Worship in the Age of Faith

by Jason Carr

Not Seeing But Believing

What does it mean to worship a God that we cannot see? To sing praises to Jesus, though we haven’t had the opportunity to talk with Him and walk with Him as the disciples did? In short, it means that we are blessed: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” (John 20:29b).

Though this verse is a long way from the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, it feels at home there. Like the Beatitudes, this verse takes something that is, on its face, a disadvantage and says you are the better for it. This isn’t shallow positivity meant to turn that frown upside down. This is heavenly truth straight from the mouth of Jesus. For the believer, the question then is not, Is this true? It’s, Why is believing without seeing a blessing? And since worship is a natural expression of belief, we must also ask, Why is worshiping without seeing a blessed position?

The Humanity of It All

Angels worship what they see, though they sometimes rebel against what they see. Animals, as far as I can tell, don’t seem to have much choice in the matter of worship. As far as we know, they can’t see God either, though that doesn’t really present much of a problem. Their worship is to function as they were designed to function. Beavers build dams, birds sing, and cats knock glasses off tables—all worship.

But humans? Well, we can live below our design and often do. Of all God’s creation, only we can worship in uncertainty and in the midst of our weaknesses. Angels are certain about who they worship, and animals don’t have moral failures. This unique challenge presents a unique opportunity. Our faith isn’t formed in the absence of doubt and failure but through it. This means our worship is more precious precisely because it is offered in the tension between belief and doubt.

True faith doesn’t mean we don’t have lingering questions in our lives. It doesn’t mean that we have our theology perfectly teased out. True faith means that we submit our lives to God in an act of worship despite our fears, failures, and doubts. And it’s only in this present age that fears, failures, and doubts can exist. It’s for these reasons—not despite them—that we have a distinct position in worship among all of God’s creation. I’ve often wondered if angels peer over the balcony of heaven in awe of us, weak and doubt-riddled people, singing to the God we love but cannot see.

Who Gets Mercy?

The reason we have this privileged position is that God is merciful to us. Have you ever considered that one-third of heaven rebelled against God, and there was no talk of redemption? Those angels were immediately hurled from His presence. Yet when two small, insignificant humans disobeyed God, He spoke to them about redemption. Yes, He gave them the consequences of their disobedience: pain in childbearing and a cursed ground. But before He uttered those words, God condemned the deceiver and promised the savior.

“The Lord God said to the serpent,

‘Because you have done this,

cursed are you above all livestock

and above all beasts of the field;

on your belly you shall go,

and dust you shall eat

all the days of your life.

I will put enmity between you and the woman,

and between your offspring and her offspring;

he shall bruise your head,

and you shall bruise his heel.’” (Genesis 3:14-15)

Do you realize what this means? We are the only beings in God’s creation who have tasted mercy. Angels don’t receive it, and animals don’t need it. We, on the other hand, require it. It is this mercy that forms the foundation of our worship. Despite our rebellion, God not only allows us to worship but redeems us to do so, making our faith-filled worship possible.

Where Faith and Mercy Meet

This is where we find ourselves, in the sacred space where faith and mercy converge—God's mercy inviting us to draw near, and our fragile faith responding in the midst of what we cannot yet see. Mercy opens the way, offering redemption we could never earn, while faith, even in its frailty, compels us to trust and worship beyond the limits of our understanding. Together, they are foundational to our worship—an offering shaped by grace and carried by belief.

The time we occupy this space is limited and therefore precious. Fleeting are the opportunities to sing in the presence of doubt, pain, and weakness. So sing boldly, as the only creature in creation that has tasted His mercy—singing from the blessed but fleeting perspective of a heart that still longs to see.