Still, I am struck again by the spookiness of the whole thing. They actually see God in Exodus and eat and drink with the divine one, though eventually YHWH appears enshrouded in cloud and fire. The select disciples actually see Jesus dazzling before them, somehow greater than the two great figures of Judaism. And they actually hear the voice of God speaking directly to them, however little able they are to follow the instruction. They all see and hear God.
I am struck by how primitive and ancient this all feels. How long has it been since I have seen and heard my God? How long since I have been struck dumb by the power of revelation, standing in the presence of the Holy One? How pathetic are my puny efforts in word and song and silence to find a way to that creator! When have I last been in awe of God? I really have no easy or satisfactory answers to these questions. I only know that my worship has too long been void of awe, real fear in the Hebrew sense of the word. I am afraid to admit that the very last thing I sense as I enter most places of worship today is awe. Have I become so controlled, so programmed in the possible responses I can give in worship, that I have driven awe away? Am I too fearful of awe? What might be the modern equivalent of blood-drenched altars and the fear that God might finally lay a hand on me? Though I cannot answer these queries, I sense deep within a need for something spooky in worship, something weird, something genuinely divine. Praise songs will not do it for me, nor larger organs, nor more precise choirs, nor even livelier preaching. What I need I cannot express readily, but maybe that is the point of what I lack; it is finally inexpressible. Perhaps. But I surely wish I knew.