It always interests me to see how different Christians worship. Some traditions are richly structured, with set liturgy and familiar rhythms. For many, that predictability is a gift. Others are more spacious, leaving room for spontaneity and silence. That freedom can be a gift too.
The Church has always found different languages for worship. None of them are wrong. They simply help different hearts find their way.
Today I was talking to someone about Eastern Orthodox worship. They had been to a service of Vespers, an evening office of prayer filled with incense and chanting, where the congregation stood throughout. They said, “It just kind of washes over you.”
That phrase struck a chord. A couple of weeks ago, I was at choral evensong, another evening service shaped by prayer and song. Over the years it has been a comfort to me, though it often takes discipline to stay present. My mind is quite capable of drafting essays while the choir sings. On this particular evening, it was trying to do exactly that. Then the choir began God So Loved the World by John Stainer.
The harmonies are glorious, the melodies soaring. It is both calming and uplifting at the same time, which feels like a small miracle in itself. And the words, taken straight from Gospel of John 3.16, begin so simply: “God so loved the world…”
Just that first phrase was enough. It caught my wandering mind and drew it gently back. God so loved the world. Fully. Unconditionally. Loved.
The music didn’t demand anything from me. I didn’t have to analyse it or respond in any visible way. It simply surrounded me. It washed over me like a musical hug, warming my heart.
I find that music has a unique ability to draw me closer to God. It seems to bypass the overthinking part of my brain and go straight to the deeper places. I don’t need to articulate anything. I don’t need to construct careful prayers. It engages directly with my emotions and, somehow, elicits the most honest version of me.
Perhaps it helps that I am musically trained. But it is more than familiarity. It is what music does to my heart. Music is the place where my faith breathes most naturally.
And I wonder if that is part of what my friend experienced at Vespers too. Worship sometimes works not because we strive harder, but because we stop striving altogether. It becomes something to receive rather than achieve. Something to enter with open hands instead of clenched effort.
There are many ways to worship, and each offers its own doorway. But I know this: music brings me closer to God than any other style of worship.
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