The Spiritual Practice of Watching.

I came to know God through watching.  

I was an atheist sitting in a room full of Christians, wondering out loud if the so-called lightning would strike me down for my vast unbelief. I was feeling all prepared to leave that space, laugh in the faces of those who insisted I give faith a try, and never look back. 

But then the music started to play, and something happened. I started looking around the room at these Christians I spent my free time mocking and saw their postures slowly change, their demeanor more at peace. I watched as they willingly made themselves smaller as a sort of presence entered the room that I couldn’t name. They made space for it, whatever it was, to come fill the place. 

I tried to reason my way though the changing atmosphere by saying it was all for show—it was the practiced performance that Christians do every week to trick themselves into thinking they know there is something to believe. I tried to tell myself that I knew better, that I was too smart to be fooled by their tricks. 

Maybe they had discussed who would close their eyes and who would raise their hands before I got there. Maybe they had spent time practicing softening the lines on their faces to fake the peace. Surely they had someone in the back with a new kind of fog machine that could explain away the looming presence I couldn’t shake. 

But the band kept messing up. And the lyrics were just on a powerpoint slide. And there were no “mood lights” to trick the brain to feeling an excess of significance or set an emotional tone. In fact, the space seemed to lack emotion. It was instead filled by the sure steady rhythm of people who just seemed to know what they believed. There was no emotional introduction, no pretense for the worship. The music just started, and everything changed. 

I tried to keep my resolve, but I couldn’t seem to stop watching. I was watching as high school boys I thought to be empty and callous closed their eyes and sang. I was watching as the friends who loved me well despite our differences had their arms raised. While looking for the fog machine in the back, I instead found myself watching the pastor pace back and forth, speaking quiet words, with clearly no intention of stopping until the music did. I watched people get up from their seats and kneel at wooden planks, only to be joined by countless others who draped their arms around them and whispered prayers alongside theirs. 

I distinctly remember turning my head in search of the exit sign, feeling a dire need to leave. I couldn’t stay in that room with these people who were so clearly responding to what I could not see, what I had refused to believe in. But something kept me in my seat. Maybe it was simply my own fear of drawing attention to myself or interrupting. Though now I think it was probably something else—something bigger. Because I stayed and watched, and, when I left, I believed.

That is the story of how I came to know Jesus put simply and perfectly—I watched others display their authentic faith, and I believed. And to this day, watching is a spiritual practice that helps me keep the faith. All my doubts and questions didn’t vanish that day, and they still haven't all disappeared in the five years since. There are days I stand in church and cannot bring myself to sing or pray or partake in the faith I claim. So, instead, I watch. 

I watch the old couple sing their praises boldly while holding hands. I watch the new mom bounce her child on her hip to the beat of the music. I watch friends lay hands on each other and whisper prayers from their seats, not needing an alter to go before the Father. I see the high school students and reminisce on the early days of my own faith. I delight in their closed eyes and raised hands, and wonder who is the atheist among them watching. 

I understand why God said it was not good for man to be alone. I know why being a part of a body of believers is not only important and essential, but also a great, immeasurable blessing. I see the reasons that our faith needs others to continue on.

When doubts are loud and my old faithless self persists, I let the faith of others fill me up.

I relearn what it means to believe by watching. 

words by Jacqueline Winstead and photo by Arianna Taralson