Thank you all who followed the link over from SAL this is a REALLY long one, so hopefully you won't get burned out by it. Thanks again, and enjoy. (also note that this was originally supposed to be a comment directly on SAL, but due to length issues it had to be posted here)
(cracks fingers, neck, toes, knees, hips, ankles, elbows, shoulders, wrists, ribs, back, and neck again) That's right folk's, this is probably going to be a long one.
I will begin by characterizing myself in advance as a VERY enthusiastic worshiper. I maintain this distinction to the extent that I have begrudgingly been dubbed in my church as being the one who "gets" this whole worship thing. I won't get into the specifics of begrudgingly as they do not really apply to this post or comment, but I do feel that it pertinent to include that caveat in the description.
Anyway, as to the enthusiastic nature of my worship. I am probably best characterized in your eyes as that one guy who you see at youth rallies. You know, that one weirdo who always sits on the front row, and even before the musicians have started playing is already raising his hands and speaking in tongues.
As the music plays and the singers begin belting out the words of "Dancing Generation," before the rest of the congregation has shaken themselves from those pre-service social opportunities, I have begun to weave and gyrate in a most embarrassing manner. I flap my arms, hop awkwardly from foot to foot, and complete those ridiculous spins around the altar area hogging all the space I can get and sending small children fleeing in terror from my wild and unbridled passion for Jesus.
At the Altar call I'm usually the 2nd or 3rd to the altar, though never the 1st in order to prevent myself as being labeled the one most in need here this glorious evening.
Of course after service none in my youth group wants to be seen all that closely with me. And for those poor unfortunate souls who were unlucky enough to have to ride in my car, it is the long walk of shame 'round the back of the church; and to quietly slink through the shadows to the farthest possible parking spot so as not to embarrass themselves by associating with the "radical."
Okay, so maybe it's not that bad. But still I can't help but wonder as I turn up the Israel Houghton CD set on interminable repeat, what you all think of me as I drive away in my broken down old car and head, still rejoicing and singing loudly off key into the snow pouring through my open sun roof, for home. I know it's not right to have such thoughts and that in the moment of praise I do it all unto God, but it still bothers me, as I lay there in bed, still snapping my fingers to the darkness, "Am I doing the right thing by being exuberant?"
Perhaps this would be the opportune moment to provide a little insight and back-story into my personal life. I am a missionary....in training. That is to say, I have felt the great call to missions, and in response to that call have done all that I can think of to accommodate it in my life. I've gone on not one but two AYC trips, with plans to go on a third, and to follow up that third with a ten-month missions course at Harvest Bible College (HBC for the hereafter).
But it is not these actions and preparations in themselves that leads to my enthusiasm in worship. Rather it is a conglomeration of the relationships I have forged in my exotic excursions, and more poignantly the revelations I have personally had about the worship of God during them.
Last year the foundation was laid as I watched dumbfounded, in the country of South Africa, the sequentially synchronized movements of the South African people as they followed one after another in perfect step with the person in front of them the pervasive and infectious worship of God. I thought it at first weird that so many, from so far removed locations, could have all learned and practiced ahead of time the specific dances and timing of each one to the specific song played.
I stood transfixed as one after another the South Africans replicated the same moves over and over each in turn playing out their part in the worship of that service. In all honesty, I was frightened by what, at first was thought to be the most garish and gross example of hypocrisy I'd ever seen. But as the music progressed, and the missionary reassured me that none of the observed Holy Ghost dance moves were rehearsed or commonly known among the locals, an overwhelming curiosity replaced my previous fear. I wanted to try it out.
But to simply launch into such an exhibition was entirely out of the question. I am a head and shoulders above the rest white guy among a group of people belonging to one of the oldest and richest cultures on the planet, with no sense of rhythm to boot.
Fortunately, one of the local pastors noticed my mental conundrum, and taking pity upon me took from my grasp the ability to make the decision for myself. As he passed me in the progression of the dance, his arm shot out like lightning and pulled me into the whirling tangle of beat-stepping Afri-stolics. (okay, I probably went to far on that one ^^;)
At first I was like a cat in water, desperately trying to free myself from the situation. But with the African pastor's hand still firmly grasping my arm there were only options afforded to me: one was to try and kung-faux myself free; the other to try and adapt myself to the situation. I chose the latter. And so I began, awkwardly at first, to dance with the South Africans, and somewhere amidst the spinning, whirling, and devil-stomping I found the rhythm and beat of the Spirit in that place.
I won't say it was as perfect and beautiful as theirs was, but with a simple letting go of my control on the situation, I found a deeply humbling and gratifyingly peaceful existence there in the whirling jumble of long skirts and red-dusted trouser legs. I have tried often and in many various mediums tried to convey in understandable terms to others just what it felt like to be there, but for the longest time it has eluded me. If you want to know my epiphany keep reading.
South Africa was followed by a return, at first, to the mundane same-ol-same-ol. I showed up to church and although I wanted to do more, I stayed quietly in my pew and waited for some unsuspecting soul to go up to the altar during the worship service so I could ambush them with the African spirit and then show the world how much better it was in Africa. But infuriatingly, my chances came and went with no reaction from the proposed fellow patrons.
Night after night I would go home and pray in earnest for God to work some kind of miracle upon the fellows of my youth group, so that they too would be able to see just what it was that I had found. But God remained silent, and the monotony began to take it's tole.
