Ch 2 Unveiling the Worship Relationship

How would you feel if your family or friends threw you a birthday party year in and year out in the same way: people doing the same things, same food, same presents, same decorations, and same words to you? It wasn’t that you cared for any of it, but according to them, “It’s how we’ve always done it.” Or, to give it more meaning and try to dress it up as special, they might claim, “It’s our tradition!” Perhaps the first time, even the second time, all this effort touched you (was significant at the time), but by the tenth time it was common for your friends to just plan and execute this tradition without further (notably deeper) thought.

Whether we’re aware of it or not, we easily let ourselves become limited to set actions for celebrations. One likely reason is that it requires much more of us to go beyond the tried and true (what’s common), to go deeper than the expected (what’s the norm), that is, into uncommon action expressed, particularly to be vulnerable in person-specific involvement. The uncommon is action designed not to be innovative or different from common practice, but rather is designed to be compatible in relational response to the holy (uncommon) God. This uncommon worship response is what the above psalmists compose, which is clearly distinguished from our common practice expected in worship (even in contemporary worship).

Going deeper than expected gets into unfamiliar territory—holy ground, as will be discussed below—that will set us apart from the common, the norm, the majority. Therein raises the undesirable matter of risk, of being open to possible disapproval and even rejection. How much safer it is to essentially let our involvement be determined by how we’ve always done it, by traditions, all of which serve as templates to guide, shape and construct our actions into conforming limits. Perhaps the lure of conforming to templates is why social media such as Facebook are so popular—it’s easier to fill in blanks and share only fragments of who we really are. Any connections made through such templates—be they through social media or through many worship practices—can only be simulations of a deeper connection (ontological simulation), because the person we present is delimited by the templates, and our communication is a substitute for quality and integrity (and content) needed for deeper relational connection. Yet, such simulation doesn’t prevent us from having illusions about the significance of this level of involvement.

It is critical for us to understand that such templates in both social media and worship focus us on quantitative outer-in aspects of persons, human and divine, along with our relationships. The level of relational involvement that we engage is automatically restricted because the focus on secondary aspects of persons relegates heart-level function to secondary importance, or is left out altogether—even when the heart is mentioned in our worship vocabulary. This dynamic is contrary to what the above psalmists compose; they are challenging not only our worship practice but the basic function of our person in relationship. Thus, we are brought back to the three major issues for practice and the relational paradigm introduced in the previous chapter: The person we present, the integrity and quality of our communication, and the depth level of our relational involvement will be the worshipers God gets and the relational connection we get.

Translating these dynamics into the worship relationship, the issue is that we bring this same level of involvement into worship. Reflect on your overall experiences in corporate worship, especially the primacy given—by design of the worship planning, as well as your own involvement—to our compatible response to God beyond the mere words from our mouths (cf. Mt 15:8). How much are you actually involved with God and others? How much of the dynamics in any given worship service follow set patterns or templates (cf. Mt 15:9)? When it comes to the worship relationship, does God get outer-in template involvement or whole persons from inner out? Another way to describe template involvement is default worship. Such involvement in worship did not emerge with technology’s templates[1]; technology only further exacerbates the counter-relational work of reduced persons in reduced relationships in default mode. “Default” means the condition that exists in the absence of willful intervention. In other words, default worship is what we do as passive objects, actively giving primacy to ‘what to do’ as an end in itself—even with good intentions to worship God, yet with only simulation of the worship response and illusion of its outcome.

Herein we further define the two ways of embodying the worship relationship old and new. To embody old is to worship by default, as a relationally passive object (even while very active) whose involvement in relationship is reduced to template involvement, functioning from outer in by what to do (e.g. your friends’ way of throwing a party, following templates for worship), giving substitutes from secondary involvement in place of our whole person in the primacy of relationship. To embody new is to worship whole-ly as a subject in the primacy of relationship, vulnerably engaged from inner out with one’s whole person. The former can remain at a comfortable relational distance with little vulnerability before God, who gets treated as Object to be observed, and merely talked and sung about. The latter is worshiping vulnerably involved for deeper relational connection in compatible response to God who as Subject is vulnerably present to us. Does it really make any difference to God or does this distinction not matter as long as God is worshiped? If the God we worship is the God whom Jesus embodied whole-ly, then yes indeed, God is affected by how we embody the worship relationship. Otherwise, what Jesus vulnerably shared of God’s strategic shift with the Samaritan woman has no meaning or significance for us today (Jn 4:23-24).

For praise that has relational significance to God, pay close attention to Psalms 103:1 and 108:1 (the two Scriptures opening this chapter). The poet in Psalm 103 praises God with “all my inmost being” (NIV), or, less helpful, “all that is within me” (NRSV). The Hebrew word here is qereb, which denotes the interior or center of a person. This poet has experienced God’s deep and ongoing relational involvement, and reciprocally responds with praise and blessing from inner out, in contrast to the outer-in worship act of ‘lips without heart’ (Mk 7:6). How do we in our qereb praise the holy God? To understand this, it is helpful to consider the verse in Psalm 108:1.

To open Psalm 108, the poet declares “My heart is steadfast [kûn], O God…. I will sing and make music with my kāḇôḏ” (see also Ps 57:7-8), teaching us in relational words about being vulnerable before God, about who and what God gets in worship. Kûn denotes to stand firm, to be established, prepared, or determined (resolved), and is usually rendered “steadfast” or “fixed.” Yet the psalmist takes us beyond a merely static condition or attribute (as “steadfast” is commonly interpreted) to the relational reality of being secure in relationship with God, based on the depth of God’s relational involvement of love and faithfulness, that is, based on how God is with us (108:4). Kûn also significantly denotes that the psalmist directs his attention to God and is ready to act on what he has been considering,[2] which is: “I will sing and make music with all my kāḇôḏ” (NIV). English translations use “soul” for the Hebrew kāḇôḏ when referring to human beings (see also Ps 16:9[3]; 57:8), but “soul” (the usual translation for another Hebrew term, nepeš) is not adequate to represent kāḇôḏ. Why not?

Before we can grapple with why “soul” misrepresents kāḇôḏ, we need to see why “soul” (nepeš) is not adequate to represent the whole person either, as explained in this excerpt from a study on the gospel of transformation:

The qualitative inner of nephesh is problematic for the person in either of two ways. Either nephesh is reduced when primacy is given to the quantitative and thus the outer in; this appears to be the nephesh signified by supervenience in nonreductive physicality that is linked to large brain development and function. All animals have nephesh (Gen 1:30) but without the qualitative inner that distinguishes only the person. Or, nephesh is problematic when it is fragmented from the body, for example, as the soul, the substance of which does not distinguish the whole person even though at times in Scripture it identifies the qualitative uniqueness of humans. The referential language composing the soul does not get to the depth of the qualitative inner of the person in God’s context (cf. Job in Job 10:1; 27:2), because the inner was constituted by God in relational terms for whole ontology and function. The ancient poet even refers to nephesh as soul but further illuminates qereb as “all that is within me” (Ps 103:1), as “all my innermost being” (NIV) to signify the center, interior, the heart of a person’s whole being (cf. human ruah and qereb in Zec 12:1). This distinction gets us to the depth of the qualitative inner that rendering nephesh as soul does not. The reduction or fragmentation of nephesh is critical to whether the person in God’s context is whole-ly distinguished (beyond a comparative process) or merely referenced in some uniqueness (within a comparative process).[4]

In Hebrew thought, the person isn’t separable into two parts, but is considered as a whole that has inner and outer aspects. ‘Soul’ may point to the inner of a person, but qereb directs us to the deeper sense of kāḇôḏ. This next excerpt deepens our understanding of kāḇôḏ, which is usually translated as “glory” when referring to God:

Glory is one of those words in our Christian vocabulary…whose significance gets lost in familiarity. The word for glory in Hebrew (kābôd) comes from the word “to be heavy,” for example, with wealth or worthiness. A person’s glory…is shaped and seen on the basis of the perceptual-interpretive framework used for how a person is defined and what defines that person. The glory Jesus distinguished brings us further than an abstract attribute of the transcendent God and takes us deeper than a person defined by what he does and has. In the OT, kābôd is used poetically to refer to the whole person (Ps 16:9; 57:8; 108:1).

