After thirty years of being a Christian I realized I don’t know how to worship. Last year I was doing a brain detox through Dr. Caroline Leaf’s online program, in which each day begins with one minute of thanksgiving, one minute of praise, and one minute of worship. Thanksgiving I could do, praise I could sort of do, but for that minute of worship I was confused. Should I kneel down? What should I say? Should I sing?

I asked around, but no answers were enlightening. My Christian upbringing seemed to equate worship with “worship services”: gathering with other Christians to sing with the praise band. How to worship in the quiet of my own home seemed a mystery. I googled it: lexico.com defines worship as “the feeling or expression of reverence and adoration for a deity.” I tried praying things like, “I adore You; You’re powerful and amazing.” It felt so awkward.

This experience raised my awareness of worship, but I was still confused. Dr. Leaf suggested that worship is thinking about God and who He is – not in reference to my circumstances, but centering the mind solely on God. I found this very difficult, but it was a beginning. Occasional phrases of adoration began appearing in my prayer journal. You are worthy and holy and beautiful and wise.

Then a few weeks ago God blew the doors off. It happened like this: I was struggling on a Sunday morning with something not going my way. I was hurt. I was confused. I thought God wanted me to absorb the hurt and forgive, so I prayed for His thoughts over mine, and I tried to move on. I was certain this was what He wanted, so when He didn’t answer my prayer I was blindsided. I was hit with the force of my pain and anger and realized that He had not answered my prayer. I prayed, I cried, I asked friends for prayer. I repented, I visited with a trusted friend. No matter what I did, I was still reeling.

Two days in I realized I was angry with God and really hurt that He had not answered my prayer. I had lost my safe place. Most of the time when I sit with God, my soul takes a deep breath, full of peace and belonging. This sense of safety was shattered. I was angry and afraid and hurt. (So much so that when I shared what I was experiencing with my husband, my whole body was shaking.) I was deeply torn and in the dark, feeling desperate and lonely.

The third morning I got up to pray, wanting to meet with God and repair. My kids interrupted my quiet and I got angry. Doors were slammed, children were screaming. I sat in my prayer chair sobbing. I had repented of not trusting God, asked for prayer, met with a friend, and come to God’s presence for reconciliation and still I felt overwhelmed by darkness. I had no ideas left.

I was groping for what to do and remembered that Scripture is supposed to have power over darkness. With my stomach burning and tears pouring down my face, I spoke aloud that God loves me and each member of my family. I began saying aloud whatever scriptures came to mind, mentally groping for any phrase or verse I could remember. As I spoke aloud the 23rd Psalm the agony began to subside. The darkness lifted, and I felt some peace and hope return to my bruised spirit. This was a turning point, but it was weeks before I felt safe with God again. As happens in all relationships, a painful misunderstanding had occurred and it took time to recover.

As I processed the experience with God, I wrote with these words: Lord I confess that what You are doing in our home and with our family is Your work. If I try to control it, it will utterly fail. My trust is shaken, but I hope as the roots re-grow they will grow deeper into You. I am reminded that my faith is to be in You and not in methods. I am reminded that I am weak. I am “admitting that I am powerless over my problems and that my life has become unmanageable” (Alcoholics Anonymous). I am catching the faintest scent of freedom – that if I am powerless I have permission to let go and stop trying. In Christ I receive the very power that raises people from the dead. Thank You for letting me see my powerlessness that I might be enabled to be a channel for Your power. Thank You for humbling me (again). 

So what does all this have to do with worship? I believe worship is a catalyst for humility, and humility a catalyst for worship. This was a profoundly humbling experience. My plans and ways and expectations were shattered. I was reminded that God is God and I am not God. What pleases Him may not be what pleases me. And yet far from being scary, this is comforting. If I am as big as He, or if I understand His plans, what is left? Why even have a God? I need Him to be big. I need Him to be mysterious. Worship places me in wonder of Him. Knowing He is bigger keeps me smaller (humble).

My friend Ruth put it bluntly: “I am like a pimple on God’s bottom.” This is not usually the message I hear in sermons and literature, and it caught me by surprise. But the more I think about it, the more I agree with her. Compared to an infinite God, my finite existence is not worth mentioning. Yes, God in Christ has given me the potential of a personal relationship with infinite God. But I am still small, I am created, I am finite. I am important to God only because He chose me to be important.

Worship keeps me on the road, so to speak. It pulls me back from the ditches on either side: on one side I think I am doing well and don’t need God’s love; on the other side I think I am doing poorly and don’t deserve God’s love. Worship reminds me that I can never do well spiritually on my own – being in the presence of a King reminds me I am a commoner. Worship also reminds me that I am loved deeply without reference to my performance – being in the presence of a Savior reminds me I am accepted, beloved, and adopted into spiritual royalty. As Timothy Keller says in his book The Reason for God, “The fact that Jesus had to die for me humbled me out of my pride. The fact that Jesus was glad to die for me assured me out of my fear.” This is what I stumbled upon (or, more accurately, what God was lovingly teaching me) in my torturous loss of pride. The way God relates to me saves me from both pride and self-sufficiency; from both fear and despair. There is safety and courage and peace in worship.

During my Sunday morning struggle I was falling into both ditches. I knew I was doing poorly, and I was afraid of the fear and anger inside. Yet I thought I was doing well by asking God to fix it for me. I forgot to let God be God. I didn’t come to Him in honesty about my pain and humbly ask for help. I had forgotten the gospel: I am both deeply flawed and deeply loved. Sinner saved by grace.

Dr. Leaf says, “When you thank God, He listens; when you praise God, you can feel His presence; when you worship God, He acts on your behalf.” I have found this to be profoundly true. When I manage to take my focus off myself and place it on God for even a moment, He is able to show up in ways I had never imagined.

So back to the original question, what exactly is worship? I still don’t have the answer, but I do have one taste of truth I can begin with. Worship is knowing I am small in relation to a great God. Worship is knowing my own story in the gospel story. I need to be in the presence of Someone so infinitely greater than I, that I know my smallness just being there. I remember I cannot be good and I cannot provide for myself, and this is both humbling and liberating.

I worship You because You are glorious mystery: Lion and Lamb, King and Servant, Creator and Created, Father and Son, infinite yet personal, knowable yet beyond understanding. You are God and I am not.