Things Thailand is Teaching Me: What it Means to Worship

The first time I ever attended a Karen (kuh-REN) church service, I was so excited. We had only recently arrived in Thailand – brand new missionaries! We put on our traditional Karen clothing and headed to one of the churches in Chiang Mai. In many ways, being in that place was like being back in my grandparents church - the look of the sanctuary, the sound of the hymns. When a hymn would play, I would think, “Oh, I haven’t heard this one in so long!” Of course, I didn’t understand what they were saying, but I quickly Googled the lyrics and sang along in English. How exciting, worshipping with believers from another part of the world, lifting our voices together in our own languages, knowing that God understood all of us.

 

Pictures from a Youth Service at the Karen Church

Fast forward a few months (weeks, even), and the excitement had waned. While I still enjoyed seeing the people that attended the church, I didn’t understand a word that was said there. Everything is done in the Karen language. It isn’t actually very thrilling to spend an hour and a half sitting in a church where you don’t have a clue what is happening (unless they sing an oldie but goodie that you can Google) and can’t communicate with any of the people. I felt a little bit like Marlin from the movie Finding Nemo, trying to talk to the little sea turtle.

Well, that is only on Sunday mornings. At least you had the International Church to attend on Sunday afternoons, with its English speaking service and wonderful people from around the world. Yes, that is true. But in the beginning of our term here, every Sunday in that church was just another reminder of how vastly our lives had changed.

My husband was no longer a pastor. None of us knew anyone. The church building was an unfamiliar place. We had no role in that congregation. We were simply visitors. Our entire identity had been stripped away, and we were left to discover who we would be in this new place. That hour and a half on Sunday evenings was often a time of tears, especially for my daughters and me, as we missed our home church family so deeply.

In the midst of all of this frustration, longing, and even boredom, there was honestly not a lot of worship coming out of my heart. And in truth, these places in which I found myself would be the beginning of a journey of discovery about what it truly means to worship.

Because it is one thing to sing

"All of you is more than enough for all of me" 

but it is another thing completely to find yourself in a place where 

Jesus is all you have left. 

But that was exactly what was needed for me to understand anew the truth about worship. It's not about me. Yes, so simple, and yes, I did know that. And yet so often that time of "worship" on Sunday mornings is not really a vertical expression. 

Too often it becomes about other things - the familiarity of the ritual of going to church on Sunday, experiencing the fellowship of being with our friends, singing our favorite songs. We throw ourselves into the community of the church, find ways to serve and places to belong. And all of these things are good things.

But this is NOT worship.

I was missing all of those things, but I was not missing God. And the question I had to ask myself was, "Is God still worthy of my praise?" Even in a far away land, where I felt out of place, where I didn't understand, where I didn't know anyone, where I didn't belong. Had God changed? Of course not. My circumstances were vastly different. But the God of the universe was the same in Thailand as he was in the U.S.

Some months into my journey of understanding of worship I was introduced to James MacDonald's book Vertical Church. It was MacDonald who reminded me that the goal of our time of corporate worship is to see the glory of God. That we should be completely desirous of His presence with us and dread the possibility that God might not be there. 

I knew that I needed an attitude adjustment, so I began to follow the recommendations of King David and meditate on God in the night watches, as I lay in bed at night. Rather than allowing my mind to flit from one random thought to another, as had been my normal bedtime routine, I began to focus specifically on God. My nighttime cry became a simple recognition of the transcendence of God. 

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, 

Who was, and is, and is to come. 

Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty. 

The earth is filled with His glory.

Slowly, my attitude towards church and corporate worship began to change. I found myself sitting in church longing to meet God, longing to see His glory displayed, longing to see something that could only be attributed to the great God of the universe, longing to know that His presence was there.

And before long, it no longer mattered whether or not I understood a word of what was being said. God was seated on His throne. Joining in song surrounded by people I didn't know from countries all over the world was no longer a place of loneliness, but rather a beautiful glimpse of the coming of the kingdom of God. 

The challenges and grief of my move to Thailand allowed me to commune with God in ways I had never before imagined. Maybe it seems strange that I could walk with him for forty years and end up needing a move across the globe in order to learn how to really worship. 

But I think that oftentimes, it is only in places of darkness

 that we can truly see the light.

So what about you? Has a darkness in your own life temporarily eclipsed the glory of God? I pray that my own journey can encourage you to feel confident that God is still on His throne, that He is still worthy of our praise, and that you can still see Him high and lifted up. May it be.