“Ugh….where’s the instruments? Why can’t I hear anything but the alto on the worship team? Why is it so bad? It’s nothing but drums and alto…seriously…drums and alto? I am trying so hard Lord, I’m trying to worship, it’s not the song, it’s not the style, it’s the sound!
No, I’m sure it’s ME! I can see other people with their hands up and tears in their eyes…there’s something wrong with me. Help! I can’t get past this grating sound in my ears! I’m one of those awful people who can’t worship because they’re picky! What’s happened to me? Should I go tap the sound man on the shoulder and ask him if he could please provide some form of melody just for me? Nah, probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Please, do something God…I really want to worship.”
Ever been there?
Yeah, it’s probably just me. I mean, I know I’m not the only one, but I truly thought I was better than that. There I go thinking again.
I stood there, on a Wednesday night (unaware that they had just installed a new system and hadn’t had the time to get the kinks out), amid other worshipers, and was nearly in tears. It wasn’t the badness of the sound making me cry, it was really my fear that I had become too shallow to worship with a good attitude. My heart felt really heavy and I was sincere. I really wanted God to help me see a way past it, cause I couldn’t get there on my own.
“To honor you my King,
To honor you my King,
I live my life to honor you my king.”
The worship team was up there singing from the heart. Completely oblivious to the fact that I could only hear one of them.
“Hands upraised, shouts of acclamation
Endless hallelujahs, praises to the One.”
I started to feel bad for the other singers and the band. They were up there playing their hearts out, singing with beautiful abandon and it all seemed lost.
“They aren’t singing to me. They’re singing to God, He can hear them just fine,” I reminded myself.
“To worship at your feet…”
Then it came.
“To worship at your feet…”
The awakening was over me, under me and in me. I knew I had broken through. His feet. Who thinks about feet as a pleasant place to be? Where the dirt gets picked up and stains, where the ground meets the man, the least honored place to fall and I’m confessing my worship there. This is it. I’m there.
“I bow my heart and worship at your feet.”
And I was. It wasn’t that the angels of heaven took over the sound, and the missing voices were magically filled in for me. No, it wasn’t that at all. It was that I found a place to honor Him. I could get past the earth and flesh meeting in this bad, bad sound because I don’t worship Him to glorify me, to meet His eyes and see His appreciation of me, or to feel his hands pat me on the back for my performance. I worship in the humble and low places, because worship is confession that I need Him. I bow my heart. I worship at His feet.
Once again, I stood amazed and humbled by His presence. He was there all along. He heard my heart, my ridiculous prayer, and found me worth answering. He taught me anew the joy of worship, anywhere, any way. I am determined to bow. I am determined to lay down my expectations. I am determined that I CAN worship, especially at His feet.