Oct
31
2016
Worshiping With Abandon
Posted in Worship 2 Comments
I see him sit in church in his wheelchair.
He sits on the side of the middle aisle.
Each week, I purpose in my heart to finally introduce myself.
Each week, by the time I look up he is gone.
I could see him out of the corner of my eye.
It was Reformation Sunday.
Reformation Sunday is always the last Sunday of October.
It was 1517 when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses on the church door in Wittenberg, Germany.
All the hymns sung were hymns about the church.
We began with, A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.
As the stanzas were sung, my throat got tight with emotion.
Martin Luther wrote that hymn, which tells about the bedrock on which our faith stands.
A mighty fortress is our God,
a bulwark never failing;
our helper he amid the flood
of mortal ills prevailing.
For still our ancient foe
doth seek to work us woe;
his craft and power are great,
and armed with cruel hate,
on earth is not his equal.
Did we in our own strength confide,
our striving would be losing,
were not the right man on our side,
the man of God’s own choosing.
Dost ask who that may be?
Christ Jesus, it is he;
Lord Sabaoth, his name,
from age to age the same,
and he must win the battle.
And though this world, with devils filled,
should threaten to undo us,
we will not fear, for God hath willed
his truth to triumph through us.
The Prince of Darkness grim,
we tremble not for him;
his rage we can endure,
for lo, his doom is sure;
one little word shall fell him.
That word above all earthly powers,
no thanks to them, abideth;
the Spirit and the gifts are ours,
thru him who with us sideth.
Let goods and kindred go,
this mortal life also;
the body they may kill;
God’s truth abideth still;
his kingdom is forever.
I sang with passion.
God is my bulwark, my fortress, and my helper.
I was reminded not to trust in my own strength.
I was reminded that the man of God’s choosing, Jesus Christ, is on our side.
Lord Sabaoth is His name, which means the Lord of Hosts.
The One whose Word will fell the enemy.
The One who from age to age is the same.
The One who has won the battle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an arm go up into the air.
I saw the precious man in the wheelchair worshiping with all his heart.
It was at that moment I realized the stanza we were singing.
The words that meant one thing to me meant something much more to him.
Let goods and kindred go,
this mortal life also;
the body they may kill;
God’s truth abideth still;
his kingdom is forever.
The body they may kill was sung and the man’s hand was lifted in worship.
The world prides itself on able bodies, which are expected to be physically fit.
This man would not fit the world’s definition.
However, this man would most definitively fit God’s.
Perhaps that is what the man recognized as he sang the hymn.
Perhaps he knew that though he was confined to a wheelchair, his heart was free to soar.
Even if his physical body was limited, his heart and his mind could worship with abandon.
And worship with abandon he did.
I sang the hymn standing on my two legs.
He sang the hymn unable to stand.
I thought about the brokenness of this fallen world.
I thought about how some brokenness is more obvious than others.
It hit me like a ton of bricks.
I am just as broken as that man but people cannot see it as easily.
You are just as broken as that man but no one may know.
This precious man’s brokenness and fragility was more apparent because of his wheelchair.
It is not as if there was a scale of brokenness.
It is just that his wheelchair makes it more obvious.
Those of us who are not confined to a wheelchair do an excellent job of hiding what is broken.
God sees it all; there is no hiding from Him.
As He went along, He saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked Him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?” “Neither this man nor his parents sinned,” said Jesus. “but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.” (John 9: 1-3)
The Pharisees and others in Jesus’ time thought that disabilities were the result of sin.
If a child was born with a disability, they believed that the child must have sinned in utero.
Jesus turned that incorrect belief on its head.
The disability was not punishment but rather it was to display God’s glory.
God’s glory can be seen in a beautiful sunset.
God’s glory can be seen in the face of a child.
God’s glory can be seen in nature.
God’s glory can be seen in brokenness.
As Jesus hung on that cruel cross, with all of our sin placed upon Him, He was beautiful.
As Jesus gasped for each breath, His body bloody from the scourging, He was beautiful.
As Jesus was spit upon and bleeding from the crown of thorns on His brow, He was beautiful.
As Jesus’ lifeless body was placed in a tomb, He was beautiful.
Jesus’ body was broken for you and for me.
How can brokenness be anything but beautiful since our Savior was broken for us?
Our Savior endured brokenness so that we can be whole.
Our Savior endured humiliation so that we can walk in dignity.
We walk around in bodies that are inevitably broken in one form or another.
There is no shame in that brokenness because our Savior endured the same thing for us.
Maybe the precious man in the wheelchair knows something I had never pondered before.
Broken is beautiful because of Christ.
We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. (2 Corinthians 4:10)
The precious man in church knows that experientially.
He worships with abandon because He has a broken Savior.
A mighty fortress is our God, a bulwark never failing.
I am so grateful to the man I have yet to meet for reminding me of that truth.
Gina, A beautiful “Whispers”! I think it’s time you introduced yourself to the man in the wheelchair. I have a feeling you would both be blessed. You may even wish to give him a copy of the above. It could be a great encouragement to him.
Thanks for your writing.
Jeff
Thank you, Jeff. Yes, I think it is time to introduce myself to the man in the wheelchair. He reminded me of things I sometimes take for granted.
Gina