I can imagine several possible responses to an article with a title like this one.

“Oh great. Another extrovert clueless to the fact that God made people different.”
“Yes! A word of admonishment to the frozen chosen.”
“Come on. Just let people worship God undisturbed.”
“Why do we keep talking about this, anyway?”

It’s that last question I feel aware of most as I write another article on what we do with our bodies in congregational worship. Haven’t we talked about this enough? Aren’t people just going to do what they’ve always done? Isn’t it more important to focus on what’s happening in our hearts than what we do with our bodies?

Good questions. But the Bible doesn’t give us the option of minimizing or ignoring what we do physically when we gather as his people in his presence. It matters.

But why? Whether you lift your hands high on Sunday mornings or keep them below your waistline, God gives us at least three reasons why it’s important to display the worth of Christ with our bodies.

1. It Matters to God

Think about it. God created us as embodied souls, not bodiless spirits (Genesis 2:7). In the new heavens and earth, we won’t lose our arms, legs, feet, hands, and torsos. They will be glorified (Philippians 3:20–21). And until we enjoy that future, Scripture encourages and models a whole-being response to God’s greatness with the bodies we have.

My heart is steadfast, O God! I will sing and make melody with all my being! (Psalm 108:1)

My lips will shout for joy, when I sing praises to you; my soul also, which you have redeemed. (Psalm 71:23)

I appeal to you . . . brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. (Romans 12:1)

God repeatedly connects the thoughts of our hearts with the movement of our bodies. Of course, physical expressions aren’t the whole story. Lifted hands can be a mindless act or a shallow attempt to impress others with our spirituality (Matthew 6:2). We can jump around as a way to feed our emotions and “feel” God’s presence. And Jesus rebuked those who honored him with their lips while their hearts were far from him (Matthew 15:8).

Yes, physical expressiveness can be abused or misleading. But God still intends our bodies to respond to him in worship. From Genesis to Revelation, God’s creatures respond to his worthiness in external ways. They sing. They clap. They shout. They dance. They bow their heads. They kneel. They stand in awe. And yes, at times they even raise their hands. And God receives glory when they do.

Of course, bodily expression isn’t always possible. A woman in our church in the latter stages of ALS recently shared (through her daughter) how she is losing her ability to speak and move. But nothing keeps her from worshiping God with everything she has. She can’t sing, but she worships as others raise their voices. She can’t lift her hands anymore, but she rejoices as others do.

Jesus said we are to love God with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength (Mark 12:30). As much as we’re able, that love is meant to be shown in and through our bodies.

2. It Matters to Others

God receives glory when we respond to his greatness with outward expressions of praise and dependence. But those responses send a message to those around us as well.

A Sunday morning visitor surrounded by church members mumbling lyrics or standing stoically with folded arms might have a hard time grasping that Jesus is a glorious Savior. Of course, the Holy Spirit can use lyrics alone to magnify Christ in someone’s heart. But the satisfying goodness of Jesus isn’t something we merely sing about. Our body language communicates to others our gratitude for who God is and what he’s done — or the absence of it. After all, “those who look to him are radiant” (Psalm 34:5).

God created us to be affected by what affects others. When people see my face instantly light up the moment my wife, Julie, walks into the room, they understand that I value her presence. They’ll be drawn to share in my joy and appreciation, even if they don’t know her well.

In a similar way, David says praising God with a new song will cause many to “see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord” (Psalm 40:3). Do people have the opportunity to “see and fear” as a result of observing us on Sunday mornings? Do our actions reveal that God has drawn us up from the pit of destruction and set our feet upon the rock of Jesus Christ (Psalm 40:2)? Could we be missing an opportunity to use our hands, arms, faces, and bodies to communicate that God is really present among us and that we’re amazed, humbled, and grateful?

3. It Matters to Us

Our bodily movements function in two different ways. First, they express outwardly an inward emotion or thought. Soccer fans jump to their feet and cheer when their team scores the winning goal. Parents clap and smile when their daughter takes her first step. Pro golfers raise their hands in jubilation after sinking the winning putt. A husband-to-be bends down on one knee as he prepares to place a ring on his future wife’s finger.

