Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord in His sanctuary; praise Him in His mighty heavens! (Verse 1)
Last night was the album release concert for Vanessa's newest CD. It was so great to see friends I haven't been with in years, in some cases. I'm never done with hearing Vanessa sing and marveling in the gifts God has given her. I was thankful to be in the mix when she praised her God in song. Couldn't help but raise my hands and worship as she sang, "I am forgiven, once and for all. I am not doomed to stay down when I fall." I mouthed the words I've come to love from hearing the song many times at home. "He calls me Precious, He calls me Precious Little Girl," she sang, and somehow in lyrics and music I heard Jesus say, "You are my Beloved." And in the worship experience, heaven must stretch its edges to draw us like a magnet into God's sanctuary. The dividing line thinner as the strains of worship reach the ears of God. I hear my daughter. So does He. And He hears us as we join in, for we are only catching a far off whiff of glory. Our worship reflecting what is happening in His sanctuary; not the other way round. Worship brings us into a holy unity with heavenly choirs whose sole reason for being is to extol the God of All.
My standing in the crowd at the concert last night watching my daughter praise our God reminded me this morning of how God, to a much, much greater extent, joys in standing in the midst of our praise and bathing in its purity, however imperfect or amazing. It's a family thing. A recognition of the fact that our Father is better than any other father! He forgives us, restores us, loves us with almost unbearable sweetness, guides us, defends us, provides for us and grows us up to be like Him. Praise causes us to look at Him. To put aside whatever rubble life has thrown our way and to enjoy God's presence. It's a sharing of mutual affection. Reciprocating our Father's love. God comes near to hear us shout with the angels that He is "Holy, holy, holy!" There is no one like our Father. That's what holy means--separate, set apart. One of a kind. Tears welled up in my eyes knowing my daughter's heart is given over to Christ. How much more does the love of God swell in His heart when He hears the songs of our hearts, smells the sweet aroma of our sacrifices of praise? Above the noisy thundering of heaven's electric atmosphere, we have an audience Whose ear is attuned to the songs of our hearts. It's all one to Him, the praise there and the praise here.
The stars are constantly humming in harmonic praise. The Kepler space telescope proved Job's observation in Job 38 that "the morning stars sang together." The group of massive red stars sing in concert. God's mighty heavens literally play for Him. And God doesn't just stand apart from the creation He called good, but is in its midst, worthy of our prostrate adoration; worthy of the dance; worthy of the song; worthy of a life lived in praise to His glory. In the sanctuaries of our churches or in the sanctity of our quiet places, praise becomes us (Psalm 147:1). It's appropriate, sweet. It's like wearing a dress that fits perfectly and shows off our best features--becoming. That's how praise looks on us. Like we were made to wear it. The first fruits of our eventual white linen clothing reserved for us in heaven when we'll sit at the wedding supper of the Lamb and rejoice at the table of our Father.
Last night was the album release concert for Vanessa's newest CD. It was so great to see friends I haven't been with in years, in some cases. I'm never done with hearing Vanessa sing and marveling in the gifts God has given her. I was thankful to be in the mix when she praised her God in song. Couldn't help but raise my hands and worship as she sang, "I am forgiven, once and for all. I am not doomed to stay down when I fall." I mouthed the words I've come to love from hearing the song many times at home. "He calls me Precious, He calls me Precious Little Girl," she sang, and somehow in lyrics and music I heard Jesus say, "You are my Beloved." And in the worship experience, heaven must stretch its edges to draw us like a magnet into God's sanctuary. The dividing line thinner as the strains of worship reach the ears of God. I hear my daughter. So does He. And He hears us as we join in, for we are only catching a far off whiff of glory. Our worship reflecting what is happening in His sanctuary; not the other way round. Worship brings us into a holy unity with heavenly choirs whose sole reason for being is to extol the God of All.
My standing in the crowd at the concert last night watching my daughter praise our God reminded me this morning of how God, to a much, much greater extent, joys in standing in the midst of our praise and bathing in its purity, however imperfect or amazing. It's a family thing. A recognition of the fact that our Father is better than any other father! He forgives us, restores us, loves us with almost unbearable sweetness, guides us, defends us, provides for us and grows us up to be like Him. Praise causes us to look at Him. To put aside whatever rubble life has thrown our way and to enjoy God's presence. It's a sharing of mutual affection. Reciprocating our Father's love. God comes near to hear us shout with the angels that He is "Holy, holy, holy!" There is no one like our Father. That's what holy means--separate, set apart. One of a kind. Tears welled up in my eyes knowing my daughter's heart is given over to Christ. How much more does the love of God swell in His heart when He hears the songs of our hearts, smells the sweet aroma of our sacrifices of praise? Above the noisy thundering of heaven's electric atmosphere, we have an audience Whose ear is attuned to the songs of our hearts. It's all one to Him, the praise there and the praise here.
The stars are constantly humming in harmonic praise. The Kepler space telescope proved Job's observation in Job 38 that "the morning stars sang together." The group of massive red stars sing in concert. God's mighty heavens literally play for Him. And God doesn't just stand apart from the creation He called good, but is in its midst, worthy of our prostrate adoration; worthy of the dance; worthy of the song; worthy of a life lived in praise to His glory. In the sanctuaries of our churches or in the sanctity of our quiet places, praise becomes us (Psalm 147:1). It's appropriate, sweet. It's like wearing a dress that fits perfectly and shows off our best features--becoming. That's how praise looks on us. Like we were made to wear it. The first fruits of our eventual white linen clothing reserved for us in heaven when we'll sit at the wedding supper of the Lamb and rejoice at the table of our Father.
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