Before I even got to Training Camp I knew that I was most definitely going to be out of my comfort zone when it came to worship. Being a musician myself and having been on a few worship teams here and there, I like to think I’ve experienced a wide variety of styles, but I know I definitely have some preferences.
I started attending an Assemblies of God church when I was in college and still go there, where the worship style is more contemporary and more varied, but still incorporating hymns. For me, it’s the best of both worlds, and I love getting to play and sing on the team there – it’s caused me to learn a lot about worship and helped me improve as a musician.
I do tend to err more on the conservative side of things. I grew up in the Presbyterian church, and until I had graduated high school, that was all I really knew. The denomination is sometimes jokingly referred to as the “frozen chosen” in regards to both liturgy and worship, and some of that tradition has still stuck around in my subconscious.
I get impatient when songs run “too long.” I mentally check out when I’ve repeated the same sentence a dozen times. I have to resist from rolling my eyes when I encounter a metaphor I perceive as cheesy. I’m not proud of these things, and I’ve done my best to be more open-minded, but it’s still hard to be stretched.
Which brings me to Training Camp, where they do repeat worship choruses over and over in the ways that tend to annoy me. Much to my surprise I did come to embrace them as the week went on – there’s hope for even the most frozen of the chosen. But this time, the new facet of worship I faced had nothing to do with words or music.
That first night, I noticed someone standing in the front of the room; he was this tall, bearded guy with ear gauges, a nose piercing, and at least six visible tattoos. I had never met him, but I recognized him from a few blogs and the World Race website. I knew his name was Evan Dias, I knew he was a WR alum, and I knew he was part of the Center for Global Action program at Adventures, but that was pretty much it.
I don’t think Evan stood still once from the first note to the last chord of the worship set. He jumped up and down, he bounced around from one side of the room to the other like he had pogo sticks for feet, and this guy danced with more energy and enthusiasm than I had ever seen in my life. And he did it all with an ear-to-ear smile on his face. My first reaction after watching him for a few minutes?
“Dude, calm down.”
Immediately after this unspoken thought entered my mind, I was embarrassed. Who was I to be criticising the way someone else worshiped? To some people, my hymns and conservative worship just might be as foreign as Evan’s dancing was to me. And think about it: King David danced before God to the point that people called him undignified. He cast aside the way he was supposed to act as royalty, and worshiped the Lord with complete abandon and no excuses. After I was done mentally shaming myself, I resolved to change the way I thought about worship, and to let go of all expectations, limitations, and fear of what people would think of me.
I knew that I always tend to worry about what other people think of me, even when I shouldn’t, so I decided to do one thing that would combat that. I sat in the front row, every single session and worship service. If I couldn’t see all of the people in the room, I wasn’t going to be worried about them looking at me, which they probably weren’t anyway. I prayed for courage, I prayed for freedom, and I desperately wanted to be able to worship in any way I saw fit in the moment.
I wanted to dance like David danced.
It began with raising my hands. Not high, but having my arms anywhere other than straight to the side like a tin soldier was a step for me. Something about this first step broke me out of the box I had put myself in, and eventually I was spending entire songs posed like I had just scored a touchdown. It was freeing, it was wonderful, and I couldn’t care less who saw me.
While I wasn’t going into worship with a conscious end goal of moving more, it started to happen over the course of the week. At first I began to shift my weight from my right leg to my left leg, then stepping in time to the music. At one point it became like gospel choir side-steps, and after that all bets were off. Somewhere within a few days I had managed to shake off the preconceived notions and expectations I had come in with. And in my own way, I danced.
I danced like Evan danced.
I danced like David danced.
I danced like someone who knows that the omnipotent creator of the entire freaking universe loves her.
Because if that isn’t a reason to dance, then what is?
