When You're Just Not "Feeling" the Worship

Exploring the role of emotion and authenticity in worship.

It may be a sign that you're a morbidly over-analytic person: You suggest a late-night Taco Bell run to your friend so you can "hash out" the worship concert you just attended.
I was ready to dissect, with all the meticulous scrutiny of a lab scientist with a clipboard.

But what's often ironic about the cynics’ critique of Christian trends is how we can comply with the very negative symptoms we critique. And that night, I was my own case in point. I often see lyrics in contemporary worship songs as lazily strung-together abstractions that are too overused to stir me. But such pretentiousness detracts from the very goal of authentic worship: giving glory to God. Maybe I crave authenticity in worship, but I dilute its integrity with my own excessive critique. And certainly there is value in lyrical repetition, even of the most simplistic phrases. Sometimes it takes relentless verbal ammunition for truth to seep into one's spiritual core.

Adoration of the living God means sacrificing one's own obsessive self-assessment.

But then the cynic asks: What if it's not "truth" in a worship song but mere sentiment? What if a set of lyrics does contain scriptural truth, but we are too caught up in the key change to interpret that lyric responsibly and guard against a misleading emotional response? Or what if we don’t “feel” anything at all, can worship still be “authentic” then?

Recently, I stood in a congregation singing, "You make all things work together for my good."
And my knee-jerk reaction went like this:

As the music intensifies, I find myself wondering: Why "my” good? "Our" would make so much more sense, wouldn't it? Don't Christians worship corporately as God's people? Doesn’t "my" simply fuel the individualistic tendencies that my own sinfulness and culture already encourage?

Just as these thoughts gain momentum, I become particularly irritated at how the music climbs toward climactic intensity in direct disproportion to my deepening doubts.

Then, convinced that everything in me beckons only a skewed and emotionally-driven interpretation of a very fragile truth, I ask: What does “good” even mean? I cognitively believe God is good. Yet I simultaneously realize that my cultural hardwiring has co-opted the meaning of "good," so that, caught up in the musical moment, I attach “good” to the trappings of the prosperity gospel: financial security, a happy marriage, a job that I love. I don’t think of God’s interpretation of “good,” which includes a daily invitation to die to myself and take up His cross.

Yet in this light, when I realize that the deepest "good" in my life starts with suffering, the idea of emotional reaction of happiness to this refrain feels distasteful. My emotions at that moment aren't too keen on the idea of suffering, even if my mind "gets it."

Of course, even in these reflections, I’m thinking primarily about myself. "I"s and "me"s often come with the territory of over-introspection and cynicism.

But here’s a simple truth that does not allow for much analytical wiggle room: Worship is about God, not me.

C.S. Lewis describes in Surprised by Joy how, even as an atheist, his love for mythology primed him for worship because he felt an urgent adoration for something completely other than himself. Lewis felt he was “sent back to the false gods to acquire some capacity for worship” that would evolve to adoration of God ”being what He necessarily is than for any particular benefit He confers upon us.”

Adoration of the living God means sacrificing one's own obsessive self-assessment. Concern about my own authenticity places the focus on me, not God.

Concern about my own authenticity places the focus on me, not God.

The me-barrier plays out in so many instances, but physical engagement during worship is an easy example. Many Christians describe feeling the "pressure" to raise hands during worship, unsure whether or not to capitulate to the worship leader who aggressively urges the congregation, "Put up your arms right now and tell the Lord how much you love Him!"

Christians often wince at the whiff of emotional coercion. Many of us have grown up believing that in worship we need to be hyper-attentive to whether or not we’re being "authentic”—as if we each have to reach some pre-determined threshold of emotional intensity before physical expression. If I do anything when I’m "not feeling it," then I’m being contrived.

Yet in one church experience, I was so refreshed by a member who told us he wasn’t “feeling worship” until he saw our friend stretching both his hands upward and was encouraged to do the same. To me, this doesn’t seem like getting caught up in a wave of empty emotion. This seems like a blessing—a blessing to join others in turning together toward God.

It’s a risk to reveal our true emotion in worship, just as much as it is a risk to admit we don’t feel much of anything—and offer up our worship, anyway. But such risks are what give the church its strength of community.

You Might Also Like

Again, we have to come back to the truth that worship isn’t about us. It’s not even about our critiques of it. And when we are honest about our weaknesses and rely on His character rather than our own emotional “needs,” God can restore His purpose of worship in us.

