I’m a stickler for integrity. Not that I’m perfect, I just have it as a goal. “Why?”, you ask? Well, for starters, God told me to be perfect because He’s perfect. Actually, that’s the starter and the ender. I know perfection is a lofty goal, but He’s a lofty God and He tends to say lofty things. Before I get too far down a side road, let me get to why I’m writing this time.
If you’re a Christian (a follower of Jesus who thinks about Him, talks to Him, sings to Him, listens to Him everyday), do you REALLY know who you’re thinking about, talking to, singing to, and listening to? Based on my life experience so far, I’m going to say that you don’t. Don’t get upset. Neither do I.
Theology is a silly idea if you think about it. We get the word from the Greek word “Theos”, meaning “God” and “ology” meaning “the study of”. The idea that we can “study God” is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? But I do think that we would be far more passionate, far more revolutionary, far more unashamed, and far more in love with Jesus if we really thought about who God is. Call it theology if you want, but I’d rather use the term romance. You didn’t choose to love God because the set of rules looked good. You chose to love God because at some point, somewhere, somehow, He wooed you. He called you. He chased you. He found you. He bought you. He saved you.
But our worship looks more like a visit to the oil lube joint more than a reflection of the romance that is held between ourselves and our Creator. We get far more excited for football, bar-b-q, shopping, our favorite tv show than we do about who secured our eternity.
There’s a song we love to sing at the church I serve at called “I could sing of your love forever.” Its not a new song per se (as if new is good, but that’s for another blog post); and its chorus has words that go something like this: “And when the world has seen the light, they will dance with joy like we’re dancing now.” But here’s the problem: when we sing those words–out of a few hundred people in the room–not ONE person dances. Nobody even shoots a hip out. Not one head bob, not a sliding foot, no twist, no shuffle, no nothing. So, here’s what I think we should do: we should stop singing it or start dancing it.
I know its just a line in a song, but its a glaring example of our lack of zeal for Who’s in the room, Who’s on our mind, and Who’s in our heart. He’s the One who is also sustaining the galaxies by His mere thought, keeping the sun lit by His will, and Who has taken my place on a Roman cross. But to us, its an oil change. Oh, that we would recognize fully Who it is that receives our worship and more than that, how absurd it is that He actually allows us the unspeakable privilege of coming into His presence, calling Him Father, and communing with Him tenderly. Oh that we would stop treating God like He’s “getting up in age”; like He’s a resident at a nursing home that we shouldn’t get too excited or loud around. Oh, that the indignity of David would invade our staunch and stoic charade of worship and obliterate it with messy, joy-dripping, glory-shouting, I-know-whom-I-have-believed passion for the One who is in the room. Let’s dance.