Every morning just after sunrise, I take my two dogs for a walk in the park down the street from our home. I let them off their leashes and they run and romp around for awhile before coming back to me. Then we wander down the road and head back to the rest of the pack.

Since it’s springtime in Texas – as, I suppose, it is just about everywhere else in the northern hemisphere these days – the wildflowers are out in full force. In these delicate, perennial splashes of color, God teaches me about Him, me, and us.

Now, when I say God is teaching me things, I don’t mean that I hear an actual voice but only that I notice things and thoughts come to mind. Since the thoughts are about Him, I assume that it’s the Holy Spirit within me using creation to reveal truth about God. It is consistent with what Scripture teaches, too, so I figure it’s legitimate.

The first thing I noticed this year was the remarkablely uniform disposition of the flowers. That is, as the day began to break over the eastern horizon, all the wildflowers in the field were turned in that direction, as though anxiously awaiting the first rays of the sun. No one told them to turn, but all of them did. This, it seemed to me, is what worship is actually all about. It is about turning our faces toward God and waiting expectantly for what He is about to give. It is about taking all that in and then doing what He has designed us to do: in the case of flowers, it’s one thing; in our case, it’s something else. But it’s worship, just the same.

Some days at the park the sky is overcast and the clouds, while not exactly “pregnant with rain” (as a poet or novice writer might say), are certainly sullen and grey. Seemingly cheerless. Drab. But the flowers don’t seem to notice much: even on these days they are still turned toward the source of their life. Still in worship, still doing what they were designed to do, waiting to do what they were designed to do in response. This, I thought, is what our own worship should look like when God’s eyelids seem to be testing us.

Though we cannot see Him or even feel Him at such times, we know He is there, perhaps obscured by the clouds of our struggles or discontent, but no less present than in the clearest light. And His nurture is no less on these than on any other days. He is there, if only we turn to Him.

These wildflowers, so incredibly beautiful, are also delightfully lacking in self-awareness. They do not seem to be comparing themselves with the other flowers, whether of the same kind or not. Neither do they seem troubled or worried about whether they are seeking the sun enough or doing it right or being beautiful enought. They just are. They exist. They reach up toward the sun, oblivious to what they look like. They passively and ignorantly enrich my life; more importantly, they display the glory of God and glorify Him in doing so. Theirs is a daily, silent, faithful worship. No drawing attention to themselves, no self-promotion. They are drawn and, in response, they draw themselves toward their sun.

Sometimes, when my dogs are off chasing the scent or trail of some rabbit or skunk that may have passed through the park during the night, I stop and stoop to get a closer look at one of these remarkable flowers. (Of course, first I make sure no one is watching so I won’t be thought of as, well, you know.) They don’t pay any attention at all when I do this. They stay focused on being what they are and doing what they do.

Most of the time, though, I look at them from a distance. As beautiful as they are individually, they are even more striking when they are clustered, huddled together, all stretched in the same direction in their worship.
When gathered, I do not tend to notice the individual beauty of a single flower but instead am struck by the unity – not uniformity – of the flowers. There is a lesson in there, I think, for those of us who are members of the church – both the local and the universal church. We try so hard sometimes to stand out, to be different, to have a strong sense of identity and sense of individuality. And we do, of course, since we are all unique.

But it is our unity that is most compelling and, I think, most glorifying to God. When we are selfless and focused, all turned in one direction, all seeking the same Source, all waiting to receive that which He has to give, eager to do that which He has designed us to do – it is then that we are most glorifying to God and truly beautify the world.


2 Cor 1:13