Bigger: The Unbound Invitation of Worship

By Wayne Stewart

"You ruined worship."

They weren't wrong.

It turns out we cherish what helps connect us to God. When those well-worn paths are disrupted, we experience a profound displacement.

We feel lost. Confused. Even angry.

So, yes. They weren't wrong.

But, thank God, that doesn't have to be the end of the story.

Would you like to grow a worship that can't be ruined? A worship, not just surviving, but thriving in the midst of worship change?

Your relationship with God--and your church--will be better for it.

Let's get to work.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wayne Stewart
• Release date: Sep 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781978016910

Wayne Stewart

Wayne Stewart has been a professional sportswriter for more than thirty-five years and has authored thirty books, including Name that Ballplayer, You’ re the Umpire, and The Little Giant Book of Basketball Facts.

Book preview

< Part One: Sizing Up Smaller and Running Toward Bigger

< 1: Why We Sing, Why We Cling

It was a normal Sunday morning. Arriving early. Preparing my heart. A few runs to the copier room before rehearsal and then the holy joy of leading a congregation in worship. Since we had two services, it was my practice to head out to the foyer in-between. See how folks were doing. Encourage. Hear hard things in trusted communion. Laugh with good friends. You know, the wonder and beauty of the Body of Christ gathered.

I didn’t see or hear them coming.

Three women; a wall of discouragement, disappointment, and anger, closing in around me. Assured of my attention, words flowed, ones likely held back for some time.

What you have done here is terrible.

I used to cry in church every week.

I don’t even want to come anymore.

You’ve ruined worship.

While it could sound quite harsh, these women are not bad people. Not at all. In fact, they were simply expressing an incredibly common experience.

As it turns out, we cherish what connects us to God.

What a good, good Father is ours, handing us experiences and structures to cement His work deeply in our souls. I had a great reminder of this a few years back; one seeming to come out of nowhere.

I was leading a team rehearsal for what became known as our Classic service. The songs employed were largely historic hymns of the faith, many you would know and love. But there was also a smattering of songs from the 70s and 80s (20th Century). Think Maranatha, Twila Paris, Wayne Watson.

I knew this particular song was on the list. Hadn’t thought much of it. Good fit textually. Nice piano intro. Not half-way in, a small and unexpected swell of emotion grabbed my tear ducts, pulling down hard:

When I feel afraid, think I’ve lost my way still You’re there right beside me. Nothing will I fear as long as You are near. Please, be near me to the end.¹

You’ll likely recognize this key lyric from Thy Word, published in 1984 and written by Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith. I had not sung nor even thought about this song in a decade. Maybe more.

Where did that come from?

Here’s the back-story.

The mid-eighties (again, 20th Century) were my university undergrad years. For the longest time I envisioned my future with one destination: secondary music education. Everything pointed that direction, including the senior music award sitting on my shelf labeled Most likely to be a high school band director. Bypassing the gory details, that identity collapsed mid-way through my sophomore year, settling into an ungainly heap of never-to-be-returned university credits.

Susa Marches in ashes.

In the moment it was a pretty big mess.

When I feel afraid, think I’ve lost my way.

Ka-Bam.

The song was not just a cry. It was my cry, to a Father that would never leave or forsake, even in a moment where everything I thought was ahead had suddenly faded.

Fast-forward some twenty years and there it was—rising so quickly in my spirit—as I simply sat at the back of the room, taking in the rehearsal. No way to see it coming. No ready defense.

When we sing, we cling.

To our God. To the hope He holds out. To His promises embedded in text and tune.

The women confronting me that Sunday morning were right: I had ruined worship for them. That gives me pause. It’s not a happy memory. My life’s efforts have been about helping people meet with God. These women experienced the exact opposite. Before Wayne: good worship. After Wayne—not so much.

Try putting that on a resume.

So, can you tell us about your leadership style and some of the ways you’ve helped people grow in Christ?

Why, yes. I have made it so that certain people no longer want to come to church at all. In fact, I’ve personally been responsible for the growth of other congregations in the area.

But that’s not the whole story.

While these women experienced a net negative from the changes at church, others were finding new and renewed connection. Sometimes their language insinuated we had saved worship or brought it to life again.

Quite the conundrum.

Can worship be ruined in the first place? And is it possible worship could ever be saved by modifying our churches songs, elements, or style?

The simple answer is yes. The deeper question is what kind of worship does that leave us with? And Is this a worship worthy of laying before God Almighty?

No. I think we’d all agree that can’t be. It makes no sense.

For a worship that is ruin-resistant and (dare I say?) revival-immune, it must do one thing.

Grow.

As worship grows, it ceases to be in peril or need.

This is more of what God has in mind. For us. Our churches. And a world longing for things impervious to change.

How do we get there?

Simple as it sounds, by moving from smaller to bigger.

< 2: Fractured Artwork Cuts Deep

A description is in order.

A smaller worship considers and lives out this greatest of spiritual invitations as:

an hour