Human limbs. They're kind of important. Sure, you can survive without both arms and legs, but it makes everything more complicated. Have you ever tried getting dressed with only one arm? Anywho, this post isn't about real limbs; it's about those artificial limbs you see on the stage every Sunday - guitars, drums, keyboards, and microphones. And french horns, if you go to one of those strange churches.
I had one of those artificial limbs for the first 23 years of my music ministry. When I was 10 the culprit was drumsticks; when I turned 18 it became a keyboard. I say these were limbs because they were a part of me. They defined me. Without them, I felt empty. I had grown so used to being behind an instrument on a church platform that I had no idea how to act the few times I had to just sit in a pew. I used to tell people "I worship with my instrument", as if I was incapable of worshiping God without my extra limb. Incapable? Hardly. Unwilling? Bingo!
Last year my wife and I returned to our home church after 5 years of being away, visiting and ministering in other churches. God transformed us in the months leading up to our return home, but I'll save that story for another post. For time's sake, I'll leave it at this - God awakened us to the sorry state of our complacency and put a fire down inside of us that absolutely rocked our world and changed the way we handle every minute of every day. I learned how to worship during that season of my life. I thought I knew how to worship, but I really only knew how to sing, how to play, and how to repeat lyrics I read on a projector. I saw my pathetic attempts at worship and grieved that I gave God anything less than my absolute best. I learned how to bow before my Lord and King, how to dance for joy, how to jump with excitement from what He's done, how to sit in silence, basking in His presence. I learned how to shut my mouth and listen to Him; I learned how to let Him minister to me. I learned how to pour myself out so I could be filled by the Holy Spirit.
We weren't immediately plugged back into ministry when we returned to our home church; we had to wait for God to open doors. Every service for nine months I stood in the front of the church with my wife, offering worship with my body, my heart, my mouth, and my soul...without an instrument (gasp!). The worship was sweeter and more fulfilling. Emotions flowed that hadn't ever appeared in my worship before. I felt freedom to express my love to God in ways that would've been too embarrassing in the past. I felt like an addict that couldn't wait for another hit - I fell in love with the presence of God and my newfound ability to soak Him in.
Before I knew it there was a place for me on the platform again. I promised myself I would never take that platform for granted. I promised myself I would never play another song as a musician, but as a worshiper. I'm proud to say I've kept that promise...I have played those keys every service with an undivided mind, an affectionate heart, and a praise on my lips. But, I quickly noticed something was different. Not just my heart of worship and passion...something that seemed almost negative. I felt restrained. I couldn't get lost in worship, because I had to pay attention to the flow of the song and the direction of the worship leader. I had to keep an eye on the pastor so I could drop the dynamics when he took the microphone. I was hitting buttons on the keyboard searching for different sounds and musical feels. The heart left and the mind took over. My limb, my crutch, had become a restraint.
I am not denouncing instrumental music. It's an institution of the church and a command of the bible (Psalms 150:3-6). My message is this: you can minister both to your King and to the people with your instrument, but don't neglect the sweet intimacy from laying down that artificial limb and seeking God in a way that leaves you senseless and lost in His presence. I've fallen in love with something that once turned my stomach - offering praise to God with only my real limbs.
Musicians, I beg you to take a week off here and there. Be planted in the altar with the same determination you usually reserve only for your spot on the platform. Learn to worship without your instrument. Learn how to get lost in the glorious presence of God. It not only sets a great example for the rest of the church, it will sweeten everything else you do for the kingdom. That instrument isn't accompanying you to the throne of God at the end of this life. You might as well learn how to amputate that thing.
Comments