What if worshipped with reckless abandon?
Today we split into to smaller teams again, with some of our team staying at the guesthouse to lead the Pastor’s Conference (which was a beautiful time of growth and rest for our pastors), while the rest of us headed out for a day camp at Thunzini Baptist Church. Day camps are a great way to reach many people, with children, youth and women attending to heard the Word, study the Bible, worship, pray and share a meal together.
And what a time we had!
I don’t know about you, but in America, I attend a contemporary Baptist church, with dim special mood lighting and soft worship songs and everyone stays in their seats. If folks are feeling something, they might lift a hand. There’s no dancing, there’s only occasional praying out loud. It’s a show we perform in some ways.
Eswatini could not be more different – a synthesizer keyboard turned up to max volume, clapping. on beat and off beat, dancing in conga style lines down the aisle of the church, praising, singing, running, whistling – this is church in Eswatini. It’s somehow chaos and a synchronized dance all at the same time.
At the end of our day camp yesterday, we prayed and praised and danced and worshipped until we could no longer hold our arms up. Until our sides ached. Until our breath was gone.
A chaos of joy. A synchronized dance of holy. This is what worshipping Jesus is supposed to feel like.
In America, it seems to me that we are far more worried about the performance of church than sitting at the feet of the Father. We are more concerned with the task of”don’t make a scene,” “don’t stick out,” “stay in your lane.”
To be clear – worship can be still, small, gentle, quiet. I’ve met Jesus in those places. I’m sure you have too.
Psalm 63
1 You, God, are my God,
earnestly I seek you;
I thirst for you,
my whole being longs for you,
in a dry and parched land
where there is no water.
2 I have seen you in the sanctuary
and beheld your power and your glory.
3 Because your love is better than life,
my lips will glorify you.
4 I will praise you as long as I live,
and in your name I will lift up my hands.
What would it look like if we worshipped with the reckless abandon of our Swazi friends? How would it change our churches if we stopped caring so much what the lights looked like and whether or not folks were staring at us when we lifted our hands? What if we stopped “doing church” and started to see how the Spirit moved us? How would our pews change? How would our posture change? How would you change?
A chaos of joy. A synchronized dance of holy. This is what worshipping Jesus is supposed to feel like.