Worship Amidst Adversity
"Yet a time is coming and has now come when the true worshippers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for they are the kind of worshippers the Father seeks."
John 4:23
Have you ever wondered what it means to worship God in spirit and truth?
I mean, it's not very fun to know what God wants and yet NOT know what He wants.
It's kinda like your good friend saying, 'Hey, I really REALLY want a crocodile button.'
So you scratch your head and go 'HUH?'
I mean, we know what a crocodile is, and we know what a button is, but a crocodile button?
And we know what's spirit, and what's truth. But to worship God in spirit and in truth? What's that supposed to mean?
Well, like the rest of you, I've thought about the question too. (Or maybe I'm the only guy who wonders...) And the other day, I think I've come to a conclusion about what it means.
What does it mean to worship in spirit?
In the very next verse (v. 24), Jesus says that "God is spirit, and His worshippers must worship in spirit and in truth." In other words, the only way we can worship God, who is spirit, is in the spirit!
Before you say 'Duh, ahbuhden', let me explain. Worshipping in the spirit is as opposed to worshipping in the natural. When we worship in the natural, we're aware of the problems and difficulties that exist in the natural. We get distracted and we tend to wander. We lose focus of God. Instead of worshipping Him with all our hearts, we become half-hearted worshippers. We allow worries, anxieties, struggles, pain to come in and keep us from the truth. So, to worship in the spirit quite literally means to put the natural aside, to lay all these down at the foot of the cross and say 'God, You and I know I've got problems. But You know what? I'm not gonna let them keep me from worshipping You. I'm gonna give you whole-hearted worship. I'm not gonna keep any part of myself from You. All I am, all I have is Yours.'
In the previous paragraph, I talked about allowing problems to come in that keep us form the truth. What truth's that, you may wonder. That's the second part of the verse, really. To worship God in truth. Many times, when we're going through trials and tribulations, difficult situations and circumstances, we tend to develop temporary selective amnesia about the nature of God. We forget His goodness, we forget His grace, His mercy, His lovingkindness. We forget how great our God is! We get sidetracked and begin to focus on our seemingly overwhelming circumstances instead of focusing on our overwhelming God who's above every circumstance! The truth is that no matter whats going on in our lives, God's still on the throne, He's still in control, and He's still worthy of our praise and worship. That's the truth, and the only truth we need to know! So to worship God in truth means simply to acknowledge and remember this truth that HE IS GOD and worship God simply for the fact that He is!
Of course this doesn't just mean that we don't get sidetracked when times are good too. Many times, when things are going well, it's easier to worship in the natural and in our current false sense of security! (See! It's neither in spirit nor in truth.) So even when times are good, we have to guard against that and still remember to worship in spirit and in truth.
But more often than not, it's much harder to worship God during bad times. Have you ever noticed that? Or is it just me again? I'm quite sure it's a universal feeling. But it's precisely during this times, I've realised, that the most beautiful and anointed worship comes forth. I believe it is this sort of worship, a worship that comes amidst adversity, that is especially precious to God. In fact, if I may deign to say, it blesses the heart of God when He hears us worship Him even though things aren't going well! And it causes Him to move on our behalf in an especially powerful way.
Now I'm not saying that God's this sadistic psychopath who loves to see us in pain and suffering and call out to Him. But like I said earlier on, it blesses His heart because you've become the kind of worshipper He's looking for! An excellent example of this that I've found is the not too recent recording by CFNI called All The Riches of You. The worship leader, Keith Hulen, had just lost his wife to a long battle with cancer. And yet in the album, he sings with such great passion about the joy of the Lord, the blessings of God, the goodness of God. There is such a tangible anointing that I feel listening to the album. The songs are great, that's for sure, but behind the songs, there's the heart of a true worshipper. A worshipper that worships God in spirit and in truth. A worship that says 'God, You're worthy of my worship, no matter what! And so I'm gonna give you all my worship no matter what as well!'
So, to conclude, a question. Not just for you but for me as well.
Am I the kind of worshipper God seeks? Do I worship God in spirit and in truth?
If you are, keep at it. God's blessed by your worship. And He's moving on your behalf! If you, like me, are still working at it, let's ask God to help us truly become a worshipper who worships in spirit and in truth.
One day, when we're all in heaven, it'll no longer be a problem. When that day comes, we'll all be falling down before God in awe of His beauty and majesty and holiness and there will be no room and no opportunity for 'fake' worship.
