closet worshipper

I step inside, temporarily leaving behind the crisp new light and the tittering of birds to go in search of more coffee, opening the door to an anthem of praise. Adam spins open-palmed, for seconds still unaware of me, his lifted face transformed by joy and peace. I stand still, my hand on the doorknob, watching my gentle boy, who in years is now a gentle man, losing himself to the tender grace of God.

To meet him, to see his eyes slide away, to hear the mumble of echolalia that clutters his speech, you would not believe him capable of such a meaningful relationship. He is David with five stones, standing there in his Curious George t-shirt with scruff under his chin because he’s afraid to shave in vulnerable places, with knots in his long hair because he forgets to brush the back and maybe also, because it hurts. He faces giants every day and most would assume they’ll beat him. But meekness is power carefully contained in humble people, and God says the meek will inherit the earth. Those who love God will not be shaken. The music swells, and Adam begins to dance.

So I’m gonna lay my world down
Here at Your feet
Look to the Heavens
For all I need
I’m gonna sing my heart out
Praise on repeat
To the God who’s never given up on me

On Repeat, Hillsong United

You’re the mercy at midnight, the kindness of dawn, the singer croons on, but Adam, suddenly feeling me there, opens his eyes, says, “Oh,” and scurries to his tablet to click away from the song to the inane commentary of someone playing a video game. He looks at me and blinks. His face says, “You didn’t see that, right?”

My son is a closet worshipper.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” I say, feeling like the interloper I am, moving quickly away to get on with my business. The coffee steams, rising in my cup as I pour.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Adam mumbles softly, and I suppress a smile as I wander back to the sweet morning wind and the elegant silhouettes of trees, to my own private date with the Spirit of God.

The minute the door closes behind me, and I am standing barefoot on the porch, my toes curling against the wide, flat planks, I hear the music again.

Grace upon grace
Morning by morning
Day after day will I sing
Praise upon praise
God be exalted
Over and over again

The glass panes in the door vibrate with praise, and I turn slowly, just to take a peek over my shoulder. Adam stands, eyes closed again, his hands open by his sides, his face a portrait of peace. I watch his chest rise and fall as he breathes; watch his body begin to sway; watch the passion play across his features. I turn away before he can feel me looking.

I’ve had clues about Adam’s secret dates with God. More than once, I’ve walked into Adam’s room to deposit a stack of laundry, and he has switched off music that had set me humming praise in the hallway. Looking startled and abashed, he has abruptly turned to worn tracks of preschool sing-along-songs to divert my attention. Not quite getting it, I’ve said things like, “Oh, please, don’t change it for me, Adam.”

Now, settling back in my chair, I understand. Adam’s worship comes from such an intimate place that he feels naked and exposed in front of witnesses.

I flip open my Bible to what we all know as The Sermon on the Mount, to the puzzling chapter where Jesus teaches, “Be careful not to practice your acts of righteousness in front of others to be seen by them,” and then launches into more than one application of the lesson, extending his teaching to practices like giving, prayer, and fasting. Jesus says go in the closet and shut the door; he says these expressions of worship should be kept a sacred secret meant only “for the one who sees what is done in secret.” Up until this moment, I’d never read the Word of God as a closed door romance.

Romance readers will understand that open door stories leave nothing to the imagination.

I sit there re-seeing Adam’s embarrassed expressions, and slowly I begin to understand that sermon a little better. Jesus the Way had been lighting candles for the kind of intimacy that seeks no audience.

Music has always been Adam’s love language. The first time he prayed on his own as a little boy, before he could speak in full sentences, he used the lyrics to a song. His quiet little boy voice split the darkness. Jesus, you know how far the East is from the West…one scarred hand to the other. That night, I realized that God’s grace had more power than I had ever known, and I finally understood how it is that the praise of children can silence the enemy.

Every time I come running
I find grace on repeat
You welcome me with open arms
No matter where I have been
Every time I surrender
Every time I fall
I find grace more precious than I did before

The song begins again, and I smile because Adam has it on repeat, and because the music fills the room and pours through the glass and the cracks around the door to the porch. I won’t look again. Instead, I open my hands on my lap and close my eyes as I know Adam has done inside, and slowly I begin to lose myself to the tender grace of God.