There Must Be Some Worship in the Atmosphere

Yesterday, I finally admitted that maybe a little PDA with Jesus would not kill me. I am still not advocating for excessive public displays of affection in the natural because some of y’all are doing entirely too much in the Target checkout line, but spiritually?

Fine.

I get it.

Worship is relationship. Relationship has expression. Love that is never expressed leaves the other person constantly guessing whether it is actually there.

And perhaps most importantly, I finally stopped being a Rancho Carne Toro.

I am a Clover now.

Spirit fingers retired.

No more copying somebody else’s worship, performing choreography I learned from watching everybody around me & hoping nobody notices that I do not actually know why I am doing any of it.

These are not spirit fingers.

This is worship.

But apparently God was not finished with me.

Because once I got comfortable with the idea of expressing my love for Him, another question showed up:

Am I expressing my love for God the way He actually wants to receive it, or am I just giving Him what I am comfortable giving?

Oh.

Because those are not the same thing.

I can love somebody deeply & still love them poorly.

I can have good intentions & still have the wrong impact.

I can say, “But I meant well,” while the other person is standing there thinking, “Okay… but that is not what I needed.”

Relationships have taught me that one the hard way.

Sometimes loving someone means learning how they receive love instead of constantly giving them the version that comes easiest to me.

And if that is true in my human relationships, why would I assume my relationship with God requires less intentionality?

I cannot just give God what I want Him to have.

I have to give Him what He wants.

That realization took me straight to John 12:1-8.

Jesus returns to Bethany, where a dinner is being held in His honor. Lazarus is reclining at the table. Martha is serving. Mary takes an expensive perfume, pours it on Jesus’ feet & wipes His feet with her hair.

The entire house fills with the fragrance.

And then Judas starts talking.

Because apparently every act of worship has at least one person in the comment section.

“Why wasn’t this perfume sold and the money given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”
John 12:5

Now here is what makes Judas uncomfortable for me.

If I did not know the rest of the story, he would sound right.

Actually, he would sound biblical.

Feed the poor.

Be responsible.

Steward your resources.

Do not be wasteful.

I can absolutely imagine myself sitting at that table thinking, “Well… Judas does have a point.”

Except John tells us Judas did not say this because he cared about the poor. He was a thief.

And suddenly I realized something that made me deeply uncomfortable:

Judas was close to Jesus.

Judas knew Scripture.

Judas knew ministry.

Judas heard Jesus teach.

Judas watched miracles.

Judas was speaking about Jesus.

Judas was speaking for Jesus.

And Judas was misrepresenting Jesus.

That is terrifying.

Because how many times have I taken “biblical advice” from a Judas?

Something sounded spiritual enough that I assumed it came from God.

Someone knew enough Scripture that I assumed they knew His heart.

Someone had been around church long enough that I assumed their interpretation of Jesus must be accurate.

But proximity to Jesus does not automatically mean someone represents Jesus correctly.

Judas proves that.

And before I get too excited pointing at Judas…

Unfortunately, I have also been Judas.

I know. Hate that for me.

I have been close to Jesus & misrepresented Him.

I have spoken from my fear & presented it like wisdom.

I have turned my preferences into something that sounded suspiciously like God’s instructions.

I have offered “biblical advice” when what I really offered was my opinion wearing a church hat.

I have spoken for God when God did not ask me to be His spokesperson.

And perhaps one of the most uncomfortable ones:

I have taken credit for things He did.

I will say, “God did it,” & somehow find a way to slide my résumé underneath it.

“God opened that door… but I mean, I did work really hard.”

“God provided… but technically I made some really smart decisions.”

“God brought me through… but I am pretty resilient.”

Girl.

Roll the credits correctly.

Participation is not authorship.

Yes, I worked.

Yes, I obeyed.

Yes, I showed up.

Yes, I made decisions.

But there are things in my life I simply cannot explain without God.

He did it.

And somewhere along the way, I can become so familiar with His goodness that I start acting like I helped Him perform the miracle.

Which brings me back to Mary.

Because while Judas is talking…

Mary keeps wiping.

Judas is criticizing.

Mary keeps worshipping.

People are watching.

Mary keeps pouring.

She does not stop to explain herself.

She does not turn around & say, “Okay everybody, I would just like to provide some context for why I have chosen this particular expression of worship.”

No PowerPoint.

No supporting documentation.

No rebuttal.

