Worship is more than a song. But the song really matters, too.

Sometimes church feels like a surreal high school pep rally. The guy with the bullhorn (worship leader) pumps up the fans (congregation) to go out and win the big game (do the right thing, live missional lives, pursue justice, draw others to Christ, etc.). Like pep rallies, these worship services fulfill a particular, focused purpose: they are a means to a victorious end and preludes to the “real action” of life.

Do we worship to give us the emotional energy for the application part of our faith? Tim Hughes, a worship leader, writes in one of his choruses, “Keep us from just singing, move us into action.” While his message is important—that we are living lives of meaning and mission and not ones of stagnant faith that lacks deeds (James 2:14)—these lyrics could be misconstrued to assume “just singing,” just worshiping, isn’t as important as the action.

To be fair, the hierarchy of mission and worship is easily flipped for many Christians. These people are perfectly content going to church, worshiping and living without a greater awareness of our world, or even the neighbors around us. In The Dangerous Act of Worship, Mark Labberton says, “The crisis the church currently faces is that our individual and corporate worship do not produce the fruit of justice and righteousness that God seeks.”  

But, if we rank mission over worship or worship over mission, we end up sabotaging both; worship and mission are equally and intrinsically linked. If worship is merely the thing that makes us feel good, feel “full” so we can go and do the important, active stuff, we lose. On the other hand, if mission is the thing that’s flippantly tacked onto our faith, we lose. Either way, our definitions of worship and mission are sickly and insufficient. We are missing the engaging, challenging, and courageous call of the Church to enact both.

Worship as Mission

In worship, we encounter not just a good feeling or a boldness for justice; we encounter the living person of Jesus Christ—the embodiment of perfect justice. In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus begins His public ministry by quoting Isaiah:

“[The Spirit of the Lord] has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
And recovery of sight to the blind,
To set at liberty those who are oppressed
To proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:18-19).

The good news Jesus is talking about is redemption for the whole of life: spiritual, physical, emotional, social, etc. Our attempts to fulfill this Gospel mission fall short unless we are being transformed more and more into the image of Jesus: “And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18).

In the presence of Jesus in worship, we behold His glory and realize that it is only He who can save us and our sinful world. We are transformed into a just community; we actually accomplish and enact justice. The injustices of this world are socioeconomic, political, systemic and individual, but first and foremost, they are spiritual realities (Ephesians 6:11-12). When we offer praise as a community, we enter into this spiritual conflict as we encounter God and participate in His holy mission to liberate the oppressed.

Mission as Worship

Meeting God in worship impels us to carry on the mission of Jesus in the world. Mission flows directly from the worship of the Church and the two cannot be severed. In her book Everyday Justice, Julie Clawson writes, “Worship doesn’t merely involve enacting the cultural rituals of worship or personal piety, but more importantly, it involves how we treat others. […] Following God in full obedience in as an act of worship, which means that acting justly is part of what it means to worship God.”  

Living a life of true worship means feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, and visiting the sick and imprisoned. In fact, Jesus promises that when we do these things, we actually meet Him in the faces of those we love and serve (Matthew 25:31-46). Here mission and justice become worship.

Matt Redman addresses the connection and cyclical nature of worship and mission in his song “Mission’s Flame”:

“Let worship be the fuel for mission’s flame
We’re going with a passion for Your name
We’re going for we care about Your praise
Send us out
Let worship be the heart of mission’s aim
To see the nations recognize Your fame
‘Til every tribe and tongue voices Your praise
Send us out”

The first lines from each verse describe mission flowing from worship and mission flowing to worship. The aim of mission is God’s holistic restoration (physical, spiritual, emotional, socio-economic) so that all people can come into His transforming presence. In the bridge of Redman’s song, he describes the scene from Revelation 7: people from every tongue and tribe and nation will one day be clothed in white, gathered around the throne of God in worship.

Breathing with Both Lungs

We need worship and mission; they are essential and inseparable. In our church, we talk about worship and mission as two lungs: we need both to breathe. A hierarchy of either leads to asthmatic Christians and churches, shallow-breath worship, and missional wheezing. So breathe deeply of worship and mission, the way we were intended to live.
 
Bonnie and Trevor McMaken are songwriters and worship leaders from Chicago, Ill., where they live with their daughter (www.themcmakens.com).

How groups like Mumford and Sons give us unexpected moments of worship.

I’ve passed my funnel cake off to a guy who has his own name tattooed on his fingers, and I’m sweating more than anyone has sweated—ever. And I have uncontrollable chills over my entire body because I’m being jostled between hundreds of people, all singing at the top of their lungs: “Awake, My Soul.” But I’m not at the Presbyterian Church I grew up in and loathed, and I’m not at Church Camp. I’m at a Mumford & Sons show at Bonnaroo. And I’m worshiping.

