My strength left me, and my complexion grew deathly pale, and I retained no strength.
Whew! Daniel has just recounted his experience of meeting God. It was exhausting, confusing and complicated to read. I cannot imagine how it must have felt for Daniel. What we know is that after his encounter, Daniel’s strength left him, he grew pale and retained no strength. I can imagine.
The accompanying reflection focuses on the human experience of meeting God. Abram stretched himself on the ground. When Moses saw God in the burning bush, he hid his face. Isaiah proclaimed “Woe is me” upon meeting God. And poor Daniel. His visions were terrifying enough; to have God appear, it’s no wonder he retained no strength.
A.W. Tozer writes, “a vision of the divine transcendence soon ends all controversy between the man and his God.” Man is left with no question of God’s power and majesty. I am reminded of an explanation offered to me by a friend about the different ways Christians worship. Liturgical Christians, those who follow more set ways of worship, and those with more vestments and things considered “high church”, are reflecting and worshiping the God of power and mystery and might. There’s a holy reverence in the worship, acknowledging God’s holiness.
This is contrasted with more contemporary or evangelical worship that reflects a different but no less true picture of God. There is a familiarity and friendship in the worshipped God. Jesus my friend, my companion.
As someone who has grown up in the former worship style, this was so incredibly helpful for me. I’m a fan of contemporary Christian music, and love signing along in my car. It doesn’t take much to make me weep, at contemporary worship services or especially poignant music. I’m swept up in the closeness of God. I’ve been to clergy gatherings of mostly evangelical clergy, and the prayers offered between colleagues are heartfelt, and again, made me weep. There is a place for this worship in my world. It feeds that part of my soul that needs God as a friend. And there is a place for the liturgical, majestic worship in my world. It feeds the part of my soul that needs God as mystery and all-powerful.
If tears are a sign of the Spirit, I have experienced God in both forms of worship, but probably more in the God-is-close kind. But I have also experienced God in the God-is-mystery worship. In those instances, I’m left with a slack-jawed sense of awe. This morning, I’m thinking about how I experience God, based on the settings we humans construct to worship. I’m glad there are multiple ways. I need them all.
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