The Numb in Numbers

• SA Engages

February 8, 2021

Worship before sermons is meant to exalt Christ, magnify the holiness behind who God is and what He has done, and get us into a fixation of seeking more of the Great I Am – more knowledge, more intimacy, more depth. But for some, these miniature concerts of praise serve to be more of a frustration than an exaltation. It seems like everyone around me is experiencing something that I am not, as if they are all part of some inside joke while I sit in regret because I was not in the room when it happened. Faith and worship are never meant to be comparison games but my fear of missing out plagues my mind.

I could just as easily close my eyes and ignore the world around me but with a mind that is constantly racing, and a brain that does not know the lyrics to the song, worship services serve as a discouraging time before a sermon. Even when I have the words of a worship song memorized, I still struggle with fixating on the Father and letting out acclamations of praise, because of a perceived lack of genuine sincerity behind my words.

There is an agreement with the words being said (so long as they are true), and I do believe that God hears me when I say them, for He has afforded me an audience with the King through His death, burial, and resurrection. Due to my numbness while everyone else seems to experience fullness, it feels like I am typing out a text but it is not sending. I’m not overcome with emotions when I worship, and when I pray I feel practically no comfort. Bluntly, it feels like I am talking to absolutely no one, just verbally processing my requests.

Faith is intimate and personal, and yet for me it is very monotonous, almost forced, and lacking in feeling. This stands in direct opposition to how I am in most areas of my life – I once cried for seven minutes in a staff meeting when finding out that Drew and Ellie Holcomb would be coming to perform a concert. When infatuated with a girl, I tend to get bubbly at the very idea of seeing her. The very thought of Chicago’s cuisine fills me with awe. But for some reason, singing songs of worship and praying do not stir up a storm of emotions within me. It seems to actually make me a neutral colored concrete sculpture rather than an expressive Picasso.

It was not always like this. After becoming a Christian my sophomore year of high school, the presence of the Father seemed surreal. I adamantly enjoyed listening to sermons, worshipping, and reading my Bible because it all felt so real and present. This immense love continued through summer camps and into college. Although I was actively in the Word daily, life happened, experiences did not live up to expectations, and things I once thoroughly enjoyed now became stale. I have caught glimpses of my former emotions like revisiting an old friend, but it always seems like the movie ends and the Spirit stops pouring out – back to the monotony.

Some would say that my lack of feelings in my faith but an abundance of feelings towards worldly things in my life would mean that I am some sort of idolatrous pagan. The trouble with that is I believe the Gospel, recognize the truth of scripture, and strive to keep the commandments, because I am loved and afforded unmerited grace rather than to earn love or grace. I have appreciation for temporary “worldly” things just as much as the next guy in the pew, but having feelings in one area of my life while lacking feelings towards another thing does not necessarily mean that I have an idol in place of the One who is truly worthy.

My deepest desire is to feel in my faith. Nothing would make me happier than a real-feeling embrace of the invisible God. Tears running down my face in awe as I go through yet another bridge of a worship song would be a welcomed experience. I would love for my emotions to back up the truths I am crying out. Wouldn’t it be nice to “let go and let God” during a worship service and feel what everyone else in the room is seemingly feeling?

The trouble with feelings is their subjectivity. Sure, the adrenaline of a moment may make it that much sweeter, but a reliance on feelings is dangerous because just as easily as an emotional high comes, it can go away. Our faith needs to not fluctuate with our hormones.

There came a point where agnostic and even atheistic ravings made a bit more sense to me than usual because of how monotonous my faith felt. Thankfully, I confessed this to my high school youth pastor, who was in town to officiate a wedding we were both attending. His guidance went along the lines of how there are days when he comes home to his wife and is just not feeling it. He had a rough day, the emotions aren’t as strong as they were when he first got married; it all just feels forced. But the thing is he loves her anyway, despite his lack of feelings in the moment. Why? Because he is in a covenant relationship with his wife.

The call that scripture gives him in Ephesians 5 is to love his wife “as Christ loved the church and gave himself up for her,” (verse 25). That call is not contingent upon whether or not he is feeling it in the moment; he is simply called to love her because he is in a covenant relationship with her.

As hard, and maybe even ungenuine, as it may feel to worship, trust, and love God even when there is no sensational feeling behind the faith, I am still called to love Him. My feelings do not dictate truth, God does. The reality of my salvation and the majesty of His Lordship does not fluctuate with my emotions. I am His child because of what He has done whether my feelings back that up or not.

Although it is frustrating to be seemingly missing out on some higher experience when worshipping, my salvation is not dependent on how robustly I can be emotionally moved, and God’s holiness is not diminished by my lack of feeling. He is the fullness of majesty even through my monotony. Thank God that my salvation is afforded by grace through faith and not by an abundance of emotion.

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