Let’s note that while worship music is never intended to be about us, but rather about God, it still connects to us in a profound way. So many songs seem to address lots of the bright and shiny emotions we feel about God, but sometimes, we can be left feeling detached when trying to worship. It’s that feeling you have in church when you’re almost too hurt to sing about God’s goodness and miracles because your stomach is somewhere closer to the concrete floor. So what about all of the other honest (and sometimes shameful) human emotions we have that we want to express, but can’t? Or what about the songs we hear outside of the church that channel an avenue of praise in us we didn’t know was possible? Can those songs be a means of worship?

It sometimes seems as though the notion of “Christian” music has become so pigeon-holed and cookie cutter, there isn’t much room left for worship music outside of what seeps its way through the church walls. Songs that doubt are conveniently left out of the worship canon, songs that question or confuse, songs that speak about God in a way we don’t always hear: these songs get sidelined. I’m not necessarily suggesting we begin throwing Brand New and Mumford & Sons into our quotidian worship experience; however, it’s interesting to take a look at how these songs can express such authentic feelings of spirituality.

Take these questions from Brand New’s song “Jesus Christ,” for example.

Well, Jesus Christ, I’m not scared to die/ I’m a little bit scared of what comes after/ Do I get the gold chariot?/ Do I float through the ceiling?/ Do I divide and fall apart?/ ‘Cause my bright is too slight to hold back all my dark/ And the ship went down in sight of land/ And at the gates, does Thomas ask to see my hands?

There’s uncertainty here; there’s a distinct desire for truth, for answers. We’re all prone to question—and if we don’t, how will we grow? The more we search and grapple with what God has given us, the more we can discover. This is the most raw form of growth, except we often don’t see it in contemporary church worship. David’s expressions throughout Psalms, and several other places in Scripture, certainly express many of these emotions. Still, it is particularly intriguing to see them through a “secular” lens—a place where perhaps the writers are unknowingly experiencing a form of worship.

So what about the struggle, the haunting bits of shame and frustration that often leave us feeling unworthy to sing along with the lyrics on the projection screen …

When up-and-coming folksters Mumford & Sons sprinkle these thoughts throughout their lyrics, they do it without the listener noticing. “Can you kneel before The King and say, ‘I’m clean’?” they ask, when later they vow: “Lead me to the truth, and I’ll follow you with my whole life.” Suddenly, the listener realizes what he’s singing along with—and it’s not just a song on a mixtape anymore; it’s not just another notch on the set list. It’s a way of relating with God. And the chill that can overtake your soul when hundreds of unbeknownst worshipers shout this in unison is almost unsettling—because it’s usually happening in a place where you never expected to worship. Even when Conor Oberst painfully cries out in “I Don’t Know When, But a Day is Gonna Come”: Is it true what they say about the Son of God?/ Did he come to save; did he come at all?/ And if I dried his feet with my dirty hair, would he make me clean again?

The feeling of not being clean enough and asking for the truth is a notion that is often too close to home for some Christians—both new and old. But it exists, and is often ignored—particularly between the parallel lines of contemporary worship music. And if we ignore that which aches inside of us, where will we be with our God?

With all the doubt, the longing, the uncleanness—all the things we believe Christ can conquer—what do we do when we’re still frustrated? Keep humming along thoughtlessly with the CCM song of the week? Even though we might really be thinking about something we’ve done that’s gnawing apart our insides, or thinking about someone we’ve hurt who desperately needs an apology, some redemption or at least an affirmation of wrongdoing.

But what about when Mumford & Sons say something about f—-ing up? A moment of accountability and admittance, coming from the very heart of conviction. Except they confess it using profanity one song and then later making, perhaps, their most profound statement of praise:

In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die/ Where you invest your love, you invest your life/ Awake, my soul. You were made to meet your maker.

I’m not saying we bring profanity into the church, or that we all express our frustrations with faith using swear words. Rather, we can take a look at how a moment such as this can be so deeply rooted in a relationship with Christ. And isn’t that how our relationship with God works sometimes? One second we feel the need to curse, to shout out in frustration and confusion and plea for insight or answers, and the next second we praise, or maybe we glimpse a moment of understanding and truth. And yet, most of the songs we sing—out of the hymn book or the WOW worship mix—don’t address a lot of the feelings we inevitably come across in our relationship with God

So, at the end of it all, this is not to say that what we sing in church, or what we come across in the hymnals, isn’t powerful, praising or identifiable. It’s simply that worship music doesn’t end when the standard four-song medley ends. It’s everywhere—it’s interposed in moments of “secular” songs by “secular” bands. It’s written on the walls of bar bathrooms and shouted amongst audiences by people who may not even realize what they’re quoting—but that’s the thing. It connects with people in a vastly authentic way because it reaches a genuinely sincere feeling in the human soul. We need our God, and sometimes we try to exist without Him. And all these songs, whether written or not, are about just that.

Liz Riggs is an English teacher in Nashville, TN who eats stories like grapes and has a very serious appreciation for macaroni and cheese.