The Work of Worship #1958

The Work of Worship In the stillness of each morning, before the world stirs loud, A whisper soft as silk, a call beneath the proud. To work with hands that heal, to tread the humble path, Is to worship Christ, whose labor scorns the aftermath. For faith lives not in chants alone, or altars built of stone; True worship finds its heart in flesh and bone. The fruits that matter most grow not from words we speak, But from the care we give, the strong uplifting the weak. Look to the carpenter from Nazareth, whose hands Were rough with work, who built more than mere stands. “Believe the works, if not my words,” He urged the blind, For deeds reflect the depth of love entwined. In the alleys where the needy weep, in silent tears, In homes where oppression casts its dreary spears, There, find the altar where true saints kneel to pray, Where every act of kindness crafts the holy way. For prayers may rise like incense, sweet and fleet, Yet it’s the helping hand that guides the lost to meet A Christ who walks the dusty roads, still bearing scars, In every heart that serves, beneath the silent stars. Remember then, oh soul, when you seek to lift your voice, That working with the Lord is the most devout choice. In every deed of care, in every selfless task, We weave the worship that our Savior asks. -Steven G. Lee (June 26, 2024)