The main idea of ‘the glory of God’ [kābôd yhwh] denotes the revelation of God’s being, nature and presence to us, that is, the whole of who, what and how God is. Our initial introduction to God’s glory is revealed in creation (natural or general revelation, Ps 19:1-4), which does not distinguish the whole of God but has heuristic purpose (Rom 1:20) that is complete upon encountering the deep profile of Jesus’ face from inner out. Paul made conclusive that this disclosure of God’s glory was not in referential terms but relational terms from inner out (“who has shone in our hearts”) distinguished “in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor 4:6). In the incarnation the vulnerable disclosures of Jesus’ whole person and presence engaged us with God’s glory—that is, God’s being, nature, and presence with us: the who (being), the what (nature) and the how (presence) of God. Who, what and how Jesus is vulnerably disclose who, what and how God is—that is to say, phaneroō [reveals in relational terms] God’s glory only for relationship, not for systematic theology or doctrinal certainty. Therefore, the who, what and how in the distinguished face of Jesus is the hermeneutical key to the ontology of the glory of God, through whom we can know and understand who, what and how God is. And when the glory seen is the distinguished face of God, the person Jesus presents in whole ontology and function discloses the functional involvement of God’s being, nature and presence with us as Subject in face-to-face relationship, not merely an Object to be observed.[5]

On the basis of this understanding of kāḇôḏ for God, I then conclude that kāḇôḏ for human beings signifies the whole of our being, nature and presence (who, what and how we are), created in the qualitative image and relational likeness of the triune God. God in his kāḇôḏ seeks nothing less than our kāḇôḏ, the full weightiness of our whole person from inner out. As with relational righteousness (the whole of who, what and how we are), only with our whole person vulnerably present and involved with God on his relational terms can we worship the Lord in compatible response and congruent connection—as the psalmist did. This is the uncommon action that can never be composed by the common—the embodying new that will never emerge in the worship relationship from the embodied old.

Getting back to the soul, nepeš is used to mean the inner of a person as opposed to the outer, not in dualism, but to highlight in a general way the qualitative depth of persons. The human person’s kāḇôḏ encompasses nepeš, yet that which is most important for us to understand for our practice in worship is their function of the heart (leb), illuminated as follows:

The qualitative significance of the heart is not composed in referential language and terms but only distinguishes the person in relational terms that God “breathed” into human persons. Nephesh may be rendered “soul” but its functional significance is the heart (Dt 30:6; Rom 2:28-29). From the beginning, the heart defined and determined the qualitative innermost of the person in God’s context and not the soul; the soul’s prominence unfolded much later from the influence of philosophical thought, shaped by referential terms. The heart’s significance only begins to define the image of God, yet the heart’s function identifies why the heart is so vital to the person integrally in the image and likeness of God….Since the function of the heart integrally constitutes the whole person, God does not have the whole person for relationship until it involves the heart (Dt 10:14-16; Ps 95:7-11).[6]

The psalmist has his heart set on celebrating God by singing and making music vulnerably with his whole person from inner out (kāḇôḏ); he (his heart) is determined for God to receive his due, that is, in reciprocal relational response with nothing less and no substitutes of his whole person. As worshiper, the psalmist’s primary focus is relational, in compatible response to the whole of God and in congruent connection with how God is with the psalmist. Do we similarly have our hearts—not just the intention of our heart but the uncommon action of our whole person—set on worshiping God when we go to church? How much do we ask “who and what does God receive directly from me personally and from us as his family?” Or do we repeat the patterns illustrated at the beginning of this chapter? Accordingly, when relational clarity and relational significance are lacking in any given worship service, do we even notice? Do we pay attention to what God receives in the primacy of relationship together, or are we more preoccupied with secondary aspects of worship?

If we don’t make the conscious choices of a subject-person, as composed by the psalmists, then we should expect and not be surprised by our participation in default worship.

Another person in the Bible whose heart was set on responding to Jesus was Mary (Martha’s sister). As mentioned in the previous chapter, Mary is an unlikely teacher for us as to embodying new the discipleship/worship relationship. How was Mary distinguished from the other disciples, including many if not most of us today? Three interactions featured in the Gospels that take place between Mary and Jesus show her vulnerable honest heart in response to Jesus’ whole person vulnerably extended to her. After discussing Mary, we’ll examine how Peter’s involvement differed from Mary’s, which will help us examine our own responses to the Lord.

When Jesus visited Martha and Mary in the well-known narrative from Luke’s Gospel (Lk 10:38-42), Mary chose to engage with Jesus by making quite a counter-cultural move. Yet, what she did was not simply to defy a cultural norm by leaving a woman’s place in the kitchen with Martha in order to sit at the teacher’s feet to study. Rather, her bold move determinedly (cf. kûn) rejected the constraints of being defined from outer in by her socio-religious context that would keep her at a relational distance from Jesus, and stepped into Jesus’ relational context to be directly relationally involved with Jesus with her whole person. She refused to allow herself to be limited by default to her socio-religious context, or by Martha’s protestations. Whereas Martha’s response to Jesus was indirect and her involvement more generalized in the performance of her prescribed role (as object), Mary’s choice (as subject) was relationship-specific to Jesus’ person. Mary compatibly responded to the primacy that Jesus gave to relationship with his disciples (cf. Jn 12:26); and though none of the Gospels mention Jesus having called to Mary to “follow me,” she did indeed follow Jesus in her congruent connection for relationship together on Jesus’ relational terms—the relational connection that would distinguish her discipleship from the other disciples.

Although in this scene we don’t know what Mary said, by her determined actions (cf. psalmist above) Mary expressed her whole person by embodying relational messages to Jesus in her communication, the content and quality of which spoke loud and clear to Jesus. Jesus was obviously pleased by Mary’s involvement, and affirmed Mary for having chosen the “better part” (v.42), which is in her place with Jesus in God’s family where she now belonged permanently (cf. Jn 8:35-36). Her action reciprocally responded to Jesus’ initiative of coming into their house for such relational connection.

Mary’s heart was further distinguished in a second interaction with Jesus when Lazarus died (Jn 11:28-33). After Jesus talked with Martha, Mary was told that Jesus was calling for her, and she quickly went to Jesus, knelt at his feet and poured her heart out to him, weeping, whereby Jesus’ heart was “deeply moved” (Jn 11:28-35). In the four Gospels, Mary rarely speaks. In the one instance when she does say something, her words are the same as Martha’s (Jn 11:21,32), yet words more deeply expressed with a very different relational outcome. Mary didn’t stay at a comfortable distance relationally from Jesus, in contrast with Martha’s more restrained interaction with Jesus at a noticeably different level of affect for both Martha and Jesus (vv.20-27). We see here Mary’s freedom to be vulnerable and direct with Jesus (cf. Jn 8:31-32) that none of the other disciples demonstrated (cf. Mk 6:52; 8:14-17; Jn 4:27,31-33). She could be free and confident with Jesus because she experienced his acceptance of and his involvement with her whole person—as in the whole theology and practice that Paul made definitive for the church’s wholeness (Eph 2:18; 3:12).

In the third climactic scene, Mary extended her person to Jesus in an uncommon response of worship (Jn 12:1-8). Not long before his crucifixion, Jesus and the disciples were having dinner with Martha, Mary and Lazarus (a family whom Jesus loved, Jn 11:5), when Mary came and poured very expensive perfume on Jesus’ feet and wiped them with her hair (Matthew and Mark’s Gospels say “a woman came…and poured the ointment on his head,” Mt 26:6-13; Mk 14:3-9; cf. a similar action from an ex-prostitute, Lk 7:37-38). Other disciples who were present chastised Mary, calling her action wasteful because the perfume should have been sold and the money used to help poor people. In this crucial moment leading to the cross, their primary focus was on serving and ministry, not on the person of Jesus. Nevertheless, Mary demonstrates both senses of kûn: she was established in the primacy of her relationship with Jesus and not merely in the role of servant; on this primary basis, she directed her attention to act on what she had been considering. Mary’s heart, even at what could be considered an elementary stage, was both defined by whole theology (namely Christology) and determined by whole practice—neither reduced nor fragmented by the secondary. Therefore, Mary deeply involved her whole person with her Lord in this act of worship—openly and vulnerably involved with Jesus.