I was losing my extra step in Christ. I would still worship, but in doing so, the lack of brotherly fulfillment began to sap from me the joy I once had in doing so. Finally, I gave up all together. In just five short months I had gone from riding high to settling for the mundane.
This trend continued for several weeks, until in late December as the holidays rolled around and I prepared with my best friend to attend Holiday Youth Convention (HYC). Unfortunately, he and I were the only ones from our church going, so even more despondent, I allowed myself to be sat with his girlfriend's youth group.
And what a change it was. For the first time since returning to the states, I found myself surrounded by a cavalcade of spontaneous and, dare I say it, zealous worshipers. The entire group, from the first few notes, till the service leader told them to go sit down the entire group would not be stopped in their demonstrative worship of the LORD. Enthusiastic, and newly revitalized, I leapt joyously with them; thankful that I had finally found a spark of what I had felt in South Africa.
Emboldened in my quest, upon returning from HYC I immediately set upon the task of finding out what the key was to holding the feeling and the worship alive indefinitely. And after finding two passages of scripture that seemed to fit my bill I joyously presented my findings to my fellow church goers.
(Both of these are in the Amplified Bible)
Romans 12:1
1I APPEAL to you therefore, brethren, and beg of you in view of [all] the mercies of God, to make a decisive dedication of your bodies [presenting all your members and faculties] as a living sacrifice, holy (devoted, consecrated) and well pleasing to God, which is your reasonable (rational, intelligent) service and spiritual worship.
2 Samuel 6:12-15
12And it was told King David, The Lord has blessed the house of Obed-edom and all that belongs to him, because of the ark of God. So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obed-edom into the City of David with rejoicing;
13And when those who bore the ark of the Lord had gone six paces, he sacrificed an ox and a fatling.
14And David danced before the Lord with all his might, clad in a linen ephod [a priest's upper garment].
15So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting and with the sound of the trumpet.
Yes to my mind these were exactly what I needed to convince my youth group that worshipful expression was the right way. That we should yield all of our members to the glory and Worship of God in reckless abandon. And that even as King David, the only one to ever be called "a man after God's own herat," danced relentlessly and wildly before the Lord without waiting for the Holy Ghost to make him "feel" like dancing; we too should readily follow his example and submit ourselves bodily unto the Will of God. Armed then with scripture and a (horrendously bad, but stubbornly maintained to be accurate) human relation message I set about my purpose.
Months passed, nothing happened. Sure, I had it figured out, my worship was as lively as ever, both in and out of service (I am greatly surprised I haven't been pulled over for one of my mid-drive talk-in-tongues sessions), but still no reaction from my youth. In fact to my eyes it seemed as though they had become even more spiritually sedentary. Refusing to even clap their hands or stop talking to their neighbor long enough to notice there was a service going on around them. Undaunted I continued to try being the shining example and zealous teacher.
Finally, the time came for me second missions trip, and eagerly I looked forward to a return to that same sequential worship of degrees I had been missing for the past year. But my experience in Madagascar was entirely different. Instead of one after the other following the leading of the Spirit, it seemed as though great waves moved through the crowds and as a single unit each act worship was carried out.
This was not something I was not ready for. At once I was ecstatic to again be surrounded by like-minded Apostolic worshipers, but concurrently I was baffled at the difference in expression from one place to another. Then it hit me, the reason not only that the worship varied from place to place, but also why I could not properly explain my revelation of worship to those at home.
It is mentioned several times in Acts and repeatedly throughout the letters of Paul, specifically where it mentions being in one accord:
(Acts 1:14)
(Acts 2:1)
(Acts 2:46)
(Acts 4:24)
(Acts 5:12)
(Acts 8:6)
(Acts 15:25)
(Philippians 2:2)
This is the fundamental answer. How? you may ask, simply this. In each place, country, and province around the world; even varying from congregation to congregation; there is a noticeable difference in the overall worship and level of demonstrativeness that is entailed among that particular fellowship. Now obviously there are cases in the far extreme and to those I present no out for their actions, but to the vast majority it is a like-mindedness among the people which delineates the exuberance of the people.
In Africa there is a simplicity of life and thereby less daily distractions to get in the way of people going all-out and demonstrating their love for God. Also there is a lessened sense of vanity there, an all-encompassing acceptance of what is, or as Paul put it "In whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." Here in America we have been taught to have an exceptionally well-defined sense of individuality, and unfortunately by that right a healthy extra helping of vanity, making it more difficult and much less likely that we would engage in such broad and demonstrative acts of corporate worship. Surely we have our high-leapers and spinning-wheelers, but for the most part in the States our singleness of mind and unity of accord are more stringent, focusing upon the acknowledgment of a principle, rather than a bodily expression of the same.
What is done here in the states is not wrong. But as I said at the beginning, I am a missionary (in training), and for all intents and purposes I am not intended to continue on in the same vain as which I was raised. I have been shown a different way, not better but different. So don't give me that weird look as through the sermon I drip a moat of sweat into my collar, or drive off crazily into the night with my sunroof open singing for all to hear how His Love is All Around. Just know and understand that my love for God is pure, and that with what I have been shown, I will continue to praise Him with all that is within me.
Psalm 150
1Praise ye the LORD. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power.
2Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his excellent greatness.
3Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp.
4Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.
5Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals.
6Let every thing that hath breath praise the LORD. Praise ye the LORD.
