I’m not a sad person.
I think people who know me well would agree. For the most part, I’m gregarious and loud and perhaps at time a little too much. I would say that most people who know me would say that generally I’m a fun person.
But there is this part of me that is drawn to brokenness. This part that despite all of my fun and gregariousness (who knew that was a real word) identifies with and resonates with brokenness.
There is something in me that no matter how full and whole my life is, and my life is all of those things, I cannot forget, leave or simply release my connection to brokenness. I simply am constantly aware of my own brokenness and dysfunction.
This strong identification and awareness of brokenness has lead me to a real frustration with worship at church. This may be one of those things that once you notice it, you can’t unnotice (there we go, not a word) it.
There’s your warning.
Worship is wildly one sided.
Worship music is overwhelmingly and undeniably happy. It vast majority of the music is a statement of how happy we are now, how fulfilled we are now, how God has come and made it all better.
And that’s great, right up until that isn’t the life you’re leading.
I think the reason I always circle back to brokenness is that in so many ways it’s one of the real touch points and constants in people’s lives. It’s in sharing our brokenness and pain that many of us allow ourselves to be real and honest. To let out the true reality of the life we are leading because we just can’t hold it all inside anymore.
And without fail we find, everyone is broken. It’s the unifying constant of humanity.
And without fail I’ve found it’s almost impossible to find worship music that speaks to my heart and experience.
Where are the laments of sorrow?
Where are the expressions of pain and suffering?
Where are the times when I can call our “Why God why?!”
Not so I can complain but to be honest. I want to be able to tell God how I feel about Him in my present state. That broken and beaten I’m going to keep trying. I’m going to keep coming, struggle and all.
I would love to sing songs that invite God into my darkness, not expecting He fix it but that He be with me in it. That allow me to express my commitment to Him in the pain. The show Him I’m trying to trust and love but it’s hard for me, but some small part of me thinks He’s still worth it.
Why, when I step into worship do I have to put aside the most formative parts of my life?
Why cannot I not express the entirety of my life to God?
Why do I have to stand before God and be fake?
Why, when I step into worship do I have to lie to God and tell him how happy, full and grateful I am when I’m none of those things?
I imagine the power of being able to express my anguish in a community of people and realise I wasn’t alone. Realise that God was there in my pain and wanted me broken and all to bring whatever little I had left. Even if all I have left is to say in action that I’m not crying into a void, but that on the other side is someone hearing me, and I want them to hear me. Because that someone on the other sides does matter. They are worthy and I desire them in my whole life.
I imagine what it would be like to know that there was space for me.
To finally be honest with God.
Imagine if worship created that?