This morning I was standing in the back of the sanctuary. I'm an usher, so once everyone is seated, the back of the room is my post. The worship team was going, and for about half the songs, when I could, my hands were in the air.
If you knew me two years ago? I was the guy with my hands in my pockets, for years and years.
Every service, every song, hands buried, standing there while people around me worshiped. I sang, sort of. I mouthed the words. But my hands never left my pockets, and honestly, I never really asked myself why. I do remember feeling uncomfortable however. I’m not even sure what was making me uncomfortable. Me? Others? The environment?
Look, I'm in my early 50s and I JUST raised my hands in worship for the first time about a year ago. It didn't become natural until the last six months. And I’m STILL figuring it all out.
This post? It’s all about exploring and trying to understand what took me so long.
One in Twenty
From my spot in the back, I can see the whole room. And here's what I notice, not judgmentally, just honestly. Maybe one in twenty people (sometimes one in ten) have their hands up.
Now think about what's happening in that room. We are worshiping the Lord and Savior of the universe. The eternal God. The PERFECT giver of every good thing, of love, of salvation, of beauty. Everything comes from Him.
And ONLY one in twenty raise their hands.
But We'll Do It for our Favorite Sports Team
Here's where it gets fascinating.
Go to any World Cup match. Any NFL stadium on a Sunday. Any MLB park to watch baseball. Doesn't matter the team, doesn't matter the country. When the goal goes in or the touchdown lands, nearly one hundred percent of that crowd has their hands in the air. Screaming. Jumping. Zero hesitation.
Nobody in that stadium is embarrassed. Nobody is worried about looking too into it. Their arms go up before they even decide anything. It's involuntary.
So it's not that we can't do it. We do it all the time. We just don't do it in the one room where it matters infinitely more. We'll throw our hands up for a team of strangers, but not for our FATHER.
Why?
I've been chewing on this for a while, and I think there are three answers. They go from shallow to deep, and I lived every one of them.
Layer One: Fear of the Room
The first answer is the human one, and I get it.
At the stadium, everyone's hands are up, so raising yours is fitting in. At church, one in twenty, so raising yours is standing out. Same gesture, opposite social math.
This one is real, and it's forgivable. It's awkward. It feels like everyone will look at you. I felt all of that. I think this is mostly what I was trying to explain in the beginning of the article.
But if I'm honest, that was never the whole story for me. Shyness was the surface. Underneath it were two things that were a lot harder to admit. BRUTALLY HARD.
Layer Two: I Feel Unworthy
Think about what raised hands actually is. It's the most vulnerable posture a human being can take. Chest open. No defense. It's surrender, literally.
Hands in pockets is the exact opposite. Closed. Contained. Holding onto yourself.
And here's the thing I couldn't have told you at the time. Part of the reason I kept holding onto myself was that deep down, I wasn't sure I deserved God's love. Not really. Not the full-throated, hands-in-the-air kind. There was a worth problem in me, a quiet voice that said that kind of freedom is for other people. God’s eternal and unwavering LOVE is for other people. NOT ME.
You can't fully surrender to a love you don't believe you deserve. This feeling has plagued me for my whole life, until recently when I finally was able to acknowledge it and become fully aware of it.
But Scripture says the opposite of that voice. "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness" (2 Corinthians 12:9). Read that again. His power is made perfect in weakness. Even my broken, brutal, mistake ridden, flawed weakness. Which means the most powerful posture in the room is the most vulnerable one. I was hiding from view, hiding from HIM the very thing God works through and makes…. PERFECT.
Layer Three: I Got This
The other thing hiding in my pockets was the opposite problem. Control.
My attitude for years was, God, I want you in this part of my life, but I got the rest. I would pick and choose where I needed or wanted God, and I would pick and choose what I wanted to handle myself. I'll take it from here. You do your part, I'll do mine. Like a little bratty kid.
Here's what I've come to believe: control is arrogance. Surrender is humility. And I was walking around with a lot more of the first one than I wanted to admit.
So look at the two lies I was carrying. One said I was too small to raise my hands. The other said I was too capable to need to. Opposite lies, same pockets.
I’M UNWORTHY + MY CONTROL = NO SURRENDER.
That was my math for most of my life. And as long as that equation held, my hands were staying right where they were.
The Hands Were Never the Problem
Now back to the stadium, because this is where it all came together for me.
Why is it involuntary at the game? Why do your arms fly up before you even think?
