Tag: god

What Would Jesus Do?

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If you were a Christian in the 90s, you are undoubtedly familiar with WWJD bracelets, a simple reminder to live like Jesus in everyday life. But have you ever stopped to really ask, What would Jesus do… if He were a pastor in 2025?

Would He have a podcast? Run a leadership conference? Post sermon clips to Instagram Reels? Maybe. But knowing what we know of Jesus’ life and habits, I think He’d do ministry a little differently.

In a world obsessed with visibility, Jesus valued withdrawal. In a culture that rewards volume, He prized listening. In a time when crowds demanded constant access, He often chose solitude.

1. Jesus Knew When to Step Away

Luke 5:16 says, “Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
That’s not a one-off moment of burnout recovery; it’s a pattern. Even when ministry was booming, He slipped away. When the crowds pressed in, He stepped out.

If Jesus led a church today, I don’t think He’d buy into our unspoken rule that busyness equals faithfulness. He’d probably close His laptop midweek, take a long walk by the river, and remind us that fruit grows in silence before it’s seen in public.

The Son of God didn’t fear missing out, He feared missing the Father’s voice.

2. Jesus Didn’t Need to Be the Loudest Voice in the Room

When Jesus spoke, people listened, not because He shouted, but because He carried authority. He asked questions. He told stories. He paused. He let silence do its work.

Our modern church culture tends to equate charisma with calling, as if the Spirit moves most when the mic is hot and the energy is high. But some of Jesus’ most profound moments happened in whispers, in quiet homes, on secluded hillsides, around small tables.

Imagine Jesus at a staff meeting today. I don’t think He’d dominate the conversation. He’d listen carefully, ask heart-level questions, and speak only when it mattered most. His power wasn’t in performance but in presence.

3. Jesus Focused on Depth, Not Numbers

We often celebrate ministry through metrics such as attendance, engagement, and growth curves. Jesus poured into twelve. And within that twelve, He gave special attention to three.

He could draw crowds of thousands, yet He consistently chose smaller circles. That’s not a strategy of inefficiency, it’s a vision for transformation. Jesus knew that deep roots produce lasting fruit.

If He led a church today, I suspect He’d spend less time on the stage and more time around tables. He’d still preach to the multitudes, but He’d invest the best of His energy in a handful of people, teaching, mentoring, and walking with them until they learned to walk with God themselves.

4. Jesus Valued Being Over Doing

When Martha was busy serving and Mary was sitting quietly at His feet, Jesus gently said, “Mary has chosen what is better” (Luke 10:42).

That doesn’t mean He disapproved of hard work, He simply knew that our identity isn’t earned by ministry activity. The modern church often measures success by output. Jesus measures it by obedience.

I imagine Jesus walking into some of our leadership conferences today and asking, “How’s your soul?” Not, “How’s your strategy?”

A Different Kind of Ministry

Jesus would thrive in any era, but He’d probably surprise us with His methods. He’d still love the crowds but never chase them. He’d still teach truth, but with compassion and rest in His tone. He’d still confront hypocrisy, but without self-promotion.

He’d remind us that the Kingdom doesn’t expand through noise but through love.
That power isn’t proven by personality but by presence.
That sometimes the holiest thing a leader can do is stop, breathe, and listen for the still, small voice of God.

In short, if Jesus were ministering today, He’d still do exactly what He’s always done:
Withdraw to pray, walk slowly with people, tell stories that reveal the heart of God, and give His life for others.

And maybe that’s our cue. In a loud world, perhaps following Jesus means learning again to live quietly, with courage, conviction, and deep communion with the Father.

How the Church Accidentally Became Extroverted

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Have you ever noticed that in most churches, the microphone seems to find the loudest voice in the room? Somewhere along the way, modern Christianity began to equate spiritual vitality with charisma. The more visible, energetic, and expressive a person is, the more “spiritually alive” we assume they must be. Meanwhile, the quieter, more reflective believers among us are often overlooked, not because they lack faith, but because they express it differently.

This isn’t a new problem, and it’s not one anyone set out to create. The church didn’t intentionally become extroverted, it happened by accident.

The Rise of the Extroverted Church

Western culture has long celebrated the extrovert. From the classroom to the boardroom, we reward those who can think quickly, speak confidently, and fill silence with sound. It’s no surprise that the church, living and breathing within this same cultural air, absorbed those values too.