She is completely consumed with Jesus.

An audience of One.

And that challenges me because I am still learning how often I check the room.

“Was that too much?”

“Do I look weird?”

“Do they understand?”

“Are they judging me?”

“Should I tone it down?”

Mary does not appear particularly interested in the Yelp reviews.

She knows who she came for.

But the part of this story that completely changes it for me is that John 12 does not begin in John 12.

To understand Mary’s worship, I have to remember John 11.

Because the man sitting at the table in John 12 was lying in a tomb in John 11.

Lazarus.

Mary’s brother.

In John 11, Mary is grieving.

She falls at Jesus’ feet & says:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”
John 11:32

She knows what grief feels like.

She knows what disappointment feels like.

She knows what it feels like when Jesus does not move according to the timeline she expected.

She knows what it feels like to believe God is good while simultaneously wondering why He did not intervene sooner.

But then Jesus goes to the tomb.

He tells them to remove the stone.

And He calls:

“Lazarus, come out!”
John 11:43

And Lazarus walks out.

Now fast forward one chapter.

Lazarus is sitting at the table.

Of course Mary is worshipping.

She remembers chapter 11.

Everybody else sees perfume.

Mary sees resurrection.

Everybody else is calculating what her worship costs.

Mary remembers what grief cost.

Everybody else is evaluating her response.

Mary remembers the tomb.

And suddenly the question became painfully personal:

What is my chapter 11?

What did I once cry over that I now complain about?

What did I beg God for that has become so normal that I no longer recognize it as answered prayer?

What provision became expectation?

What mercy became ordinary?

What did I once say, “God, if You would just…” about that I now barely acknowledge?

Because apparently the human heart has the audacity to normalize miracles.

God can be good to me for so long that I accidentally start treating His goodness like customer service.

“Well, yes, thank You for that, but I am actually calling about something else.”

Excuse me?

I can become entitled to the very things I once begged Him for.

The thing that once made me cry tears of gratitude becomes the thing I complain about when it inconveniences me.

The door I prayed would open becomes the responsibility I complain about having.

The relationship I prayed for becomes the relationship I forget requires intentional love.

The provision I celebrated becomes the amount I now think is insufficient.

The freedom I once begged for becomes so familiar that I forget what bondage felt like.

And sometimes Lazarus is literally sitting at my table while I am asking Jesus what else He plans to do for me.

That one hurts.

Because I have chapter 11s.

I have things in my life right now that used to exist only in prayer.

I have things I no longer pray for because I am living inside the answer.

I have survived things that once made me wonder whether I would ever feel normal again.

I have watched God restore things.

Redirect things.

Protect me from things.

Provide things.

Resurrect things.

And sometimes I am so focused on what has not happened yet that I forget to look around the table.

Lazarus is here.

That is why gratitude is warfare.

Gratitude forces me to remember.

It interrupts entitlement.

It reminds me that what feels normal now was once impossible.

And maybe Mary’s worship was so extravagant because her memory was still intact.

She remembered.

Which makes me wonder if one of the reasons my worship sometimes becomes casual is because my memory has become casual.

I remember what God has not done faster than I remember what He has.

Mary remembered.

So she poured.

And what she poured was expensive.

John tells us the perfume was pure nard, worth approximately a year’s wages.

This was not leftovers.

This was not whatever she could comfortably spare.

This cost her something.

And then she wiped Jesus’ feet with her hair.

Her hair carried dignity, beauty & honor.

Mary is lowering herself before Jesus without protecting her image.

Yesterday, I was talking about spiritual PDA.

Today Mary has basically said, “Oh, we’re worried about people watching?”

Not her.

She does not care who is uncomfortable.

She does not care who thinks it is excessive.

She does not care who thinks she could have worshipped more appropriately.

She remembers her chapter 11.

And when I remember mine, I stop needing everybody in chapter 12 to understand my response.

They were not there for every tomb.

They did not hear every prayer.

They did not see every night I cried.

They did not experience every disappointment.

They do not know what God had to resurrect in me.

So why would I allow their opinion to determine the appropriate response to my Deliverer?

That is audience of One worship.

And worship is so much bigger than music.

Worship is expressing worth.

My life says what I believe God is worth.

My obedience says what He is worth.

My gratitude says what He is worth.

My generosity says what He is worth.

My surrender says what He is worth.

My time says what He is worth.

My resources say what He is worth.

