Christian worship – reasons and rewards

Why God has better stats than Thierry Henry

I believe that we all have idols which we worship - knowledge, success, wealth, power, fame, relationships, alcohol, drugs, food, technology, cars, shoes, sports teams, art or artists, television, tradition. The list goes on of things we devote countless hours towards worshipping and pursuing with an insatiable appetite.

Knowing this, Jesus said the first and greatest of the Ten Commandments is: “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul and with all your mind”. At first glance this could seem like quite an onerous task but the reality is that most of us find worship lovely and very easy.

Thierry Henry is worshipped in the neighbourhood where I live. He was something special at Arsenal Football Club and thousands of kids and their parents walk around with his name on the back of their replica shirts. Some will claim he is the greatest footballer in the world. No doubt he has superb dribbling skills, speed, balance and he scores goals for fun. On top of this, he has style, good looks, humour and is an inspirational leader who had an immense heart for his team.

He knew Arsenal fans loved him. After scoring an exquisite goal, he would run to the corner flag with his hand cupped over his ear to encourage and amplify the cheers of the fans. And they would cheer all the louder. Adoration was gladly given. Would a crowd have taken so readily to a man who instead humbly returned to his own half to await the restart?

Thierry Henry is a footballer. And now he has left for Spain. God is, well, God and isn’t going anywhere. Putting Henry’s statistics beside God’s would only serve to reinforce why God, of the two, is the more worthy of our praise.

As a Christian, I believe He created and sustains the universe. I believe He defined the laws of physics governing how a football can travel from a Frenchman’s foot into the back of the net in such a compelling fashion. I believe Jesus, fully man and fully God, chose not to lord it on earth but to die a criminal’s death on the cross so that we did not have to bear the punishment our sins deserved. I believe the Devil’s main concern is to steal and destroy, and Jesus won a great victory over him, for our gain, by his death and resurrection.

And so I worship him in many ways. A major way is trying to act justly and mercifully in my everyday life, by obeying the second greatest commandment: “Love your neighbour as yourself”. However, I also lead the congregation of New River Church in hymns and songs most Sunday mornings. This part of the meeting we call “worship”.

There, we come together to meet with God, give Him our burdens and lift our hands in songs of thanks and praise. We attempt to put Him first, no matter how desperate our other concerns. We come with a hope and an expectation that the Spirit of God will meet us there. That God will cup his ear as we cheer. That He will welcome our adoration and we will adore him. He goes further. It says in the Bible that where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. Time and time again we have experienced this to be true.

As we worship Him, he counsels us, refreshes us, and often changes us as a church and as individuals. I can testify that it is a joy and a privilege to worship Christ in this way. He loves it and we love it.

Adam is a worship leader at New River Church, Islington, a non-denominational, charismatic Christian church of about 40 people. He has a degree in physics, a PhD in neuroimaging and is a member of the electro-indie rock band Personal Space Invaders.
Steve Garry
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The footie is back. Three weeks in and what have we learned so far?

Barcleys, boots and big names... the Prem is back.

Another season, another reason for making whoopee cushions and giving them to Spurs fans to cheer them up during the long winter afternoons ahead. What have we learned so far?

Big names are vital. Just ask the manager of the Man United shop. The arrival of Schneiderlin and Schweinsteiger has done wonders for the sale of repro tops and they’ve run out of letters. Benedict Cumberbatch, please join Carlisle United. They’re desperate for some extra income.

Beards are still in. The whole Prem is bristling with them, the skinniest, weediest player convinced he’s Andrea Pirlo. Even my young friend and neighbour Ed Miliband has grown a beard, according to his holiday snaps. Sign him.

Boots Not always had my best specs on, but here and abroad I detect a new form of bootee creeping in – slightly higher on the ankle, not heavy-plated as in the old days but very light, probably made from the bums of newborn babies.

Barclays Still driving me mad. Now it’s screaming from the perimeter boards that it’s “Championing the true Spirit of the Game”. What the hell does that mean? Thank God this is its last season as proud sponsor of the Prem.

Pitches Some groundsmen have clearly been on the weeds. How else can you explain the Stoke pitch suddenly having concentric circles, while Southampton and Portsmouth have acquired tartan stripes? Go easy on the mowers, chaps. Footballers find it hard enough to pass in straight lines.

Strips Have you seen the Everton third kit top? Like a cheap market-stall T-shirt, but the colour, my dears, the colour is gorgeous – it’s Thames green. Yes, the very same we painted our front door back in the Seventies. The whole street copied, then le toot middle classes everywhere.

Scott Spedding Which international team do you think he plays for? I switched on the telly to find it was rugby, heard his name and thought, goodo, must be Scotland, come on, Scotland. Turned out to be the England-France game. Hmm, must be a member of that famous Cumbrian family, the Speddings from Mirehouse, where Tennyson imagined King Arthur’s Excalibur coming out the lake. Blow me, Scott Spedding turns out to be a Frenchman. Though he only acquired French citizenship last year, having been born and bred in South Africa. What’s in a name, eh?

Footballers are just so last season. Wayne Rooney and Harry Kane can’t score. The really good ones won’t come here – all we get is the crocks, the elderly, the bench-warmers, yet still we look to them to be our saviour. Oh my God, let’s hope we sign Falcao, he’s a genius, will make all the difference, so prayed all the Man United fans. Hold on: Chelsea fans. I’ve forgotten now where he went. They seek him here, they seek him there, is he alive or on the stairs, who feckin’ cares?

John Stones of Everton – brilliant season so far, now he is a genius, the solution to all of Chelsea’s problems, the heir to John Terry, captain of England for decades. Once he gets out of short trousers and learns to tie his own laces . . .

Managers are the real interest. So refreshing to have three young British managers in the Prem – Alex Neil at Norwich (34), Eddie Howe at Bournemouth (37) and that old hand at Swansea, Garry Monk, (36). Young Master Howe looks like a ball boy. Or a tea boy.

Mourinho is, of course, the main attraction. He has given us the best start to any of his seasons on this planet. Can you ever take your eyes off him? That handsome hooded look, that sarcastic sneer, the imperious hand in the air – and in his hair – all those languages, he’s so clearly brilliant, and yet, like many clever people, often lacking in common sense. How could he come down so heavily on Eva Carneiro, his Chelsea doctor? Just because you’re losing? Yes, José has been the best fun so far – plus Chelsea’s poor start. God, please don’t let him fall out with Abramovich. José, we need you.

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 27 August 2015 issue of the New Statesman, Isis and the new barbarism