Going Back Home

It had been years since I had been in a traditional worship service. I had grown accustomed to the lights and loud volume, but had not realized how much I missed the sound of my brothers and sisters singing along. I missed their tear-stained faces as they lifted their hands in worship, and the sound of their voices joining mine in praise to God. Often, you do not know what you have missed until you are reminded again of a time gone by. That Sunday, sitting in an old church building, gifted to this group of strangers who loved Jesus and their community, I was reminded of the beauty of the Body of Christ. It was wrapped in tradition and old hymns, creeds, and confessions. It was like being back home, sitting under my dad’s teaching, learning and growing as a young believer, continuing in practices long established. 

         What used to seem like routine felt rich and meaningful in this new space. Again, God reminded me it is not the packaging or the set list that brings him glory. This alone is not worship unto a holy God; what matters to him most is a broken and contrite spirit whose heart alone belongs to Him.^[1] I would make new friends and forge new relationships. In this place, I would learn to appreciate the old again and look for new ways to grow and worship. The word ministered to me there, pointing to Christ as the hero, his was the name I would remember from the message, not a catchy phrase or a gifted speaker. Jesus’s name was front and center. His story was the point, and the hope He brings, gives me confidence to share my story. 

Heart & Soul, 

ruthie

^[1] Ps. 51:17, NIV.