Not every little kid’s experience is the same, but when it was Sunday morning back in the day and I knew the family would be going to church, I kind of looked forward to it. Even though I didn’t understand most of it and was bored by a lot of it, there was something that felt…good. It might have helped that there was always juice and cookies afterwards. Or that sweet old ladies would sneak pieces of candy into my hand during the sermon. Or that I just loved to hear a bunch of people singing. The best part, of course, was always when it was over, and being with family and enjoying Sunday dinners.
Fast forward many decades, and though I now “get” what going to church is all about and love being there for many better reasons than juice and candy, when it’s all over is no longer the best part. In fact, it’s a weird part. It has nothing to do with the fact that family has moved on or “graduated” and with it the Sunday dinners. Instead, there’s this strange emptiness that happens each time when I head out the church doors toward home. “That’s it? It’s over?”
Of course, the answer is "No, and no." But maybe it’s because it can be too easy to compartmentalize Sunday mornings into what the sermon was all about or to the 20 minutes or so of singing. And that is definitely part of it, but I think Jesus would be the first to say that it’s far from the complete picture. I was reminded of that this week when re-reading a social media post written earlier this summer by my coffee-loving friend and fellow worship leader Daniel Miller, who lives in southern Connecticut with his beautiful family. He doesn't just live there. He worships there beyond music and Sunday mornings. It’s been a reminder that while “going to church” is indeed something to look forward to, Sunday mornings are meant to be a launching pad and not a destination.
You can take it with you...
“Yesterday was a special day.
I did a simple thing but it gave me joy.
Serving coffee to people I love.
First with my church community and then at an anniversary celebration with my childhood church.
Lots of happy and caffeinated people.
Some I just met, others have known me for my whole life.
It’s strange but the feeling of satisfaction from serving iced coffee on a hot day was on par with the feeling of preaching or leading worship.
I think that’s the point. It’s a type of offering.
Connecting the things we do regularly to the way we were designed and then looking up in worship.
There is something about seeing all of life as a cohesive and uninterrupted song.
Sometimes I pick up on this subtle melody, and other times the sound is muffled by my frantic activity, seeking to prove myself, unaware of the unforced rhythms of Grace playing around me.
And then there are moments like yesterday, where the cacophony becomes a distinct melody.
I hear it on the face of the person serving coffee with a smile.
It’s present as the young mom is excited we have oat milk as an option.
When a person takes a sip and has a smirk on their face afterward.
As someone takes an extra cup home to enjoy afterward.
But oh that’s so silly Daniel. Theologizing about coffee.
Isn’t that the point of worship?
Orienting our whole lives to see God at work so we can then begin to proclaim his worth?
If I can’t see Jesus at work in the grinding, brewing and serving then how can I see him on Monday morning when I don’t want to get out of bed?
Or the 3rd trip to the grocery store, when I’m already tired from the week because I forgot to get bread.
Worship is training our senses to see God in the everyday, not just Sunday.
It’s more mundane than it is extraordinary.
Sometimes it sounds like a low hum in the background, but the ability to hear and see God at work and then respond is not too far from any one of us.”
“So here’s what I want you to do, God helping you: Take your everyday, ordinary life—your sleeping, eating, going-to-work, and walking-around life—and place it before God as an offering. Embracing what God does for you is the best thing you can do for Him.”—Romans 12:1, Message
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