Call to Worship

David sits on the deck of his new wooden home. “No,” he thinks to himself, “that’s not right.” The king sits on the parapet of his new palace. Yeah, that’s better. He needs to get used to this new nomenclature. He’s not David the warrior any longer, not David the singer of songs and follower of sheep anymore. “No, the king,” he thinks with a sly smile of unbelief. The king who looks over one end of his balcony and sees the people, surprising in their specificity, beautiful in their particularity. His people, spread out before him, looking to him for guidance, looking to him to be king. It gives him strength, and it terrifies him at the same time. How could he possibly live into all he needs to be as king of his people?

His people. On the other end of his balcony, he looks into the gloom of the corner of the palace court and sees what might look like a homeless encampment—a tattered canvas lean-to, a flickering flame, the tributes and prayers written on all matter of material and left scattered about like an explosion of faithfulness and hope. But as cluttered as it appears, it is the true source of his strength. He should do something. So, he calls Nathan, that scruffy prophet of the Lord, to tell him that the king wants to do something for the Lord of Hosts, encamped in the corner of his backyard. Nathan nods along with David’s expansive description of the temple he plans to build to house the God who claimed and named him king. “Great idea, Davy,” Nathan concurs. David looks him in the eye and says, “Davy, Your Royal Highness, don’t forget.” Nathan smiles at their familiar joke and heads out to pray.

“Ever-present God,” and just that brings the prophet up short. “Ever present?” Suddenly, the king’s idea doesn’t seem so good. The voice of God speaks into Nathan’s praying and says, “Who asked for a new house? Was it me? I haven’t had a house since I brought these people from Egypt, from slavery, until this day. So, you tell Davy, I brought him from behind the sheep to be in front of the people. I did that. I know he thinks he did. He gets me and him confused sometimes. But tell him he won’t build me a house, but that I will make a house out of him. Tell him that, prophet.”

So, Nathan turned around to go tell David the bad news. Or good news. He wasn’t sure how the king would take it, to be honest. He didn’t fly off the handle like the previous royal did. But he was a passionate soul, this musician king. This shepherd boy now ruler of God’s people. Many people look at him and are amazed at what he has done in his life, what he has made of himself. Except … did he make himself? Nathan’s steps back to tell the king the news sped up a little bit. The prophet had a way to present the Word from the Lord. He would invite the king to join in a call to worship.

I’m sorry, what? Out of all the elements of worship, who pays attention to the call to worship? Isn’t it really just like the ringing of the bell before class starts or the whistle before the train trundles through the crossing? The referee’s whistle at the beginning of the game, the teacher rapping her ruler on the desk. It is just noise, just words or music that says, “Hey, be quiet; it’s time to start.” Well, yes, it is true that the call to worship has an attention-getting function. But no, there is so much more going on in those words that we say or songs that we sing.

When we gather for worship, as we discussed last week, we gather with our multitude of stories and experiences and particularities. We gather with our certainties and our doubts, with our faith and our questions, with our hopes and our fears. This is the wholeness, as messy as it is, in which we gather. When we are called into worship, we are invited into a new perspective, a new way of seeing and being in the world. It’s not that we leave all with which we gathered aside, ready to be picked up again when we leave the worship experience. We don’t leave anything aside when we come to worship. But we are called into this new (or renewed) way of seeing ourselves and our connections with God and with the wider community as we worship. We are invited into a relationship of support and acceptance, and worship is the arena where we experience this first.

David wanted to do something for God; he wanted to build God a house and thereby declare this city, Jerusalem, as the spiritual as well as the political heart of Israel. This sounds like a good thing, to be honest, and you can't help but wonder why God was against it. We could focus on the timing issue. God wanted a house, a temple, but says that David isn’t the one who will build it. But there are also hints that David liked to do things that made himself look good. Like all of us, his motives were somewhat mixed here, and what he was doing, at least in part, was cementing his place at the top of this nation. Notice that God doesn’t say, through Nathan, a simple no, or even a not yet. What God says is, “Look at it from my perspective. What have I been doing and what will I do with my people?” God invites David to shift his perspective and move from the center so that God can occupy that space in David’s life and planning and in the life and planning of the people of God.

Worship is the place where we remember, some say, that God is in charge. That’s true, but it is God’s vision, God’s way of seeing the world that guides us in living out our lives. When we gather, we are called into a new way of being, and worship is the best description we have of what it means to live as God’s people. Let us hear the call and live our worship.

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Rev. Dr. Derek Weber, Director of Preaching Ministries, served churches in Indiana and Arkansas and the British Methodist Church. His PhD is from University of Edinburgh in preaching and media. He has taught preaching in seminary and conference settings for more than 20 years.