Every Voice an Ascension Offering

Understanding The Church's Worship

Band of Angels. Hans Memling

Introduction

Worship isn’t about you.

There. I said it.

I know—that might not sit well. It might hit like a cold gust of wind cutting straight through you. But let it settle for a moment.

Take a breath. Breathe again. Stay with me.

Better, right?

If you’re like me, you may have grown up in a church tradition that taught, either subtly or outright, that worship was at least a little about you—about expressing your heartfelt devotion to God. Maybe you thought worship was a way to authentically connect with Him, pouring out your emotions in spontaneous praise. I know I did. I’ve lived it.

My journey of understanding worship has been long and winding—over the past twenty years, I’ve gone from non-Christian, to Freewill Baptist, to Reformed Baptist, to planting a Southern Baptist church that didn’t quite fit because it was confessional (1689 London Baptist Confession). And now, I find myself in that same church that I planted, which has since transitioned to a confessional Presbyterian church with some high-church leanings.

I remember the revival days, making a joyful noise for the Lord with every ounce of emotion we could summon—preachers weeping, wiping sweat and tears with rags pulled from their shirt pockets. I also remember our seeker-sensitive phase as a Southern Baptist church plant, where every element of worship was carefully designed to meet people where they were. We were “on mission,” driven to reach the lost and make a dent in the unbelief that surrounded us.

And now? I look back on all of that with discomfort—not because it wasn’t sincere. It was. Deeply so. But I’ve come to realize that it was also sincerely wrong.

Now, don’t misunderstand me—I’m not saying we should be emotionless robots, nor am I suggesting that we abandon the mission to reach the lost. But what I am saying is this: that’s not what worship is for. Worship isn’t for them. It’s not for you or me. It’s for God. And we don’t have the freedom to worship however we think best. We are called to worship “in spirit and truth,” but that may not mean what you think it does.

In fact, let me take it a step further—worship itself might not be what you think it is.

Stick with me. We’re going somewhere.

Worshipping Sacrificially

Some of the shifts in my thinking began as I spent more time studying the Bible. In the Old Testament, I noticed that worship was primarily about sacrifice.

But naturally, I assumed that was just an Old Testament thing. Of course. Of course. . .

Then I discovered—it wasn’t. As I continued reading both the Old and New Testaments, I realized that worship in Scripture is nothing like what I had assumed. Worship is never portrayed as spontaneous, free-flowing, comfortable, heartfelt, or extemporaneous. Instead, it is structured, joyful, disciplined, serious, reverent, and intentional. In fact, the Apostle Paul even commends churches for their orderly, reverent worship (Colossians 2:4-7; Hebrews 12:28-29).

While structured worship may seem rigid or overly formal to some, it aligns with the deep patterns God has revealed throughout Scripture. James K.A. Smith argues in Desiring the Kingdom that our practices form us more deeply than mere intellectual engagement. Worship is about shaping desires through embodied, repetitive practices, not simply creating emotional responses. This distinction is vital: authentic worship fosters transformation by engaging believers in habits of holiness, preparing them to embody Christ's kingdom throughout the week. Emotional highs can fade quickly, but structured worship reorients our loves toward God over time through intentional rhythms (cf. Colossians 2:6-7).

Even more, the Bible reveals that worship—in both the Old and New Testaments—remains sacrificial, following a three-part structure:

1. The Guilt Offering – Confession of Sin (Leviticus 5:5-6, Leviticus 17:11; 1 John 1:9)

2. The Ascension Offering – Consecration (Leviticus 16:24-25, Leviticus 1:9; Romans 12:1)

3. The Peace Offering – Communion (Deuteronomy 12:17-18, Leviticus 3:1-5; 1 Corinthians 10:16-17)

The Guilt Offering (Leviticus 5:5-6; 17:11) involved confessing sin and bringing a sacrificial animal as a sign of repentance and atonement. This corresponds to the confession of sin before worship (1 John 1:9). In the same way, before we worship on Sunday, we acknowledge our sins, seeking God’s forgiveness through Christ, the final sacrifice.

