Two Kinds of Worship

Hypocrisy is something we must constantly fight against. Pride and self-interest can so easily taint our best intentions, our giving, and our worship. The key here I think is humility and constantly asking God to “search me” and “see if there is any offensive way in me” (Ps. 139:23-24). He knows my heart better than I do.

Rather than describing real-life people, this poem reflects both what I am guilty of and what I am aiming for. I think of people in different churches I have attended whose worship I thought was so pure and inspiring, who had experienced such difficulty and suffering and yet were praising the God they know is good. At the same time, I think of times when I have used my words in the wrong way, when I have chosen to worry, or when I have resisted God’s using suffering to grow and transform me.

This was not meant to insult, judge, or take a jab at anyone but rather point us to godly men and women and to the contentment, victory, peace, and surrender God calls us to.

Two Voices

Do you hear the music as the church rejoices?

Do you hear the worship, the sound of different voices?

Hear the tune of one who joins on the day he picks—

Who “worships” God but one day, not the other six—

Who may minister in ways a lauding audience has seen,

But regardless of the reason, the Lord is just routine.

His priorities and pride betray what he believes,

And negligence prevails in a fruitless tree of leaves.

He acts in honor to save his name, conviction all subduing,

When God desires growth, not a worried human doing.

He wildly persists (not caring whom he represents)

Or shrinks behind a quiet front of treacherous pretense.

He seeks and pines for blessing yet loathes the guiding bit.

O be wary, soldier, of the one called Hypocrite.

Heed the song of Pain, of Surrender, and of Sorrow,

One who thanks God for today and trusts Him with tomorrow,

One who has stood the test of loss and persevered;

Rather than deterred by trial, he has been endeared.

Contentment is his banner, pure and satisfied.

He looks to a better land and knows the Lord applied.

He rejoices with the victor while comforting the mourner,

But he slays his greatest adversaries in the unseen corner.

Hear the melody of gold refined, the worn yet righteous youth;

The tears of sacrifice worship in spirit and in truth.

The lifted hands of the faithful, just and merciful and brave—

These will taste the rest and peace the world can only crave.

Learn from and love him, soldier, though he sings the final hymn,

And know this by the altar: He is the true Pilgrim.

The weeds may sprout and flourish among the wheat in scores,

But which voice in the sanctuary can you say is yours?