But till that day comes, by God's grace, we will strive to be worshippers who worship in spirit and in truth.
Saturday, September 27, 2003
Monday, September 15, 2003
Romans 8:35, 37-39
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword?
No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through Him who loved us.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life,
neither angels nor demons,
neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,
neither height nor depth,
nor anything else in all creation,
will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Wednesday, September 03, 2003
TV Mobile Makes Me Sick
Ok. I'd be biased if I just said TV Mobile makes me sick.
Bus 96 does too. A crowded bus 96.
Heck, ANY crowded bus makes me sick.
Put these 2 factors (in any permutation or combination you like) and what you get is a sick Elvin.
You see, I have 2 chronic ailments (as all my friends can attest too, once I've listed them out.)
Number one, I get car-sick really easily. Ok, maybe not that easily. I just gotta be doing something like reading on a bus or a car, and I'd get real sick. Especially if it's stinking crowded and stuffy... in such a situation, all that's left is to watch me puke and then hand me tissues and ask if I'm alright.
Number two. Any screen I encounter, as long as it has moving images (and sound too, preferably) will find my eyes glued to it automatically. I just can't help it. It's as natural as it would be for me to play with my hair unconsciously if I were to use Dove shampoo and conditioner.
So. Since our dear bus 96 is equipped with TV Mobile (a screen with moving images and sound, too!) it'd be totally natural then for me to stare at it while on my way home. Now, couple that with my first chronic ailment... and you know why I'm sick.
Hmmm. Now that I think about it, I guess I was right after all. It IS TV Mobile that makes me sick. Cos if there was no TV Mobile, I wouldn't be staring at the screen and if I wasn't staring at the screen...
Ok. I'd be biased if I just said TV Mobile makes me sick.
Bus 96 does too. A crowded bus 96.
Heck, ANY crowded bus makes me sick.
Put these 2 factors (in any permutation or combination you like) and what you get is a sick Elvin.
You see, I have 2 chronic ailments (as all my friends can attest too, once I've listed them out.)
Number one, I get car-sick really easily. Ok, maybe not that easily. I just gotta be doing something like reading on a bus or a car, and I'd get real sick. Especially if it's stinking crowded and stuffy... in such a situation, all that's left is to watch me puke and then hand me tissues and ask if I'm alright.
Number two. Any screen I encounter, as long as it has moving images (and sound too, preferably) will find my eyes glued to it automatically. I just can't help it. It's as natural as it would be for me to play with my hair unconsciously if I were to use Dove shampoo and conditioner.
So. Since our dear bus 96 is equipped with TV Mobile (a screen with moving images and sound, too!) it'd be totally natural then for me to stare at it while on my way home. Now, couple that with my first chronic ailment... and you know why I'm sick.
Hmmm. Now that I think about it, I guess I was right after all. It IS TV Mobile that makes me sick. Cos if there was no TV Mobile, I wouldn't be staring at the screen and if I wasn't staring at the screen...
Tuesday, September 02, 2003
The Prodigal
His voice rang out bright and clear amidst the haze of his shapeless dreams, crashing into unseen walls and echoing back, eerie reminders of his foolishness.
Dad, I want my share of the inheritance.
He turned, grimaced unconsciously as his mind's eye saw the look on his father's face.
A look of grief.
You do not understand what you ask for, son.
Another grimace as he heard himself again, angry, obstinate.
I do! Why shouldn't I? I'm old enough to judge for myself, dad! You can't tell me what I can or cannot do anymore! I can decide what's best for myself!
The father fought hard to keep back tears, but a stray drop found it's way down his cheek.
You're right, son. The choice is yours. You've made it now. There's nothing I can do to stop you. But know that I will always love you, will always welcome you back with open arms.
Yeah, whatever. The unfeeling tone in his voice surprised even himself.
And suddenly the mist in his mind shifted, and he saw himself now, togged out in designer wear, going places, making sure that everyone who saw him knew he had cash, and plenty of it.
Before long he was surrounded by people, "friends" as he had called them, all outwardly eager to be of serive to him, all inwardly eager to have their share of his pie.
His stomach roiled as he saw, in his dream, his 'friends' pandering to his every whim and fancy, laughing, drinking, smoking, indulging in every pleasure imaginable togther with him. And oh! How he had enjoyed it. How he thought that he had everything he ever needed and wanted. How he thought that his life was fully in his control. And oh! How wrong he was.
