I admit, a lot of times in the Sunday morning worship service I'm not in the "worship" frame of mind yet. I'm doing a head count making sure my children are all accounted for, and then I'm checking to make sure I have enough tissues for everybody. (No. The answer is always no.) How many typos did I make in the bulletin this week? (I am the world's worst proofreader when it comes to reading my own stuff.) Prayer requests and announcements … The reality is, when the first song starts, I'm just not there yet.
But this past week, during that first song, I saw one of the most beautiful sights I've seen in a long time. Pure worship. Pearl is 94 years old and I know that three or four weeks ago, her shoulder hurt with such exquisite pain she couldn't dress herself. The words for the song were on the screen, but Pearl held a hymnal. As we sang, as she sang, "Spirit of the living God, fall fresh on me," she raised that other hand, the one attached to that bad shoulder. She raised it to a God wasn't a song lyric. He was a companion, a healer and sustainer.
And I was wrecked. The rest of the day. Still.
Pearl's worship wasn't a scheduled event or an agenda item. It wasn't rehearsed or influenced by anyone else. It was genuine worship. It was spontaneous and natural, holy and beautiful.
So I will bless You as long as I live; I will lift up my hands in Your name. Psalm 63:4
What images or events capture the essence of worship for you?