In many traditions, especially since the revivalist movements of the 18th and 19th centuries, passionate expression became the sign of genuine faith. The “on fire” Christian was the one who spoke up, volunteered for everything, and never seemed to need a break. Personality and spirituality quietly merged. And the message, though never spoken outright, was clear: to be a good Christian leader, you had to be outgoing, energetic, and endlessly available.

Over time, churches began to structure themselves around this model. We built programs that require constant interaction, meetings that reward fast talkers, and worship services designed for high engagement and visible enthusiasm. None of that is inherently bad, but it subtly trains us to equate loudness with leadership.

When Quiet Feels Like a Problem

For introverted pastors and leaders, this can be exhausting. I’ve sat through team meetings where I said very little, not because I didn’t care, but because I needed time to process. Later, I’d find out that others thought my silence meant I wasn’t interested. The truth is, I was deeply engaged, I just wasn’t externalizing my thoughts in real time.

Many introverts in ministry feel this same tension. We’re called to lead in a system that often prizes traits we don’t naturally possess. We can preach, teach, and lead effectively, but the constant demand for outward energy leaves us drained. And for those in the congregation, being an introvert can feel like spiritual deficiency. When quiet reflection is mistaken for apathy, the church loses a vital part of its soul.

The Hidden Strengths of Quiet Faith

Introversion isn’t a weakness to overcome, it’s a strength to embrace. Scripture is filled with examples of faithful people who led from stillness.*

  • Moses was “slow of speech,” yet God chose him to speak to Pharaoh.
  • Mary, the mother of Jesus, “pondered these things in her heart.”
  • And even Jesus Himself often withdrew to lonely places to pray, leading from a rhythm of engagement and retreat.

These examples remind us that the work of God is often quiet before it is visible. Depth precedes volume. Reflection gives rise to conviction. The contemplative heart is not opposed to the active one, it grounds it.

Introverted leaders bring invaluable gifts to the church: deep listening, discernment, empathy, and careful decision-making. They may not dominate a room, but they often notice what others miss. When they speak, it’s usually after thought and prayer, not impulse. Their leadership may be subtle, but it’s steady.

Recovering the Balance

If the church has become accidentally extroverted, we can also become intentionally balanced. We need both the energy of the extrovert and the depth of the introvert. The early church didn’t divide the two, it celebrated diversity of gifts within one body.

So what might it look like to reclaim that balance?

  • In meetings, give space for reflection. Not everyone processes aloud.
  • In worship, honour both celebration and contemplation.
  • In discipleship, make room for silence as much as speech.
  • And in leadership, recognize that influence isn’t measured by volume but by presence.

The Apostle Paul reminds us, “The body is not made up of one part but of many” (1 Corinthians 12:14). A healthy church values both the Marthas who serve and the Marys who sit in stillness. Both express devotion; both are needed.

The Next Revival Might Be Quieter

Perhaps the next great renewal in the church won’t come from a louder stage or a flashier program. Maybe it will come from a deeper silence, from leaders and followers who learn again to listen before they speak, to withdraw before they rush, and to rest before they perform.

The extroverted church wasn’t built on bad intentions, it was built on partial vision. Now it’s time to recover the whole picture. God speaks not only through the whirlwind and the fire, but also through the gentle whisper. And if we’ll quiet ourselves long enough, we might just hear Him again.

*I am by no means suggesting they are “introverts” as we understand them, simply that they displayed qualities that are most in line with introverted personality types.

Relatively Undisturbed Lives

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As a youth pastor, summer is a relatively slow time. Sure, I’ve spoken at two camps, which meant preparing an extra 16 messages and spending an intense couple of weeks hanging out with teens. Trust me, it still feels slow compared to the September-June routine of ministering through a school year. With that break, I’ve been able to get a lot more reading done than usual, including a book my daughter, a YWAM-Brisbane staffer, suggested to me.

My daughter recommended Discipleship Begins with Beholding by Samuel Whitefield, so I naturally ordered a copy on Amazon and took it with me to camp. It’s a good read. I don’t think I enjoyed it as much as Emma, but I’m glad I read it. There’s one phrase, though, that jumped out to me.

