The Return to Childlike Worship

Queen Anne's Lace is a plant that is only seen in the summer months and only grows in this part of the country. It is a flowering plant, but most people do not consider it to be a flower like the roses and tulips and lilies we normally conjure up in our mind at the mention of that word. And in comparison to the firm beauty of a gerber daisy or the delicate loveliness of hydrangeas, it is ugly. But this morning, I randomly remembered a time when I saw these plants as more--as beautiful. As sacred. As gift. In my memory, I went back to afternoons spent running through the fields of Queen Anne's lace on the land beside my house. I returned to the feeling of awe and adventure I felt as I ran freely in the summer sun. Not concerned with how the wind would ruin my hair or how running through the field of weeds would scratch my sun-kissed skin, I was free. I stood in wonder. And as I ventured through the fields, I delicately plucked bundles of Queen Anne's lace out of the ground that would be used to honor my mother, to make crowns, to decorate my bike. I took the ugly and used it. I took the gift and worshiped.

Children know how to worship. They are constantly in a state of awe. And though they may not verbalize their thanks, the smile that spreads wide, the jumping with joy, the unconfined laughter all bear witness to the awe and appreciation of the gift. But as we grow older, our ability to recognize gift is often crippled by our preoccupation with future and finances and feelings. As we get caught up in worry and grow cynical because of experience, we become blind to blessing. And as I recognize the truth of these statements for my own life, I mourn at my loss of unadulterated worship. When did a box become trash to me and not an endless maze for my imagination? When did the ocean waves stop causing me to giggle in delight? When did I stop gazing at stars, allowing the world, for just that moment, to seem still and my problems small? When did my worship and wonder and awe become contingent on so many variables?

I want to return to that state of abandonment, to that state of wonder--regardless of the ease of situations or the seemingly ugly appearance of things. I want to be so in tune to my present surroundings, that my sight is transfigured to see that which can produce awe. I want to return to this childlike nature by which I more clearly see gift and more often am left astonished. I want to worship--without reservation, without timidity, without thought.

As I look at Scripture, I find that this return is possible. Wonder isn't just child's play; it is possible for me still. As the Ark of the Covenant processed into Jerusalem, David stripped off his outer garments and "came dancing before the Lord with abandon". The cries of judgment from those who watched were silenced as David boldly professed that "I will make merry before the Lord and will demean myself even more" so as to worship the Lord as rightly as he deserves. The sinful woman was so awed by the mercy of Jesus that she came unashamedly before him to wash his feet with her hair and anoint them with oil. And she did so in full recognition that she was crossing social boundaries and exhibiting radical admiration (Luke 7:34-35). The beloved disciple saw the gift of sharing a meal with Jesus and choose to worship by "reclining at Jesus' side" (John 13:23). We could live abandoned. We could worship unashamedly. We could be so attune to blessing that we constantly seek nearness to the Giver of these blessings.

But this worship requires remembrance. To worship in this way, we have to acknowledge the one who deserves our worship. To be awed, we have to passionately seek the God who is awesome (as the song implies). To be filled with wonder, we have to come before the one who was called "Wonder-Counselor, God-hero, Father-forever, Prince of Peace" (Isaiah 9:5). We CAN stand in awe when we recognize that the God who makes volcanoes erupt and waves thrash knows our names. The Creator of lightening bolt and lion roar and buzz of bee knows the beat of our hearts and the yearning of our souls. The hands that formed us are the same hands that embrace us when we flee from his care. The one who walked this earth and was murdered for our transgressions is the same one who meets us in the Eucharist. The Spirit who came in flames and violent wind (Acts 2) is the same Spirit that floods our parched souls with grace. And with eyes that are opened to recognize these gifts, how could we ever find a moment that is void of blessing?

This morning, praying over a bowl of cereal, I gave thanks saying "Bless us, O Lord, and these thy GIFTS, which we are about to receive, from thy BOUNTY, through Christ, our Lord. Amen." And for the thousands of times I have uttered those words, I finally said them genuinely. I wasn't just giving thanks for cereal, but was acknowledging the gifts I was about to receive throughout the day--gifts that come from the overflowing abundance of God's love. What if this was the prayer that we verbalized even before getting out of bed? What if we fully acknowledged that you DO bless us, O Lord, with thy gifts we receive--whether they are gifts easily recognized or gifts in which we must strain to see the blessing? What if our hearts were left in excited wonder at the recognition that these gifts are given from your BOUNTY and that there is an endless supply of gifts that we can still receive?

This week, may we ask for grace to have eyes healed from blindness that we might see the blessings that abound. May we seek the only one worthy of worship as we come before him in prayer and in Sacrament. And may we have boldness to offer the gift of our lives in unashamed worship of him.