how to worship by Jami Amerine M.Ed.
Jami For the Record

The Correct Way to Worship God:  Spoiler Alert, Nailed It!

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The Correct Way to Worship God:  Spoiler Alert, Nailed It!

The seventh day is upon us.

Whether the seventh day is my 6th or yours is my 7th, the day of “rest” is old covenant law, still, greatly wanted.

I appreciate this about God.

“Take the day friend!”

“Also, I gift you with sleep.  A fascinating state where you remain alive and breathing, horizontally and unconscious.  While you do this, I, your Maker, command your brain to play with unicorns and dancing giraffes.  Sometimes, you might meet up with your ancestors, or the Son of Man.  Other times, you might be naked at your Alma Mater’s volley ball championship or converse with a talking purple pig.  No worries, this is my gift to you. Shazam!”

The best sleep of my life is the Sunday nap.  Cold sheets, belly full of potluck goodies, and hard, desperate slumber, the greatest gift to mankind, next to the Cross of course.

Ah yes, the Cross.

This is why we Christian Americans do the thing we do on Sunday mornings.

A duty?  Perhaps an old habit or compulsion?  None the less, we have crafted a methodology not to be trifled with.  A crisp white button-down pressed khakis and polished leather.  Fresh polka dots, and an occasional fancy hat or corsage depending on the occasion.

We gather, press the flesh, hug babies, and if the pastor does his thing, and does it well, the sniffles echo in the vestibule. A nod to his “gift.”

And no, I am not criticizing.  However, I am here to tell you, I have come to believe, this is not the only way to worship.

Set free from the confines of “have to” and “must,” I see worship more clearly, precious and dear.

Yes, fill the pews, and tap your toes, but no, not you… unless of course, it is council approved.

I jest.

Raise your hands, lift your eyes; kneel, sit, and stand.

Sing, or just mouth the words.

Chant, or just fake it.

Hold hands or cross your arms.

Volunteer, or fade into the shadows.

Still, we come to worship.

And you there, in the cry room, yes, you, with 4 under four.  This is the place where you might be enlightened, recharged, set free or convicted.  But it may also be the place where you make a grocery list on the back of the visitor’s registration card.  Right next to the doodle you made of the pastor, exaggerating his enormous ears, and yes, that suit, it is older than you.

Also, you.  Hey mama, you are seen.

And no, not in the, “I saw you crying in the parking lot… I know about your husband.”  Or” I heard you are broke, cheating, fat, or simply exhausted.”  If you made it to the parking lot and the youngest only has one shoe, or the baby blew out another diaper, still He knows, you came to worship.

You who doesn’t get Sundays off.

Certainly you, who works nights and sleeps days.

And yes, you, who forgot it was Sunday, or Wednesday, or May.

The heartbroken, who hit the snooze button and slept through, unable to face the empty spot on the pew, no matter the reason, yes, cry out from under your pillow, here you are welcome to worship.

From the pacer in the foyer to the drunk in the street, a murmur or a whisper, “Oh, God …” Yes, worship.

You who ogled the plate and couldn’t fathom from whence the next paycheck will come.

Definitely you, who gave your last dime, and you without one, yes you… worship.

For the foster mom, teacher, doctor, nurse, social worker, blue collar, white collar, joyful, indignant, yes, all of you, cry out in worship.

There, yes you, the early and the late.  The one who clings to the wafer and whispers, “My Lord,” and the one on the couch, who chose pancakes, bacon, and Sponge Bob over that wafer, because, you missed them so much this week. Yes, rage on, in worship.

To you whose cancer, cold, fibromyalgia, aching back, or weak knees, forced or prompted you to stay home in the bed, there is no condemnation in this Lord, Jesus Christ. He hears you, He knows.

Yes, praise, this is your worship.

From the choir rafters to the baptismal pool, from the hard-wooden pews to the cold folding chairs, to the floor of the stall, to the bench in the hall, here we have come to worship.

Half-hearted this week, spilling over the next, the hypocrite, charlatan, fake, fraud, swindler, the harlot, the cheater, the liar, the ordained, and once, twice removed, big, fat, short, tall, tiny or small, it is well. To the depressed, miserably married, separated, divorced, single, lonely, or sad, if you said yes to this God, He hears you and knows, and welcomes us all.  Here we are to worship.

Yes, worship, He died for us all.

Traditional, pop, contemporary, universal, or a mixture of all, welcome to this space where He hears every lyric. The 1st, 2nd, 3rd, or last, indeed, here we are to worship.

Excommunicated, unaffiliated, reborn, drenched in Spirit, the veil is torn, come now, and worship.

The deaf, blind, sick, weak, crippled, sick to death of, yes, all of you, whimper the name of He who gave it all, “Jesus.” There you have it, worship.

Beg for healing, restoration, resolution, or a nap.

Give thanks for new life or 2 for 1 in-store coupons, good while they last.

Ask for forgiveness or pray to erase.  Petition wisdom, favor, justice, or a lunch date.

Sing like Celine, bark like a dog, cluck like a chicken or weep in shattered silence, whatever you call it when you call on His name, yes, worship.

Blameless, perfected, and wholly His child, in a tent, in a field, roaming the wild. Serving in huts, vaccinating and feeding, the poor, lost, hated and mistreated.

Yes, you did it, you just worshipped our God.  Fishing in Scotland with no “church” for miles, look up to the clouds. Feel His warm smile?  Give thanks for the hills, trees, and fat trout. Guess what?

Oh yes, definitely, worship.

Count absences or the numbers of butts in the seats.  Teach about a guy up a tree, tax collectors, Johan, Peter, and Saul then turned Paul. Skip out with a friend who needs you to listen, have coffee and scones, try to pay attention.

Bow your head, or stare into space, but know this, He knows.  Yes, He knows your whole heart.  He can’t be outwitted.  Might I say, what a relief, praise God?

Excommunicated, unaffiliated, reborn, drenched in Spirit, the veil is torn, come now, and worship. #newpost #worship Click To Tweet

He is way too smart, kind, and of mercy.

This God is wise to my games. I hear His soft whisper, “Yes, I love you…still.

And this is the glory, the greatest of gifts.  To be known and be heard, by this God, our Creator.

His nature is good.

This covenant is brand new.  The old is erased, the veil has been torn.  For this, no matter the day of the week, I have this great Friend, and therefore I chose, now, right now, I worship.

Jesus be all over you.

Love, Jami

Splendor and majesty are before Him; strength and joy are in his dwelling place. 1 Chronicles 16:27

You might also enjoy:  A Fat Girl’s Guide to Knowing Jesus

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2 Comments

  1. […] “Dude!?!?!” and Other Inappropriate Things I Say to Jesus […]

  2. Jamie! Lovely and profound as usual. Sarah here from Kenya. Still struggling with the drink. Lost my job. Betrayed by my pastor friend oh dear, a hectic two months it’s been. But I thank God. I am alive, healthy,broke but surrounded by a few good friends….so just to encourage my fellow Christian’s, it’s not over till Jesus steps right in. Blessings and much love

    Xoxo sarah

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