Relatively Undisturbed Lives

In Psalm 132, David locks eyes with God’s beauty, and it wrecks him. That ache becomes his heartbeat: “I will not give sleep to my eyes… until I find a place for the LORD.” He won’t rest until God rests among His people. And in his own unsettled life, he modelled what a longing for God looks like.

Nearly three thousand years later, that longing remains unanswered. Jesus hasn’t returned. Heaven hasn’t touched earth. And yet… there are many of us who no longer ache. We live what Samuel Whitefield describes as “relatively undisturbed lives”: lives of quiet Sunday religion, hasty prayers, and missions more about comfort than sacrifice.

We sing “Jesus is coming again.” But do we feel it? Do we live with the ache of anticipation, or with the complacency of contentment?

Comfort Is a Danger Zone

Here’s the thing: no one scoffs at rest. But if we’re resting on our terms, without longing, we’ve lost something. David’s heart broke under the weight of divine beauty. Our hearts barely flutter when Jesus isn’t at the center. That’s the real crisis.

Jesus endured the cross so that He could receive His inheritance. And He’s still waiting patiently and graciously for His bride to awaken with His zeal. Yet many of us snooze, barely noticing.

What Would David Do Today?

Imagine David’s psalm rising in our churches today. He’d challenge us:

  • Are you living with longing or settling for ease?
  • Are your prayers urgent or habitual?
  • Do your actions reflect a world waiting for its king?

We Need a Witness of Longing

The world doesn’t need more people who sound good on Sundays. We need people who look like they are living in exile, homesick, yearning, anchored in something not yet seen.

Imagine a church so full of longing that people would ask, “What are they waiting for?” Then the answer wouldn’t be, “Comfort,” but “Jesus.”

Step Toward the Ache

  • Sit quietly and let God’s absence, yes, absence, be felt.
  • Ask: “Do I miss you more than my schedule, my successes, my security?”
  • Pray with David:
    “I will not rest until you dwell among us.”

If we live without longing, we risk loving the age, not the King. May our hearts ache, not for the past or our comfort, but for the day when His kingdom comes and God finally rests among His people.

The Illusion of the Grand Gesture

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When my wife and I visit with other couples, we often ask how they met. Oftentimes, the couple will look at each other with a smile. It may be a story they’ve rehearsed many times, yet they still love to recount it for us because it reminds them of their relational beginning. Sometimes it may be a long and winding tale, and others, perhaps met on a dating app. Either way, we love to hear their stories because we love our own story.

People also often ask, “How did he propose?”

In this area, I failed. It isn’t a story full of rose petals, fireworks, and champagne. No. I had a ring burning a hole in my pocket, and I couldn’t wait another moment to ask her. Earlier that evening, I had driven to her parents’ farm to ask their blessing. (They didn’t give it, but that’s another story for another blog) Unbeknownst to my future fiancé, we went for a walk in the shadow of that denial of blessing. As we were getting closer to my parents’ house, I stopped my girlfriend, took her hand in mine, and looked deep into her eyes. (I did it in front of my friend Ingrid’s house so that I would always remember the exact spot I proposed) That was it. Not even on one knee, but heart racing, I asked Beckee to be my wife.

Her mind was overwhelmed with joy at the proposal, but also knowing that I would have already spoken with her parents, and that it wouldn’t have gone well. Eventually, she did accept my proposal.

I always wish I had made a bigger scene, something more romantic, something that would impress others when she told the story of her engagement. But here’s the real deal, here’s the truth of the matter: anyone who has been married for more than five minutes knows the proposal doesn’t determine the marriage. That grand moment may set the stage, but it’s the quiet consistency of the days that follow that really tells the story.

This pressure for the dramatic doesn’t just show up in youthful romance; it finds its way into our faith, too. In some circles, testimonies seem to need at least three addictions and one near-death experience to be considered truly inspiring. But the truth is, most of the Christian life isn’t lived on a stage or in front of an audience. It’s lived in kitchens, cubicles, classrooms, and coffee shops.

The danger of the grand gesture mentality is that it fools us into thinking faithfulness has to be flashy. That the biggest moments are the truest indicators of spiritual depth. But that’s not how the Bible describes maturity.

Paul wrote in Colossians 3:23-24: “Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving.”

Whatever you do. That means washing dishes. Writing emails. Listening patiently. Forgiving quietly. Praying in secret. Whatever you do.

