As a person who grew up between rows of chairs and long talks after a service, somewhere between “don’t step on the stage during a service” and “don’t throw a Bible” I acquired the queer unspoken belief that it was somehow rude to look at people in church, specially during the time of worship. I know that you’re not supposed to be concerned with how the other believers in the congregation worship because your true worship should be an unspoiled offering from the heart. Nevertheless, being somebody that is quite content to people-spectate for hours, I’m afraid that people are too interesting, so I’ve definetely broken this taboo. I confess that I usually watch my neighbors for the wrong reasons, namely boredom, idle curiosity, comparison, or even distraction. Nevertheless, lately, God is showing me that even in my imperfection, His features are also on the faces of His church, and that the changes on their faces is a cause for worship in itself. And, so, as I’m timidly learning to watch others while I, too worship, I’ve noticed that something glorious happens to the human face when its gaze is transfixed on the face of its maker through worship.
For just one second, that face turns ageless, its worries are put in abeyance, and its gaze transfixed on the maker. It’s a re-arranging of priorities, and we realize how small and temporal we are compared to the vast eternality of the one we worship. Because of this, for just a fleeting second, in worship, I fancy that we get to see what a human face was always supposed to look like; beautiful, and unconcerned with its beauty. In that moment, that person has something unearthly come upon it, and a bit like a saline solution clearing away long year’s grime off an old coin, the new, shiny, and old, ancient self are both present, two faces of the same coin, and when tossed up, both spin in a snatch of eternity.
Not only is the face of the individual glorified, but the face of the collective is likewise transformed. Gone is the gossip and calculation, and in comes the spirit of comradeship that makes no sense except by supernatural standards. The carefully constructed hierarchies of power and the vast theories of social construction crumble, and instead, all dance round the true center of power and joy. In that moment, community is made and sustained for in the presence of such power, it is very clear who is really number one, and selfish ambition is replaced by love.
Furthermore, when we gather together for worship, I’ve noticed that the individual and the collective are both distinct and one and the same. In one sense, when one goes to worship at a church, one ought to go for oneself, saying “I have come to worship God” and one should not be concerned so much if one’s neighbors sing loudly and off-key, or even if they don’t sing at all, but rather focus on the state of one’s own heart and desire to glorify the Creator. In another sense, collective worship is also very important, and the presence of one’s neighbors, and the knowledge that all are concerned with the worship of the same person heightens and deepens the private worship, adding “with other people” to the phrase “I have come to worship God”.
On this journey thus far, I’ve seen the look on faces from America, both North and South, and faces from Asia, far and near, and faces from Oceania, and Europe, and all corners of the Earth. Specifically, what I have noticed is that in that moment of worship, the differences of race and culture are both erased and amplified. Yes, in worship the Latino is not less exuberant, and the almond eyes of the Asian are not rounded, and the white skin of the Caucasian is not darkened, and the languages that once we did not understand do not become clearer, but all these things are humbly themselves, and gone is all pretense of pride as a cultural identity. And so, all these things that once separated us now become but harmonies and variations of but one melody, we are not less ourselves, but become a part of the fractal that C.S. Lewis aptly named “the Great Dance”.
As I seem to be fated to also die in the church, I think I will begin to unabashedly watch people worship during a service and memorize their faces as their gaze is transfixed on the Eternal, and then watch in wonder as their new face and community slowly take over the current one. And, in these tastes of eternity, these things that once divided us in a vast gulf collide as they spin in the centrifuge of rising scales that sing Gloria!.
