Returning to the Heart of Worship
Returning to the Heart of Worship
Modern Christianity often asks us to feel before it asks us to kneel.
Worship is not first about us. It is not self-expression, emotional fulfillment, or inspiration. Biblically, worship is rightly ordered love—God in His rightful place, and ourselves beneath Him.
“You shall worship the Lord your God, and Him only shall you serve” (Matthew 4:10).
God does not demand performance or creativity. He demands obedience, humility, and surrender. “To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22).
True worship costs us something. It requires us to lay down not only our pride, but our preferences. Jesus did not say, “Take up your preferences and follow Me.” He said, “Take up your cross” (Luke 9:23).
Walk into many churches today and the center is clear: a stage, lights, screens. The language has shifted—experience, atmosphere, engagement. These things are not evil, but they demand an honest question: is this ordered toward worship, or toward performance?
An altar exists for sacrifice. A stage exists for an audience. At an altar, God acts. On a stage, we react.
The early Church gathered not to consume worship, but to offer themselves to God—often at great cost.
Do we go to church to feel uplifted and affirmed, or do we go to worship God whether or not it feels good? True worship is not always comforting. Sometimes it confronts, humbles, and calls us to repentance. The cross was never meant to be appealing—yet it remains the center of our faith.
If church exists to make us feel good, then we have quietly made ourselves the object of worship. If it exists to glorify God, then comfort becomes secondary to conversion. “Those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth” (John 4:24).
Somewhere along the way, worship became something we consume rather than something we offer. We evaluate it by how it sounds and how it makes us feel. This is why a familiar song still resonates—not as celebration, but as confession: “I’m coming back to the heart of worship… it’s all about You, Jesus.” It is repentance—an admission that even good things can quietly displace God. “I’m sorry, Lord, for the thing I’ve made it.”
The Gospel does not promise fulfillment without sacrifice or belief without obedience. It offers something far more demanding—and far more beautiful: union with Christ. He calls us not to be spectators, but disciples; not consumers, but offerings. “Present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (Romans 12:1).
When everything else is stripped away—our preferences, our performances, our expectations—may we still be able to say, not as a lyric but as a life: It’s all about You, Jesus