We don’t need to manufacture grand gestures to prove our love for Jesus. Sometimes the greatest act of faith is just showing up and choosing Him in the ordinary. He sees that. He honours that.

Romans 12 talks about offering our bodies as a living sacrifice. Not a once-and-done dramatic altar call moment. A living, breathing, daily rhythm of surrender. That means we offer not just our big decisions, but our tiny ones, too. Not just our call to missions, but our call to be kind when we’re tired. Not just our promises, but our patience.

The Christian life is a long obedience in the same direction. Not a highlight reel. Not a spiritual fireworks show. Just faithful steps.

So if your story doesn’t involve an Instagrammable testimony or a mountaintop moment this week, take heart. You’re not missing it. You might be exactly where God wants you.

There’s no illusion in a faithful life. Just a quiet kind of glory.

Keep going.

A Burden of Guilt with No Path to Life

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One of the books on my summer reading list is Room for Good Things to Run Wild by Josh Nadeau. I’m about a third into it and I’m captivated, highly recommend. There’s one line in particular that has captured my attention:

“I was given a burden of guilt with no path to Life.”

That phrase has stuck with me, because I believe it resonates with many Christians, whether they’d say it out loud or not. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard the stories. People sitting in church pews every week, carrying a weight of shame or performance-based faith, but with no clear picture of how to step into the freedom Jesus offers.

When Faith Feels Heavy

For some, Christianity feels like a to-do list: be better, serve more, pray harder, don’t mess up. And while spiritual disciplines are good and necessary, they are never meant to be the point. If we’re not careful, the way we teach or the tone we set in our churches can unintentionally suggest that God’s love is earned by effort, not freely received by grace.

Jesus spoke directly to this when He said:

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Jesus’ invitation is clear: He offers rest, not more weight. But how often do our teaching, our systems, or even our casual conversations reflect that reality? Are we showing people the path to life or just telling them to try harder?

Are We Pointing People to Life?

As a church leader, I think about this often. Are we teaching people how to rest in Jesus, to find life in Him, or are we simply piling on expectations that appear spiritual but lack genuine grace?

  • Are our sermons filled with practical steps but short on hope and gospel truth?
  • Are we unintentionally shaming people for their struggles instead of pointing them to the Saviour who carries our burdens?
  • Are we so focused on what Christians should be doing that we forget to tell them what Christ has already done?

When we emphasize rules without relationship, or service without the joy of knowing Jesus, we create a faith that’s exhausting instead of life-giving.

To Those Who Feel the Weight

If you’re reading this and you feel like your faith is mostly guilt, shame, or pressure, I want you to hear this clearly: that’s not the gospel. That’s not the way of Jesus.

The gospel is Good News! Freedom News! Jesus came to take your guilt, not heap more on your shoulders. He doesn’t say “Earn my love.” He says, “Come to me and rest.”

To the Church

Let’s be careful about the way we lead, teach, and disciple. Let’s create space for honesty and vulnerability instead of performance. Let’s make sure we’re not just telling people what not to do, but showing them how to step into the joy and abundance that life with Jesus offers.

Because if our teaching only gives people guilt without the path to life, we’ve missed the heart of the gospel.

An Invitation

Jesus said, “I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full” (John 10:10). That’s the invitation. Not just survival. Not just “trying harder.” But life, deep, overflowing, grace-filled life.

If you’ve been carrying a heavy burden, take some time today to sit with Jesus’ words in Matthew 11:28-30. Ask Him what He wants to carry for you. Ask Him to teach you His rhythm of grace and rest.

Church, let’s never forget: our job is not to pile burdens on, but to lead people to the One who lifts them off.

Not Another To-Do List

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Nestled between rebukes of unrepentant cities and proud religious elites, Jesus offers one of His most tender invitations. The epitome of being instead of doing. Jesus condemns the spiritual blindness of Korazin, Bethsaida, and Capernaum. The Lord gave them more than enough evidence to repent and receive life, but they refused to receive it. Oh, these “wise ones” who cannot understand the simplest truth. No, it is the humble and dependent ones who receive the revelation. The children and the child-like.

Then Jesus offers to those who approach Him as children:

Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew 11:28-30

Can we just take a moment to breathe this in?

