A couple of days ago, my friend Christi Rogers shared a post about someone standing in a quiet sanctuary before service began. The instruments were waiting. The microphones were silent. The pews had not yet filled.
At the heart of the reflection was one penetrating question:
What did I bring?
As someone who has taught Sunday School and served in worship ministry, I know something about what happens before a service begins.
Someone arrives early.
Someone rehearses while others are still getting ready at home. Someone studies a lesson no one will see them preparing. Someone prays over the sanctuary, the musicians, the preacher, and the people who will soon occupy the empty seats. Someone carries a burden for what God may want to accomplish.
By the time the congregation arrives, there has already been a pouring out.
It is easy to enter that prepared place and become a consumer without realizing it. We listen to the musicians, receive the teaching, respond to the preaching, and enjoy an atmosphere shaped by someone else’s preparation.
Then we evaluate what we received.
Did I like the music?
Did the sermon speak to me?
Did I feel anything today?
But worship was never intended to be something performed by a few people while everyone else waits to be moved. The musicians may lead us, but they cannot worship for us. The preacher may feed us, but he cannot bring our surrender to the altar. Someone else may help prepare the room, but no one else can bring our offering.
So perhaps, before asking what we received from the service, we should ask:
What did I bring into the presence of God?
When Getting There Is the Offering
Before that question becomes a source of condemnation, it must be covered with grace.
There are Sundays when we arrive ready to pour ourselves out in worship. There are other Sundays when simply making it through the doors requires nearly everything we have.
Grief may have emptied us.
Depression may have followed us into the sanctuary.
Exhaustion may have taken our voice.
Private devastation may be hiding behind the smile we managed to put on before leaving the car.
Coming needy does not make us less spiritual. The church is a body, and we will not all be strong on the same Sunday. Sometimes we help carry someone else. Sometimes we are the ones who need to be carried.
Hannah entered the house of the Lord as a woman overwhelmed by sorrow. She did not arrive with a triumphant song. She could not even form an audible prayer.
Scripture says:
“Now Hannah spoke in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard.”
—1 Samuel 1:13, NKJV
Eli saw her lips moving and mistakenly assumed she was drunk. Hannah explained that she was a woman of sorrowful spirit who had “poured out” her soul before the Lord.
To the person watching, it may have appeared that Hannah brought nothing. There was no song, no shout, and no eloquent prayer.
But she had not come empty-handed.
She brought her broken heart and poured it out before God.
Romans 8:26 tells us that when we do not know how to pray, the Spirit helps us in our weakness and intercedes for us “with groanings which cannot be uttered.”
God does not mistake silence for emptiness.
Sometimes the only offering we can bring is trembling lips, falling tears, and a prayer too painful to speak. God understands every word we cannot find.
The Sacrifice of Praise
There are seasons when we desperately need to receive. But there are also seasons when God calls us out of a settled posture of spiritual consumption and asks us to pour.
Hebrews 13:15 says:
“Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name.”
—Hebrews 13:15, NKJV
Two words stand out:
Continually. Sacrifice.
Praise is not meant to depend upon the music being right, the song being familiar, the week having gone well, or our emotions cooperating.
If praise is offered continually, there will be times when it flows freely—and times when it costs us something.
A sacrifice of effort.
We turn our attention toward God. We quiet the distractions, engage our minds, open our mouths, and participate. We do not wait passively for the musicians to produce a feeling before we respond.
A sacrifice of pride.
We stop managing how we appear to everyone around us. We acknowledge that we are not self-sufficient—that we need God, depend upon God, and owe everything to God.
A sacrifice of self.
We surrender our preferences, expectations, comfort, and desire to be served. Worship is not about whether they sang our favorite song in our preferred style at the volume we wanted.
The sacrifice is not being offered to us.
We are offering it to Him.
Sometimes the sacrifice is not the song. It is the self we must lay down in order to sing it.
The Pride We Were Taught to Protect
The sacrifice of pride is deeply personal for me.
Many of us—especially men of my generation—were taught that real men do not cry. They do not lose control of their emotions. They keep everything together so they can remain strong for everyone else.
That teaching can produce dependable men.
It can also produce isolated men.
We become so accustomed to carrying the burden that we no longer know how to admit when it has become too heavy. We become so committed to appearing strong that we struggle to be honest about our need.
Then we carry the same armor into worship.
We feel something stirring within us, but immediately become aware of who may be watching. Our voice tightens. Our hands remain at our sides. The tears begin to rise, and we force them back—not because God has not touched us, but because we have been trained to protect the image of the man who always has himself under control.
Self-control is biblical. Emotional suppression is not.
Surrendering to God is not the same as being governed by our emotions. Tears are not necessarily evidence that a man has lost control. Sometimes they are evidence that he has finally stopped pretending he does not need God.
Jesus wept openly.
David poured his anguish into the Psalms.
Peter wept bitterly after denying the Lord.
Hebrews tells us that Jesus prayed with vehement cries and tears.
Their tears did not diminish their strength.
We were taught that we must be the rock for everyone else. But we are not the Rock.
Jesus is.
“It Was Before the LORD”
When the Ark of the Covenant was brought into Jerusalem, David danced before the Lord with all his might.
Michal watched from a window and despised him.
She was concerned with how the king appeared. David was concerned with the One before whom the king was worshiping.
When she mocked what she considered his undignified behavior, David answered:
“It was before the LORD… And I will be even more undignified than this, and will be humble in my own sight.”
—2 Samuel 6:21–22, NKJV
David was not manufacturing an emotional spectacle. He had decided that his title, reputation, and another person’s opinion would not determine his response to God.
Before the Lord, the king was simply another worshiper.
That was David’s sacrifice of pride.
Sometimes our sacrifice may be allowing the tear to fall instead of immediately wiping it away. It may be lifting our hands without first surveying the room. It may be kneeling when pride tells us to remain standing. It may be walking forward for prayer or telling someone, “I am not doing well, and I need you to pray for me.”
Before I can lift my hands in worship, I may first have to lay down my pride.
And there may always be a Michal watching from the window.
But my worship was never for the Michal’s.
It was before the Lord.
One Danced. One Wept.
There is a beautiful contrast between David and Hannah.
David’s worship was expressive, and Michal considered it undignified.
Hannah’s prayer was nearly silent, and Eli misunderstood it entirely.
David was judged because people could see too much.
Hannah was judged because people could understand too little.
One danced. One wept. Both were misunderstood. And God saw the heart of each.
Not everyone must worship like David. Not every sacrifice of praise will be loud, exuberant, or outwardly expressive. Sometimes worship dances. Sometimes worship weeps. Sometimes it shouts. Sometimes it can only whisper.
The common thread is not the outward expression.
It is the inward surrender.
David once declared:
“Nor will I offer burnt offerings to the LORD my God with that which costs me nothing.”
—2 Samuel 24:24, NKJV
So, what did I bring?
Perhaps I brought thanksgiving.
Perhaps I brought praise.
Perhaps I brought a burden for someone sitting near me.
Perhaps I brought a broken heart, trembling lips, and a prayer I could not speak.
Perhaps I brought the willingness to admit that I needed someone else to help carry me.
Or perhaps the most costly thing I brought was the self I had worked so hard to protect.
I will not always enter His presence feeling strong. I will not always bring the same offering.
Some days I may bring a shout.
Some days I may bring a whisper.
Some days I may bring nothing but tears.
But I do not want to come merely asking what someone else has prepared for me. I want to enter His presence with an honest and surrendered heart.
Before I ask, “What am I going to receive today?” perhaps I should stop and ask:
Jesus, what am I bringing to You?