My response when nobody is watching says what He is worth.

And that brings me back to the uncomfortable truth:

I cannot just give God what I want Him to have.

I have to give Him what He wants.

Because if I am being completely transparent, I am very generous with God when I get to choose the offering.

“You want me to read my Bible?”

Absolutely.

Got pens, highlighters & approximately seventeen notebooks.

“You want worship?”

My Spotify playlist is FIRE.

“You want me to write?”

Say less.

“You want control?”

I’m sorry, the connection appears to be breaking up.

“You want me to forgive them?”

Jesus, surely You have other children available for this assignment.

“You want me to apologize?”

Let us examine the original word in the Greek first.

“You want me to be quiet?”

Now I just feel like we’re getting personal.

But I cannot call Him Lord & then hand Him a menu.

Worship is not:

“Here are the parts of me currently available for surrender. Please select from the approved options.”

If He is Lord, He gets to decide what He wants.

And God is not desperate.

Just because something is offered does not automatically mean it is what He asked for.

He does not need my worship because He is insecure.

I need worship because I am prone to forgetting.

I need it because I am prone to entitlement.

I need it because I can become more familiar with His principles than His presence.

I can know Scripture.

I can quote verses.

I can know what Christians are supposed to do.

I can make good decisions.

I can look spiritually responsible.

And still miss Jesus sitting right in front of me.

Judas knew the principles too.

That is what scares me.

He knew the language.

He knew ministry.

He knew Jesus physically.

Yet his heart could still be somewhere else.

So maybe the question is not simply:

“Am I close to Jesus?”

Maybe the better question is:

“What is happening to my heart while I am close?”

Because proximity without surrender can become familiarity.

Familiarity can become entitlement.

And entitlement can make holy things feel common.

Mary refuses to let familiarity erase wonder.

She knows Jesus personally.

He has been in their home.

Her family has history with Him.

But she still recognizes His worth.

She still bows.

She still pours.

She still remembers.

That is the worship I want.

Grateful worship.

Genuine worship.

Generous worship.

Grateful enough to remember my chapter 11.

Genuine enough to stop performing for the room.

Generous enough to give God something that actually costs me.

Genesis 14:18-20 shows Abram giving Melchizedek a tenth of everything after victory.

After.

God had already moved.

Abram’s generosity was a response.

That matters to me.

Because worship is not me bribing God into blessing me.

I am responding because He already has.

I am not paying Him back.

I could never.

I am remembering.

And maybe that is the question underneath all of this:

Will I give God what He wants when what He wants costs me something?

Mary did.

Judas criticized it.

Jesus defended her.

And maybe there is freedom in that too.

Jesus does not need me to defend worship He asked for.

If I know He asked for the perfume, I do not have to convince Judas that it was worth pouring.

But I also need enough humility to recognize when Judas is me.

When I am the one criticizing someone else’s expression because it does not look like mine.

When I am giving “biblical advice” that sounds more like my preference than God’s heart.

When I am speaking for Jesus instead of listening to Jesus.

When I am taking credit for something God did.

When I am sitting in chapter 12 complaining because I forgot chapter 11.

I have been Mary.

I have been Judas.

I have been a Toro.

Thank God I am becoming a Clover.

Because I do not want borrowed worship anymore.

I do not want somebody else’s choreography.

I do not want worship that merely looks right from the stands.

I want worship that remembers.

I want worship that is mine.

I want worship that gives God what He actually wants from me.

Because when I really stop & look around, my life is full of chapter 11s.

There are things sitting at my table today that used to be behind stones.

There are freedoms I have enjoyed for so long that I forgot the feeling of bondage.

There are mercies I experience so regularly that I accidentally renamed them “normal.”

They are not normal.

They are grace.

So before I start demanding chapter 13, maybe I need to sit in chapter 12 for a minute & remember what He did in chapter 11.

Maybe I need to stop asking:

“What do I feel like giving God today?”

And start asking:

“God, what do You want?”

Because worship is not giving God whatever I have left.

It is recognizing what He is worth.

And when I remember the tombs…

When I remember the prayers…

When I remember the nights…

When I remember what He protected me from…

When I remember what He forgave…

When I remember what He restored…

When I remember what He resurrected…

Suddenly pouring the perfume does not seem excessive.

It seems appropriate.

Judas can keep talking.

The room can keep watching.

This Clover has a chapter 11 to remember.