We Worship

Bright lights, swirling magenta backdrop, four singers, five guitarists, a drummer, and a keyboard player: the stage is set, the worship service begins. On cue, the crowd of hundreds joins in the rousing performance. I sing along. I read the lyrics, catch the melody, and join in. It could be any crowd, any venue. I'm unsure who we're really singing for, but it feels good to be a part of it all.

Softened shades of royal blue flow across the backdrop as the keyboard offers gentler notes. A different voice prays for God to claim his rightful place in our hearts. A woman's tones, not loud but earnest. Continuing to pray, she moves to centre stage.

Her song begins and something shifts in me. It isn't the power of the music, the wordsmith’s skills or the atmosphere in the auditorium that tugs at my spirit. It’s her passion. Her unguarded, honest passion as she implores God to accept her surrendered heart. 

Again I pick up the melody and follow the lyrics. This time my voice falters. Her singing seeps into me. My soul can’t just listen, impassive, as she pours hers out. It yearns for the remembered intimacy of God’s enfolding arms, and reaches out.

Her voice rises. Not pure, not a polished performance, but achingly real. An instrument, chosen and willing, she becomes a conduit drawing others closer to God. Hundreds of faces in front of her, yet she stands alone before Him, soul bared, arms wide, surrendered. 

I add my trembling voice to hers, in Worship.