It is important to note that Mary’s confidence was based on, as was the psalmist’s, her relational experience of the love and faithfulness of her Lord. Mary’s openness wasn’t akin, for example, to Peter’s relative openness (from outer in) because Mary’s response emerged as relational trust in Jesus’ whole person. Relational trust is the significance of faith, the relational response beyond the common sense that faith is a quantity to possess. In functional terms, faith is only our relational response to God that is contingent on who, what and how God is. Relational trust in the whole of God embodied by Jesus must by its relational nature embrace Jesus’ person jointly in his theological trajectory (whole theology) and on his relational path (whole practice). Beyond the other disciples, Mary teaches us the depth of this relational response and the relational outcome unfolding from such involvement in relationship together.

Mary illuminates the kind of disciple and thus worshiper that the Father seeks. She was a “true worshiper” whose person functioned whole from inner out with honesty and vulnerability of heart (i.e. “in spirit and truth,” Jn 4:23).” Hers was the compatible and reciprocal response to Jesus and how Jesus is relationally involved with persons: “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you” (Jn 15:9). Jesus’ relational involvement with persons embodies love (agapē), God’s family love. God’s family love is never primarily about what to do—not even with sacrifice, though it can include sacrifice—but about being deeply involved relationally with the other person for whole relationship together (cf. Jesus’ involvement with others while on the cross). Since God is always vulnerably present and intimately involved with persons, those who receive God with their own vulnerable hearts for relational connection (only on his relational terms of relational grace) are those persons who will experience the depth of his love, and who will be made whole in intimate connection. This was Jesus’ relational work that composed the integral basis for Mary’s reciprocal relational response. Mary’s relational connection with Jesus—like no other disciple’s—is the outcome of God’s relational involvement of family love to reconcile persons with him in the new creation family. This relational outcome is the good news that composes the ‘whole’ gospel of Christ (i.e. the gospel of peace, wholeness in relationship together, Eph 6:15). Her relational language epitomized ‘sounds of consonance’ in reciprocal response to Jesus’ whole person. Therefore, Jesus highlights the significance to him of Mary’s act of worship by making the most remarkable statement about Mary, a statement that rightfully should be proclaimed by the global church:

I tell you the truth, wherever the gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her (Mk 14:8-9, NIV).

The uncommon response of Mary’s worship needs to become paradigmatic for all worshipers, because she was a rare one who received Jesus’ relational language and ‘sang’ back in his relational language in worship to make intimate relational connection with him (again, intimacy defined as open and vulnerable hearts making the deepest connection together). Mary’s compatible, reciprocal response and vulnerable involvement with Jesus make her a definitive teacher for us to learn from for our own growth to embody new the worship relationship. Likely, it will require humility on our part to be taught by a woman occupying a minor place in the Gospels’ narratives. Undoubtedly, we will need to be vulnerable in order to learn from her.

Mary’s experience with Jesus illuminates agapē, the depth of intimate relationship together. Agapē is not about ‘what to do’ (even serving the poor) but only about how one is involved with others in relationship. “Love” is one of those words and concepts that we need to clarify, because its most common use for Christians is reduced to what to do. Due to our default lens of reductionism that defines persons by what we do and have, our interpretation of God’s love is nearly always about what God does for us and what we do for God and others. In view of that, ministry and service become our primary preoccupation, and relational involvement gets relegated to secondary importance. This is one of the problems arising from so-called incarnational churches. Love also gets reduced to emotions, which are important, to be sure, but do not compose the whole person in determined vulnerable relational response. Nor are spontaneous actions from a person to another necessarily expressions love, which might be construed as from the heart. Peter’s spontaneous bold declarations to Jesus in the face of Jesus’ impending suffering (Mt 26:33,35; Mk 14:29,31; Lk 22:33) may have issued from Peter’s good intentions, but his words belied his greater propensity to being controlled by fear.

In contrast, persons functioning in vulnerableness as subject toward another for relationship together are persons who love with agapē involvement, which is what Jesus embodied from the Father that determined how he is ongoingly involved with us. It is imperative for Jesus’ disciples and the worshipers the Father seeks to understand love (agapē) in the following terms:

Jesus said the most distinguishing characteristic of his disciples—which those in the surrounding context will recognize as relationally belonging to him—is their agape for one another (Jn 13:35). That is, this engagement of love will be recognizable as his if it is congruent (kathos) with how he loved them (v.34). Yet, contrary to a prevailing perception, love is not merely about the quantity of something we do (or even feel), nor merely about the quality. Agape is what we experience in relationship first from Jesus (the relational work of God’s grace), and thus what we ongoingly share together in the intimate involvement of relationship, not in activities or occupying space together. In other words, agape is how we are to be involved with God, each other and with others.[7]

Even though Mary’s circumstances may not compare to Peter’s in terms of potential physical harm, the issue important for Peter, Mary, and all of us to face is what God can count on from us relationally. Ever since Jesus said, “Wherever the gospel is preached,” the gospel proclamation has spanned thousands of years and entered billions of ears, yet Mary’s name is rarely, if ever, attached to Jesus’ gospel. If not what Jesus embodied and affirmed in Mary, what in fact is the gospel that gets preached? If the gospel we claim and proclaim doesn’t tell of Mary’s response—as compared to, say, Peter, James and John’s missional activities (even as important as these activities were), we have ignored Jesus’ own words. To have ignored these particular words (in relational language) from Jesus’ mouth can only be the result of selective listening with our biased perceptual-interpretive framework and lens. The omission of Mary’s relational significance to Jesus is less about androcentrism as some biblical feminists would claim (though gender is undoubtedly involved) than it is about the threat that Mary’s person presents to those (both male and female) who are defined and determined by reductionism (namely a theological anthropology of reduced ontology and function) instead of by God’s relational grace and agapē involvement, because the latter requires vulnerableness of our person before God.

At the risk of making generalizations, it seems also that due to socialization in both Western and Eastern cultures (encompassing the global South), females are more open to being vulnerable before God than are males, and that males will be more resistant to the whole practice of Jesus’ vulnerable face embodying his intrusive relational path. Accordingly, and based on a fragmentary Christology, males are more likely to present substitutes to God in place of their whole person, nothing less and no substitutes—though females certainly fall into substitutes by default as well (cf. Martha’s focus on fulfilling her role to serve). But since the difference in function between females and males is because of socialization (the influence of our human contexts), this human condition is not irreversible and redemptive change is available. Thus, males and females are equally able to be vulnerably involved for intimate relational connection because this is how we are all created in the qualitative image and relational likeness of God. We all need to die to the old of reductionism so that the new of wholeness can emerge and flow. If we cannot, perhaps will not, embody new in our person and relationship, then by default we are rendered to embodying the old.

To have ignored Jesus’ words about Mary exposes the bias of the church’s interpretive lens in the shift from God’s relational language to referential language, resulting in a relational gap that underlies fragmentary theology and practice. The consequence of this relational gap is reduced persons in reduced relationships lacking significant connection. To ignore Mary’s relational significance for the gospel is to continue in a reshaped gospel in referential language, which then extends to reshaping our worship. Thus, we can no longer presume that the gospel we preach in our worship services is not “a different gospel” that Paul fought against in the churches for ecclesiology to be whole (cf. Gal 1:6).

It is time to “listen to my son,” as the Father makes the relational imperative for all Jesus’ disciples, to take Jesus’ affirmations of Mary to heart, and to see Mary’s whole person embodying the much-needed leadership for us to embody new our discipleship and worship. Her lead is unmistakable and challenges all of us to follow to be distinguished new also. And be careful how you listen to Jesus’ relational words and not to fall into reductionism: this is not a gender-related issue but an issue about worshipers the Father seeks, about subjects, not objects, about love not sacrifice.

How would you feel in the following scenario: You invite some persons to your home for a meal, persons with whom you want to become friends, and when they arrive, you warmly welcome them in, but they won’t come inside. They may be feeling unworthy to enter your home. While you vulnerably extend yourself to them and make it clear that you want to enjoy time with them, they stubbornly don’t budge in apparent deference to you as their superior patron. What they are willing and eager to do, however, is some work for you such as clean your yard instead. Their mindset and posture prevent relational connection of any significant depth from developing, creating a relational impasse no matter how much you extend yourself to them. What is the root cause of this relational gap? Culture and family upbringing? Personal preference and comfort zones? Are these simply differences that you have to accept or be resigned to?

