I grew up going to church. I’d been in choir. I’d sung hymns and modern refrains. I’d stood in front of stained glass windows. I’d sat on cushioned seats.

But in my friends’ college dorm, I sat on the floor. There was no hymn book, no rehearsed band, no pretty stage. Our songs were raw, simple verses taken right out of the Bible. It was intimate worship like I’d never known.

Since then I’ve been a part of passionate worship at a South African church. I’ve been swept into the rhythmic joy of an African American congregation. I’ve enjoyed solemn songs in a French chapel. I’ve danced with women at a Messianic church. I’ve listened in an Orthodox Armenian church. I’ve watched dancers sweep through a Pentecostal church. I’ve raised my hands. I’ve gotten on my knees. I’ve wiped worshipful tears. I’ve been so lost in praise I haven’t been able to sing at all.

There are a thousand ways to praise God! He is bigger than culture. He overflows into the passions of people everywhere. He accepts waving palms, perfume on His feet, passionate thank yous, solemn recitations, shouts, tears, songs that are no more than joyful noises to human ears.

What a beautiful ruckus it will be when all those who have been practicing worship on earth, finally get to praise together!