Let’s face it. Those of us who practice family worship usually don’t feel like it, often fall into formalism, and end off hopping down way too many bunny trails. How many times, too, is the whole business interrupted because the little one has a runny nose (or worse, smelly drawers)? The boy isn’t sitting up? Or older sis is annoying the younger for the umpteenth time? And after a long day of homeschooling, errands, cleaning, and damage controlling, mom is frazzled—and dad is just plain socked. At its best, family worship is usually nondescript; at its worst, it approaches something like a three-ring circus.

And yet, when we look back on it more impartially, we find that there has been glory there all along. After the drill is done—and done with some habit—we see in faith that the very rhythm itself has been wonderful. All the children know their places. The catechumens say their lines. The old songs of Zion are taken up and singing fills the room; and those who can’t read croon right along. The humble family Bible is taken out, and father reads a portion. And then the approach to the throne of grace.

Yes, it’s flawed. Messy even. And we must confess that it is fraught with sin. But it is covered in the blood and accepted by the Father. Let’s open our eyes—there is glory here. Things into which the very angels desire to look.

Reposted from westportexperiment 3rd June 2011, by permission.

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