In the Ascension Offering (Leviticus 16:24-25; 1:9), the animal was placed on the altar, consumed by fire, and translated into smoke that ascended to God as a pleasing aroma. This parallels how our worship—through singing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs, prayer, and praise—ascends to God as a sweet fragrance (Romans 12:1; Revelation 8:3-4). In this offering, the worshiper is consecrated, setting their life apart to God.

The Peace Offering (Deuteronomy 12:17-18; Leviticus 3:1-5) was a meal shared between the worshiper, the priest, and God, symbolizing restored fellowship and peace. This corresponds to the Lord’s Supper (1 Corinthians 10:16-17), where we partake of the bread and cup, celebrating communion with God and one another.

Together, these offerings show that worship remains sacrificial. While we no longer offer animals on an altar, we offer ourselves, our praise, and our lives through Christ, empowered by and translated by the Spirit. Worship is a disciplined, intentional act of sacrifice that unites us with God and one another in the new covenant.

Now, that may strike you as strange. But this is exactly what the Bible teaches. We are the temple of God (1 Corinthians 3:16; 6:19) and the priesthood of believers (1 Peter 2:5, 9). In this new temple, we offer our bodies as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1) and sacrifices of praise (Hebrews 13:15). This is what the entire Israelite temple complex and its liturgy were always pointing toward—shadows that now find their fulfillment in Christ and the church (Colossians 2:17; Hebrews 10:1).

Peter Leithart elaborates on the sacrificial nature of our worship, writing:

When Hebrews exhorts us to offer a continuous “sacrifice of praise” (Hebrews 13:15), we instinctively think “sacrifice” is a metaphor. Real sacrifice, we assume, needs blood, flesh, altars, and smoke.

That instinct gets things exactly backwards. Think about Jesus. Jesus offers the true, human sacrifice that atones for sin once-for-all. His blood does what the blood of bulls and goats could never do.

We should apply the same logic to our liturgical “sacrifices.” According to Scripture, the old sacrifices were shadows, faint images of true. What we do is the reality that Israel’s symbolic sacrifices pointed to. In worship, we offer ourselves as living sacrifices in Jesus.

Everything that happened symbolically in Old Testament sacrifice happens in Spirit and truth in Christian song.

Israelite sacrifice was a rite of ascent. Animals ascended as a soothing aroma in Yahweh’s nostrils, as a memorial of His promises. As we sing in the Spirit, we ascend as a sweet-sounding song in His ears, a musical memorial of His promises.

Sacrifice is a ritual of transformation. Animals were translated into sacrificial fire and smoke. In the new covenant, the Spirit fills us so that we sing and make melody in our hearts (Ephesians 5:18-19). Those who are transformed by the Spirit sing, and the Spirit transforms us by song.

Sacrifice is a rite of division and reunion. Animals were dismembered in order to be reconstituted in smoke and fire. In the new covenant, music reunites the cosmos. Song crosses the boundary of the firmament to reunite heaven and earth, as we join with angels and archangels and all the company of heaven (cf. Hebrews 12:18-24).

Song also binds us as one body, each voice making its unique contribution to the complex but united sound of the choir of Christ’s body. Song is a real-world sonic anticipation of the perfect harmony of new Jerusalem. Wherever two or three sing in the Spirit: Behold, there is new creation!

Sacrificial animals re-entered the symbolic Paradise of the temple, passing by the priests with their cherubic swords and fire. Through Jesus, we gain access to the heavenly sanctuary, and as we sing in the Spirit we enter the heavenly courts of Yahweh.

None of this is mere metaphor. We truly ascend to join the heavenly liturgy. We are truly transformed by the Spirit and song. We really are united, physically, as our voices sound through one another’s bodies. Animal sacrifices look solid and real. But they’re mere shadows compared to what happens every Sunday when we sing.

