Creative Thursdays: Worship

Ninth in the series of posts that celebrate creativity and worship.

Many years ago, I attended a church in Springfield, Missouri that I now understand was the closest I ever came to attending a trauma-responsive church—though I did not know what that was at the time. I am sure my time there influenced my writing of Trauma in the Pews. Many who attended have shared their stories with me over the years, and though none of us knew what it would take to heal from the impact of trauma, the safety of that space allowed for remarkable displays of creativity.

The most memorable display of creativity in worship was a Sunday evening when we as artists, musicians, and writers—maybe others?—were given an opportunity to share our talents. I prepared a choral reading of scripture that felt like an orchestra of human voices. I created four of these choral readings that year and used them in various settings.

You can download the Choral Readings at this link.

I have many friends from those years and the highest regard for our pastor, Dr. Hunter Sherman—fondly known as Doc—who loved us well. We were a wild conglomeration of Jesus followers. Without knowing it, he demonstrated how to be trauma-responsive in relational ways that mattered!

During the past year of continued healing, one of the musicians who I grew to love during that time, launched an album with the song It is Well With My Soul. It has been a healing balm for my soul that was traumatized by this song as a young adult. (This story is told partially in Brave.) God cares for us in marvelous ways—often through the creative efforts of our talented friends. Thank you Shannon.

My Worship Practice

As a child, I sang Victory in Jesus with great gusto. The faster the pianist played the better. I loved music and longed to move to it—not in church. A long hallway was an invitation to run—not in church. I loved being outside—not on Sunday. My little body longed to play but Sunday was a time to be still. Sunday removed the possibility for my body to care for itself. As an adult, I heard shaming comments about those who chose nature over church and longed to go with them. Then, while healing, God provided an RV Park with walking paths to the Garden of the Gods and a creek. When the intense work of healing required me to step back from church, I grew to understand that worship was not confined to a building. Instead, God and I spent endless hours at the creek and walking at Garden of the Gods. Nothing has ever felt so much like worship! My beloved creek still reminds me of how much God loved and supported me as I healed.

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