Worship

Note: this post is part of my annual Holy Week posts.

9 And the multitudes that went before, and that followed, cried, saying, Hosanna to the Son of David: Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord; Hosanna in the highest. (Matthew 21:9)

As Gerald Manley Hopkins wrote, the world is charged with the grandeur of God, but it doesn't always feel like it. It's not just the chaos of wiggly kids on the bench at church or on the couch at scripture time. It's not just that we spend longer reminding our kids to hold still during family prayer than the prayer itself. It's not just that the baby wakes up in the night, takes short naps, and sometimes stays up so late that it's hard to have a quiet moment.

No, sometimes the world doesn't feel charged with the grandeur of God because I don't feel charged with the grandeur of God. I know that if my heart is in it, I can be spiritually fed even as I am simultaneously feeding apples and graham crackers and breastmilk to some child or another. I can be nourished by the sermons in the Book of Mormon even while I am bouncing an overtired baby.

So why don't I always choose that? Why don't I live my days in praise of God?

To be honest, sometimes it is because I want to make sure I am worshipping the right God. I don't want to thank God the wrong way or for the wrong things (such as the Zoramites did at Rameumptom). I don't want to read the scriptures in a way that looks beyond the mark, treating details too literally when they were meant to be symbolic, getting excited about interpretations that don't draw me closer to Christ. I want to hold back a little at the temple, no longer daring to get excited about symbolism that might make me misunderstand the nature of God.

This might all sound like a healthy way to manage expectations, but there's a catch -- you are always worshipping something. You are always devoting yourself to one thing or another -- even if the "thing" is the frenzy of a dozen things. If you let those become the primary object of your time and focus, then, as good as nuanced scripture study or social justice or church culture or anything else might be -- it means you are not really worshipping God anymore. (And really, worshipping nuance is kind of lame.)

So what are we to do? How can we possibly learn to worship God, especially in a news-dense world where focus and stillness seem impossible?

I am no expert on it yet, but here are two things I've learned that are always possible.

1.

I recently noticed that I went away from Sacrament Meeting loving the ward members better (particularly the ones who had introduced themselves in their talks), but I was rarely going away loving God better. Although I believe that there are things that could become more common in our meetings that would help (for example, I would love to be familiar enough with Palestrina and Bach to feel worshipful when hearing them), I realized that I could only fix my own heart. I checked out a book called Worship by Eric Huntsman to see what I could learn. Although there were no chapters on carving out sacred space when kids are invading your bubble, I did learn a lot about the idea of kavanah. This Hebrew word means directing the heart and mind towards God. 

And, as I thought about it, kavanah is always possible. No matter how close or far we feel from God, we can always direct ourselves toward Him, or what we believe His characteristics to be. Even if we aren't always enthusiastic about prayer, scripture study, hymns, church attendance, or temple attendance, we can still go with our thoughts toward God. We can fast and pray with managed expectations and still carve out a space to worship God while doing it. We can read scriptures with nuance and maybe even a little humor, and God will bless our efforts as long as there is really some kind of effort there. Worship isn't about transforming us into other disciples, even the ones that seem more consistent and righteous and excited. Worship is about transforming us to be more like our Heavenly Father who created us in His image and can help us be our best selves. It is about us approaching God with love, hope, and all the trust we can muster. 

2.

Three weeks ago, we had our first Sacrament Meeting at home. In my typical light-minded way, I went and got some canned grape juice my mom had given us. 

"Doctrine and Covenants 27!" I said to Kevin. "We could do this instead of water!"

But we knew that the Sacrament isn't a silly ordinance, and if we were to do this we needed to do it reverently. So we explained to our kids the symbols of the Sacrament, and we mentioned that we should think about Jesus' blood when we take the water (or wine, or grape juice). When Kevin poured a little into my cup, I lifted it to my mouth and felt a visceral reaction I have rarely felt using regular clear water. I felt a brief but profound moment of gratitude for the Savior's sacrifice, for the blood he shed for me. The stillness was quickly swallowed up by the chaos of getting the kids to drink it without spilling, but I felt something. I had offered God something a little silly and a little clever, and the moment I was willing to give those up and give Him gratitude, He sanctified the silliness and cleverness and gave me peace.

I felt in that moment that what God wanted from me was awe. And the good news is that awe is always possible. I see awe in my baby as she pulls herself up to standing and bangs on every surface she finds. I see awe in my kids when they see rain and snow. Even amidst the horror I feel that a microscopic virus can bring the world to its knees, I feel awe as I think of doctors and nurses still going into work every day when things are so scary.

And, like kavanah, awe is enough. Even when we might hold back some of our faith, we can always bring our wonder. We can always find moments of stillness, moments where we realize God is so much bigger than us. And in those moments of awe, those moments of smallness and seriousness, 

we find glimpses of who God really is.

And He is absolutely worth worshipping.