Hands-Lifted Days

I lift my hands to believe again,
Y
ou are my refuge, You are my strength.”

~ Chris Tomlin, “I Lift My Hands”

What do you think of when you hear the word worship?

Gazing out your bedroom window at dawn streaking the sky peach, pink, and gold, wondering anew at the beauty of God’s creation, unable to do anything but stand there and praise Him for what you see?

Or perhaps a more traditional image enters your mind? Standing in a time-worn pew, scuffed hymnal in hand, listening to the lifting of voices all around you, unable to keep your eyes open because you just want to take in the sound of praising Him together with your brothers and sisters in Christ.

Or do you think of something altogether different? Lights turned down low as you watch the worship leaders on the stage start to sing and raise their hands. You watch, but after a while your eyes close and before you know it, your hand has crept into the air and your head is bowed and you’re stretching out, letting the moment wash over you.

Confession: That used to make me uncomfortable.

I was raised with the more traditional view of worship. I considered it something expressed individually, like when the morning sky is so breathtaking you can’t take your eyes off it, or something done as a Body, as a Church, with hymns and piano music.

I wasn’t used to the hands-lifting, so it made me squirm slightly when I saw others do it at concerts and, when I got to university, at our weekly worship services.

That night, it seemed like I was the odd one out, being the only one of my peers without their hand in the air. Thus, one of those “Is-something-wrong-with-me?” thoughts entered my mind and I engaged in one of those, “Is-this-another-manifestation-of-having-an-old-soul” inner debates.

That’s when I realized I had gotten so distracted about how everyone else worshiped, how I worshiped, and how the two compared…

…that I was not worshiping at all.

The music was falling on deaf ears.

My eyes no longer lifted toward Heaven.

“I barely hear Your whisper through the rain, ‘I’m with you’
And as Your mercy falls I raise my hands
And praise the God who gives and takes away.
And I’ll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands
For You are who You are no matter where I am.”  

~ Casting Crowns, “Praise You in this Storm”

So I started listening to the music again, concentrating on the words spilling from my mouth instead of the sea of splayed fingers in front of me. Eventually, I closed my eyes to aid myself in not being distracted by the lovely sight. And it was lovely. As the service continued, I would peek my eyes open and smile soft to myself because it fascinated me, this total abandon with which everyone else seemed to worship.

They didn’t care what others thought. They didn’t look around to see if anyone else lifted their hands, too. In fact, they didn’t look around at all. Every head was lifted. Every eye glued to the words of the song on the screen at the front of the room. Or eyes closed altogether.

I caught myself wondering if it was the lights. Was it the dimness of the place that made them feel so free? Or could it be something more, something personal? Because it seemed like everyone was worshiping individually…and as a Body. At the same time. Just like in my traditional Sunday service. And that got my attention.

You may be thinking that I was comparing my church’s traditional service to the university’s contemporary one. You may be wondering if I was checking off in my mind the pros and cons, the advantages and disadvantages, of both. But I wasn’t. I was wholly curious. And praying about it the whole time.

Lord, why are they doing this? Does it make them feel closer to You? Why don’t we do this? Why don’t do this?

I don’t think lifting your hands is something you have to do when you worship, either on your own or as a Body. I don’t particularly think, either, that the physical act of lifting your hands itself enriches your worship experience. For some, it will always be a distraction, something that makes them squirm. Howeverif that’s how you worship, that’s how you worship. It looks like David, the man after God’s own heart, who also raised his hands. And it looks like lifting your hands is something my generation finds joy in doing while worshiping.

It’s not about physically flinging your arm up.

It’s how you express what’s happening in your heart.

It no longer makes me uncomfortable.

The inner debate ended that night as one song came to a close and another began. It was a favorite, one that touches my heart every time I hear it on the radio, one that makes me lift one hand from the steering wheel, one that brings tears to my eyes.

I stood, a member of the Body, but at the same time, I was just me, alone with God. My eyes closed. And my palm lifted. Then my arm stretched up, up, and toward heaven. Because my heart did so first.

“I lift my hands, I lift my heart, I surrender, I’m letting go.”

4Him, “Surrender”

How do you feel about worship styles?

Tell us below. We want to hear from you.

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10 thoughts on “Hands-Lifted Days”

  1. I understand being uncomfortable, I was raised in a different style of worship. Lovely post, especially: “It’s not about physically flinging your arm up. It’s how you express what’s happening in your heart.” Nice 4Him song; I wasn’t familiar with it. Thanks.

  2. I love this — I sometimes can’t help but bob a little bit. as if the energy is in my legs and I want to jump up and down. sometimes 😉

    love you wrote, “It’s how you express what’s happening in your heart.”

  3. “As David danced in Jehovah’s site,… as Mariam shook her tambourine,… as Joshua shouted at Jericho… as Judah made a joyful sound..” When I enter into worship I say, ‘it’s just you and me Lord’ – then I won’t/don’t focus on anything else. Like you – many years ago, I was like, “what are they doing? Everyone must have a question for the pastor!” Ha! Praise the Lord for the freedom Holy Spirit gives 🙂

  4. Rachelle, this is such a sweet post. 🙂

    Actually, I grew up going to churches that lifted their hands during praise and worship. I’m familiar with altar calls and people praying for one another in front of the stage, sometimes falling on their knees – lost to the world and completely focused on the presence of God. 🙂

    While I’m comfortable seeing everyone else raising their hands in worship, it still takes a tiny grain of boldness for me to be able to lift my own arms and turn my palms up toward heaven. For me, it’s an act of surrender. Every time I lift my hand, I’m saying “I don’t care if anybody sees me doing this, God. I’m praising you with all that I am.”

    I love that you’ve been able to experience a different kind of church service, Shell. It’s amazing how unique the many facets of the body of Christ appear… and yet we all serve the same Lord. It’s a beautiful thing. 🙂

    <3 <3 <3
    ~Julia

  5. Rachelle, this is another beautiful post! I am also very traditional in worship, but, the older I am getting, the more I find I am surrendering to the compulsion to just lift my head and hands high in praise to my King. Granted, it’s usually while in the car, belting out Jeremy Camp in octaves only the heavenlies can tolerate, but on increasing occasions I find myself at SPC doing a half raise in the back pew. And you are spot on that it is not the act of hand raising- my heart has been raised so high lately that I just sometimes can’t help myself! You have such a beautiful gift of expression and I so enjoy reading your posts!

  6. I love this post Rachelle! I actually went the other way around. I grew up with very expressive worship and when we went back to a traditional church for a period of time, I had to grapple with the question “what is worship.” Over the years, I’ve come to appreciate all styles and am able to enter into the presence of God in a variety of audiences and attitudes. I’ve learned to become attuned to the atmosphere and what is and isn’t best for the situation, but I’ve also become more comfortable and less apologetic for my own style of worship, as it seems you have as well. I love that, because that is, I think, the heart of worship–an openness to what God whispers to me at the same time as an understanding of those I am joined with for that moment.

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