More on Psalm 98: Our Bodies as Instruments of Worship


Here’s an update on my Psalm 98 notes posted last night. These are more along the lines of prayer thoughts and gave way to my prayer time this morning–a sort of thinking out loud about the Psalm (and will make much better sense if the lectionary notes are read).

Past, present, future–there is never a time when we shouldn’t worship. There is never a generation who should declare his praise. There is always a reason to worship: His salvation has been made known, visible.

Never shall a day pass when God’s name shall not be declared. Worship is the effluence of the Spirit bursting us at the seams, rattling us to the bone, shaking us to the core. Worship turns us inside out. That is, everything inside of us comes pouring out of us uncontrollably. His Spirit within–stirring us, shaking us, rattling us.

Rivers never stop clapping. Seas never stop resounding. Mountains never stop rejoicing. We do, though. How can we keep from singing? How can our praise abate? This is why the apostle says that our daily act is to offer ourselves as living sacrifices–our spiritual act of worship.

Maybe we should always carry around our guitars and make noise in the park? Maybe our harmonicas should always be in our back pockets or on our lips. Maybe we should hoist pianos on our backs and carry them about with us? Maybe we hold back the the shout out of fear or worse, complancency. Maybe our hands ought to be cymbals and our mouths trumpets. We breathe in air and turn out worship and praise. Even air is transformed in the lungs of God’s children. What sort of factory is in us? What are our lungs producing? Is it worship?

Is it praise?

Our feet ought to be drums and our tongues ought to be flutes. Our teeth ought to be tamborines and the growls in our stomachs the low bass of the tuba or the slobbery sound of the trombone. Our bodies instruments of worship and organs of praise.

And we join in with the sounds and noise around us–the everydayness of today; the present. Rivers and mountains are not afraid to be what they are: noisy, boistrous, loud, constant. Why are we? Rivers let rip; why don’t we?

Thanks for stopping by.


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