an explosion of fresh music. And traditionalists, I have news for you: every hymn you love was contemporary once, and the old guard hated it.
So can we love each other enough to sing each other's music? I do not like everything we sing here, and I pick a lot of it. Don't tell Caitlyn. But I sing it just the same, because it matters to somebody else in the room. That is one way to love your neighbor.
And in truth means anchored to the word of God, with Christ at the center. If you come here and we hand you five keys to financial success and four secrets to a better marriage and never present Christ to you, we have failed and you got ripped off. This is not a self-help club.
Jesus does not scream at that woman. He does not scold her or shame her. He loves her into the kingdom of God, and then tells her plainly who he is: I who speak to you am he.
The thing I said I would come back to
Those dozen preachers on a coffee break. Number two was a well-prepared message. Number three, a sense of flow. Number four, a sense of abandonment into God's presence.
Number one, for all of us, was robust, heartfelt congregational singing. You have no idea what it does for us to hear you sing the way you sing.
I have given my life to preaching. And there will be no preaching in heaven — no need for preachers on the new earth. But there will be singing around the throne. What we do here on a Sunday is a rehearsal.
For my sake, for our sake, for God's sake — let's sing.