Because there's a connection. You know that team. You've followed the story, you feel the stakes, you're invested. The hands going up isn't a decision. It's what connection looks like when something breaks through.
So flip it. If my hands would go up for the 49ers but not for my Father in heaven, the issue was never the gesture.
The hands were never the problem. They were the measurement.
They were measuring worth I didn't feel and control I wouldn't give up. And more than anything, they were measuring a connection that wasn't there yet. I knew about God. I wasn't connected to God. Those are very different things, and my pockets knew it before I did.
It's in the Word Itself
Here's something I learned while digging into this, and it put me on the floor.
In biblical Hebrew, one of the most common words translated "praise" in the entire Old Testament is yadah. And yadah comes straight from yad, the Hebrew word for hand.
Let that land for a second. In the original language of the Psalms, to praise literally carries the idea of throwing out your hands. The gesture isn't an add-on to worship. It's inside the word. So when David wrote "lift up your hands in the sanctuary and bless the LORD" (Psalm 134:2), he wasn't attaching a motion to praise. The motion was already in there.
And it gets better. That same word, yadah, is also translated "give thanks" and even "confess." One Hebrew word holding praise, gratitude, and surrender all at once. Rooted in the hand. That's this entire post in a single verb, written thousands of years before I ever stood in the back of a sanctuary with my hands in my pockets.
The word shows up all the way back in Genesis. When Leah had her fourth son, she said "This time I will praise the LORD," and she named him Judah. Yehudah. His name comes straight from yadah. The tribe of Judah is literally named "praise." And who comes from the line of Judah? The Lion of Judah. Jesus. Hands-lifted praise is woven into our Savior's family name.
Paul carries it right into the New Testament too, wanting men everywhere to pray "lifting up holy hands" (1 Timothy 2:8).
So the one-in-twenty thing isn't just a modern church quirk. Somewhere along the way, we took a word that means throw your hands up, and we learned to perform it with our hands in our pockets.
100/0
Here's where I have to say the edgy thing, and I'm going to say it about myself, because I'm the only one I can see inside of.
I was not all in. And when you're not all in, you're leaving room. And the things that fill that room are not of God. Jesus didn't leave any middle ground on this. "No one can serve two masters" (Matthew 6:24). Not 80/20. Not even 99/1.
For me now, it's 100/0. One hundred percent Him. Zero percent this world, zero percent myself, zero percent anything else. "I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). I heard Matt Chandler hit this same theme recently, men becoming like Jesus, and it lit me up, because that's exactly it. All in.
And here's the beautiful part. When you're actually all in, connected, surrendered, the hands stop being a choice. They just go up. I can't keep them down. It's involuntary now, the same way it is at the stadium, except this time it's for the One who actually deserves it.
What Changed
So what changed for me a year ago?
I wish I had a lightning-bolt moment to give you. A specific song, a specific night. I don't. It happened the way I think it usually happens. Gradually, and then all at once.
What I can tell you is what led up to it, because it's the whole reason this section of the blog exists. It was not comfort. It was pain, setbacks, struggle, anger, frustration, feeling overwhelmed. It was years of searching and fighting to figure out who I am, and who I am in the eyes of God. None of it was easy. All of it was necessary.
I got put through enough, and somewhere in there, I stopped negotiating. The worth lie broke. The control lie broke. And one Sunday my hands just went up, like they'd been waiting the whole time.
This is what Scripture has been saying forever, by the way. "I will praise you as long as I live, and in your name I will lift up my hands" (Psalm 63:4). Raised hands isn't some new thing. It's the oldest posture in the book. It's baked into the language of the book. I was just late to it.
Closing the Space
These days I want God around me all the time. I speak Him into my morning prayer. I spoke Him into my run this morning before my feet hit the trail. I breathe in and breathe out Yahweh, and it's just breathing with Him, no gap, no space.
That's what the hands are to me now. Closing the space. When my hands are in the air, there is nothing between me and the Father. It's surrender, giving up control. It's victory, because the victory is already won. And honestly, it's a kid reaching up for his dad to pick him up.
All three at once. Every time.
I can't see inside anyone else's heart, and I know everyone worships differently. But I know what my pockets were hiding. And if any of this sounds familiar, maybe it's worth sitting with the question I never asked myself: what exactly am I holding onto in there?
If you're on this path searching for God, you will find Him. He has a plan, and He'll connect with you when He is good and ready for you. Don't question His timing. It's perfect. I'm proof.
It took Him fifty-some years to get my hands out of my pockets, and I wouldn't change a thing.