Picture this if you can:
Dominican church service. Weird green walls and white plastic chairs. No altar, no fancy instruments, no English. Just you and Jesus. You forgot to find a seat underneath the fan, so after a few minutes you start to sweat. You’ve got your bible ready to alternate between swatting mosquitoes and looking up verses. And you’re a little bit sleepy from a day packed with teaching the ninos and trying to understand Spanish all day. Then they start singing..
If you know me well, you may know that one of my favorite things to do is to worship the Father with song. I love good music, good singing, and to sing the words of my heart to Jesus. A collection of melodies and notes that come together to sing the words that your heart wants to say. It’s why God created music! So we could sing to Him and for Him. Mmmmm. Worship.
The thought of a new worship experience had me pumped. I was so ready to worship with my Dominican brothers and sisters.
But then the music started…
It wasn’t bad. Let me just say that, first of all. But everything that I knew from worship in the states was not present. Most of it was a Capella. Not normal. A lot of it was slightly off-key. Not normal. And all of it was in Spanish. Definitely not normal…
I think it just shocked me. With service four nights a week, I expected to stay spiritually fed with no problem. I expected to see some parallels between that service and my home service. I expected to look forward to worship in the same way that I did in the states. But alas, my expectations once again fell to the ground.
But this opened my heart to learn a new lesson. I had recently just learned this year that worship was more than just a song. It has shown up time and time again: we have the opportunity to worship in every moment of every day. But I guess I just assumed that meant to make good choices and love and stuff… To serve God by following His will for us. BUT THERE’S A SECOND PART!! (And probably a third, fourth, and fifth I have yet to learn).
Anything. Soak that word in for a second.
Anything that you do before the Father, or anything that you do for the Father is worship.
If a son sang a song that he wrote about his Papa, the father would be proud.
If a son drew a picture for his Papa, the father would be pleased.
If a son danced just for his Papa, the father would be ecstatic.
If a son clapped for hours in rhythms that he loved just for his papa, the father would get up and dance to the beat.
So that’s what I did. I couldn’t sing along with the words this month. I didn’t hear beautiful melodies that reminded me of God. But I could clap. I learned the tongue of rhythm and clapped before my Father. It was just as intimate as any worship I’ve ever had because it was done for Jesus; my offering. And it was probably more fun.
He just wants us. In any way that brings us joy, He is brought joy when it is done in His name. The list is endless. I could even stack paperclips as high as I could for my Father, and He would be pleased. But today I clap for Jesus. As it pleases my ears, it pleases my Father’s and I love it! I clap for the joy in my heart; I clap for the God that came down and humbled himself before his creation. I clap that God is tearing down this box that I’ve built around Him, and teaching me that He is worthy to be praised in song, clap, and dance. Brace yourself, America! I’m bringing clapping to the states!!!! (For as long as I stay there, anyways).
