I See You - Reflections Of A Worship Pastor - Seth Dunnington

Rickey Stokes

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Date: Jun 13 2021 10:06 PM

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JUNE 13, 2021

MONTGOMERY:     Seth and Hollie Dunnington served a number of years at Memphis Baptist Church. Before moving to Taylor Road Baptist Church in Montgomery they were blessed with a beautiful little girl, Millie Claire.

Seth and Holley meant a lot to many who worshipped through music during Seth's leadership at Memphis Baptist.

Today I noticed on Facebook some comments from Seth about a post by John S. Woods. The post described what Seth see's as a snapshot of what he see's in his Church family as he leads singing;

Seth Dunnington

I love my church family!!  I love the calling God has on my life to lead them in growing as worshipers!  I love singing with my church family!  I am blessed…and these words capture my heart about those of you I GET to sing and worship with every week!  Please take a moment to read and see a snapshot of what I see in my church family as I lead us in singing…

I see you. 

JOHN S. WOODS

I see you, Sunday morning worshiper, as you show up and stand and sing. You are an encouragement to me. Your presence is in itself a testimony of your faith in Christ, only amplified as you stand and sing God's story. You want to follow Christ more deeply and more passionately; I can tell. Your smile as we sing, your eagerness to stand with your sisters and brothers, and your love for the Church spurs me on to lead us each week. 

I see you, ma'am, you who with a smile on your face are singing the songs you learned as a child. For many months you weren’t able to come into this building, sneaking in unnoticed only by live stream. It is so good to have you back. Your eyes open wide and catch my attention, nodding as if to say, “Yes, John. This is my song.” And because it is your song, it is my song, too. After all, we are a part of the same Body. 

I see you, sir, who has not sung a note in the last eight years, no matter the tune or text. Each Sunday I pray for you as I lead, that you might know the change that happens within when you add your song to those around you. They need you, and our church is less than it should be without your voice. Perhaps someone told you that you couldn’t sing, but they were wrong. Singing isn’t for singers; it’s for worshippers. Every once and a while you move your mouth; perhaps you’re gaining courage. I’m eager to see which songs are yours, and we will both follow Christ better if you will take the risk and sing with us. 

I see you, friend, as you walk a road of indescribable pain. You desperately want to sing, but only half the phrase gets out of your mouth. Tears glisten on your red cheeks, yet they will not mute your song. Those around you have their eye on you today, not in judgment or disgust, but solidarity. If you’ll look up from the questions, you'll notice their smiles, eyebrows raised in caring, reaching out by singing extra loud for you today, holding you up in every way they can right now.

I see you, you who only sings the songs you prefer. I know you have your reasons, but I long for you to experience the sacrifice of praise, the kind of worship that costs you something. After all, that’s why it’s called a sacrifice. You who faithfully give and serve and teach and tell, I wish you could hear the high school students wonder aloud — in a way that only they seem to be able to get away with — why they are willing to learn and lead all kinds of music for you, yet you are not doing the same for them. I struggle to know how to answer their question. They do need to sing your song, but perhaps you need to sing theirs, too, if only to earn the trust to hand yours down. We both know they will need it someday. 

I see you, college student, elbowing your friend and motioning to that senior adult who has surprised you by singing with fervor a song that you love. Sure, she doesn't know it as thoroughly as you do, but I see you encouraged by the hard work she is doing to participate. What you don't realize is that she is working hard so you will feel at home. You see, she is so very thankful you are a part of this family, and her song is an act of hospitality to you. As the next song begins, it's clearly less familiar to you, but now you have a new partner in worship who knows this one well. And because you are both a part of the same Body, these two songs now belong to the both of you.

I see you, mom who has dragged your entire family to the Sanctuary and has them now standing next to you. Both your kids and your husband are fidgety today, but you all keep singing nevertheless. Every once in a while you bend over slightly and point your song toward the ear of your children. As you do, both their songs and their faces perk up. You know what parents before you have known: it's near impossible to pass on a heritage of faith when you are not in the same room. You have to come close, as you have done, lending your song to those who likely need to try it on for size before they claim it as their own.

I see you, woman who cannot stand. You faithfully worship each week, leaping to your feet in heart even though your legs lack the strength that your spirit exudes. Your smile encourages me. Your testimony is an example to me. Your passion indicts my lackluster faith. 

I see you, person of color in a sea of whiteness. I know the people around you well, and they love you dearly. Both they and I long for our church to look more like heaven, but we don't always know how to get there. I am glad this is your church. Your voice is heard as you sing with those around you, sharing so many things in common, not the least of which is the grace of God that has joined us together as one Body. Your presence is a prophetic witness to me, and I’m moved to thanksgiving as I sing. 

I see you, widowed saint, who still sits on your pew, your friends having scooted over closer and closer to you each week since your partner-in-crime passed away. They are trying to tell you what you desperately want to believe: that you are not alone. As you hold your head up high as you sing, I can’t help but be inspired as you harmonize to songs about heaven and all that it will bring.

I see you, Pastor, bearing the weight of leading our church on your shoulders. No one would blame you for sitting out these songs, perhaps taking the time to tweak your message or review your notes. Yet, you refuse to do so. Instead, you stand and sing and pray and participate, leading worship with me by your example, even from among the people. You nod in affirmation as the choir sings, tap your foot as you sing next to your boys, and hold your head up high as you give voice to the hymns that carry with them the memories of other congregations you have loved so dearly. 

I see you, church, as you seek to give voice to the kind of people we endeavor to become together. You are leading me in worship each week, even as I enjoy a front-row seat to God’s work in and through you. And while I’m sure others who are more spiritual would say otherwise, I often struggle to feel God’s presence when it’s just me. That’s why week after week and year after year, I long to stand before you each Sunday as you worship, for in you is where I see Christ. 

I see you.

(Reflections of a worship pastor.)

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