We don’t have the luxury of delegating our sacrifice of praise to professionals. Yes, each member of the church has unique gifts to serve the body. Some lead and exercise authority; some teach; some are shepherds; some are gifted musicians.

But we’re all priests, and that means we all offer the sacrifice of praise. If you sing badly, sing badly, or learn to sing better. Silence isn’t an option. You’re a priest, every last one of you. Singing is your job. It’s one of your main jobs.

Leithart’s insights force us to confront an uncomfortable reality: modern seeker-sensitive worship often stands in stark contrast to the sacrificial nature of worship laid out in Scripture. In many churches today, worship has shifted from being a holy offering to God into a finely-tuned product designed to appeal to human preferences. The goal seems to have become making worship more accessible, entertaining, and emotionally engaging—meeting people where they are, rather than inviting them to ascend into the presence of God through sacrifice and transformation.

But true worship, as Leithart reminds us, is not primarily about us—it is an act of offering ourselves to God. When we turn worship into a performance or a tool for outreach, we lose the essence of what worship is. We train people to think like consumers, coming to church for personal fulfillment, rather than participants in the cosmic liturgy, offering spiritual sacrifices to God. This shift toward seeker-sensitive worship creates a tragic byproduct: it tells people that worship must be enjoyable, comfortable, and familiar to be meaningful. As a result, when worship becomes demanding or reverent—when it requires something from them—many disengage.

This consumer mindset also undermines the priesthood of all believers. Professionalizing worship by relying on a worship team or a charismatic leader not only stifles congregational participation but also sends the message that worship is best left to the experts. People begin to believe they are spectators, not priests. But, as Leithart rightly insists, every believer is a priest, and silence isn’t an option. Each one of us has a role to play in offering the sacrifice of praise, whether our voices are polished or unpolished. Worship is not about hitting the right notes—it’s about lifting our hearts and voices to God in reverence and unity.

In the seeker-sensitive model, worship often becomes a tool to make non-believers feel at home in a space that is meant to be sacred and set apart. But biblical worship does not conform to the preferences of the world—it invites us to be conformed to the image of Christ. This means that worship should challenge us, transform us, and draw us deeper into God’s presence. It is in this transformation, through the Spirit, that our lives become a pleasing aroma to God.

When worship becomes primarily about meeting people’s emotional needs or drawing a crowd, it loses its sacrificial power. It becomes shallow and transactional, focusing more on what we get out of it rather than what we offer to God. But as the church, we are called to something far greater. We are called to ascend—together—as a royal priesthood, offering ourselves as living sacrifices. This is the heart of worship: not entertainment, but encounter; not consumption, but consecration.

Seeker-sensitive worship may succeed in gathering a crowd, but it cannot form a people. Only worship rooted in Spirit and truth—worship that demands participation and sacrifice—can unite us as the body of Christ and bring us into the presence of the living God.

A more charitable view might acknowledge that seeker-sensitive models seek to make the gospel accessible to newcomers. However, N.T. Wright warns in For All God’s Worth that when the primary focus becomes accessibility, we risk shaping worship around the audience rather than God. ‘We become what we worship,’ Wright explains, cautioning that worship must aim upward toward God rather than bend downward toward cultural trends. True worship, then, is not about lowering barriers but about lifting believers into participation in God’s heavenly reality, forming them as citizens of the kingdom (cf. Philippians 3:20).

Worshipping in Spirit and Truth

There it is again: Spirit and truth.

But does this mean we’re supposed to follow every prompting we feel, flowing freely with whatever seems like the Spirit’s leading? Should worship be spontaneous, comfortable, emotional, or extemporaneous?

No, that’s not what Jesus meant by “Spirit and truth.” And yes, that might surprise you—it certainly surprised me. I’ve even taught people that this verse justified such worship. But, unfortunately, this phrase is often misused to support emotional, seeker-sensitive worship that misses the deeper reality Jesus was revealing.