As his dream played out, he was suddenly seized with fear. He knew how the dream would end. He knew that before long, his supply of money would be gone. And that his friends would leave him. Fear gripped him, and in his mind, he wanted to yell at himself to stop, to reason. But he couldn't. The laughter from the carousing group grew louder and louder, vicious echoes surrounding him, engulfing him, suffocating him. And he screamed.
And woke up with a jolt. His heart thud-thudded rapidly against his chest, threatening to break out of his ribcage. It was still dark outside, and all at once, he remembered where he was.
A pig pen. As if a confirmation of this realisation, a large sow ambled past him to the water trough and took a leisurely drink.
Hot tears welled up in his eyes as his now fully-conscious mind completed the dream. Left with no friends, not a penny to his name, he thought to himself, I'll just look for a job. It can't be that difficult. But it was. Recession had hit the land he was in, and no one wanted to hire. From place to place he went, looking for a job. And with every rejection, he felt his pride and his dignity cut away, until it was in shreds.
And it was in this condition that he found his way to the pig farm. He was quite a sight by then. No more designer togs. What he wore, indeed, if it could still be called clothing, was in mot much better condition thatn his tattered pride. He was unshaven. The nights on the streets had taken their toll on his once handsome and ruddy appearance. Now, he looked like a beggar. But at least, he had a job now.
But what a miserable job! He was paid measly to clean up after pigs. No lodging was provided. He had to sleep with the pigs. Food was not part of the deal. He had to make do with the food the pigs were eating, half-rotten fruits and vegetables.
The tears flowed freely now. Oh, how did it come to this? He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
And without warning, the face of his father appeared before him.
Dad... Oh! How I've let you down! How I've hurt you! How I've hurt myself! You're right, Dad. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand my decision. And now, it's too late...
Memories of his past flashed in his head. Memories of happy days he spent at home with his family. Memories of how his father used to carry him on his back and run through the fields, making him feel like he was soaring throught the air.
The dam burst, and he wept aloud. He wept and wept until he had no more tears. But now, he had a plan.
My father may not forgive me for what I've done, and I surely don't expect him too. But surely he'll at least hire me as a servant! The servants have it better than I do now! At least they have food to eat, a place to sleep in, clothes to wear. That's what I do. I'll go back and get him to hire me as a servant. I don't deserve to be called his son.
And with that resolution, he fell asleep.
The next day, he began the journey back home. He started out along the long road that led to his father's house. As he trudged along, he rehearsed his speech. Dad, I've done you wrong. I've been unfilial and I've lost all the money you've given me. I don't deserve to be called your son anymore. All I ask is that you'll hire me as a servant. I promise I'll work hard. I promise I won't give any trouble. It doesn't matter even if you don't pay me. All I ask for is a place to stay and bread to eat.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the solitary figure in the distance. Until that figure started running. Towards him.
He squinted in the bright sunlight. Who was that? Maybe it's one of the servants, coming to chase me away, he thought. He stopped and looked at himself. No wonder. He looked like a vagabond.
The running figure got closer and closer. And suddenly he recognized who it was. It was his father.
A sudden fear gripped him. He forgot what he wanted to say. He didn't know what to do. Should he turn and run away? His legs wouldn't budge.
And then his father opened his arms wide. And upon reaching the young man, the father embraced him.
My son, you're finally home.
The son wrapped his arms around his father, and the two wept tears of joy.
And the son knew that he didn't need to say what he had intended to say.
He was finally home.
[Adapted from the parable of the prodigal son found in Luke 15:11-32. Special thanks also to my friend Esther Tan who reminded me of how much God loves us as we are, and indeed, in spite of who we are.]
His voice rang out bright and clear amidst the haze of his shapeless dreams, crashing into unseen walls and echoing back, eerie reminders of his foolishness.
Dad, I want my share of the inheritance.
He turned, grimaced unconsciously as his mind's eye saw the look on his father's face.
A look of grief.
You do not understand what you ask for, son.
Another grimace as he heard himself again, angry, obstinate.
I do! Why shouldn't I? I'm old enough to judge for myself, dad! You can't tell me what I can or cannot do anymore! I can decide what's best for myself!
The father fought hard to keep back tears, but a stray drop found it's way down his cheek.
You're right, son. The choice is yours. You've made it now. There's nothing I can do to stop you. But know that I will always love you, will always welcome you back with open arms.
