Beholding: Rediscovering the Wonder of Worship

The recliner groaned as I sank into it, the weary springs clanging. A coffee table sat between us, scattered with photographs that told the story of a life well-lived. A smiling wife, now gone. Children frozen in time. Grandchildren, their faces forever captured in glossy prints. The church member, 50 years older than me, my friend, slurped his coffee. He barely seemed to notice the pictures now. His gaze bore beyond me, out the window.

“There he is,” the old man murmured.

I turned, following his eyes. A fat squirrel clung to the rough bark of an oak. “He keeps the others away,” he added, “chases them off – greedy little thing.”

“Why does he do that?” I asked.

“He wants the food I put out to himself.”

It wasn’t clear if the squirrel kept watch over the old man or if the old man kept watch over the squirrel. We talked. At least, we tried. The years eroded his ability to hold onto a thought for long. Words came and went like fallen leaves caught in a restless wind, never seeming to land on the ground. I steered the conversation as best I could, but it always drifted. Fragments of memories. Loose ends of thoughts.

“Would you like to pray together,” I asked.

His large knuckles folded together. His lips moved without words—just quiet, awe-filled gasps. His eyes glistened as though he saw beyond the familiar walls of his living room – beyond the violet iris blooms, nodding gently in the breeze outside.

I started to pray with him, but my words sputtered. I could only watch. My entire perception changed.

Though weak, tired, and confused, he was clear before God. His prayers had no requests or petitions. He was beholding, lost in the wonder of God.

I envied him.

My prayers that week had been heavy with burdens: needs, confessions, and cries for help. But this man had come to God with nothing in his hands but worship. Through my friend’s prayer, he was arrested by the beauty of a Savior who came for him.

I realized that I had forgotten what it meant to adore.

A heart that truly knows God cannot help but respond with adoration. Before duty or discipline, the worshiping heart delights in wonder. Worship does not begin with our needs. It starts with His glory.

I’m not the first person to feel overwhelmed with life.

I’m sure David, the shepherd-king, understood. Though he had battles to fight, a nation to govern, and enemies to defeat, he sought God Himself over his personal victories.

David wrote in Psalm 27:4, “One thing I have asked of the Lord, that I will seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in His temple.”

David longed for God’s presence.

The busyness of life often reduces prayer to a transaction. Nothing more than words spoken and requests made. Busyness forces worship to become an obligation and devotion a routine. We spend time with God while our minds race to the next task, worry, and demand.

But the gospel calls us back.

The cross reveals God’s beauty. When we look upon Jesus—who bore our sin, suffered in our place, and rose in victory—we see the fullness of grace and truth. We see holiness and love offer reprieve from the burdens of life. The cross calls us to adoration.

When we truly see Him, how can we not adore Him?

When was the last time you worshiped God, not for what He has done, but simply for who He is?

When was the last time you let your heart be still?

Will you stop long enough to see?