We are readers of texts and hearers of songs, and we are often critics. We have amassed so many experiences and biases that often color the songs we sing. Our Christian responsibility as receivers of the word and the Word is to not resign to a rhetorical wasteland of meaninglessness, however. It is to actively, creatively and faithfully "re-fill" the meanings of words like holiness, love, truth and grace as we sing. And that also means choosing to stop the analytical dissection. Criticism is a God-given ability; but we need to bring it full circle into greater adoration of Him.

One Sunday at church, a song's repeated line was "I surrender all.” It is a difficult but inspiring sentiment—a sentiment that basically makes me want to crawl under the pew for not meaning it every time I sing it.

But in refreshing transparency, the pastor admitted he didn't feel surrendered as he sang; he said he felt like he was singing, "Sorry, God, but I'm only surrendering some." Sure, Christians should surrender all. But honesty is the first step toward cultivating a desire to "surrender all" and internalizing the prescript more fully. And here is the authenticity we so long for.


brownrygg woolls


brownrygg woolls commented…

I wonder if this is not why liturgical worship ie. Catholic, Eastern Orthodox or Anglican, is not becoming more popular (at least in my current demographic) from young folks tired of being manipulated or feeling manipulated by the rhetoric of certain Christian music. It seems there is a peace knowing that words had been crafted out centuries before for the very purposes of corporate worship by individuals far more educated than us. A new look at things of old often produces something very refreshing.

chris black


chris black commented…

I find irony in two words of the first sentence of this story.... the "worship concert." That in and of itself bugs me. I love the music at these "worship concerts", and the energy and excitement and passion that comes with them. But... I feel they're pretty empty.

I also find myself disecting our lyrics all the time. (I drive myself crazy.) Then I tell myself that worship is not for me anyway, but for God. Heck, who cares if I find issues with the song writers' theology? I'm sure my theology isn't always perfect either!

Dean Morris


Dean Morris commented…

Yes! Great article.

As a worship pastor myself I fall into the 'trap' of over analyzing songs, lyrics, melodies, the number of twitter followers a band has, and will forget about looking at the heart of the matter, and asking...

Who am I Worshipping anyway?

Worship (in its musical form) is a funny beast.... We attach so much baggage to it, we feel like the songs, the band, the lighting crew (ugh) owe us something, they have to set the mood, or be good enough so that we can get "into it".

We NEED the band to be super tight, with good vocals, catchy hooks, big beats, and all the smoke and lights to rival a Bieber show... However; shouldn't God be the only thing we really need?

With our demand for awesomeness (of stuff) we often forget the awesomeness of God...

It seems like the God of the Universe is limited to how good the band is.

I am always guilty of over-analyzing songs, bridges, lyrics, and the like... But it is imperative that we get out of the way and let God be God.... Allow him to be the focus... allow him to blow people's minds, rather than relying on sound sensing lazer lights, smoke machines, and a bulletproof set-list.

Our worship should be directed at God, and inspired by him.

I am guilty of not being "into it" because the aforementioned things were not as good as I had hoped for, but in hindsight, and through lots of reflection, prayer, and seeking Gods heart, I have learned to Worship God, in-spite of the Worship... Good or bad.

If the band sucks; great.

If the Band is awesome; great,

If you dont like a song, who cares,

If you think you could do it better (guilty),

If you're not "into it" because the Guy/Girl up front is coercing you to respond...

Thanks Cammy, for sharing your perspective!

Elizabeth Johnston


Elizabeth Johnston commented…

If we're going to be quoting C.S. Lewis, we might as well remember that Lewis himself had issues with hymns...not worship choruses...hymns. And that in an Anglican church, not a more emotional evangelical service. He recognized the need for people who recognized how badly written some hymns are to hold off their criticism to some extent. He did not, however, suggest that badly written hymns were somehow a good thing. If badly written worship songs are distracting people in the congregation, then perhaps something ought to change.

In response to brownrygg woolls--unfortunately there's a host of doctrinal issues that make going to a more liturgical service difficult. If you want to remain Protestant, that leaves the Episcopal church--which is struggling with a lot of social issues. Most of us aren't close enough to a non-Episcopal Anglican church to have that as an option. Though a formerly evangelical friend of mine has become Catholic; but her reasons had less to do with the services than they did with other issues.

Ryan Fields


Ryan Fields commented…

Thank you for this article and the food for thought. Something I started doing a couple years ago was to try and not sing the parts of the song i didn't identify with, and sometimes turning those phrases into prayers like "Lord help me surrender all" or 'Lord be the air I breathe" rather than claim to God I have it all figured out. I also have had a problem with the 'you make all things work for my good" song-- for all the same reasons you listed, thanks for the thoughts!

Please log in or register to comment

Log In