We were packed like sardines in the little provincial church. As sweat poured, dogs barked, fans tried (unsuccessfully) to lessen the heat, and kids’ laughter surrounded us, we gathered for Sunday morning worship. Tucked away in this corner of the jungle of the Philippines in Southeast Asia, these believers were lifting high the Name of Jesus. JUST. LIKE. US. And it hit us like a ton of bricks. It’s nothing earth-shattering or new, even: Worship is a language of its own. Although we couldn’t understand all the words, we didn’t need to. We could join in because “Hallelujah!” needed no translation. We could sing “Hallelujah!” and worship personally and corporately. Our hallelujah belongs to Him. He is worthy of it! Singing hallelujah unifies our hearts and places our focus on the very person of Jesus. Things that didn’t matter in that moment — Culture. Language. Weather. Church size. Tech. Service Order. Production. Time. Music style. Temperature. Age. Talent. Preference. Feelings. Denomination. Venue. Programming. You get the idea… Fill in the blank and it didn’t matter.
Only hallelujah. It’s all that mattered in that moment. That we present our own hallelujah to the Father. With tears streaming down our faces, we felt so convicted how many times something else mattered more than our hallelujah.
We worship the same Savior, who died on the same cross, shed the same blood, and offers the same salvation for ALL THE WORLD! Oh, how we praise the Lamb who is worthy! Oh, how grateful we were to worship at the feet of Jesus! Oh, how we love these dear brothers and sisters in Christ!