Mortifying Formalism in Worship
Imagine walking into a temple filled with statues, each bearing the marks of meticulous craftsmanship. The air is heavy with incense, the sound of chanting echoes through the halls, and worshipers bow low before these idols. You recoil, thinking, This is wrong. This is idolatry. And you’d be right. But what if I told you that the same stench of false worship can permeate a church pew just as easily as it does a pagan shrine?
Formalism in worship is a polished idol, hiding its grotesque form behind liturgical precision, outward participation, and a veneer of reverence. The Second Commandment cuts through this façade like a sword, exposing the bleeding heart beneath:
"You shall not make for yourself an idol or any likeness of what is in heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the water under the earth. You shall not worship them or serve them, for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children, on the third and the fourth generations of those who hate Me, but showing lovingkindness to thousands, to those who love Me and keep My commandments."
These words are not gentle whispers. They are the battle cry of a holy God, demanding the annihilation of every false god—including the subtle, self-crafted idols we smuggle into worship. This commandment calls us to a relentless, violent, and surgical eradication of anything that distorts our worship of the one true God.
Formalism deceives by cloaking itself in the appearance of obedience. You might sing the songs, confess the creeds, and partake in the sacraments with flawless precision. But if your heart is disengaged, distracted, or dulled, your worship is no better than Nadab and Abihu offering strange fire. Like them, you are walking into holy ground with an unholy heart.
"The human heart is a perpetual idol factory," John Calvin warns. "Every one of us is, from his mother’s womb, expert in inventing idols." Formalism is one such invention, a polished idol that whispers, Your outward acts are enough. But God is not interested in the trinkets of our performance. He is not a doting grandmother, eager to pin our half-hearted offerings on His refrigerator. He is a consuming fire, zealous for the purity of His worship. When we bring anything less than our whole heart into His presence, we insult Him. We say with our actions, You are not worth my best. You will take whatever scraps I give You.
The Second Commandment forbids not only physical idols but also any worship that arises from our whims, preferences, or imaginations. It takes a scythe to our human inclination to redefine God on our terms, chopping away at the roots of our pride. "God disapproves of all modes of worship not expressly sanctioned by His Word," Calvin reminds us. This is why the Reformed tradition clings to the Regulative Principle of Worship: God alone decides how He is to be worshiped. Any attempt to do otherwise is an act of rebellion, an act of idolatry.
The idols of formalism are not always visible. They lurk in the shadows of our hearts, whispering lies that turn even our most sacred practices into acts of self-worship.
Consider the sacraments. You might approach the Lord’s Table or the waters of baptism with meticulous care, ensuring every detail conforms to Scripture. Yet, if your heart is far from God—if your mind is consumed with bitterness, envy, or pride—you have turned those holy acts into idols. You have made the sacraments about your performance rather than God’s grace.
"Christ is the fountain of all delights. He is an eternal fountain, an infinite fountain," Jonathan Edwards proclaims. In our idolatry, we forget that worship is not about what we bring but about the infinite grace and joy we receive in Christ. When we turn to formalism, we trade the fountain of life for the dry wells of our own making.
Or consider the distractions that infest your mind during worship. How often do you enter God’s presence burdened by the week’s frustrations, the petty grievances against a friend, or the buzzing chaos of your schedule? You stand before the King of kings, yet your thoughts are miles away. In that moment, you have crafted an image of God who doesn’t care about your divided heart—a false god who tolerates your spiritual laziness. That image must be shattered.
Scripture is filled with bloody reminders of how seriously God takes worship. Nadab and Abihu were struck dead for offering unauthorized fire. Uzzah was struck down for touching the ark of the covenant. Ananias and Sapphira were killed for their deceit. These stories are not relics of an angry Old Testament God; they are eternal warnings of the justice we deserve when we approach Him irreverently.
If we were honest, we would admit that every time we come into worship half-hearted, distracted, or disobedient, we deserve the same fate. The justice of God demands the death of every false worshiper. And yet, week after week, we are spared. Why? Because Christ, the true worshiper, has died in our place.
The Second Commandment points us to the cross, where Jesus Christ bore the full weight of our idolatry. He was crushed for every time we have sung half-hearted hymns. He was pierced for every distracted prayer. He was slaughtered for every time we fell asleep reading the Word, and every false image we have crafted of God.
This grace is not a license to continue in formalism; it is the power to mortify it. The gospel takes the axe to the root of our sin and gives us new hearts that beat with a passion for true worship.
Mortifying formalism is not a passive endeavor. It is a war that must be waged every day. On Saturday night, prepare your heart for the Lord’s Day. Repent of the distractions and sins that would pull your focus from God. On Sunday morning, approach worship as a soldier approaches battle—with focus, reverence, and anticipation.
But even more than preparation, ask yourself: Do I delight in worship? Formalism thrives where joy dies. True worship is not mere duty; it is delight in the triune God. It is standing in awe of His holiness, marveling at His grace, and rejoicing in His presence. If joy is absent, take that to the cross and kill it there. Pray for the Spirit to awaken your affections and restore your wonder.
Every week, as you enter God’s presence, remember this: you should not be there. Your sins should have condemned you. There should be charred marks where you stand, evidence of God’s consuming fire overwhelming you, the unworthy one. And yet, in Christ, you are not a sinner but a saint. You are not a castaway but a priest.
God has taken you from the gutters of sin, lifted you to His throne room, and called you to proclaim His glory. This is your privilege. This is your joy. Let every note you sing, every prayer you offer, every Word you hear be an act of reverence and gratitude to the God who has made you His own.
Now go and kill your idols. Hack them to pieces. Burn them to ash. And worship the Lord your God with a heart ablaze for His glory. And by all means, do it with delight.