To understand what Jesus meant by Spirit and truth, we need to view worship through a sacrificial lens. Jesus, the author and fulfillment of the sacrificial system (Hebrews 10:1-14), wasn’t advocating for spontaneous emotional expression. Instead, He was pointing to worship empowered by the Holy Spirit, rooted in truth, and aligned with the patterns God had established throughout salvation history—worship that ascends as a pleasing aroma to God (Exodus 29:18; Leviticus 1:9).

In John 4, Jesus’s conversation with the Samaritan woman reflects a profound theological shift. The Samaritans were sincere in their worship, but it was deficient—they worshiped on Mount Gerizim, a location not chosen by God, without the Levitical priesthood to offer proper sacrifices, and with only the Torah, lacking the full canon of Spirit-inspired Scripture. Their worship was sincere, but it wasn’t "by the Spirit or in truth."

This brings us to a critical point in the discussion of Spirit and truth: the Greek preposition 'ἐν' (en) is most often translated as 'in,' but it can also mean 'by' or 'through,' depending on context. Scholars like Daniel Wallace argue that Greek prepositions often carry semantic range, and it is the context that determines the best rendering. Worship-related passages in Scripture—especially when dealing with temple or spiritual action—often translate 'ἐν' as 'by' (cf. Matthew 12:28, Mark 12:36, Luke 4:1). This reading emphasizes that true worship is not merely about being 'in' a state of spirit and truth, but actively facilitated by the Spirit and grounded in God's revealed truth. Without this Spirit-enabled mediation, worship remains incomplete, as was the case with the Samaritans. Their rejection of the full canon and priestly system reveals how sincere worship, lacking in divine mediation, falls short (cf. 2 Kings 17:33)

The early church fathers, like Cyril of Alexandria, emphasized that worship in Spirit and truth was not merely a subjective experience but participation in God’s own life. Cyril writes in his Commentary on John that 'true worship is fulfilled in the Spirit,' meaning that the Spirit enables believers to enter God’s presence and offer acceptable sacrifices. Augustine echoes this in Confessions, noting that 'prayer must be mediated by God to be meaningful.' These early insights highlight that worship involves the Spirit actively translating our prayers and offerings into a divine aroma pleasing to God (Romans 8:26; Revelation 8:3-4).

Regardless of if I’m wrong or right on that, the point is that Jesus wasn’t saying that worship would become individualized or emotionally spontaneous. Rather, He was pointing to the arrival of the new covenant, where worship would be empowered by the Holy Spirit and grounded in the truth embodied in Christ (John 14:6; 1 Corinthians 3:16). This worship transcends geographical places like Mount Gerizim or the temple in Jerusalem because it is carried by the Spirit into God’s heavenly courts.

In the Old Testament, God commanded sacrifices to be brought to the priests, who mediated these offerings before God (Leviticus 4:20; 17:11). The Spirit’s work translated these physical sacrifices into smoke that ascended into the heavenly realms, becoming a sweet-smelling aroma pleasing to God (Leviticus 1:9, 3:5; Exodus 29:25). This act of sacrifice wasn’t just a ritual—it was a moment of reconciliation and restored fellowship between God and His people (Leviticus 6:7).

Worship today continues this same pattern. It isn’t about emotional highs or personal preferences, but about offering something intentional, real, and costly (Romans 12:1). Just as Old Testament sacrifices demanded reverence and preparation, our worship must be structured and disciplined, guided by the Spirit (Ephesians 5:18-20).

This is not improvisational worship but a structured offering. The Spirit works within the framework God has ordained, taking our prayers, songs, and lives and translating them into a fragrant offering that rises before God’s throne (Revelation 8:3-4). In this act of worship, heaven and earth meet, uniting us with God and one another through Christ (Hebrews 12:22-24; 1 Corinthians 10:16-17).