Why do we do these things? Because words alone aren’t enough. God gave us bodies to deepen and amplify what we think and feel. No one teaches us these bodily movements directly (although we learn a great deal through observation). Throughout the world, in all cultures, people respond outwardly to communicate what takes place inside of them.

“God is worthy of our deepest, strongest, and purest affections — and he intended our bodies to show it.”

But physical expressions function in a second way. They encourage us toward what we should think and feel. They help train our hearts in what is true, good, and beautiful. That’s one reason some churches’ liturgical practices include standing, sitting, and kneeling together.

In his commentary on Acts 20:36, pastor-theologian John Calvin elaborated on why Paul knelt to pray as he bid farewell to the Ephesian elders. His comments are as relevant in the twenty-first century as they were in the sixteenth.

The inward attitude certainly holds first place in prayer, but outward signs, kneeling, uncovering the head, lifting up the hands, have a twofold use. The first is that we may employ all our members for the glory and worship of God; secondly, that we are, so to speak, jolted out of our laziness by this help. There is also a third use in solemn and public prayer, because in this way the sons of God profess their piety, and they inflame each other with reverence of God. But just as the lifting up of the hands is a symbol of confidence and longing, so in order to show our humility, we fall down on our knees. (Calvin’s Commentaries, vol. 19, trans. Henry Beveridge [Grand Rapids: Baker, 1996], at Acts 20:36)

Calvin highlights three reasons physical expressions matter in our relationship with God (similar to the three reasons in this article). First, God receives glory through our entire being, rather than just a part of us. Second, physical expressions assist us when our affections don’t align with the truths we proclaim and cherish. Third, they inspire reverence in others.

I want to draw attention to the second point here. Sometimes we need to be “jolted out of our laziness.” Occasionally on a Sunday morning, I feel disconnected from what’s taking place. I find my thoughts and affections wandering or dull. In those moments, I have knelt down or raised my hands to acknowledge that God is God, and I am not, and that he alone is worthy of my reverence, obedience, and worship. Eventually, those actions help draw my heart to appreciate more deeply what I’m singing or hearing. I’ve done the same when I’ve been alone. In both cases, my body trains my heart to recognize what is real, what is true, what matters.

Eternal, Embodied Worship

Our bodies are a gift from God that he intends for us to use for his glory, the good of those around us, and our joy. He is worthy of our deepest, strongest, and purest affections — and he intended our bodies to show it.

Obviously, we only have space here to cover a few basic principles and expressions. I’m confident discussions about the physicality of worship in the gathered church will continue and bear fruit until Jesus finally returns. But then the discussions will cease. With every fiber of our being — every thought of our minds, every word of our lips, every act of our glorified bodies — we will endlessly worship the triune God who redeemed us.

What keeps us from starting now?

Audio Transcript

Welcome back to the podcast. Today we are going deep. Of course, at the center of our faith, we celebrate the cross of Jesus Christ — his horrific suffering and death by crucifixion. Christ “bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness. By his wounds you have been healed” (1 Peter 2:24).

His death was designed. It was no accident. It was no fluke of history. It was no mere result of unchecked mob violence. His death was intentional. It was divinely intended — intended from the beginning of time. This is a somber and significant point to grasp from Acts 4:27–28.

This theological point matters when we look at the fallenness of his world. Specifically, in this clip you will hear a mention of a massive earthquake that hit Nepal in the spring of 2015. That earthquake hit the day before this sermon was preached. In that disaster, three and a half million people were left homeless. Nearly nine thousand died. Why? Why does such a world exist with such deep pain? Here’s Pastor John.

This world exists with its pain, with its horror, and with its death to make a place for Jesus Christ the Son of God to suffer and die. If a world like this didn’t exist, Jesus would have no place to suffer and die. If there were no suffering, Jesus couldn’t suffer. If there were no death, Jesus couldn’t die. Put another way, the reason there is terror is so that Christ could be terrorized. The reason there is trouble is so that Christ could be troubled. The reason there is pain is so that Christ could feel pain.

