WHAT DO WE do in a worship service? What should we do?

You’re probably familiar with the phrase “worship wars”: conflicts in congregations over the how of a worship service that sometimes seemed to forget the why. The disagreement, which could get quite heated, tended to focus on the music. What kind of songs should be sung: contemporary praise songs, or the classic hymns? Is it okay to have an electric guitar and drums, or do we stick to just a piano and organ? Is our mission to reach out to an audience that would be attracted by the kind of upbeat music that sounds more like what they’re used to, or draw people into our existing worship traditions? And so on.

The war, it seems, is mostly over. Mostly. And we don’t need to belabor the issue here, except to note that we should expect resistance anytime someone tries to change a meaningful tradition — as in, “What do you mean we’re not having cranberry sauce out of a can at Thanksgiving? We’ve always done it that way.” As at least one historian has argued, there were worship wars even during the time of Martin Luther, as Christians fought over who should sing: a choir, or the congregation?

Imagine what might have happened if someone tried to add drums.

But again, what matters most — what has always mattered most — is not the how, but the why. Why do we gather for worship in the first place? The word “worship” doesn’t mean music, whatever form it might take. At root, it means to ascribe great worth to someone — worth-ship — and respond accordingly, with deep reverence. When we come together to worship, therefore, we may or may not sing. What makes it worship is that we remember who God is and give him the reverence and adoration he is due.

. . .

PSALM 118 SEEMS to be a mix of forms. On the one hand, as we’ll see shortly, it expresses the psalmist’s individual gratitude to God for answered prayer. On the other hand, however, there are clearly liturgical elements that involve other people: an assembly, a congregation. Some verses describe what seems to be a procession to the temple to offer a sacrifice of thanks. And in that context, the psalm both opens and closes with the same words:

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;
    his love endures forever. (Ps 118:1, 29)

This is a summons to worship. Before telling their own story of desperation and salvation, the psalmist invites others to join in grateful praise. And with the same words bookending the psalm, the why of worship is made crystal clear: God is good, and God’s covenant love, which could also be translated as “mercy” or “kindness,” is forever.

Then, in a manner similar to Psalm 115, three groups of people are invited to repeat the psalmist’s words for themselves:

Let Israel say:
    “His love endures forever.”
Let the house of Aaron say:
    “His love endures forever.”
Let those who fear the LORD say:
    “His love endures forever.” (vss. 2-4)

The worship leader extends the invitation first to the entire assembly, addressing them as the people of Israel; in unison, they respond, “His love endures forever.” The leader makes the same invitation to priests; they too respond in unison. Then the entire congregation is summoned to praise God again, but in a way that reminds them that they do this as those who fear God, who understand who God is and why he is to be worshiped.

Imagine being in a worship service at your church. It probably has a predictable order and feel to it; you know what to expect, what to do, and when you’re supposed to do it. And sometimes, it’s easy to do things by rote. The worship team invites you to sing, so you sing.

But what if, one morning, the worship leader paused and said, “Before we sing the next song, let me ask you a question. Who here truly understands how mighty, how majestic, how fearsome God is? Yes, we’re here to worship God for his love and mercy, but we must never treat God as if he existed only to care for our needs. He is the Creator and Lord of the universe. We don’t just worship him for what he’s done for us, we worship him for who he is. So if you don’t understand that, if that’s not why you’re here, please don’t sing.”

Frankly, if that happened, I suspect some folks in the congregation would call for the worship leader’s resignation or dismissal. But what about you? Would you sing? Would you hesitate? Nobody, of course, is going to make you sign an affidavit first: Yes, I do solemnly swear that I fear God as I should. The main thing is that the worship leader got you to think about what you were doing before you did it, to focus on the worthiness of God that is the reason and ground for all worship.

. . .

LET ME ADD one more admittedly speculative element to the picture here. Again, the final verse of the psalm, like the opening verse, calls the congregation to give thanks to God for his goodness and mercy. And in a similar vein, here’s verse 28, the next to last verse of the psalm:

You are my God, and I will praise you;
    you are my God, and I will exalt you.

In the New International Version, the psalmist seems to be using three different verbs in these two verses (that is, verses 28 and 29): “praise,” “exalt,” and “give thanks.” But in the Hebrew, “praise” and “give thanks” are the same word (though the latter is in the form of a command). At root, the word envisions using your hands to do something, like throw a stone or even a spear. But in the Psalms, it’s only used, over and over, to suggest using your hands in gestures of praise and thanksgiving.

So imagine this. The worship leader prays, “You are my God, and I will praise you,” with hands lifted to the heavens. “You are my God, and I will exalt you” — the leader’s uplifted hands embody the exaltation, the lifting up of God, the lifting up of the prayer itself. Then the leader turns to the congregation. “Give thanks to the LORD,” the leader commands. Together, the people lift their hands, praising and exalting God, perhaps even saying one more time, “His love endures forever.”

Did it happen that way? Who knows? But perhaps we might consider the way in which our worship could be embodied. I’m not from a charismatic background myself; raising my hands in worship doesn’t come naturally to me. I feel awkward and self-conscious. But I’ll tell you this. The times when I have raised my hands during congregational singing, it unlocked something in me: a bundle of emotions, a sense of gratitude and surrender. My self-consciousness, if you will, was edged out by God-consciousness.

I’m not telling anyone what to do. I’m not saying there’s one right and biblical way to worship. But as we read the Psalms, it might be good to ask ourselves what it would mean to worship God with all of who we are, body and soul.