Jesus’s call to worship the Father by Spirit and truth points to this deeper reality. True worship is not a spontaneous outpouring of emotion, but a Spirit-enabled sacrifice aligned with the truth of God revealed in Christ. It transcends sacred spaces, bringing believers into the very presence of God, where every act of worship—offered through the Spirit—becomes a sweet aroma, pleasing to the Father.

Conclusion

The goal of worship, therefore, is not comfort or flow, but alignment with God’s kingdom through sacrificial participation. Each Sunday, the church ascends into the heavenly courts, joining the heavenly host in proclaiming God’s reign (Hebrews 12:22-24). As Doug Wilson puts it, 'We fight on earth from the high ground of heaven.' Every act of worship—whether through song, prayer, or sacrament—is spiritual warfare, advancing God's will 'on earth as it is in heaven' (Matthew 6:10).

Churches that prioritize entertainment over reverence miss the profound nature of this calling. Worship isn't about being passive consumers—it’s about becoming participants in God's cosmic liturgy. Moving toward worship that is 'by Spirit and truth' means equipping believers to sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs boldly, pray fervently, and offer themselves fully as living sacrifices (Romans 12:1). This is how the church becomes a people, not just a crowd—cleansed, consecrated, and translated into a holy offering pleasing to the Father."

This understanding aligns perfectly with Jesus’s words to the Samaritan woman. True worship is not emotional spontaneity or designed for personal satisfaction. It is worship by Spirit and truth—empowered by the Spirit, aligned with God’s truth, and ascending into the very courts of heaven.

Moving beyond passive attendance to active participation reshapes us as individuals and as a community. As Smith suggests, liturgical practices engrain the gospel into our habits, allowing us to carry the kingdom's logic into every sphere of life. This is why, as Doug Wilson emphasizes, worship is warfare—through confession, prayer, song, and sacrament, we proclaim God’s reign against spiritual darkness. Each element of structured worship equips believers to resist the consumer mindset, calling them instead to embody Christ’s victory and extend His kingdom into the world.

Thus, the modern obsession with seeker-sensitive worship falls short of this vision. The consumer mindset, with its emphasis on entertainment and emotional engagement, distorts worship’s true nature. Worship is not about meeting us where we are but about lifting us into the presence of God. When we gather, we ascend as priests, offering spiritual sacrifices that align earth with heaven, bringing us into deeper fellowship with God and one another (1 Peter 2:5, Hebrews 13:15).

Worship is war, a weekly proclamation of God’s sovereignty over all creation. As we sing, pray, and offer our lives, we stand on the high ground of heaven, advancing God’s kingdom against the forces of darkness. Every element of our worship—confession, consecration, communion—is a reminder that God’s will is being done on earth as it is in heaven.

To embody this vision of worship, churches can begin by reshaping their services around intentional, participatory elements that engage the entire congregation as priests offering spiritual sacrifices. This means emphasizing congregational singing, with every voice contributing to the “choir of Christ’s body,” rather than relying solely on a worship team (1 Peter 2:5). It also involves fostering rhythms of confession and assurance, helping believers develop habits of repentance that align with God’s mercy. Liturgical practices like the Lord’s Supper can be elevated as moments of true communion—where we remember, rejoice, and are renewed together in Christ’s presence. Additionally, churches should cultivate a culture of preparation and reverence, encouraging members to come to worship with hearts ready to engage, rather than merely spectate. The goal is not to entertain but to invite transformation, where believers leave each service empowered to embody Christ's kingdom throughout the week. As Doug Wilson notes, worship is spiritual warfare, and every Sunday offers a fresh opportunity to hallow God’s name and advance His will “on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10).

This is the heart of true worship: not entertainment, but encounter; not consumption, but consecration; not passivity, but participation in the victory of Christ. This is worship that forms a people—not just a crowd—and draws us into the presence of the living God.