Worship Is

By Eric Snyder

Worship is a command.  The first four of the Ten Commandments address this matter directly.  In fact, worship could be defined as every thought or action that is a genuine result of obedience to the first and greatest commandment, to “love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.”  Unfortunately, on this basis—obedience to the commandment alone—worship is impossible.  

In the 1965 film Shenandoah Jimmy Stewart plays Charlie Anderson, a widowed Virginia farmer during the Civil War.  He had promised his wife  he would raise their seven children to worship God.  In an early scene the family is seated at the dinner table as Anderson prays, “Lord, we cleared this land.  We plowed it, sowed it, and harvested it.  We cooked the harvest.  It wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be eatin’ it if we hadn’t done it all ourselves.  We worked dog-bone hard for every crumb and morsel.  But we thank you just the same for this food we’re about to eat.  Amen.”

Anderson faithfully took his family to church.  And though he outwardly prayed and sang the hymns, this Virginia farmer demonstrates the futility of true obedience to his wife’s command.  Later in the movie he tragically buries two sons killed in the war.  His youngest son is captured by Union troops and thought to be dead as well.  In the final scene Anderson and his family are in church, sadly going through the motions of singing yet another meaningless hymn.

Then suddenly the church door creaks open.  The youngest son limps through on a crutch, wounded, but alive.  He joins his family in the pew where they are standing together.  Shock and joy are simultaneously displayed on Charlie Anderson’s face.  As the congregation sings, Anderson’s expression changes from begrudging duty, to genuine gratitude.  For the first time, the Virginia farmer is worshipping.

Without gratitude, worship is an attempt to pacify a distant, powerful deity or it's the surrender to pressure from family or culture—“thank you just the same.”  Genuine gratitude, though, requires the often painful realization of a desperate need that is only met by a loving and gracious God.  This is holy ground.  Whatever results from this realization—singing, crying, dancing, or bared feet—is a miraculous triumph over self.  It is the prelude and power for the second great command, to “love your neighbor as yourself.”  It is impossible in the sense that our “dog-bone hard” efforts could never produce it.  Yet it is absolutely essential.  It is the commandment that is also a gift.  It is the miracle of worship.