Aside from the particulars, let’s look at the relational dynamics going on in this interaction. Among possible reasons or excuses they may give, it is most likely that those persons feel threatened by your openness, your vulnerableness, which they aren’t willing to reciprocate. Instead, a key dynamic in this scenario is that those persons give an alternative to what you wanted. That alternative is indirect involvement with you—a substitute for their ‘person’ sitting with you at your table in face-to-face relational interaction—in the form of serving you, an expression of reductionism defining the person by the outer-in criterion of what to do. In human relations, accepting their alternative and reduced terms of involvement might be a first step toward making connection, a compromise reshaping the relationship between you and them. In covenant relationship with God, however, compromise is not an option since reduced terms fragment the relationship from wholeness, thereby making it incompatible and incongruent for the whole and holy God. As much as God makes himself vulnerable to us, God cannot be reduced to our terms and still be God—leaving no choice between reduced compromised relationship and whole reciprocal relationship (cf. Lk 13:34).

Shifting now to our disciple/worship relationship with God to see some parallel, those persons represent Christians (us!) who try to renegotiate God’s relational terms for the covenant relationship together in order to avoid having to be vulnerable before God and each other. As we mentioned in the previous chapter, our relationship with God requires the vulnerableness of our heart, signifying our whole person from inner out—nothing less and no substitutes—as subject. But worship on our terms will always translate into our offerings to God of something less and some substitutes, by which our vulnerable involvement gives way to functioning as an object in primacy of the secondary, determined by influences other than responding to God, even inadvertently. Notable examples in worship are the prevalence of performances (even with apparent good intentions) by worship leaders, singers, instrumentalists; we must include here our outer-in adherence to time-honored traditions practiced with distant hearts (Mk 7:7; Isa 29:13). Such substitutes of the secondary dominate corporate worship today, which render us to diminished or minimalized involvement as conforming objects and a comfortable audience.

Peter’s involvement with Jesus is illuminating for us today to learn from. In a way, he also is a teacher for us, but unlike Mary and the unrestrained children (whom we will focus on in the next chapter), Peter’s practice shows us the issues from which we need to be redeemed: reductionism and consequent relational distance with Jesus, substitutes for our whole person in worship, and functioning as an object.

Peter’s relationship with Jesus had ups and downs because Peter defined his person from outer in by the quantitative criterion of what he did and had, which involved how he saw himself in a comparative process with Jesus. Peter’s interpretive framework constrained himself and Jesus to outer-in roles and functions as student and teacher—Jesus the rabbi in a higher status, and Peter the student in a lesser status. This reflected his reduced theological anthropology—defining persons and relationships in reduced ontology and function—that needed further redemptive change from inner out (metamorphoō).[8] Consequently, Peter would maintain relational distance from Jesus’ person, which was evident in Peter’s default worship at Jesus’ transfiguration and his refusal to let Jesus wash his feet at their pivotal table fellowship.

At the transfiguration, Peter, James and John were confronted by the whole of Jesus (with Elijah and Moses), and fell down frightened (Mt 17:1-8). Controlled by his fear, Peter’s first impulse, his default mode, was outer-in focus on doing something rather than to be involved with Jesus relationally in this defining moment. While the content of Peter’s communication was about his offering, what was really going on inside Peter was that he was frightened (par. Mk 9:6). Instead of admitting his fear to Jesus, Peter presented something less than his whole person from inner out, a substitute in the form of offering to make three shelters (cf. those in the above example wanting to do something for you). This limited the depth of Peter’s relational involvement with Jesus to shallowness during this exclusive moment of Jesus’ full self-disclosure as the whole of God. It is critical for us today to recognize the substitutes we offer in worship and to learn from Peter’s reductionist practice, because so much of our practice engages in default worship.

Peter’s heart was unfree to be directly involved in worship with Jesus’ person, and therefore his worship at best could only be something offered indirectly (apart from face to Face)—performing a service, not unlike Martha in the kitchen. We might want to credit Peter with having good intentions, but there is a crucial matter for us to understand here: Peter’s worship act had no relational significance because he remained relationally distant from Jesus. Peter’s focus lacked relational clarity, and his indirect response and measured words emerged more from his fear than relational involvement with Jesus. In terms of the relational dynamic, Peter worshiped with a relational barrier (the significance of the veil over his heart, discussed below), not with openness and vulnerability with Jesus face to face, heart to heart, and thereby with an incompatible response that was dissonant to Jesus’ presence and involvement with Peter and the others.

Notice here what God ignores and what God pays attention to. When Peter offered to build three shelters, the narrative of this scene makes no mention of Jesus or the Father responding to Peter’s offer. In fact the Father interrupted Peter’s words (“while he was still speaking”) with his relational imperative to “Listen to my son!” (Mt 17:5). Then Jesus responded to the disciples who had fallen down in their fear when he “came and touched them” (Mt 17:7). In clear contrast to Jesus’ affirmation of Mary’s act of worship, we can only conclude that Peter’s worship had no relational significance to God and was unworthy of a response.

In family love, Peter’s heart is what Jesus pursued at the last table fellowship before going to the cross. Table fellowship with Jesus signified the primacy of relationship together with Jesus during his time on earth, which he made definitive for embodying the new (Lk 5:33-39). (We discuss Jesus’ table fellowship in greater depth in chapter four and how it must transpose our Communion practice today.) Jesus continued his relational work of family love, extending to his deepest relational involvement with the disciples—even before he reaches the cross—at his last meal with them (read Jn 13:1-18). At the evening meal before Passover, Jesus began to wash the disciples’ feet. Peter refused Jesus, and was sternly corrected by Jesus. What’s happening in relational terms? Even after having been with Jesus for three intense years, Jesus’ vulnerableness still made Peter uncomfortable (i.e. threatened). This involves both the relational significance of Jesus’ act and Peter’s own theological anthropology—which are vital for us to understand for depth of relationship with Jesus and for depth of involvement together in Communion table fellowship.

In relational terms, Peter’s message to Jesus was a refusal to engage with Jesus on Jesus’ terms for intimate relationship together, but rather to stay within his old constraints (in a reduced theological anthropology) and continue to engage with Jesus on his own terms. Peter was resisting letting Jesus redefine him from inner out, the irreplaceable relational response of grace which would free Peter from the constraints of his old outer-in interpretive framework. Yet Jesus continued to pursue Peter for communion together: “Unless I wash you, you have no share with [meros meta] me” (v.8). In other words, Jesus told Peter that he must let Jesus redefine his person from inner out by his relational grace (the sole significance of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet) in order for the only relational outcome of the primacy of intimate communion together. “Share with me” only involves the relational experience of communion together with Jesus. Various other words signify this relational ‘sharing with’ together— koinōnia refers to the fellowship and participation together that Jesus’ table fellowship embodies and calls persons to (cf. Acts 2:42); koinoneō, to be a partaker in, share together in (1 Pet 4:13); koinos refers to what is shared in common by several persons (Acts 2:44). To “share with me” and not just “share in something” necessitates whole persons for compatible connection in congruent relationship together. Thus, Jesus kept pursuing Peter in the relational work necessary for Peter to become whole from inner out; this moving interaction makes unmistakably clear the relational function of grace and family love enacted by the whole of God.

Peter’s refusal to let Jesus wash his feet was with the same resistance when he rebuked Jesus about going to the cross because Peter’s “teacher” would not do such a despicable thing (cf. Mt 16:22-23). With his outer-in interpretive lens, even by the time Jesus was preparing to leave the disciples, Peter still related to Jesus on the basis of their socially-defined roles: Jesus was Peter’s master teacher, and thus ‘better’ than Peter in Peter’s comparative process. In Peter’s interpretive framework, it simply was not permissible for Jesus, the Rabbi, to lower himself to the position of a servant and wash his feet. Peter hereby continued to function as an object that was defined and determined by his sociocultural context.

