If I could choose, I would never again build a place for people to worship with walls. I’d make the roof arched and so high the birds could fly through whenever they pleased. It’d have little windows so the stars could shine through. I’d build it by the sea so the waves would crash their drumbeat to our hymns, so the wind would carry our voices. I’d plant a vine with purple flowers to drape over the doorway so that walking through, their fragrance would bath worshippers in their sweetness. I’d want to hear Creation’s voices crying, chirping, splashing, “worship the King!” I’d want us to be broken in awe. Crushed by His majesty. Made small before His presence.

That’s how I feel when I sit on our porch anyway. Like we hardly even know what was lost when man was cast from Paradise. Like our self-imposed restrictions have sucked our Life far more than we realize. That even those made Alive still sit so often in the ashes of death, their noses so acclimated the mustiness is imperceivable.

If we have Life, oh then let us Live!! May all our senses tingle with worship. Let us stand and sing with gusto, let us pray like we are already holding our harps and bowls of incense before the One on the throne, let’s shepherd with deep love, evangelize with passion. Away with death in our hearts, in our homes, in our churches! This living worship isn’t just about being good in church. It’s about being alive to all that is transcendent–yes while gathered with other believers but also all the time. It’s actively seeking out the reflections here on earth of all that is glistening with the beauty of holiness. This is about pausing while reading Adam Bede, raising our gaze to the ceiling and worshipping our holy God or A Tale of Two Cities and praising with painful joy the One whose death has brought us Life. This is having the humility to shed tears before what is beautiful, knowing the fountainhead of all Beauty is the Eternal God. In the city of Merida there is a 100 year old mansion built by a family who owned a henequen plantation. It is stunning. The ceiling is stained glass. The walls are embossed with musical instruments and flowers. There is brocade and marble and original paintings and gilded books. It makes your chest tight, your eyes get salty, like the beauty is too much to bear. It makes you feel so small and vile and ugly, so unfit to be in the presence of the created elements at their apex. If this is only earth, only what man has made with Your creation, what then, O Lord must Glory be? Maybe secular man sees only the outward appearance, but the Lord and His people look deep into the beating heart. This Living is standing in awe of the magic of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat. It’s bird watching, wave counting, mountain climbing. It’s an active habit of meditation. A life alive with worship gives in wholeheartedly to the mysterious. We bravely jump into Medieval works beyond our scope, hungry and anxious to be fed at this divine feast. We commune with our fellow guests and rejoice together. A life alive is a life that is shared. Together, we bask in the wonder that In the Beginning God, we meditate on what Eternity really means and ponder deeply the awfulness of God forsaking God. These are not routine phrases, commonplace facts, flat dogmas. God keep me from taking the Lord’s Name in vain! Keep me from repeating words known from infancy that cross my lips without penetrating my heart, without inflaming my mind, igniting my soul! Am I so cold with lingering death as to not be roused with warmth at the Thought of the most marvelous of all thoughts? Heaven forbid! I can’t wait until Sunday, hoping to conjure up some emotion of worship after wallowing all week in nothingness. No! I am Alive and every day is filled with glorious worship. Sunday my cup simply runneth over.

These are cathedrals not made of stone. Books and leaves, caramelized onion, hardcover books that smell like 150 year old glue, thoughts we can’t grasp, family that we love, the color green. Life is worship and worship is life. So then let us that are alive really live–mind, body, soul, spirit tingling with the divine, even on a Thursday afternoon.