Yeah, whatever. The unfeeling tone in his voice surprised even himself.
And suddenly the mist in his mind shifted, and he saw himself now, togged out in designer wear, going places, making sure that everyone who saw him knew he had cash, and plenty of it.
Before long he was surrounded by people, "friends" as he had called them, all outwardly eager to be of serive to him, all inwardly eager to have their share of his pie.
His stomach roiled as he saw, in his dream, his 'friends' pandering to his every whim and fancy, laughing, drinking, smoking, indulging in every pleasure imaginable togther with him. And oh! How he had enjoyed it. How he thought that he had everything he ever needed and wanted. How he thought that his life was fully in his control. And oh! How wrong he was.
As his dream played out, he was suddenly seized with fear. He knew how the dream would end. He knew that before long, his supply of money would be gone. And that his friends would leave him. Fear gripped him, and in his mind, he wanted to yell at himself to stop, to reason. But he couldn't. The laughter from the carousing group grew louder and louder, vicious echoes surrounding him, engulfing him, suffocating him. And he screamed.
And woke up with a jolt. His heart thud-thudded rapidly against his chest, threatening to break out of his ribcage. It was still dark outside, and all at once, he remembered where he was.
A pig pen. As if a confirmation of this realisation, a large sow ambled past him to the water trough and took a leisurely drink.
Hot tears welled up in his eyes as his now fully-conscious mind completed the dream. Left with no friends, not a penny to his name, he thought to himself, I'll just look for a job. It can't be that difficult. But it was. Recession had hit the land he was in, and no one wanted to hire. From place to place he went, looking for a job. And with every rejection, he felt his pride and his dignity cut away, until it was in shreds.
And it was in this condition that he found his way to the pig farm. He was quite a sight by then. No more designer togs. What he wore, indeed, if it could still be called clothing, was in mot much better condition thatn his tattered pride. He was unshaven. The nights on the streets had taken their toll on his once handsome and ruddy appearance. Now, he looked like a beggar. But at least, he had a job now.
But what a miserable job! He was paid measly to clean up after pigs. No lodging was provided. He had to sleep with the pigs. Food was not part of the deal. He had to make do with the food the pigs were eating, half-rotten fruits and vegetables.
The tears flowed freely now. Oh, how did it come to this? He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
And without warning, the face of his father appeared before him.
Dad... Oh! How I've let you down! How I've hurt you! How I've hurt myself! You're right, Dad. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't understand my decision. And now, it's too late...
Memories of his past flashed in his head. Memories of happy days he spent at home with his family. Memories of how his father used to carry him on his back and run through the fields, making him feel like he was soaring throught the air.
The dam burst, and he wept aloud. He wept and wept until he had no more tears. But now, he had a plan.
My father may not forgive me for what I've done, and I surely don't expect him too. But surely he'll at least hire me as a servant! The servants have it better than I do now! At least they have food to eat, a place to sleep in, clothes to wear. That's what I do. I'll go back and get him to hire me as a servant. I don't deserve to be called his son.
And with that resolution, he fell asleep.
The next day, he began the journey back home. He started out along the long road that led to his father's house. As he trudged along, he rehearsed his speech. Dad, I've done you wrong. I've been unfilial and I've lost all the money you've given me. I don't deserve to be called your son anymore. All I ask is that you'll hire me as a servant. I promise I'll work hard. I promise I won't give any trouble. It doesn't matter even if you don't pay me. All I ask for is a place to stay and bread to eat.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the solitary figure in the distance. Until that figure started running. Towards him.
He squinted in the bright sunlight. Who was that? Maybe it's one of the servants, coming to chase me away, he thought. He stopped and looked at himself. No wonder. He looked like a vagabond.
The running figure got closer and closer. And suddenly he recognized who it was. It was his father.
A sudden fear gripped him. He forgot what he wanted to say. He didn't know what to do. Should he turn and run away? His legs wouldn't budge.
And then his father opened his arms wide. And upon reaching the young man, the father embraced him.
My son, you're finally home.
The son wrapped his arms around his father, and the two wept tears of joy.
And the son knew that he didn't need to say what he had intended to say.
He was finally home.
[Adapted from the parable of the prodigal son found in Luke 15:11-32. Special thanks also to my friend Esther Tan who reminded me of how much God loves us as we are, and indeed, in spite of who we are.]
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