“Never feel that God is somehow distant, far away, toying with creation. He made the horrors to enter the horrors.”

This world became what it is so that the Son of God could enter it and feel all of it. Therefore, you should never feel that God is somehow “out there” — distant, far away, toying with this creation. He made the horrors to enter the horrors.

Romans 5:8 says, “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” Do you believe this? He showed his love through the death of his Son. Do you believe that this love could be shown another way? It couldn’t be shown another way, and he meant for it to be shown.

Predestined to Die

Listen to these words from Acts 4:27–28, which the saints are praying after the death and resurrection of Jesus: “Truly in this city [Jerusalem] there were gathered together against your holy servant Jesus, whom you anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, along with the Gentiles and the peoples of Israel, to do whatever your hand and your plan predestined to take place.”

Did you hear the people they mention? “Herod” — who mocked him, put a purple robe on him, scorned him. “Pontius Pilate” — who expediently washed his hands and said, “I find no fault in him, but my job’s at stake, so kill him, crucify him, put him through the worst tortures imaginable.” “The Gentiles” — that’s the soldiers, who were driving the nails, pushing the sword in the side. “The peoples of Israel” — the Jewish people calling out, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

“Christ did not die by accident. This had been planned since before the foundation of the world.”

To summarize the text again, “Herod, Pontius Pilate, the Gentiles, and the people of Israel were gathered together to do whatever your plan and your hand had predestined to take place.” And so we know Christ did not die by accident. “Oh, just a fluke of history, just a turning of Roman affairs, just mob violence.” No. This had been planned since before the foundation of the world.

This is the climax of — the reason for — existence: the Son of God bore all the suffering of the world in order to lift sin from all who would trust him, bringing them into everlasting reward and joy, exquisitely, in a new heavens and a new earth, glorifying God for his wisdom and grace and love. That’s the reason this world exists the way it exists.

Profound Pain

In my church — I still affectionately call it “my church” even though I have not been the pastor for two years. Well, in my church, there were about five thousand folks and a lot of young people. I was pastor there for 33 years, and we grew up together.

When you have a lot of young people together, they tend to fall in love, and they get married, and they have babies. And those babies die more than you would like. And some of them are born with profound disabilities, like Michael. Therefore, you have moms who have just lost their babies or whose whole lives have now changed because they will be caring for this disabled child till he or she dies.

I would welcome you young people to come to this church and interview any of these moms —like Patty, whom you can’t interview because she died of breast cancer. The first crisis was that Eric, her 1-year-old, died in her arms. I went to the hospital. She’s sitting there, holding Eric. He looks like he’s made out of ivory. He’s dead, sitting in his mother’s arms. She just looks at me. And then I buried her about fifteen years later. She has four young kids, and she dies.

It was a horrible death, in fact, but Patty was a rock. Patty believed every word of what I said. With her bald head and her cap, she made a video of about thirteen minutes — we showed it at a service — telling the people to trust God before she died.

He Came to Bear This Pain

So I’m inviting you, work through this. If it sounds problematic, work through it. God could shake this city — not just Nepal. Half of these buildings could go down at ten o’clock on Monday morning, and one hundred thousand people could be dead. Do you have a vision of God that would be able to handle that? That’s my question.

That might be easier to handle than if one of your children died or if you had a child with a profound disability. But I am inviting you to embrace Jesus Christ as the one for whom, through whom, and to whom all things exist. And he came to share this suffering. He came to bear this pain.

He came to taste every test and every temptation that we have known, take it to the cross, and die in our place so that by faith alone, we could have all our sins forgiven, have eternal life, and have a destiny in a new heavens and a new earth where that curse will finally be lifted.

“Tell Bud, ministry isn’t everything. Jesus is.”