Is anyone tired of the performative dance called “religion”? Has anyone stressed themselves out trying to live up to a man-made standard? Has any been made to feel lesser-than because they have a limit to their ability to sacrifice for the religious institution?

Jesus offers the solution. He does not give us a to-do list including more prayer, more reading, more serving, more singing, more planning center, more attendance, more doing, more more.

Once again, pause, and breathe it in.

The solution is to rest. Not just stop doing things. Sometimes that’s what we need, but Jesus invites us to rest in Him. A yoke, as you may know, is an instrument of hard work and production. Two animals are linked by a yoke, giving them the ability to pull a greater weight for a longer time. But when you are yoked to Jesus, it’s not so you can do more. He proclaims, “My yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

As a church leader, I rely on volunteers. I need a lot of people to do a lot of work to accomplish the tasks of modern ministry. However, far more important than putting in hours of work at the church is putting in hours of rest with Jesus. Tending our souls and ministering from a place of overflow, not exhaustion.

Friends, guilt is a horrible motivator. You may keep working and serving until you are burned out and exhausted… in Jesus’ name. Sometimes, even well-meaning leaders push people from rest to exhaustion. But guilt is a terrible motivator. Jesus doesn’t lead that way. There is a time to work, and a time to play, and a time to rest. Consider this your invitation to enjoy some time in the presence of the One who is humble in heart, and find rest for your soul

So, before you rush to do more, rest. Let Jesus carry the weight. He isn’t recruiting you to religion; He’s inviting you into a relationship. Your soul was made for this.

I’ll Be Your Moses if You’ll Be My Aaron

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Let me begin with a disclaimer: the title is a bit tongue-in-cheek. I’m not trying to prove that Moses was an introvert and Aaron was an extrovert. The purpose of the title is simply to highlight how their God-ordained partnership accomplished something neither could have done alone.

That said, Moses’ initial response to God’s call (Exodus 3–4) does resemble what many of us introverts experience when asked to lead: hesitation, resistance, and a preference for obscurity. Moses even says, “Please send someone else” (Exodus 4:13). God, in His graciousness, pairs Moses with Aaron, who is described as confident in speech (Exodus 4:14–16). Moses would speak to Aaron, and Aaron would relay the message to the people. Distinct roles, united purpose.

With that groundwork laid, let’s move on.

I’m writing this on a Saturday afternoon, right in the thick of our youth collective’s annual youth conference (www.yxhconference.com). While hundreds of students buzz around the building and I have to be “on” for most of the weekend, I’ve stolen a few quiet minutes in my office, my introvert’s sanctuary, to reflect on the power of partnering well.

This is our third year running the conference. Back when it started, I literally had an Aaron, Aaron Pardy, a youth pastor in town (now a senior pastor). We never formally discussed roles. We just naturally settled into them. And it highlighted something beautiful: we complemented each other in a way that brought the vision to life.

Aaron is a dreamer. Creative. Big-picture thinker. The kind of guy who tosses out ten ideas before breakfast, most of them brilliant. Me? I like structure. I like boxes, especially the kind I can check off. Where he brought energy and vision, I brought systems and spreadsheets.

When we were preparing for the first conference, Aaron’s enthusiasm was contagious. I worried about attendance, budget, and logistics. He worried about… actually, I don’t think he worried about anything. He dreamed up $1,000 ideas, and I figured out how to pull them off with $100. Together, we were a good team.

Introverts and extroverts need each other. Not to tolerate one another, but to thrive together. Paul puts it this way in 1 Corinthians 12: “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you.’” We each bring different gifts, and when we honour one another’s contributions, we build something far greater than we could alone.

So here’s my challenge: learn to partner well. You were never meant to do it all, so don’t.

1. Look Out

Evaluate your partnerships. Are there team members whose gifts you’re under-utilizing simply because their style is different from yours? I once spoke with a pastor who was incredibly gifted at hospital visitation and walking with grieving families. His extroverted colleagues were shocked: “You like doing that?” But his presence in those “sacred spaces” was powerful. Once his gifting was noticed and affirmed, he was freed to lean into it even more and even helped others grow in that area. That’s a win-win-win.

2. Look Within

A mentor once asked me, “Are you doing anything that you don’t need to be doing?” That question stung a little. Because, as introverts, we often find it easier to just do things ourselves than ask someone else. But in the long run, that stifles both our energy and others’ growth.

