There is a powerful moment in Exodus 15 after Israel had just crossed the Red Sea. They realized they were standing somewhere that only God could have brought them. Because of that, silence couldn’t define that moment. No one instructed them to sing… Moses didn’t call a worship service. The song simply happened. Miriam grabbed a tambourine and the other women followed her lead.
Worship poured out of them.
This isn’t unusual to read in the Old Testament. Worship sometimes breaks out, and in ways that don’t fit the modern-day tidy order of service. People danced. They wept. They shouted. Sometimes they fell silent. They brought instruments, bodies, voices, tears, memories, and hunger. Sometimes all at once.
Although there were a variety of expressions, there was only one common source behind them. God’s Spirit moved people to respond with whatever part of themselves was most awakened in that moment. Joy overflowed into dancing, gratitude spilled over into singing, and grief collapsed into ashes and silence. The awe of God made people tremble; their remembrance stacked stones.
Worship wasn’t scripted – it was a response. Something happened, and the human heart answered. No one asked, “Is this appropriate?” The only thing that mattered was genuineness and honesty.
God seemed less concerned with polish than with presence. Less focused on form than on truth. Worship looked like people meeting a holy God and not knowing how to stay composed afterward. Perhaps that’s the point. When God draws near, the soul doesn’t always conform to etiquette.
This may not be a popular viewpoint, but I believe that somewhere along the way, many of our churches have grown indifferent to worship. The music might be louder, but we seem to be quieter. We’ve learned how to gather efficiently, to stay within certain emotional guardrails. We’ve adapted to our culture and our collective comfort level.
We still sing, but often with one eye on the clock. We still pray, but it’s carefully contained. We still worship, but sometimes more as observers than participants.
Without meaning to, we allow culture to tell us what’s acceptable: don’t linger too long, don’t get too emotional, don’t make anyone uncomfortable. Reverence quietly becomes restraint. Passion gets mistaken for excess. And heartfelt response gets replaced by well-managed moments.
None of this is usually rebellious. It’s just… cautious. Respectable. Predictable.
But Scripture reminds us that true worship has always carried the risk of vulnerability or embarrassment. It risks being misunderstood. Real worship costs composure. It asks us to show up not as an audience, but as people who have actually been moved by God.
The issue isn’t about volume or style or structure. This issue is whether our hearts are still being poured out – or merely presented. God has never asked for a performance. He has always asked for truth!
In the end, worship isn’t about recovering old expressions or copying ancient forms. It’s returning to the posture beneath them all: a heart laid open before God.
Not impressive.
Not managed.
Just honest.
As the psalmist understood so clearly:
“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.” – Psalm 51:17
That is the essence of worship – a heart responding to God because it can’t help but do so.
Former Blackout Artist 