Given Peter’s final reply to Jesus (“not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” 13:9), his relational posture still reflected his outer-in interpretive lens. His focus was on the act of washing as an end in itself, not on Jesus’ vulnerable involvement face to face without the relational distance created by titles and roles. Peter balked at the response Jesus sought: vulnerably receiving and responding in relational trust of Jesus’ whole person who was presented for the most intimate connection to redefine him by grace from inner out to make him whole in the primacy of whole relationship together. This is the function of relational grace and the relational significance of Jesus’ footwashing and Jesus’ table fellowship, the relational outcome of which still eludes many in churches today along with Peter.

As an aside, it is critical for us not to perceive Jesus’ actions with a limited interpretive lens that only sees Jesus modeling ‘servant leadership’, because what he engaged in goes far deeper than ‘what to do’. ‘What to do’, though with good intentions, is that which the servant model gets us to focus on in a primary way, to the diminishment of the primacy of relationship that God always seeks. What Jesus is vulnerably and intimately embodying is God’s relational grace to remove all relational barriers—represented here by the teacher-student roles—for the purpose of communion together in transformed relationships of God’s new creation family. Embodying new the worship relationship can only be composed by the whole relational terms Jesus embodied for us to be new.

We also see Peter’s constrained relational response after Jesus’ resurrection, when Jesus continued to pursue Peter’s whole person for relationship (Jn 21:15-22). Even in that last exchange, Peter’s focus turns elsewhere in the comparative process, asking “what about him?” to which Jesus continued (albeit with growing impatience) to call Peter back to their relationship: “What is that to you? [You must] follow me!” even after the resurrection, Peter still required redemptive change from the ‘old’ to be transformed to ‘the new’, the new wine, the new creation.

We are no different relationally from Peter when the person we present to God in worship is defined by roles we or others have in leading worship, teaching, or serving in other capacities; we too engage with God (and others) on the basis of these roles. This is the influence from our own sociocultural contexts—both Western and Eastern contexts, throughout the global North and South. Inseparable from this person we present to God is the referential content and reduced quality of our communication, and indirect depth level at which we engage relationally with God. This exposes the experiential reality that embodying new the worship relationship requires to be integrally defined by whole theology and determined by whole practice. Composed by a different theological trajectory than what Jesus embodied, we maintain relational distance by remaining ‘in front of the curtain’ (Lev 16:2; Heb 10:19-22) and with the ‘veil’ over our hearts (2 Cor 3:14-16, discussed below) apart from God’s intimate relational context and its process of intimate relationship, heart to heart, face to Face. Unfortunately, the traditions in many of our worship practices, whatever their theological origin, cultivate relational distance “in front of the curtain” or maintain relational barriers with a veil over our hearts—just as Jesus critiqued earlier of prevailing worship practice (Mk 7:6-8).

God does not do relationship on our terms, which by default give primacy to the secondary and thereby focus on what we do for God over being directly involved with God. Worship on our terms, whatever we think we are experiencing, is always an ontological simulation that is based on epistemological illusion. Ontological simulation is shorthand for the illusions we create to substitute for direct and whole relational experience with God and others. Our involvement in such relationships is limited to the fragmentary parts of what we do or have, resulting in fragmentary involvement in fragmentary relationships—that is, shallow involvement in ambiguous relationships. Epistemological illusion is shorthand denoting the biases, assumptions and the terms from human construction by which we think we know God (however sincerely we feel) and thus assume to know what God desires—a boast that cannot be made on secondary terms (cf. Jer 9:23-24).[9] Given Jesus’ surprising feedback, even the early disciples could not assume knowing the person Jesus (Jn 14:9). The relational consequence unavoidably constrains us to the relational impasse of default worship embodying the old ‘in front of the curtain’. We need to address this prevalent relational consequence because it emerges unmistakably from practicing relationship with God on our terms (as emerged from Peter).

Peter eventually experienced the inner-out change of transformation that Jesus pursued Peter for, apparently having deeply experienced God’s relational grace to be made whole in relationship together (1 Pet 1:3-4). In his two letters, Peter expresses his understanding of the vital difference between functioning as an object and subject, so vital for the basis of who/what defined him and determined how he functioned. As he writes to encourage Christians who are being persecuted, he tells them “prepare your minds for action; be self-controlled [nēphō]; set your hope fully on…” (1 Pet 1:13; cf. 2 Pet 1:6, enkrateia, self-control; cf. Gal 5:22). “Self-controlled” is commonly misunderstood to mean “self-constrained,” an interpretation that focuses narrowly on an ethic of what not to do. While we might think Peter is talking about not being impulsive, as he had been at times, this doesn’t fit the purpose of Peter’s letter, nor would it have helped the Christians he wrote to. Peter’s meaning to “be self-controlled” is to function as subjects, as those who are resolved and determined (kûn, in both senses) to function whole, whatever the circumstances—not, for example, in fear as objects reacting to circumstances, or acting merely on impulse, both of which are reactionary functions apart from being subjects relationally secure with the Lord. Self-control doesn’t constrain the person to an object but rather counters fragmentation by integrating the person to be whole as subject.

In his second letter, Peter continues to illuminate that we are slaves to whatever controls us (2 Pet 2:19b; cf. Paul’s words in Rom 6:16-19). To function as a slave is, again, to live as an object who is acted upon, controlled by anything from the outer in. As objects, we merely react to outer influences that we allow to determine how we live. To be self-controlled counters functioning as a slave in order to be a subject who is, in God’s words, “holy [i.e. uncommon, distinguished from common] as I am holy” (1:15-16). In contrast to objects, subjects function as whole persons giving primacy to relationship together (1 Pet 1:22) regardless of constraining surrounding influences (as we saw in Mary’s actions). With these words, Peter apparently experienced what Jesus differentiated as the outcome of either slaves or children of God who permanently belong in the family (cf. Jn 8:34-35).

I wonder if Jesus’ words to Peter that “on this rock I will built my church” (Mt 16:8) foretold that his church is to be built of persons in whom the ‘old’ is exposed, chastened, redeemed and made whole in a truly new life—to illuminate the inner-out change necessary for each one of us. Moreover, Peter’s discipleship demonstrates more the depth of Jesus’ love for Peter and less Peter’s love for Jesus. Jesus was vulnerably and intimately involved with Peter’s person, being affected by Peter’s reductionism, and with patience and unswervingly pursuing Peter’s person to be whole. In other words, “do you love me” could only have been embodied new by Peter as the reciprocal relational response of intimately experiencing the relational love embodied by Jesus—which requires the removal of relational barriers signified by the veil.

Until I started writing this study on the worship relationship, I had never before thought about “default worship” and its relation to functioning as an object. While I understood for myself the difference between living as a subject or as an object, the Spirit has been taking me deeper in understanding the dynamic of how much our person gets diminished by default to an object—an object that often fails to pay attention to how it is acted upon by outer-in influences from our human contexts. Those contexts include situations and circumstances, our families, societies and subcultures. All these human contexts are embedded in reductionism (unless they are redeemed). As such, human contexts promote relationships from outer in by presenting substitutes that occupy us in secondary matter, by engaging in the comparative process that fragments and stratifies relationships, thereby resulting in relational distance at every level of life. These are pervasive and normative ways we do relationships, which we inevitably bring into our relationships in church and, to be sure, into worship. The result composes the worship relationship in default mode as objects who, in turn, “shape” (i.e. redefine) God accordingly, whether inadvertently or intentionally.

The dictionary definition for “default” is “a situation or condition that obtains in the absence of active intervention,”[10] hereby unmistakably connecting living as passive objects with the default mode. But to be active subjects, we need to learn from Peter and Mary that acting on impulse or, more euphemistically, acting spontaneously doesn’t compose a subject; rather a subject is the person whose heart is set on (kûn, like the psalmist) functioning vulnerably in love. It has been edifying to hear God’s relational words to me and all of us who have good intentions to worship the Lord: good intentions are not sufficient to compose the worshipers the Father seeks because we are always faced with the lure of reductionism to default function; default worship is unavoidable without the heart resolve of our whole person.

