Life Without Music

Earlier this week I had coffee with a delightful woman whose family does not listen to much music. My understanding is that it's a sound issue where they can't handle the volume level. They went to a concert and had to leave because the sound stimulation was too much.

I tried to envision what my life would be like without music. I almost always have music playing. If it's not on, there's probably a song running through my head. Concerts are my family's bonding activity.

We've gone to the same multi-day Christian music festival for nine years. Our record is six Mark Schultz concerts in one calendar year. We sit around quoting "As Is" by Peder Eide as if "Samson was a long-haired, arrogant womanizer" is a perfectly logical thing to say in conversation.

If it weren't for music, we'd probably have to watch movies or take up karate like normal people.

When I talk about Lifest, I tell the silly stories: the standing ovation earned by a water bottle, the mud so bad our van had to be pushed into the parking lot, using my lawn chair as an umbrella, etc.

But I think about it, I think about worshipping with Phillips, Craig, and Dean as the rain gently fell on my face. I think about kneeling on fist-sized gravel to stretch my arms up to my Abba Father like a child wanting to be held. I remember Peter Furler (when he was in Newsboys) talking about God's perfect timing only to have a nearby train interrupt his sentence.

Can I worship without music?

I love how the Lord gets my attention through songs I've heard a million times. I get a taste of heaven when strangers unite as a family to sing praises to our Father. I didn't perform "My Savior, My God" in ASL in front of a crowded room of Nicaraguan believers; I worshipped my Savior, my God with my hands.

Through music may be one of my favorite ways to worship, but it's certainly not the only way.

To affirm or encourage someone, that's worship. To serve and love on someone, that's worship. To hug someone, to squeeze a shoulder as you pass, to look someone in the eye. Worship. To genuinely ask how someone's doing, to sit down and share life over a cup of coffee, to bring lunch to an under-employed freelance writer. Worship. To dance, to play ping pong, to sign, to make copies, etc. they can all be worship. (My thoughts on this have been heavily influenced by TASTE Worship--check it out).

In Guatemala, there was a day I was "forbidden" to sing and sign. I worshipped that day. I removed flecks of orange paint from a brush and bucket, and it was worshipful.

Can I worship with music?

Last summer, I remember running through the park arguing with God about being twenty minutes late to a forty-minute show. He brought to my attention that I was not approaching the concert with the right heart.

It wasn't the first time.

How often do I attend a concert just to add another artist to my repertoire? How often do I absent-mindedly sing along without realizing what I'm saying?

These questions hurt because I am ashamed of their answers.

Even at Christian concerts, my heart is not always in the right place. I've sung along, I've waved my arms, I've screamed at the top of my lungs, and I hate to confess it has not always been for the Lord.

It happens under a rain-free sky. It happens in a crowded, dark auditorium. It happens in my church on Sunday mornings. It happens to me more often than I care to admit.

I voluntarily took a day this week and turned the music off. I washed dishes in silence. I drove across town in the quiet. I worked without any accompaniment.

It was weird and awkward at first but then it became peaceful.

That's worship.

Weird and awkward at first. Uncomfortable and strange. But then peaceful, wonderful, and necessary.

Whether you're a person who loves to literally feel the beat of the drums or just prefers white noise in the background, take some time this week to worship with the radio off.

Let me know how it works for you.

<>< Katie

One

My sisters and I sat in the front pew. In between us were our parents and a few adult friends from church. I looked down the pew to notice all three of us held up one finger.

No, not that finger.

It was our pointer fingers. I promise. It almost looked like we were singing "This Little Light of Mine."

Except we weren't. We were singing, "Back In His Arms Again."

One life.
One love.
One way home.

Mark Schultz was fifteen feet in front of us. He looked towards us, saw our "Ones" and shook his head. He made us stand up as he announced to the audience that we had been to fifteen of his concerts. Fifteen. No embellishing.

We know every word, every motion, every story. Yet still we sit in the front row every time we can.

One life.
One love.
One way home.

Once we began to sing that refrain too early in the song. He just chuckled.

Tonight I as drove home from a wonderful dinner, "Back in His Arms Again" came on the local Christian radio station. I subconsciously put up ONE to declare that He is the one, the only.

The One I want to run to.
The One who unites us around the world as brothers and sisters.
The One who knows which of my cold phone calls will lead to a job interview.
The One who is walking with me, walking with you through every step.
The One whose arms I want to fall into.

"Back in His Arms Again" by Mark Schultz

I see it in your eyes

the pain you keep inside

is slowly tearing you apart.

Through you've run away

reminded day by day

you've stumbled and you've fallen.

Still He's calling

I believe that He loves you where you are.

I believe that you've seen the hands of God.

I believe that you'll know it when

you're back in His arms again.

I believe that He never let you go.

I believe that He's wanting you to know 

I believe that He'll lead you 'til

you're back in his arms again.

