Eleven Pipers Piping

Eleven Pipers Piping

When Worship Carries You

      My youngest son just finished his Christmas concert.  I love elementary Christmas concerts.  There is something magical about seeing the little ones dressed in their reds and greens and singing songs about Christ's birth.  Some of us have some very fond memories of Christmas concerts as children.  Not all of them good memories.  One more negative memory is when the music teacher handed out recorders.....I hated that instrument almost as much as my parents did.  I would have rather rang instead of played the recorder.  That makes me think about the eleventh day of Christmas, pipers.  Pipers don’t speak.  They don’t explain.  They don’t fix anything.  They simply play.

      And sometimes, in grief, words are exhausted.  I know that might sound strange coming from the lips of one of the most extroverted people you will ever meet, but there are times when I simply run out of words.  There are times when prayers feel empty, when Scripture feels heavy, and when silence feels loud.  There is a part in the musical Shrek when the green ogre sings "when words fail, what will I do?"  Indeed, what will I do when words fail?  Day Eleven reminds us that when words fail, God still meets us through song.

      Music reaches places words cannot.  Grief lives deep in the body, in the inner recesses that we typically do not delve into.  It's like the Mines of Moria in Lord of the Rings.  Grief settles in the chest, the throat, the breath.  That’s why music can feel so powerful—it reaches places conversation never can.  The Bible understands this:  “The Lord is my strength and my song (Exodus 15:2)."  Notice the order.  God is not only your strength; He becomes your song when you cannot create one yourself.  There is a certain sacredness to singing to the Lord, there is a strength that is revealed in the midnight hour.  You don’t have to sing well.  You don’t even have to sing at all.  Listening is enough.

      Tragically we have relegated worship to a performance, but worship is anything but what's done on stage or merely in public.  Grief can make worship feel awkward.  You might think, “I don’t feel like praising”, or “I can’t sing this honestly right now", “Everyone else seems joyful, and I’m not.”  I think that one is probably the most common during the Christmas season.  Everyone else is festive but you.  But worship is not about emotional consistency.  It’s about presence.  Some of the most honest worship is silent tears during a song.  God does not grade your worship—He receives your heart.  This isn't some pass or fail test, but instead God created worship as an outlet to relieve your weary, grieving heart.

      The Old Testament prophet Zephaniah gives us a beautiful picture: “The Lord your God… will rejoice over you with singing (Zephaniah 3:17)."  Even when you cannot sing to God, He sings over you.  It reminds me of Aslan in the Magican's Nephew.  Aslan sang Narnia into existence.  He sang over His creation.  God's song is one of delight, protection, reassurance, and nearness.  You are not too broken to be sung over.

      Worship can hold both lament and hope.  The book of the Bible that shows this the most clearly is Psalms.  Psalms is a favorite book of many believers.  We find comfort in book because it showcases raw, unfiltered human emotion.  This book of worship songs are mingled with grief.  The Psalms are full of woes and sorrows, cries of confusion, honest complaints, and aching questions.  And yet, God calls them worship.  I find such comfort in that realization.  Worship isn't just when you hands are lifted toward glory, it's even when you face is resting on the ground in tears.  Spurgeon once said that when grief presses you to the ground, worship God there.  You don’t have to choose between lament and praise.  God welcomes both.  Sometimes worship sounds like "God, I don't understand, but I trust you."  And you what, thats enough.

      Worship is uplifting because it takes our focus off of this world and puts us into a focus on glory.  You don’t have to lift yourself out of grief.  Worship can lift you when you’re tired.  Let worship music play while you are driving, crying, cooking, sitting quietly, locked in your bathroom with the blow dryer running to muffle the sound, when you are resting, etc.  Let worship be the background noise of grace.

      I challenge you to choose one worship song today.  I know that might be difficult.  For me personally worship music was a trigger for tears in the early stages of grief.  But don't choose a song that forces cheerfulness, but instead one that feels honest.  Sit with it.  Let it wash over you.  Let it almost be like holy water.  Let God meet you there.

Reflection Question:

      - How has your worship of God been effected since 

         the loss of your loved one?

      - What worship song do you plan on listening to this

         week?

      - How do you 'feel' after listening to worship music?

A Prayer for the Weary Heart

Lord, When my words run out, be my song.  When my heart feels heavy, let worship lift what I cannot.  Thank You for meeting me in melody, in tears, in silence.  Sing over me today with Your love and peace.

Amen.