On our last Sunday before moving to Virginia, Sandy & I—in transition between churches—decided to visit one of the morning worship services at the 12,000-member First Baptist Church of Orlando. During our eleven years in Sunshine State, we had been to First Baptist Orlando only a handful of times for special seasonal events or conferences. The only previous time we had been there for Sunday morning worship was about 20 years ago, when we lived here in Danville and were visiting Disney World on vacation with our young son. So, just before returning to Danville to start our new ministry at Mount Hermon, we thought it would be nice to take this one last opportunity to worship at First Orlando.
Dr. Jim Henry, the church’s longtime pastor, and former Southern Baptist Convention president, recently retired after nearly 30 years at the church. Jim Henry is a great man of God and, without a doubt, the most humble megachurch pastor I’ve ever met. Several years ago, at my invitation, he came to First Baptist Clermont and preached. He wasn’t easy to book, but finally relented because of my continued persistence. I still remember personal conversations I had with him in which he advised me on the challenges of relocating a church and in which he encouraged me in my efforts to buy land for our new church campus. Since Dr. Henry’s retirement, I had heard a lot of good things about his successor, Dr. David Uth, but this would the first time I had ever seen or heard him.
Honestly, as Sandy & I made our way to our seats in the cavernous 5,500-seat worship center, I was expecting (but not especially looking forward to) a lot of megachurch glitz—big sound, big screen, big production. Lights, camera, action. Singers, band, high tech. A lot of what we had become used to among the successful churches in Central Florida. And particularly with this church, which was sometimes jokingly referred to as “Baptist World” because of its size as well as its close proximity—both geographically and culturally—to Walt Disney World.
But, after a big opening number by the band, praise team, and worship choir, something unusual happened. David Uth walked forward and began asking a series of “What if?” questions. “What if we came in here on Sunday and we didn’t have all these talented singers? What if we didn’t have all these excellent musicians? What if we didn’t have all these high tech gadgets?” And, one by one, he dismissed the choir, the praise team, the band, and the pianist. The lights went down low, the big screen was turned off, and the massive sanctuary went dark except for the most minimal lighting. Ultimately, the pastor stood on the platform all alone.
“Today,” he continued, “we’re driving a stake in the heart of worship as entertainment.” I wanted to jump out of my seat and shout “Amen!” Perhaps I did. That was quite a bold statement to make in one of the entertainment capitals of the world, where churches feel immense pressure to compete with one another as well as with the excellence of Disney-quality programming. Myself having pastored for 11 years in a fast-growing community context also within the shadow of Disney’s influence, I have to admit that gradually I’ve become somewhat cynical about a lot of what we today call worship. Frankly, I’ve come to realize that a lot of what we call worship, simply isn’t.
David Uth continued, “Could we just worship without anything else? Could we?” And, then, a holy hush fell over the place. And, for the longest time, we all just worshiped God. No glitz. No show. No agenda. Just God. Thousands—either from their pews, or in the aisles, or at the altar—were sitting, standing, kneeling, praying, weeping—privately worshiping the Great “I AM”. Ever so often the quietness and stillness of the moment was punctuated with shouts of “Hallelujah,” “Praise God”, and “I Love You, Jesus!” Acapella singing broke out. The nearness of God was so evident. Honestly, for me, it was one of the most meaningful personal encounters with God that I’ve had in a worship service in a long, long time.
Finally—after several eternity-filled minutes that seemed both to go on forever and not last long enough—people began making their way back to their seats. And David Uth started preaching/ teaching from Romans 12:1. It was a simple but compelling sermon on worship in which he talked about (1) our motivation for worship—“The mercies of God”; (2) the means of worship—“Presenting all that we are to God”; and the results of worship—“Living holy and acceptable lives.” He also utilized the lyrics of a couple of contemporary Christian songs that best illustrated the holistic and heartfelt nature of worship that he was trying to convey. One was “Lifesong” by Casting Crowns, which includes the prayerful refrain, “Let my lifesong sing to You.” The other was “Heart of Worship” by Matt Redman (see below):
When the music fades and all is stripped away
And I simply come
Longing just to bring something that's of worth
That will bless Your heart
I'll bring You more than a song
For a song in itself
Is not what You have required
You search much deeper within
Through the way things appear
You're looking into my heart
I'm coming back to the heart of worship
And it's all about You
All about You, Jesus
I'm sorry, Lord, for the things I've made it
When it's all about You
All about You, Jesus
Later, I wrote David Uth and thanked him for that day. If he keeps the church headed on this course, he’ll probably lose some people, particularly those that are looking for the big production. But I’m not so sure that all that really matters to him. For—as he indicated at one point in his message—he doesn’t want to stand before God someday only to hear the Lord say, “Nice show. But what did you do for Me?” (Neither do I, by the way.)
