The Wonder of Worship

Harvey Brown was a gentleman I will never forget. I met him during my sophomore year in high school while playing the piano for Sunday morning services at the convalescent center in the town where I lived. Mr. Brown was the song leader for the service and also a center resident.

Each week, he and I would gather a few minutes before the service to pick out the songs we would sing. Within minutes, the congregation members would begin to arrive and find their places in the small chapel pews. I chuckled under my breath as we greeted our worshipers. The same rhetoric could be heard weekly: "How are you this morning, Miss Audrey?"  She would reply: "I can't hear you!" "Can't you speak up a little bit?" or "Good morning, Mr. Johnson. How's your day so far?" The reply was the same almost every week, "When is this gonna be over? I'm hungry," even though breakfast had not even been over an hour at that point.

One by one, they took their places. The room filled with settlings, murmurs, shuffles, and snores, but nothing discouraged Mr. Brown. I kept my eyes peeled in his direction. When he gave the cue, I started to play, now with one eye on the music and the other on him to allow his tendencies to change the tempo, words, or tune at any given moment. It may have appeared or sounded like a chaotic mix of piano chords, off-tune notes, and, yes, a few snores to passersby. Still, from the worshipers in their small house of worship, the melodies from this sacred place were a pleasing sacrifice to the Lord.

As the service began, a tapestry of humanity unfolded before me. The pews were filled with a diverse array of individuals-former teachers, preachers, laborers, businessmen, and women. Each person carried a unique story, a testament to the myriad paths they had taken in life; yet their commonality was found in this place of worship.

Though some were now forgetful, a little impatient, and tired, the desire to worship the Lord had never left them. At the time, I knew just enough to recognize this experience as unique, but at just sixteen, I did not know precisely how lasting the effects of this experience would be in my life. These worshipers taught me the importance of praise. It was ingrained in their hearts from their youth to their later years, so they came.

Over forty years have passed, but even today, if I am very still, I can still see the chapel, the faces of Ms. Audrey, and others. I can hear Mr. Brown leading the music and still see the  joy on his face and enthusiasm radiating from within, and it now makes perfect sense why the psalmist would say:

"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy, and I will thank Him in song."

Psalm 28:7 (NIV)