She told me she was going to step down from the worship team.
She felt pressure to perform on stage in a way that was unnatural to her. It seemed like there was an expectation to raise her hands more, emote more, or perhaps even be a little more showy. But that’s just not who she is.
Then I thought about him.
I had watched him standing stoically in the congregation, not singing at all. I couldn’t help but wonder what his problem was. Why wouldn’t he engage?
Then, after the service, he came up to me and told me that one of the songs had really ministered to him that morning. He appreciated the content of the lyrics and the songs we had chosen.
And then there’s the husband of another team member. She told me he just doesn’t like to sing. He doesn’t think he sounds very good. He enjoys music, but you might never know it from his facial expressions or body language.
Engagement is so difficult to gauge—and by “gauge,” I probably mean judge.
After all, that’s kind of what we’re doing when we look at someone else during worship and wonder why they aren’t doing what we think they should be doing. Why aren’t they singing? Why aren’t they smiling? Why don’t they raise their hands? Why don’t they look more engaged?
But perhaps what they’re doing is authentic to the way they connect with God. Perhaps their hearts are deeply engaged after all.
When I talk to worship leaders about body language and stage presence, I like to think in terms of giving permission for expressiveness rather than mandating expression. Yes, we are leading people in worship, and what we do can play an important role in helping others engage. I don’t want our worship leaders staring at their shoes or looking terrified to be on stage. But I also never want someone to feel compelled to manufacture an outward expression that isn’t authentic to what is happening in their heart.
So what does real authenticity look like?
I think it begins with recognizing that authentic worship is a heart posture more than an outward posture.
Now, that doesn’t mean our outward posture doesn’t matter. Scripture is full of physical expressions of worship. God’s people sing. They shout. They clap. They kneel. They bow. They lift their hands. Psalm 95:6 says, “Oh come, let us worship and bow down; let us kneel before the LORD, our Maker!” Psalm 134:2 tells us, “Lift up your hands to the holy place and bless the LORD!”
Our bodies are part of our worship because our bodies are part of who we are.
But there’s an important difference between expression that flows from worship and expression that is performed to look like worship.
I can raise my hands while my heart is a million miles away. I can close my eyes at exactly the right moment. I can have all the facial expressions we associate with being “engaged.” I can sing loudly, move around the stage, and look incredibly passionate—and none of those things necessarily tell you what is happening in my heart.
On the other hand, the person standing almost motionless beside me may be overwhelmed by the truth of what they’re hearing.
That’s why we need to be very careful about creating an unofficial definition of what worship is supposed to look like.
Authenticity doesn’t mean that we never stretch ourselves. Sometimes worship should take us outside our comfort zones. Maybe you’ve never lifted your hands before, but as you understand more about the biblical expressions of worship, you decide to try it. Maybe singing makes you uncomfortable, but you sing anyway because Scripture calls God’s people to sing. Authenticity shouldn’t become an excuse for disobedience or an unwillingness to grow.
But neither should we confuse spiritual maturity with outward expressiveness.
Some people are naturally expressive. Others aren’t. Some people cry easily. Others almost never do. Some people connect deeply with God while singing at the top of their lungs. Others may be quietly meditating on every word.
And maybe that’s okay.
Jesus said that the Father is seeking those who will worship Him “in spirit and truth” (John 4:23). That’s much deeper than whether our hands are raised or at our sides.
As worship leaders, I want us to model wholehearted worship. I want our faces and bodies to communicate that what we’re singing matters. I want to give people permission to respond freely and without embarrassment. But I never want to create an environment where someone feels like they have to look like they’re worshiping.
And as a congregation, maybe we could extend that same grace to one another.
Instead of wondering why the person across the aisle isn’t singing, perhaps we can focus on whether we are singing. Instead of evaluating someone else’s posture, we can examine our own hearts. Instead of deciding what their worship should look like, we can trust that God sees something we cannot.
Because ultimately, authenticity isn’t about looking like a worshiper.
It’s about actually being one.
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