When it was all said and done, Sandy & I realized that we were exactly where God wanted us to be that particular Sunday. Our last worship service in Florida turned out to be precisely what we needed to ready our hearts for our new ministry in Virginia. This one final visit at First Baptist Orlando was a timely reminder of the timeless truth that worship isn’t about us. It’s really about God. Wow! What a refreshing way to spend a Sunday! I hope I can spend all the rest of my Sundays living in that reality.
Pastor Danny
Dr. Jim Henry, the church’s longtime pastor, and former Southern Baptist Convention president, recently retired after nearly 30 years at the church. Jim Henry is a great man of God and, without a doubt, the most humble megachurch pastor I’ve ever met. Several years ago, at my invitation, he came to First Baptist Clermont and preached. He wasn’t easy to book, but finally relented because of my continued persistence. I still remember personal conversations I had with him in which he advised me on the challenges of relocating a church and in which he encouraged me in my efforts to buy land for our new church campus. Since Dr. Henry’s retirement, I had heard a lot of good things about his successor, Dr. David Uth, but this would the first time I had ever seen or heard him.
Honestly, as Sandy & I made our way to our seats in the cavernous 5,500-seat worship center, I was expecting (but not especially looking forward to) a lot of megachurch glitz—big sound, big screen, big production. Lights, camera, action. Singers, band, high tech. A lot of what we had become used to among the successful churches in Central Florida. And particularly with this church, which was sometimes jokingly referred to as “Baptist World” because of its size as well as its close proximity—both geographically and culturally—to Walt Disney World.
But, after a big opening number by the band, praise team, and worship choir, something unusual happened. David Uth walked forward and began asking a series of “What if?” questions. “What if we came in here on Sunday and we didn’t have all these talented singers? What if we didn’t have all these excellent musicians? What if we didn’t have all these high tech gadgets?” And, one by one, he dismissed the choir, the praise team, the band, and the pianist. The lights went down low, the big screen was turned off, and the massive sanctuary went dark except for the most minimal lighting. Ultimately, the pastor stood on the platform all alone.
“Today,” he continued, “we’re driving a stake in the heart of worship as entertainment.” I wanted to jump out of my seat and shout “Amen!” Perhaps I did. That was quite a bold statement to make in one of the entertainment capitals of the world, where churches feel immense pressure to compete with one another as well as with the excellence of Disney-quality programming. Myself having pastored for 11 years in a fast-growing community context also within the shadow of Disney’s influence, I have to admit that gradually I’ve become somewhat cynical about a lot of what we today call worship. Frankly, I’ve come to realize that a lot of what we call worship, simply isn’t.
David Uth continued, “Could we just worship without anything else? Could we?” And, then, a holy hush fell over the place. And, for the longest time, we all just worshiped God. No glitz. No show. No agenda. Just God. Thousands—either from their pews, or in the aisles, or at the altar—were sitting, standing, kneeling, praying, weeping—privately worshiping the Great “I AM”. Ever so often the quietness and stillness of the moment was punctuated with shouts of “Hallelujah,” “Praise God”, and “I Love You, Jesus!” Acapella singing broke out. The nearness of God was so evident. Honestly, for me, it was one of the most meaningful personal encounters with God that I’ve had in a worship service in a long, long time.
Finally—after several eternity-filled minutes that seemed both to go on forever and not last long enough—people began making their way back to their seats. And David Uth started preaching/ teaching from Romans 12:1. It was a simple but compelling sermon on worship in which he talked about (1) our motivation for worship—“The mercies of God”; (2) the means of worship—“Presenting all that we are to God”; and the results of worship—“Living holy and acceptable lives.” He also utilized the lyrics of a couple of contemporary Christian songs that best illustrated the holistic and heartfelt nature of worship that he was trying to convey. One was “Lifesong” by Casting Crowns, which includes the prayerful refrain, “Let my lifesong sing to You.” The other was “Heart of Worship” by Matt Redman (see below):
When the music fades and all is stripped away
And I simply come
Longing just to bring something that's of worth
That will bless Your heart
I'll bring You more than a song
For a song in itself
Is not what You have required
You search much deeper within
Through the way things appear
You're looking into my heart
I'm coming back to the heart of worship
And it's all about You
All about You, Jesus
I'm sorry, Lord, for the things I've made it
When it's all about You
All about You, Jesus
Later, I wrote David Uth and thanked him for that day. If he keeps the church headed on this course, he’ll probably lose some people, particularly those that are looking for the big production. But I’m not so sure that all that really matters to him. For—as he indicated at one point in his message—he doesn’t want to stand before God someday only to hear the Lord say, “Nice show. But what did you do for Me?” (Neither do I, by the way.)
When it was all said and done, Sandy & I realized that we were exactly where God wanted us to be that particular Sunday. Our last worship service in Florida turned out to be precisely what we needed to ready our hearts for our new ministry in Virginia. This one final visit at First Baptist Orlando was a timely reminder of the timeless truth that worship isn’t about us. It’s really about God. Wow! What a refreshing way to spend a Sunday! I hope I can spend all the rest of my Sundays living in that reality.
Pastor Danny