Ray Ortlund Jr. tells the story of his father’s last words for him. Ray and his wife were overseas on July 22, 2007, when Ray Sr. awoke in his hospital room in Newport Beach, California, and realized that day would be his last. The rest of the family gathered to read Scripture and sing. Then the dying patriarch went around the room addressing his beloved with final blessings and admonitions.

“Bud” wasn’t in the room, so Ray Sr. left these memorable, and beautiful, last words to pass along to the son who had followed him into full-time ministry.

For two decades, beginning in the late fifties, Ray Sr. had been pastor of Lake Avenue Congregational Church in Pasadena, where he had pastored a young seminarian named John Piper and convinced him that, despite the talk of the late sixties, the local church had a future, and always would. Ray Sr.’s name and signature are affixed to Piper’s ordination certificate dated June 8, 1975.

Ray Sr. loved the church, and gave decades of his life to full-time Christian ministry. So, on his deathbed in 2007, he was no armchair critic throwing shade on his beloved son. But he was a man who knew his own heart, and his son’s. He knew both the remarkable joys of pastoral work and the attendant dangers. And he knew where his final counsel should terminate: on the one who is the sovereign Joy.

Good Work, Great Joys

At the outset of the pastor-elder qualifications, the apostle talks joy: “If anyone aspires to the office of overseer, he desires a noble task” (1 Timothy 3:1). This labor is bound up with aspiration, desire, joy.

“Noble task” here is literally “good work.” He desires a good work. Christian ministry is good work — and work to be done by those who desire it. Ministry is not for those who don’t really want to do it but can exercise their will to make the sacrifice for Jesus. Rather, in this calling, aspiration and the desire for joy are nonnegotiable.

In the pastoral vocation, as distinct from other callings, laboring from joy, with joy, and for joy is essential. According to Hebrews 13:17, pastors must labor “with joy and not with groaning” if they are to be an “advantage” to their people’s faith, rather than a disadvantage. So too Peter requires that pastor-elders work “not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly” (1 Peter 5:2).

Christian ministry is good work, and often joyful, to be undertaken by those who desire and anticipate the joys that will make its many hardships sufferable. Yet in such good and joy-giving work lies a danger. It’s the good, more often than the overtly evil, that inches its way past Christ himself as foremost in the Christian minister’s heart.

Ministry Joys, Amen

Jesus himself puts his finger, and surpassingly powerful words, on this precise point in Luke 10:20.

“In the pastoral vocation, as distinct from other callings, laboring from joy, with joy, and for joy is essential.”

Jesus had sent six dozen “others,” beyond the twelve disciples, “on ahead of him, two by two, into every town and place where he himself was about to go” (Luke 10:1). He commissioned these 72 with solemnity, warning them about rejection and being “as lambs in the midst of wolves” (Luke 10:2–16). Yet their training exercise proved far more fruitful than they might have anticipated, and they were thrilled. They return with joy, exclaiming, “Lord, even the demons are subject to us in your name!” (Luke 10:17).

Jesus, the master teacher, seizes upon the importance of this moment. Here is an opportunity to leave an impression for a lifetime, and for the whole church age. To be sure, it is no evil to rejoice in ministry fruit, to find joy in what God Almighty graciously chooses to accomplish through his people in the lives of others, whether in preaching and teaching, or offering cold water, or dispatching demons.

Here the 72 marvel, in part, at “even the demons.” Their joys were not only those of steady-stream, ordinary ministry but the pulsing thrills of the extraordinary, the delight of the unexpected, the felt-sense of supernatural power. Clearly their ministry had been fruitful. The 72 were not mistaken in what they observed and reported. Jesus affirms it, and their joy: “Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy” (Luke 10:19). “Yes,” Jesus says, in effect. “These are real joys and good ones. It is right to rejoice at seeing God’s kingdom advance and oppressed souls set free.”

Then comes the twist.

