In most conversations about worship, an obstacle stands in the way of understanding: you. Whether you know it or not, intend it or not, you carry a deep well of ideas about what worship is, what it looks, sounds, and feels like. You've built this knowledge over the years and decades of your life, adding to it each time you've gathered with the church. One might say, "I don't really have a theology of worship," but in fact everyone does. That's because we are habit-formed people.
Notice I say "habit-formed" and not "habit-forming." We are formed by the habits in which we live.
Imagine that you'd never heard of softball. One day, someone at work invites you to go play the game with a group she gathers with weekly. You accept the invitation and go, excited to learn about this strange, unknown game.
You're taught the rules, and after a few Saturdays, you begin to actively participate and contribute to the game. Months go by, and one day someone new comes to the game. At first, he's excited to be playing. "I played softball for years back in Michigan," he says, but he's quickly troubled. On your team, the bases are run clockwise. You pitch the ball to yourself. And every home run is met with a rousing chorus of "God Save the Queen."
Things gets really difficult when your friend attempts to help you reform the game by the actual rules, and not the Marx Brothers-inspired farce in which you currently participate. Running counterclockwise is dizzying, and everyone swings wildly at slow-pitched balls. The song is still sung on occasion, but its meaning is long gone.
The habits of your corrupted version of softball shaped the way you understood and participated in the game. Anything different was difficult to comprehend, and only after immersion in new habits over a long period of time would you begin to appreciate them. Read more
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