Naomi's Notes - 10/9/09
Whenever I write about worship and church music, I often emphasize the importance of engaging our minds, not just our emotions. This is partly in response to popular thinking that worship leaders must provide certain types of music, etc. that will somehow result in individuals "feeling" like they've worshiped.
John MacArthur (The Ultimate Priority) writes: "Music and liturgy can assist or express a worshiping heart, but they cannot make a non-worshiping heart into a worshiping one. The danger is that they can give a non-worshiping heart the sense of having worshiped. So the crucial factor in worship...is the state of the hearts of the saints."
The problem is that our feelings are not a reliable gauge of whether or not we've worshiped. In human relationships we recognize that love is not the same as infatuation; in fact, some of humanity's most loving acts are often performed out of a commitment to love, even when giddy feelings of "love" are not present. Similarly, our spiritual feelings may come and go, but it is our intent, our will to worship God with all of our being that is most important.
Many scholars such as Marva Dawn (Reaching Out Without Dumbing Down) write that worship music should "appeal to the whole person—will, emotions, and intellect. ...Worship practices [should] form character so that believers respond to God with commitment, love, thought, and virtuous action. The Scriptures make it clear that God wants [God's] people not just to feel good, but to be good."
None of the above is to say that emotions are unimportant; they're just not ALL-important. They are not our first priority in worship. But it's not uncommon that when our minds and hearts focus on God, our emotions are also engaged—nothing manufactured, just the Holy Spirit working in our lives. When we connect with God, offering ourselves in gratitude and awe, we feel a sense of release, a sense of peace. Perhaps a lump in our throat. Perhaps tears in our eyes.
"Last Sunday, we stood for a hymn. I opened my mouth to sing and found a sob. Soon, I was weeping from the sheer joy of being there, my wife and son on one side, three friends on the other, and around us good-hearted and faithful people drawing close to God. I am sure it was a strange sight. Men don't often cry in public, and when we do, as with anyone, our tears are an ambiguous sign. Sadness or joy? Loss or gain? Despair or relief? I know it was joy. On this sabbath, on the day God rested, something 'rested' in me, some exertion ceased. I had no need to strive, earn, prove or convince. I needed only to sing, and what I sang was the song God and I had been composing together while working." (Tom Ehrich, On a Journey: Meditations on God in Daily Life, May 2005)