I stress out an undue amount about imaginary future altercations with an aggressive atheist who will someday corner me on the street and force me to explain my every belief. In fact, I probably spend far more time rehearsing things in my head about God than I spend in actual prayer with God.
It makes about as much sense as memorizing my best friend’s Facebook page—so I can accurately rattle off all of her favorite books and bands and movies—and passing on an opportunity to actually sit down for a cup of coffee with her.
And frankly, I think the chances of someone seriously quizzing me on my best friend’s favorite movie quotes (“I'm your huckleberry”) is only slightly lower than someone cornering me to explain my every faith belief. Yet every day, I prefer to cram my head full of God facts rather than actually open my heart to Him. I feel restrained from connecting with Him unless I’m satisfied that I have Isaiah 53 memorized and have enough knowledge of the doctrine of limited-unlimited atonement to teach a seminary class? Why?
Ultimately--I’m afraid of looking foolish. I have more fear of man than love of worship.
But today in church something clicked. A yoga instructor went forward to be baptized. His story? He’d been attending our church for roughly seven months, but didn’t think he could become a Christian because of the contradictions between his profession and the teachings of the Bible. So why did he toss care to the wind and run up to be spontaneously baptized today?
“I just couldn’t help it,” he said.
It blew my mind.
Studying God’s word and knowing why you believe it is crucial, to be sure. But there is something incredibly sincere about those moments when we just can’t help but worship. When we allow ourselves to ponder that God not just loves us, but genuinely likes us. When the reality of God’s perfect grace and perfect justice meeting on that cross is just too cool to handle.
If my best friend asked me today why I loved her, I could name the things I admire about her, or the many things we have in common, or all of the unbelievable memories we’ve shared, but no single explanation would be enough. Ultimately why I love her? I just can’t help it.
In the same way, I pray that my fear of man will be habitually torn down and that, instead, worship can grow out of a heart that just can’t help it.
