Messy Worship

I came across a word today that caught my attention:  messy worship.  I could have followed the internet bunny trail to see what the blogger was referring to, but I thought I'd stop and just consider it myself.  

My pastor reiterates often that we are created to worship and we all worship something:  God or idols.  In 1 Samuel, the people are told (loose translation,) "If you want to return to God, throw your idols in the river."  They threw them in the river, alright.  Then they ran to the place where the tide washed them back up on the shore, and they took them back.  

Now, that's messy worship...and oh, so familiar.

Then I think of my son, who is enamored with a genre of Christian music that is, well, messy in its sound and approach.  He passionately wants me to understand the power of it and insists that it draws him to God in a way that "traditional" worship music does not.  Is there a line in the sand of what is God-honoring worship?  Is it better to listen to Taylor Swift croon about her break-up than it is to hear For Today's gutteral battle cry for the Lord?  Noah had me watch a video of For Today's drummer.  He quit the band to become a missionary in South America.

Worship can be messy.  

I stood on the stage of our church last night, rehearsing a solo with a glorious orchestral and choir accompanyment.  I sang these words:  "Make my heart your Bethlehem...be born in me."  I long for God to reign in my heart, and yet my heart is deceitful above all things (Jer. 17:9.)  

It's messy.  Forgive me, God.

But I will sing through the mess.  I will cast my idols down as many times as I need to.  I will find beauty in the messy, screaming battle cry.  I will accept that the mess comes with choosing the MESSiah.  I will worship.  

This Is Not the Song I Meant to Write

This Is Not the Song I Meant to Write

“These are not the lines that came to me…”-Billy Collins

This is not the song I meant to write

The one with clever insight

And the heavenly melody

The chorus crammed with majesty

It’s the late night tune of a tired mom

An ordinary psalm

From the kitchen chapel, drinking Snapple

Washing dishes, praying wishes

This is not the song I meant to sing

It should have been inspiring

But it’s out of key, no symphony

And the rhythm isn’t steady

I should probably crumple up these lines

They’ll never make a dime

Go fold the clean clothes, thaw out the pot roast

Scrub the floor and pray some more

This is like the middle of a book

That isn’t very good

It doesn’t make you laugh, it doesn’t make you cry

You  keep reading on but you don’t know why

This is not the song I meant to write

I’ve wasted all this time

I’m going to the back yard, out in the deep dark

to write a good song, I hope I won’t be too long

For Becky and the Circle of Hurt

My beloved friend, who stole my heart in the college dorms and has blessed me for two decades with her friendship, told me last night that she and her community are hurting in the wake of two suicides in the local high school.  Bright, well-liked, active boys now gone.  I wonder at the inner turmoil that can lead to such finality.  I have seen dark places, but the door was always cracked and a sliver of light was always shining through. 

What to say?  My heart aches for those who do not know the value of their soul; that they are created, purposed, beloved, empowered, redeemed.  When Evil tells them they are failures, worthless, hopeless, and powerless, I want to shout, "NO!  Don't listen to the lies!" 

It's too late.  Now there is just aftermath.  But in the aftermath, there is that sliver of light. 

I thought I would share the lyrics to a new song I am working on.  It's a song for the aftermath.  I wish I could sing the plaintive melody for you, but for now, just the words...

More of God Now

It's the hard thanks you give in the dark
Sifting through the ashes for the beauty
Finding the tiny, little spark
And you know, you know more of God now

It's seeing how a loss can be a gain
How to travel light and hold loosely to things
Reaching up and out of pain
And you know, you know more of God now
Deeper, wider thoughts now

It's when you have no words to say
you're hoping someone says them for you
Until your timid prayers turn brave
You know, you know more of God now
Deeper, wider thoughts now
The weight of the cross now

It's when you're emptied out and bleeding
and, suddenly, you're overwhelmed by grace
That bit of hope is what you're needing
And you know, you know more of God now
Deeper, wider, broader, higher thoughts now
The weight of the cross now
More of God now