We really can’t take comfort in mere good intentions any longer. Will we function as subjects or objects in the person we present, the integrity and quality of our communication, and the depth of relational involvement that we engage in the worship relationship? God, in loving pursuit of us, holds us accountable for such choices that we make ongoingly, just as he did with Peter and affirmed in Mary. Therefore, it is inexcusable for us to use tradition, culture or prevailing norms as the primary basis for both how we function as persons and how we engage in relationship with God.

For much of my Christian experience, many things in Scripture seemed to have no functional significance to me/us beyond historical information or abstract theological explanation. One such example was the temple in OT times, much less the Holy of Holies (also known as the Most Holy Place) and its curtain (also referred to by some as the “veil”). Another matter was the “veil” that Moses put on his face and that Paul wrote about. But now that I have deeper understanding, it is clear that the curtain, the Most Holy Place, and the veil are of critical importance in order to have relational significance in our shift from embodying old to embodying new our worship relationship with God. The relational dynamic inherent in these matters—commonly perceived in narrowed-down referential terms—is integral for the whole theology and practice required for embodying new the worship relationship. This irreplaceable dynamic engages us in ‘holy ground’: the relational context and process necessary to be intimately involved in reciprocal relationship together with the holy and whole God.

From the Gospel narratives, we know—at least in our theology, if not in our disciple/worship relationship practice—that the curtain (katapetasma) in the temple was torn from top to bottom at the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross, signifying the work of atonement that Jesus finished (Mt 27:51; Mk 15:38; Lk 23:45; Rom 3:25; Heb 2:17). According to the OT, in temple practice, only the high priest was allowed to enter behind the curtain into the Most Holy Place. Here the high priest came into the holy (uncommon) presence of Yahweh (i.e. into God’s relational context), serving as mediator between God and the Israelites by making the needed animal (blood) sacrifice as atonement for the people of Israel (kāpār, to cover, make atonement, make reconciliation, forgiving; this is the Jewish holiday Yom Kippur). The atonement sacrifice made it possible for the people of Israel to be restored to and continue in covenant relationship with Yahweh, yet the people could only stand outside, or ‘in front of the curtain’ as the sacrificial animal served as a substitute for them. Perhaps it could be said that the people became observers conforming to a substitute offered to God.

To the Jewish people in Jesus’ day, the tearing open of this curtain from top to bottom must have seemed scandalous, terrifying, or tremendously life-changing to persons—certainly astonishing—depending on one’s interpretive framework. How vulnerable they may have felt without the curtain was correlated directly to their level of involvement. For us Christians today, when it comes to embodying the worship relationship, the curtain’s rending has but static doctrinal significance; and we need to shift to its relational-functional significance that opened the relational dynamic to newly compose the vulnerable nature of the worship relationship. With the curtain torn open, persons no longer had a valid basis to just observe.

Of the four Gospel accounts of Jesus’ crucifixion, only John’s Gospel does not mention the tearing of the curtain. Instead, John records that just before Jesus died, he pronounced, “It is finished” (teleō, to accomplish, fulfill, Jn 19:28,30); he had now fulfilled the relational requirement of sacrifice (from the old covenant) by his own person to open up direct access to the Father (into God’s uncommon relational context) for the new covenant.[11] This is not merely a static doctrinal truth about atonement in only referential terms, which Paul made definitive in relational terms for the church’s relationships together to be whole (Eph 2:14-18; 3:10-12). In theological-relational terms of the new covenant, atonement means that on the basis of God’s relational response of grace, and on that basis only, we are now freed from the constraints of our sin to enter ‘behind the curtain’ into the most intimate presence of the Father (Heb 6:19; 10:19-22), Face to face, heart to heart. That is, ‘behind the curtain’ enters the holy ground of God’s relational context and engages the relational process constituted by Jesus that opened access to direct intimate relational connection with God. The curtain has been torn away for this intimate access to God, who is not accessible ‘in front of the curtain’ as if Jesus’ relational work of atonement never happened or, at least, has any relational-functional significance.

In this intimate relational connection together, we are transformed (metamorphoō) and made whole conjointly in our person from inner out and in our relationships. That is, we now participate in God’s uncommon (holy) context and relational process of family love—now qualitatively distinguished from the human context characterized by reductionism and distant relationship. Therefore, we cannot claim to be transformed ‘in front of the curtain’, nor can we claim to be followers of Jesus yet follow him only up to the curtain without being “where I am” behind it. “Do you love me…‘follow me’!”

The new covenant isn’t just any context but the distinguished relational context ‘behind the curtain’ in which we (only as subject-persons, not as observing objects) can come face to face with the transcendent and holy (uncommon) God. As the holy (uncommon) relational context, this requires that we let go of our own terms and submit to God’s terms defined by his relational response of grace (beyond a gift to possess). God’s relational grace is the only basis (nonnegotiable and irreducible) by which we truly ‘sing’ in God’s relational language to make relational connection with the whole and holy God. Only ‘behind the curtain’—that is, without the relational barriers composed by the veil—is where we can fully participate in God’s life, to be, as Jesus sought for his followers, “where I am.”

Mary’s move away from the constraints of human contextualization on her person (for which the kitchen is an apt metaphor for women) to Jesus’ relational context clearly composes the requisite vulnerable response to God’s relational terms for the new covenant relationship together. If we instead function apart from this nonnegotiable relational basis of grace—notably by defining ourselves by what we do/have—then grace remains a mere generalized word referentialized in our Christian vocabulary without its full relational significance. With such a nonrelational basis, we will only remain defined and determined by our human context and its limits notably constrained by referential language, and thus limit our experience in worship to whatever takes place ‘in front of the curtain’—at a relational distance from God.

Receiving God’s Response of Relational Grace

In worship, we often sing about and refer to grace. But it is vital to understand that we sing incompletely, even wrongly, when we speak of grace in reduced quantitative terms (e.g. of what God does and what we have), just as we think incorrectly of love and faith in these reduced terms. We can never possess grace, love or faith; they are only dynamic functions of relationship together with God that God vulnerably initiated and embodied in relational response to our human condition. Additionally, we cannot adequately understand the necessity of grace until we adequately understand the sin of reductionism, which is the antithesis of God’s relational grace, the adversary of God’s relational desires (cf. Col 1:21). Even though commonly assumed, we don’t possess what God does in grace and love unless we separate God’s grace and love from the whole of who, what and how God is, thereby reducing God down to fragments of grace and love that we think we possess. In contrast and conflict, we can only receive God in his relational response of grace and his relational involvement of love. Likewise, faith is not what we possess, for example, in our confessions of faith. As Peter made evident in his limited confessions of faith that were insufficient to receive Jesus’ whole person, faith is our relational trust in vulnerable reciprocal response to receiving Jesus’ whole person in his relational grace and love—which Peter had difficulty receiving vulnerably in relational terms in spite of those confessions from his mouth.

God’s relational response of grace goes far deeper than the commonly reduced understanding of ‘grace’ as a quantifiable gift (e.g. we thank God for the grace to accomplish or endure hardship), or an irresistible influence (as in Calvinism). God’s response to us in relational grace is God’s relational message of love communicated specifically to us, for only on the basis of his relational involvement of love, his favor, did he make the relational provisions to redeem us from our human condition “to be apart” (the condition of relational orphan) to adopt us into his very own family. Whole theology is required here to understand as well as to experience the relational significance needed for our practice to be whole. The condition of relational orphans is the human condition and need, and the whole of God has responded to us by the trinitarian relational process of family love. Yet, because God does not engage in unilateral relationship (prevenient grace aside), we are accountable for God’s terms for relationship together. In specific terms, the critical relational work we are accountable for involves the ‘demands’ of God’s relational grace: we can come into God’s whole and holy presence only with vulnerable honesty of our hearts (relational significance of worshiping “in spirit and truth”) as subjects involved on holy ground ‘behind the curtain’. To be vulnerable means there is no hiding from God of all that one truly is—including our inadequacies, weakness, and sin of reductionism made vulnerable without the veil. As long as our hearts remain hidden or distant from God (our default mode), we neither experience relational grace nor make relational connection with God at any depth.

