Last Sunday, I once again had the privilege of bringing another person onto our worship team.  He is the 21 year old son of a long time member of the team, who picked up the electric guitar a number of years ago.  Last Sunday was his first time playing on the worship band.  I think he did great.  

This is one of the thrills of being a worship pastor.  To see people grow not only in their faith but in their artistry as well, and to see those gifts being used for God.  Yup.  It's a cool gig.

Between services, he remarked to me that he was initially having to think about every little thing he was doing, but as he settled in, it became easier to play and worship.  I explained to him that being on the worship team is like driving.  When you first learn to drive, you have to think about every act of driving—signaling, stepping on the accelerator, pointing the car in the right direction.  But eventually, you get to the point of never having to think about driving at all.  You only think about where you are going.

And that got me thinking about thinking.   That is to say, I began to think about the act of worship leading, and what it is that goes on in my head on a Sunday morning during worship.  Believe me, being a worship leader is a complicated thing.  Even more complicated than walking and chewing gum at the same time.

Worship leading is about communicating, both horizontally and vertically.  And that communication has spiritual, emotional, physical, and musical aspects of it.  So there's a lot going on in my brain simultaneously.  I am communicating to the band and vocalists (and sometimes the choir), to let them know what is coming up next—verse to chorus, loud to soft, extending a song or transitioning to the next one.  I am communicating to our technical folks, especially the bullet-sweating multimedia person who must follow my lead lyrically.  I am communicating to the congregation, encouraging them with my voice and actions and emotions to give themselves to the act of worship, for He is worthy.  (Hopefully as we do this, we are pointing people to God and not to ourselves in the process.)  I have one eye on the senior pastor, knowing that he might decide to take a left turn somewhere, and another eye on our cue sheet, so I can remember what comes up next during the service.  And I am communicating to myself, playing my instrument and singing the (hopefully correct) lyrics, always trying to stay four bars ahead of everyone.  I also admit that my mind will wander to the most obtuse and irrelevant things as well—what I had for breakfast, the NFL games going on that morning, the youtube video of that kid saying, "Charlie bit me!"

And then, after all of that, I am vertically communicating to God, dialoging my feelings to Him and intently endeavoring to listen to His Still Small Voice.  

Then in the midst of all of that chatter in my head, there is this other thing going on.  This inner dialogue.  My doubts about myself.  My fear of failure.  My Catholic guilt.  My feelings of inadequacy and unworthiness that come from my family of origin issues and compounded by years of simply living life.  

My mind is quite the busy place.

Then there is the essence of grace. That I am worthy, but only because of Jesus, of what He did and continues to do for me—that the grace of the cross is my sufficiency, and the grace of the present moment is my blessing.  And then I sense this indescribable thing, this inexplicable awareness: The smile of God is upon me.

And this is the part where I don't have to think about driving.  I only think about where I am going.  And where I am going is to the throne of God.  To kneel at His feet, to sit on His lap, to drink from His cup.  To simply be in His presence, with His people, and declare the amazing Story of God once again.  

Last Sunday was like that.   Just like that.