I was raised Southern Baptist, okay?! I’m not sure why I felt obligated to say that up front or why this topic makes me so tense. I’m a worshiper,  in fact, it was listening to “worship” music that I remembered from more than 20 years prior that was partially responsible for the end of my lengthy prodigal run. God intervened directly in my life — that was unmistakable — but I was left with this question: Which God intervened directly in my life? Bad experiences in Christian church buildings had contributed to my disenchantment with God so I was prejudiced against this God being that God, the Christian God.

I made a CD of some old Christian songs that I remembered, mostly simple choruses and hymns, and noticed that ;my heart would soar listening to them. Now I knew that it was that God after all. I would listen to this music when I was driving alone and often raised my available right hand. This was noteworthy because I was not a hand raiser in my youth.

When I finally worked up the nerve to walk into a church building again, I walked into a building full of hand raisers. I did not want to conform at any level because I still held some bitterness toward Christian congregations, I, of course would not raise my hands. I assumed that anyone who did desperately needed attention and I despised them.

I had a dilemma, I found that raising my hands was a spontaneous expression of worship for me but I did not want to appear to be “one of those”, whatever “those” are. I sought seats at the rear of the congregation so I could raise my hands at will and yet make it clear to everyone else that I did not need attention. This felt disingenuous — I use that word because it sounds much better than “fraud-like” or its dreaded twin “hypocritical”. I’m not sure why I was surprised that holding strong resentment toward Christians in general and hand raisers in particular impeded my worship. It took me months to unravel this truth while I repeatedly tried to reconcile the difference between the spontaneous, unfettered Richard and the uptight, contemptuous one.

Now I raise my hands when I feel it and don’t when I don’t. I most often raise just my right hand, bending it at the elbow over and over in celebratory praise. Of course, if you are new to our local congregation, this appears a great deal like a really big guy angrily shaking his fist at God. I’ll call this “cognitive dissonance” because it sounds more Christian than “frightening the children”.

I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands. \o/

Psalm 63:4

Possibly Related Posts:

• The Sights and Sounds of Enabling
  by Diane Viere and Elaine Altman-Eller
• Counterfeit: Lies We Believe About Work
• Counterfeit: Lies We Believe About Religion
• Counterfeit: Lies We Believe About Worship
• Day Twelve of The 12-Day Prodigal Prayer Mission