To further emphasize, working against honesty and vulnerableness of hearts is our sin of reductionism, which always has us defining our person (and others) by quantitative outer-in criteria of what we do (e.g. church leader, biblical scholar) or anything we have (education and training in worship, talents, even spiritual gifts). Such preoccupation becomes all too convenient in our practice, if not our theology. With this outer-in focus, we avoid being vulnerable by ignoring or hiding the qualitative function of the heart (the necessary function that integrates our person to be whole from inner out). We urgently need to understand how reductionism affects our heart, because, as stated earlier, the heart is the qualitative and relational key to our worship relationship—God simply doesn’t have our whole person until he has our vulnerably honest heart, which is the relational purpose that the curtain was torn open and the veil is removed.

We saw with Peter that reductionism always engages us in a comparative process, comparing ourselves to others in order to measure and establish our self-worth and our identity; this inevitably leads to stratified relations built on the perceptions of “better” or “less.” As long as we define ourselves from outer in, the consequence on relationships with others is distance or barriers, whether intentional or unintentional. We don’t want to be vulnerable with others, especially with those who become the competition. Worship and church leaders measure how they are doing in comparison with other churches and worship services, using as a measuring stick the numbers in attendance, the loudness of responses (prompted or not), perhaps the complexity or newness of their technology—primarily focused on and likely preoccupied with the secondary at the expense of the primacy of relationship. Consider how prevalent this comparative process is.

When we hear Jesus try to focus us on relationship together, how quickly we deflect the focus away from ourselves by saying “what about him/her?” just as Peter functioned in a key interaction with Jesus (Jn 21:20-21). Here we are stuck in front of the curtain, avoiding being vulnerable both with God and others in face-to-face, person-to-person, heart-to-heart involvement. Even with good intentions, we are unwilling to make the choices necessary for our practice to go deeper into our person and relationships together. Our prevailing terms for relationships make it too convenient for us to remain within these constraining norms of practice, whereby we get embedded in the comparative process of “what about others, indeed?”—either ignoring or not paying attention to Jesus’ incisive feedback “What is the secondary to you? Follow me behind the curtain in the primacy of intimate relationship together” (Jn 21:22).

To receive God’s relational grace makes imperative that we reject (die to) the sin of reductionism—reject defining our person from outer in and die to the comparative process that keeps us relationally distant from God and each other. Conjointly with dying to the old in and around us, our whole person as subject needs integrally to emerge from inner out with our hearts available now to God for intimate relational connection. Integral to redemptive change is dying to the old in order for the rising of the new—the embodying of whole theology and practice. We have our relational work to engage in reciprocally with the Spirit, as subjects giving primacy to relationships together over the secondary of what to do and have. In reciprocal relationship with the Spirit, our subject-person emerges in wholeness, in affirmation and celebration as God’s daughters and sons who are transformed and made whole to compose relationship together in wholeness. In this vulnerable relational process without the veil God’s relational grace negates the sin of reductionism and its counter-relational work, and from that death of the old we emerge new: transformed, ‘equalized’ before God, with each other, and intimately connected together in transformed relationships. Transformed persons in transformed relationships together as God’s new creation family are the relational outcome of what we are saved to, having been saved from sin of reductionism. Without this whole theology there is no whole practice, that is, practice distinguished by embodying this new creation.

How does this relational process connect with the relational dynamic of with the temple curtain and worship? To say we are ‘equalized’ before God does not at all mean we are made equal with God, because God will always be ontologically distinct from us both quantitatively and qualitatively. Rather, it means that we can stand before him without feeling bad about ourselves (less as a person) from a comparative process—which by necessity includes without feeling “better” than others. To be equalized is to be freed from the reductionist outer-in criteria that engages us in the comparative process, that focuses us on what we do and have, and thereby frees us from the need to hide our hearts (for fear of rejection). We are freed then to let our hearts come forth for Face-to-face connection in his relational context and intimate relational process—only behind the curtain with the veil removed—and to be involved with others for intimate and equalized relationships as God’s new creation family. This is the significance of following the person of Jesus (not his sacrifice) behind the curtain into the Father’s intimate presence (Heb 10:19-22); whole theology requires Jesus’ whole person, while reduced or fragmentary theology only includes his sacrifice—the practice of either having crucial relational implications for which we are accountable. Here behind the curtain, the person we present, the quality of our communication, and the depth of our relational involvement compatibly compose who and what God gets in worship—nothing less and no substitutes.

In our worship relationship, are we still in front of the curtain (embodying old), or have we received God’s relational provisions to free us to enter behind the curtain (embodying new) to be with God Face to face? Have we each let Jesus wash our feet, that is, to receive the relational grace embodied by Jesus, vulnerably involved with us face to face, eye to eye, in order to redefine our person from inner out?

The Veil is Gone!

We need also to understand more deeply the significance in our practice about the “veil” (first mentioned in connection with Moses), and whether the veil is in place (representing a relational barrier) or removed. This has further bearing on how we embody the worship relationship, old or new. The veil also reflects whether or not our relationship together with God results in the outcome of knowing and understanding God (cf. Jer 9:23-24).

Moses experienced most notably a face-to-face relationship with God (Ex 33:11; Num 12:6-8), which caused Moses’ face to radiate (cf. Ex 34:33-35). Whenever Moses came back to the people after meeting with God, Moses would tell them what God commanded with uncovered face, after which Moses would then put a veil on his face because apparently the people couldn’t bear to see Moses’ radiant face. Whenever he went back into God’s presence he removed the veil. Who and what God got with Moses led to God’s definitive affirmation of Moses: “With him I speak face to face—clearly, not in riddles, and he beholds the form of the Lord” (Num 12:8).

Paul wrote from his own relationship with the Lord (his experiential truth) that the Face-to-face relational connection now possible for everyone is even better than what Moses had, because we have the direct ongoing relational involvement of the Spirit (2 Cor 3:7-8,17; cf. Eph 2:18), without the veil. To be face to Face with God behind the curtain also means that the veil, signifying relational barriers, has been removed (2 Cor 3:14-18; 4:6; cf. Eph 2:14). Moreover, Paul continues, God “has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Cor 4:6; cf. Jer 9:23-24). And “the Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children” (Rom 8:16; cf. Jn 8:35). With the veil removed, God finally gets us! Theologically and in function-relational terms the veil no longer exists, and we are freed from relational barriers as we come before God. Yet, by not being vulnerable with God we still function as if it the veil has not been removed.

As previously discussed about Mary, her vulnerable involvement with Jesus—that is, with her whole person from inner out—distinguishes the compatible reciprocal relational response to him behind the curtain and without the veil. The relational outcome was to deeply know Jesus the person. The other disciples’ complaint that Mary was wasting expensive perfume by using it on him instead of selling it for the poor exposed their primary focus on the secondary matter of ministry, which came at the expense of Jesus losing out. In the primacy of relationship, Jesus affirmed Mary with relational words that we need to carefully pay attention to: “Truly I tell you, wherever the gospel is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Mt 26:13; Mk 14:9). “What she has done” was relationally significant to Jesus, but not because she worshiped Jesus extravagantly; Mary worshiped him with her whole person from inner out (i.e. whole-ly) in the primacy of relationship together.

Of further significance for us to pay attention to, Jesus was fully aware that Mary had anticipated “the day of my burial” (Mk 14:8; Jn 12:7). Mary’s vulnerable involvement in this way reflected the depth of Mary’s qualitative sensitivity and relational awareness of Jesus; she had deeply listened to Jesus’ disclosures about his impending death (e.g. Mk 9:31), and also did not stay relationally distant and unaffected. The depth of Mary’s involvement with Jesus demonstrated knowing and understanding Jesus beyond what any of the other disciples demonstrated (cf. Jn 14:9). Beyond a pending event, by anointing Jesus’ body beforehand for burial (Mk 14:8b), she was connected with Jesus together in his deepest moments, and freely responded to him as she was able to (“she has done what she could,” Mk 14:8a). In other words, Mary was vulnerably participating in the whole of Jesus’ life, her whole person from inner out deeply involved with Jesus’ whole person even in anticipation of his death, which was in stark contrast to the relational distance that the other disciples kept (e.g. Mk 9:31-32; cf. 62 Mt 26:40,43). I imagine many of us in that situation would have been focused on ‘the right thing to do’, such as some act of “real” ministry, just as the other disciples were (Mk 14:4-5).