Ten Thousand Times Better

Jesus stuns the delighted ministers by transposing their song into a different register. He honors ministry joys, and does so by taking them up into heaven, making the moment electric by drawing attention to what is even more important:

Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven. (Luke 10:20)

Surprising as it may be, spirits subject to you is really a small thing in Jesus’s way of reckoning. Even greater than what God does through his ministers, even over supernatural powers, is what he does for them. Far surpassing a ministry name below is the etching of their names above. With the declaration “your names are written in heaven,” Jesus puts ministry joys in their place — for the 72 and for us — not by talking them down, but by talking up something even better.

How much better? As good and right as it can be to rejoice in ministry fruit, here Jesus would have us feel the force of the contrast. He says, “Rejoice not in this . . .” Jesus does not oppose ministry joys, or charge us, universally, to never rejoice in them. Rather, Luke 10:20 is an acutely comparative statement, cast in these simple, stark terms to emphasize how much greater our rejoicing can be, should be, will be, in what God does for us than in what he chooses to do through us.

Which is why “names written in heaven” matters so much.

Where We Enjoy God Himself

“Names written in heaven” is so significant because God himself, in Christ, is the sovereign Joy, the Joy of all joys, and heaven is where he is. “Names written in heaven” is the surpassingly superior joy not because heaven gives us all that our hearts want apart from God, but because there, in the immediate presence of God, we get proximity to him, closeness to him, unhindered enjoyment of him.

“The heart of Christian ministry is the person and work of Christ, not the person and work of the minister.”

In heaven we get God himself. Heaven is where, finally, the many barriers and distractions and veils of earth are removed, that we, without further obstruction and distortion, might more fully know and enjoy the one we were made to know and enjoy.

Which brings us back to the dangers that accompany ministry joys, as good and important as they are.

Made for More Than Ministry

When working for Christ takes the place of Christ himself as the chief enjoyment in the soul, the shift is both subtle and significant. The incremental incursions can be so small as to be hardly recognizable at first, but if the pattern persists, the long arc will be utterly devastating — to the minister himself and to his people. Paul thought it perilous enough to issue repeated warnings to ministers to pay careful attention not only to the flock and to their teaching but to themselves. “Pay careful attention to yourselves” (Acts 20:28). “Keep a close watch on yourself” (1 Timothy 4:16).

Christian ministry is undermined, and soon utterly corrupted and ruined, when the ministry itself becomes first and foremost in the soul. The nature of Christian ministry is such that it cannot long operate, and will not in the end prove fruitful (no matter how successful it seems in the moment), if it turns in on itself as the sovereign joy. The very nature of Christian ministry is that the person and work of Christ himself is the origin and essence, not the person and work of the minister for him. The minister’s work is important, but as a second principle; Christ’s work, and Christ himself, is vital as the first and final principle.

Ministry for the King can be treasonous if it becomes a replacement of the King himself. And the peril is in how subtle and common a shift it is, even for the healthiest of Christian workers. Yet we have this hope: how readily the hearts of healthy ministers fly back to their first love when awakened to marks of the subtle shift.

Practically, the return can happen each new morning, with our nose in the humbling word and prayer. It comes through knowing our sin and being honest about our ongoing failures, weaknesses, and needs for change. It comes, then, through never letting the world-changing weight and wonder of Matthew 9:2 become old hat: “Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.” And apart from our initiative, it comes through God’s special brew of providence in our lives, his particular humbling moments, seasons, and conditions for each of us. He has his ways. For some, it’s marriage or parenting. For others, it’s finances. For others still, disease, disability, chronic pain, the devastating setback.

Ministry Isn’t Everything

Ray Sr.’s final words to “Bud” were perceptive. And much like Jesus’s own to the 72. And every pastor and minister and missionary — all those in full-time ministry vocations and beyond, in all posts of formal and informal labor — will do well to heed them from Ray Sr., as Bud did, and all the more from Jesus.

Jesus is the Joy of all our joys. Apart from him as central and supreme, ministry joys soon hollow and spoil. Yet, with the King of kings himself on the throne of our soul, the ministry joys of sharing him with others are real and substantial, and continually lead us back to him.