Most evenings, during my drive home from work, I listen to a certain preacher on the radio. He’s a well-known, well-respected, and good preacher. This past week the sermons have focused on the subject of worship. As he preached through a few Old Testament texts in order to set forth his theme of worship, one of his regular refrains was something to the effect of ‘We don’t come to get in worship, we come to give.’
This theme was driven home again to me in my reading this week. I was revisiting a book on worship that I had read several years ago. The author made essentially the same point.
Now, back to the preacher. His contention was that, in worship, you come to give your best to God. As King David put it, ‘I will not offer burnt sacrifices that cost me nothing.’ Bring your best in worship, be prepared to give your whole heart to him, be prepared to reach deep into your soul, and deep into your pockets, and leave it all on the altar. You come in worship to give your best to God. That’s the idea, as I conceive it, that I am dealing with. And I intend to brush back against it a bit.
First, let me be clear that I believe that our primary focus in worship should be that God is glorified. No worship is true worship that does not glorify God. But, the question then turns to How is God glorified? Is he glorified by my singing my heart out and emptying my pockets out? Is he glorified by me, like a football player, leaving it all out on the field and pouring myself into acts of worship? Perhaps. But that depends.
The Pharisees, one might contend, laid it all on the altar. They tithed the mint and cumin. They offered long prayers. They always dressed in their Sabbath best. But all the while, according to Jesus’ story (Luke 18:9-14), among those long prayers were those that said, ‘Lord, I thank you that I am not like this publican.’ The publican didn’t do it right. He didn’t tithe the mint and cumin. He didn’t dress the part. He didn’t worship properly.
But he was the one who went home justified.
The intentions of this idea that worship is about giving to God are good. We want to brush back against the modern notion of church as entertainment, of church being catered to meet the pleasures of men. We want to brush back against a ‘buffet’ style of church that says ‘Come and get what you want, what you need.’ And so we say, ‘It’s not about you.’ And that’s right. It’s not about us. It is about God. But how do we make it about God? By putting on our best? By giving him all we have? By singing our hearts out? Again I say perhaps, but it depends.
What did the publican have to give? Nothing. He beat his breast, and begged for mercy. That’s worship. No greater statement of worship was ever given than ‘God have mercy on me, a sinner.’ That statement acknowledges that God is God, that man is fallen, and that God is a merciful God who shows compassion to the contrite. He is high and lofty, making his abode in the highest heavens, but he is meek and merciful, taking up residence with those who are sorry for how they have defamed him.
Toplady’s great hymn captures the essence of a worshiping heart:
Nothing in my hands I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling.
Naked come to thee for dress.
Helpless look to thee for grace.
So, in fact, our view that in worship we come to give to God is quite wrong if taken on its own. We come to get in worship. We come to confess that we have nothing to give. We come with empty hands to a merciful God. We come in the spirit of Psalm 81:10:
- I am the LORD your God, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt. Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.
That verse is written in the context of worship, and it invokes the image of a baby bird. The little bird has nothing to offer its mother. It only opens wide its mouth and looks up. And, as a good mother, she provides food. So, we must come to worship, as Toplady says, with nothing in our hands. We must come, as the psalmist says, with open mouths like a hungry baby looking to be fed.
Do not therefore think that you have anything to give to the Lord of the universe. Do not think that you have anything even to offer. God says,
- If I were hungry I would not tell you, for the world is mine, and all that is in it (Ps. 50:12).
He doesn’t need to be sustained by your songs. Neither his belly nor his coffer are empty. Your money does nothing for him. He is no fashion cop. He doesn’t say, ‘My doesn’t old so and so look good today.’ He doesn’t care about your hair, or how much fiber gum or moose you have in it. He doesn’t care about your fancy Bible cover, or about how you lifted your hands at just the right part of the song. He doesn’t care about your techno lights or how great your praise band is. He doesn’t care how eloquent your prayer was.
Instead, he says, ‘Open your mouth, and I will fill it.’ He wants you to come to him empty, seeking food; dead, seeking life; lost, seeking direction; orphaned, seeking a Father; damned, seeking a Savior; godless, seeking God. He wants you to come to get.
Contrary to the prosperity preachers, he doesn’t want you coming to sow your seed and get your bills paid. Contrary to the motivational speakers, he doesn’t want you coming to get worldly encouragement. But he does want you coming to get – coming to get God himself. And the cross of Jesus Christ is the great proof that God is willing to do just that – to give himself for, and to, poor sinners with no means of ever repaying him.
So why do we worship? We worship to get God through Jesus Christ. To seek his presence, to seek his providence, to seek his provision, to seek his prescriptions. And when we come in that way he is glorified. Here, like in so many other of the teachings of Scripture, we have a paradox. If you want to live, die. If you want to glorify God, then realize that you have nothing to offer. Come hungry. Come thirsty. Come empty. Come expecting. Open your mouth that he might fill it. Be the baby bird in the nest, and nothing more.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