Try this: for one or two weeks, track your tasks. Then ask, “Am I doing anything that drains me that someone else would love to do?” Personally, I can’t stand decorating for events. Tablecloths, centrepieces, balloons? Not my thing. But I have a volunteer who lights up for that stuff. I give her a budget and full freedom. It’s a small thing, but it’s a partnership that breathes life into both of us.

Are there people in your orbit who aren’t being fully released into their strengths?

Final Thoughts

Partnering well isn’t just about getting things done; it’s about reflecting the Body of Christ in all its diverse beauty. Whether you’re a Moses looking for an Aaron, or an Aaron supporting a Moses, don’t miss the joy of shared calling. You were made to serve together.

Dear Extroverted Worship Leaders: A Word from Your Introverted Siblings

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Before I ever preached a sermon, I learned how to hide in church. For me, it was a quiet bathroom stall, not because I needed to use the facilities, but because I needed a breath of silence. That out-of-the-way refuge offered peace and solitude when the lobby chatter or sanctuary energy overwhelmed me. Over time, I learned I wasn’t alone. Pastors. Professors. Lay leaders. Introverts, we’ve all had our hiding places.

As I conducted research for my dissertation on introverted leadership, I discovered stories far more common than I imagined. So many of us in the church, those of us who lead quietly, feel deeply, and process slowly, carry the weight of invisibility. We don’t talk about it because we often don’t know where we fit. We’re faithful but quiet. Present, but hidden.

Take, for example, the classic classroom frustration. Participation marks go to those quick to speak, even if they ramble, while the thoughtful ones hold their tongues, searching for clarity before contributing. We value words too much to spill them before they’re ready.

Worship poses a similar challenge. For years, I thought I was the only one who felt guilty about not being expressive enough. I would ask myself: Do I even love Jesus if I can’t jump and shout like everyone else?

In Blessed Are the Misfits, Brant Hansen writes:

“It’s taken me many years to accept that my lack of emotional response to [modern worship lyrics] isn’t indicative of God’s absence from my life. It’s no wonder so many analytical types find themselves estranged from a Christian subculture that traffics in emotional appeals. We find ourselves wondering what’s wrong with us, perhaps even begging God to make Himself real to us in the way He clearly is to others.”

This past weekend, I attended a gathering that leaned charismatic. While it usually allows room for quieter expressions, at one point the leader began encouraging everyone to be more physically engaged. A dance line formed, eventually evolving into a circle of hand-holding revellers parading around the sanctuary. People were laughing and spinning in joyful abandon.

And I stood there, tapping my foot, avoiding eye contact, hoping no one would try to pull me in.

He urged us to “dance like David” and “leave our egos at the door.” It made me pause. Why don’t I feel compelled to join in? Am I rebellious? Proud? Spiritually immature?

No. I’ve come to believe it’s none of those things.

I am deliberate. I value intention. I want my worship to be real, not reactive. If something requires emotional or mental energy, I want to know it serves a purpose beyond crowd enthusiasm. I’m glad the worship leader is excited. I’m glad others are dancing. But I’ve learned that movement is not always a sign of worship, and stillness is not a sign of absence.

When the Holy Spirit prompts me to dance, I will. And have. In those moments, I didn’t care how I looked. But when a leader tells me to do it, asks me to jump, shout, kneel, hold hands with strangers, it often feels like I’m being pulled out of intimacy with God and into conformity with the crowd.

Here’s the heart of the matter: I’m not asking you to change your style. I’m asking you to make space. Space for the dancer and the kneeler. The shouter and the silent. The one who raises their hands and the one who folds them. Let the Holy Spirit lead, not just the stage.

Mark Tanner, in The Introverted Charismatic, says it best:

“Please would you stop telling me what to do when we are worshipping? It might give you immense pleasure to see me joining the crowd in jumping, shouting, hugging, swaying, or generally jiggling for Jesus, but in order to do so I need to draw my attention away from Him, focus on you, and struggle to get over my embarrassment at doing a silly thing in order to fit in with the crowd.”

Imagine a church where worship isn’t measured in volume or movement, but in obedience. Where stillness isn’t judged, and movement isn’t manufactured. That’s the kind of worship I believe God delights in.

And that’s the kind of church I long to be part of.