Awe — worshipping beyond understanding
We invited a group of young adults to our home for an unplugged worship session recently. Three songs were lined up for that evening, and the session went on for about an hour, with free worship during various intervals between songs. After singing and worshipping, we came together to share our experiences.
One of the participants shared about a recent experience of awe. This young man experienced it not in any elaborate settings - not at the last night of a church camp we had in June, but rather a few days after the camp, when he surrendered himself completely in the private sanctuary of his room. In his room, he said, he was inexplicably caught up in a conscious stream of wonderment. In fact, he recalled that he was not exactly in the mood for a one-to-one time with God that night.
But, putting feelings aside, he went by faith, knowing it was something he had to do. It was as if deep was calling to deep. For him, that time started more as an act of the will than a persuasion of emotion.
This young man’s personal sharing on the feeling of awe resonated with me. And how he experienced the awe also resonated with me.
That awe comes when I am surrendered to God, not out of the need to feel it to begin with, but by faith and an act of the will as the impetus. And when I am enveloped by this sense of awe, I discover a world far beyond myself, beyond the preoccupation of myself.
This coincides with the general definition of awe: “A feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends my current understanding of the world.” And if I may add, a feeling that transcends the universe, as far as the naked eye can see.
Of course, this transcendence is not about distance as humans experience it; nor is it an unbridgeable gap; rather, it is about deep calling and connecting with deep, just like what Christ did when He released his Spirit at Calvary and reconciled all unto Him.
The depth of that connection, which we experience with awe, determines and defines our transformation as we relate with God.
English poet and author Evelyn Underhill once said: “If God were small enough to be understood, He would not be big enough to be worshipped.”
To me, that description, while paradoxical, epitomises the feeling of awe.
Admittedly, I once wrestled with this paradox. I wanted God to be small enough to be understood.
It was just after my brother-in-law passed on. He had been serving in a local church as a worship leader. His devotion to God and ministry was something I aspired to. He was dearly loved by his spouse, his two young sons and his family. He was also well loved by those who know him at the workplace and in ministry.
At that time, I wrote down my lamentation with reference to Underhill’s quote —
“Then O Lord, remain small enough. That’s my prayer. Remain small enough for me to know you, to understand you. Small enough for me to feel you. Small enough for me to hold you. Small enough for me to see you. I want to put away the sense of faith and see and understand you. I want to see you through my organic vision, not through spiritual sight. If faith is the substance of things hoped for or the evidence of things not seen, then I want to stop hoping and start seeing—in the flesh. I want to see you in all your splendour and glory. I want to see you running the universe. I want to see you interceding for us. I want to stand by your side as you work and not be a bother. I therefore plead with you to drop your invisibility. To uncover yourself. To be my burning bush, where I fear to approach. To be my pillar of fire that visibly guides me. I do not want faith to get in the way of us. I don’t need that middleman. It often plays with my mind. That frenzy of doubt I drown in. It sometimes keeps me in suspended anticipation, on tenterhooks. It leaves things unsaid, acts unexplained, tears and fears unresolved. Faith is the darndest thing.”
But alas, even as I wrote that, I know that is not how the empowerment of awe works. Amid my lamentation, I began to read the book of Job and realised the dumbfoundedness of man’s pride, even if he or she was on an earnest search for answers in the throes of personal suffering.
God’s reply to Job stood out: “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation… Who marked off its dimensions… Who stretched a measuring line across it... who laid its cornerstone…?” (Job 38:4-6).
At that moment, I understood that my brother-in-law’s death was not the end. I recognised that my defeats are not final, nor the pain and suffering in this life. In that moment of awe, I understood Underhill’s quote, that God would not be big enough to be worshipped, if He was small enough to be understood.
Awe thus goes beyond the comprehension I craved. And that is okay because in embracing a deeper understanding of my limitations, I catch a glimpse of the extraordinariness of His divine presence and purpose.
Awe fills that inexplicable gap with comprehension. It works hand in hand with faith, or as I see it, awe and faith are two sides of the same coin. And while faith may keep me in “suspended anticipation” or “leave things unsaid, acts unexplained, tears and fears unresolved”, it also leaves me with a calm acceptance of the small place I occupy in a much larger story I am a part of.
And this story is always unfolding, because I am living in the shadow of eternity, where the light that grants me peace is never far away.
This side of heaven, I have to accept faith by faith. I have to let faith complete its work for and in me. This is the journey I have chosen, a faith I have surrendered to. It is no doubt a long road ahead. I will just have to finish it with perseverence. There is no other way this side of heaven. The compromise is to accept the glass half-filled, to see through it darkly.
Perfect understanding will just have to wait for when the perfect comes. I guess faith will make sure of that. That is my hope though, as I continue to stand in awe of Him.
Michael Han is a father of three and a director of a legal firm in the heartland of Singapore.
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