I'm glad I found you here

'Cause in between the tears

something in your eyes shows hope.

When I stand before you now

as one that knows the power

of coming to Him open and broken

I believe that the loves you where you are

I believe that you've seen the hands of God

I believe that you'll know it when

you're back in His arms again.

I believe that He never let you go

I believe that He's wanted you to know

I believe that He'll lead you 'til

you're back in His arms again

And I know that He's calling,

He's calling you home.

One life.

One love.

One way home.

and when you rise

and when you fall
He will see you through it

He is waiting in the dark

back in His arms again

One life.

One love.

One way home.

I believe it. And I trust it.
<>< Katie

Come Alive

"What are you doing?"
"My spirit is praising."
"Well your spirit needs to tell your body to come alive because the two are not communicating very well."

Mark Schultz said this to his wife one day after she'd worked 30 hours. She came home, and Mark was playing piano. Standing there she lifted her arms just a little bit and looked half dead.

How often do we do the same? Look half dead but are still praising? It's much easier to be physically and spiritually dead and go to bed. Nope. Come alive; come alive.

"Bring your broken unto Me lift it up and you will see that a love can make a heart that's been defeated come alive; come alive. My love is stronger than your weakest moment my grace is greater than your worst mistake no matter where you've been I'm waiting at the end of your weakest road." - God (Through Mark Schultz's "Come Alive")

<>< Katie

Worship in Alternative Forms

On Wednesday, I didn’t really want to be at Lifest. There were a plethora of reasons; namely: very few of my favorite artists were going to be there, after seven years it had become mundane, and my “I’m bored; let’s go get lost in the mosh pit” mother was leaving me with the responsibility of chaperoning my sisters.

I thought about our past six years worth of Lifests, and the plethora of funny memories flooded my head. The time Michael W. Smith finally played “Never Been Unloved” live after years of begging. Having our minivan pushed into the muddy parking lot. Steven Curtis Chapman’s first return to the stage following Maria’s death. How Mark Schultz’s water bottle earned a standing ovation. Watching TobyMac in a downpour and using a lawn chair as an umbrella. Don’t get me wrong, those stories are hilarious, but they aren’t what Lifest is about.

When asked to summarize this past Friday in one sentence, I said, “Worship in alternative form.” That’s exactly what Lifest is all about. I feel like after seven years, I finally got it. Lifest isn’t about sticking plywood in your elbows for four hours to be in the front of the mosh pit that night. It isn’t about finally having the opportunity to meet your favorite band. It isn’t the perfect time to destroy your eating habits. It isn’t even a great excuse to stay up until one am every day. Rather, Lifest is an opportunity to see God in a new way. Worship in alternative form(s).

Sure, it’s pretty basic. If someone else had said it over the past six years, I definitely would have agreed. I have great God moments from previous Lifests. Kneeling on fist-sized rocks with my arms stretched towards the beautiful blue sky crying out to my Abba Father. Listening to Peter Fuller of Newsboys talk about how God’s timing is perfect only for his sentence to be interrupted by a nearby train (“and you laugh”). Something about this year was different. Agreeing that “church has left the building” and applying the concept are two different things.

Of course, I’ve got silly stories from this year, too. Matthew West writing a spontaneous song about brats. Skillet’s opinion on illegal music downloads and still loving the audience for free. Officially becoming part of BarlowGirl. Hitting Aaron Shust in the head with my cowboy hat. Getting chastised by Mark Schultz for singing along to one of his songs that hasn’t been released yet. Dancing, jumping, singing, and worshipping with my arms around complete strangers. Singing two commercials with several hundred of my new “family members.” Following Peder Eide around as he moved from stage to stage. Except I had to look through my journal to remember all of those silly things.

The things I remember off of the top of my head are memories about closing my eyes singing and signing praises to God as raindrops fell softly onto my face and Phillips, Craig, and Dean led us in worship. Singing “Open the Eyes of My Heart” and having Peder Eide cut off the audience telling us only to sing if we really believed it and were aware of what we were singing. Watching Bob Lenz on the jumbotron saying, “God is bigger than your pains” as the beautiful sun set behind him. Singing hymns on Mountain Dew and confessing "Yes, I believe." Finally understanding how worship is truly "tasting and seeing that the Lord is good."

To anyone else, my Lifest may look like a let-down. I only went to 3 events not at the Grandstand. I waited in line for 2 Meet and Greets. Yet to me, it was worth every $2.50 bottle of water to sit outside in a sea of lawn chairs and read 1 Samuel in a new light. I will repeat “We’re family, and I love you,” to more strangers if it also means I can also shout “God is good. All the time.” A misconception that’s been stuck in my head for the last six years has finally disappeared, and praying for no rain for five days will never be the same.

How easily do we lose focus on what Lifest is all about? On what life itself is all about?