Worship takes many forms - as an artist, living in a home perpetually filled with artists, it is rare to find only one type of behavior glorifying our creator. We sing, we dance, we create, and more often than not, we do it all in the comfort of our living room surrounded by friends and family who share that same passion.
Well, the living room started to feel a little bit small, and there was a palpable need for a worshipping community around us - whether it was church hardship, personal hardship, or simply wanting to sing loudly in a room filled with music, more and more people came flocking forward. So we did what anyone would do: we found a bigger living room. We’ve made our home in Market Square, in places around the city where we are welcomed with our guitars, our loud drums, our various percussion instruments, and our endless need to sing praises. And boy, do we sing!
And so, Worship Together was born. Every few months, we wrangle together a band of musicians, a place where we can fit 30-50 of our closest friends, acquaintances, and anyone else who feels called to come, and we make beautiful noise together. There is no sermon, there is no teaching, only slowly throughout the night verses from the bible making their way across the screen to offer up a contemplation. In the corner, there lies a piece of art that has followed us everywhere we’ve gone in the last three years, John Donnelly’s Yes I Will, reminding us of the sacrifice made for us and the ways that we choose to glorify God in the everyday. The simplicity of the night is what makes it meaningful: it’s not doused in fancy lighting, you can take your shoes off, you can enjoy a cup of coffee with your friends afterwards. There is no expectation of you other than to be in the Lord’s presence and find peace there.
Our most recent Worship Together night was last weekend, and it always tends to start out the same way: someone is late for soundcheck, something isn’t set up properly, the words on the screen won’t show up - all things that make you want to throw your hands in the air, exclaim, “I don’t know!”, and walk away. But somehow, in those moments, when you recognize that you’re trying too hard to play puppet master, and you resign yourself to your purpose for being there in the first place: to worship the One who gave us the ability to make a joyful noise.