“We are on the way to glory, so let us sing as we journey thither ; and as the lark, ascending up to heaven’s gate, sings as she soars, her wings keeping time with her music, and mounting in her song as she rises through the air, so let it be with us, — every day a psalm, every night a day’s march nearer home, a little nearer to heaven’s music, and a little better imitation of it. Let us sing now, in our hearts if not with our lips; and when the time comes, let us join our lips with our hearts, and sing unto the Lord. That is our text, ‘Sing unto the Lord, O ye saints of his, and give thanks at the remembrance of his holiness’” (Charles Spurgeon).

I heard a sermon today that blew my mind a little . . . in a good way. It was about why we as the Church sing when we gather together. I mean, why not sing by ourselves? Why do we need to sing with other people?

Worship is not just vertical, stretching from us on earth to God in heaven. It’s also horizontal. We’re commanded to “[t]ell of your joy to each other by singing the Songs of David and church songs. Sing in your heart to the Lord” (Ephesians 5:19, The Living Bible). We’re to sing not just with each other but to each other, reminding each other of God’s faithfulness.

The pastor said something profound. While each church has its own worship minister, sometimes you might just be a worship minister to someone near you. When you’re going through your own valley of the shadow of death and can still sing of the goodness of God, someone else might hear your song and be inspired to sing their own song of praise.

For your story to be known requires you being in community. For you to be willing to share your song requires transparency and vulnerability. It means singing when you’d rather be weeping, or sometimes singing even while you’re weeping.

You don’t have to be a great singer — or even a good singer. You may not be a fan of singing even in the shower for fear that someone might walk by and hear you. But you can make a joyful noise.

I heard this illustration from our worship minister. You may not be a professional dancer. You may not even be any good at dancing or even like to dance. But if your daughter asks you to go with her to the Daddy-Daughter dance, you will go and you will dance, not because you love dancing but because you love your daughter.

In the same way, you sing not for love of your own voice or for the love of singing but because you love the One who first loved you. You sing because of the One who sings over you every night. You sing because the overflow of joy at what God has done for you wells up in you and flows out of you uncontrollably.

“In this life we are all just walking up the mountain and we can sing as we climb or we can complain about our sore feet. Whichever we choose, we still gotta do the hike. I decided a long time ago singing made a lot more sense” (Author Unknown).

When you sing in the middle of sorrow, you’re declaring God’s faithfulness and believing in the promises of God over and against the reality of your circumstances. You are declaring the ultimate victory even while walking in what looks like a losing battle.

It doesn’t matter whether you’re a great singer or not. It doesn’t even matter if you can carry a tune in a bucket. What matters is that you can make a joyful noise to the Lord. In the same way that a father who knows he can’t dance will go to a Daddy-Daughter dance with his daughter even if he doesn’t like dancing because he loves his daughter. In the same way, we sing not out of ability or love for singing but out of a deep love for God in response to the extreme and unconditional love that He’s shown us.

“In this life we are all just walking up the mountain and we can sing as we climb or we can complain about our sore feet. Whichever we choose, we still gotta do the hike. I decided a long time ago singing made a lot more sense” (Author Unknown).