In her clearly distinguished (i.e. whole-ly involved from her innermost) response to Jesus, we see how Mary deeply knew and loved Jesus; and surely at this depth level, her heart was breaking as she poured the perfume on Jesus. And yet, since she took Jesus’ words to heart, she could anticipate the future with hope.

Mary embodies for us the words that Paul wrote to the Galatians: “For freedom Christ has set us free….the only thing that counts is faith working through love” (Gal 5:1,6b). It is this expression in freedom in reciprocal relationship with the Spirit that Paul also wrote about in relational terms for whole relationship together without the veil (2 Cor 3:16-17). Communion with the whole of God means to participate in his vulnerable life and thereby know him deeply, yet our participation in the whole and holy God’s life can only be engaged with him, as he says, “where I am,” (Jn 12:26, 14:3, 17:24). At this vital juncture of God’s presence and involvement, ‘where I am’ is only ‘behind the curtain’ and ‘without the veil’ in the whole of God’s uncommon (holy) relational context, to be completely engaged in the trinitarian relational process of family love. Therefore, if we are ‘where I am’, our worship will engage this distinguished communion together, in a sense worshiping with our sister Mary, thus ‘in memory of her’ because this integral relational outcome is the gospel (Mk 14:9). If we are not ‘where I am’, our worship will remain focused in a primary way on substitutes composed by secondary matter of what we do or have—reflecting liturgy in front of the curtain that essentially constrains us in a ‘secondary sanctuary’. If we don’t relationally know Jesus in the communion of integral relationship together, we have yet to join with his person (“where I am”) in his sacrifice behind the curtain (Heb 9:12, 10:19-22) that reconstitutes the sanctuary (no more secondary sanctuary[12]) in order for the whole of God’s presence and involvement to be with us directly in Face-to-face relationship together (Eph 2:18-22)—“where I am.”

Worship that has relational significance to God takes place only behind the curtain conjointly in the relational context of God’s vulnerable presence and by the relational process of Face-to-face involvement without the veil. This is the experience of reconciled relationship with the whole of God that is experienced together as family in the intimate and equalized relationships necessary for our wholeness. I hope that by now readers understand that always working against wholeness of our person and relationships is the counter-relational work of reductionism. When not accounted for, reductionism in the worship relationship will by default influence us to mirror the human shaping from human contextualization that fragments whole persons and minimalizes whole relationships that are rightfully God’s. That’s why embodying the worship relationship only emerges new from whole theology and practice. Otherwise our worship is subject to reductionism’s counter-relational work.

There is no question that the common experience in churches is that persons are defined by quantitative criteria of what they do (e.g. roles in leadership, ministry, worship, service) and have (e.g. attributes, talents, resources, even spiritual gifts) in a comparative process—with the rest of the gathering rendered to conforming to such templates. There results a “hierarchy” of better-less distinctions that create relational distance and even relational barriers, both vertically and horizontally. As you either lead worship or sit in the pews as worshiper, consider the roles that you assume for yourself and for others and the relational barriers these distinctions create (although they may be quite subtle). These include but aren’t limited to the following: the clergy-laity distinction created by the value placed on education and training; worship team and the rest of the congregation; guest speakers and you; adults and youth/children; male and female roles. Persons defined and determined by these distinctions do not function in intimate and equalized relationships made whole on the basis of God’s relational grace; even though the theology may affirm the latter, the practice promotes, reinforces or sustains the former.

In the distinctions we ascribe to God, we also need to understand our own simulation of humbleness in the worship relationship, believe it or not. For example, a prominent expression in much of Western church worship today is the exaltation of God in comparative terms, the extreme of which are superlative terms such as highest-, greatest-, most-, best-…. This gives the appearance of our humility, but our offerings and confessions are structured only in comparative terms that limit or constrain our involvement from a fragmentary position as “less” (incorrectly assumed as humbleness). Or if we are functioning from outer in—even with the desire and intention to be humble—we may even take on the physical posture of getting on our knees or of lying prostrate before God. Yet without making our hearts vulnerable from inner out we are still trying to have relationship with God on our own terms, and thus maintaining relational distance even on our knees or lying prostrate. God is not impressed by what we say or do but is responsive to how we’re relationally involved. Accordingly, for genuine humbleness as Jesus’ followers, we necessarily must grow in knowing where our heart is and submitting whole-ly to the discipleship relationship on God’s relational terms.[13] This reciprocal relational involvement is what Mary embodied new and how Peter struggled with embodying old.

All these issues we must consciously talk about together and address, not only as individuals but corporately together if we are to embody new the worship relationship that is indeed worthy to be called good news distinguishing the whole gospel, that is, nothing less and no substitutes but the gospel of wholeness. This is the most serious critique I can think of for all of us together, my sisters and brothers in Christ. When it comes to our worship relationship, not to mention our discipleship (since they are inseparable), this relational impasse is a critical point where our theology and practice of our worship relationship must converge in wholeness. The key issue unavoidably is again the heart, the honesty and vulnerableness of our heart (“spirit and truth,” Jn 4:23-24) that the Father makes the relational imperative for intimate connection in the worship relationship. The question of where our heart is involves much more than just emotions, though emotions are an important qualitative function of our heart. Where our heart is determines the person we present before God, which then determines the integrity and quality of our communication to God and the depth level our relational involvement with God in worship. The psalmist’s heart was determined, resolved to respond with nothing less and no substitutes.

‘Who, what and how will you be?’ the Lord asks us. In front of the curtain (on our terms of something less or some substitute, as objects) or behind the curtain (on God’s relational terms with vulnerability of honest hearts, as subjects)? With the veil over our hearts (maintaining relational barriers) or with the veil removed (our innermost freed to be loved by God and participate in his life Face to face, heart to heart)?

Wholeness in our theology and in our practice is neither reducible to human contextualization nor negotiable to our terms. As the psalmist’s heart functioned with kûn, may our hearts have the resolve and be determined to make the ongoing choices necessary for our persons to be whole in the worship relationship and to live whole together with the Trinity.

Consider deeply the song on the following page, which is composed in the key of Jesus with the Spirit and sung with Mary and Paul (2 Cor 3:16-18). By God’s relational work of grace, the way is opened and the veil has been removed to intimate relationship with the holy and whole God.

[1] A quick online search of “worship templates” yields an enormous number of results, most of which have to do with technology: videos, PowerPoint visuals, flyers, worship bulletins, etc.

[2] Theological Lexicon of the Old Testament, 604; also “inner impulse” International Standard Bible Encyclopedia (Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Co., 1982), 651.

[3] The NIV curiously translates kāḇôḏ here as “tongue.”

[4] T. Dave Matsuo, The Gospel of Transformation: Distinguishing the Discipleship and Ecclesiology

Integral to Salvation (Transformation Study, 2015), 229.

[5] Ibid., 64.

[6] Ibid., 230.

[7] T. Dave Matsuo, Sanctified Christology: A Theological and Functional Study of the Whole of Jesus (Christology Study, 2008). Online at http://4X12.org, 141.

[8] Theologically, how Peter attempted to have relationship with Jesus was problematic and reflected his “hybrid theology,” which is discussed in full in T. Dave Matsuo, Did God Really Say That? Theology in the Age of Reductionism.

[9] These are vital issues needing further study; they are fully discussed in T. Dave Matsuo’s two studies, Sanctified Christology and The Whole of Paul and the Whole in his Theology (Paul Study, 2012). Online: http://www.4X12.org.

[10] The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, 4^th ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 2006).

[11] I recommend the discussion of all seven of Jesus’ statements while he hung on the cross taken together as a whole in T. Dave Matsuo, Sanctified Christology: A Theological & Functional Study of the Whole of Jesus, chap. 6, section “The Ultimate Salvific Discourse.”

[12] For a fuller discussion of secondary sanctuary, see my earlier study, A Theology of Worship: ‘Singing’ a New Song to the Lord (Theology of Worship, 2011). Online at http://4X12.org, 1-8.

[13] The limits of this study don’t allow us to elaborate here on the Sermon on the Mount. Please read T. Dave Matsuo’s The Gospel of Transformation: Distinguishing the Discipleship and Ecclesiology

Integral to Salvation, 177-257.