This is my attempt at a reply, in lieu of official guidance from the Assembly (this should not be read as official guidance from the Assembly).

The Assembly has not made any specific resolutions that I know of directly in regard to smoking ceremonies, so I can’t provide a definitive answer. It may be that the Assembly needs to provide some authoritative guidance, but none currently exists. The Assembly has produced a guide for Acknowledging Country, and encourages the practice, but this guide does not mention smoking ceremonies.

With that in mind, there is no definitive answer from the Assembly about the place of smoking ceremonies in worship. Nonetheless these are the kinds of issues I would consider in engaging this question.

1. Is the smoking ceremony, in fact, a part of the liturgy?

A smoking ceremony may happen at the beginning of worship — it often does before the beginning of some Synod & Assembly meetings, for example — but this may or may not mean that it is part of the worship service itself. It’s not straightforward how to draw the line between when a service of worship begins, and what is simply ceremonial or customary practices before worship.

It’s important here that in denoting a line between a smoking ceremony and a service of worship we should be mindful of potential pitfalls and biases:

1. we are not attempting to invalidate the potentially legitimate place of a smoking ceremony as part of Christian worship

2. the line should not be drawn to presuppose the validatity the place of a smoking ceremony as a part of the liturgy; or

3. arbitrarily exclude a smoking ceremony from the liturgy itself so as to safeguard the practice from legitimate criticism — “it wasn’t part of the service, therefore criticising the practice’s place in Christian worship is irrelevant.”

The criteria I would use in addressing this question would be along the lines of:

• How does the First Nations leader of the ceremony understand what they are doing? Do they connect this practice to their own Christian faith?

• How does the congregation understand what they are doing? Is this a First Nations community connecting their own cultural practices to their worship? Or Second Peoples participating in a local cultural practice before their worship gathering?

• In what ways is the smoking ceremony related to other aspects of the liturgy? Is it conducted outside well before the formal service begins? Is it conducted after the Call to Worship and connected to recognisable rites within Christian worship (i.e. a confession rite)?

In my personal view, if a First Nations leader of this practice sees this as a distinct practice (i.e. they undertake this practice as part of their cultural and spiritual identity apart from any Christian faith of their own), then it seems inappropriate to co-opt that practice as an act of Christian worship. Again in my personal view, if a First Nations leader of this practice see this as an expression of their cultural and spiritual identity as an Aboriginal person of Christian faith, then it would seem inappropriate to exclude the practice as inherently not Christian worship simply because of the cultural history of the practice.

2. On what basis should we determine what is appropriate as part of Christian worship?

The Uniting Church’s approach to liturgy is shaped by the principle of “Ordered Liberty.” At the heart of ordered liberty is a concern with the “essence” of worship. The official guidance is concerned with those aspects of our worship which get at the core meaning of our worship, thus what should be rejected are those things which distract us from that core meaning, or undermine that core meaning. The principle of Ordered Liberty is the shared principle among many United / Uniting Churches — it has its origins in the United Church of Canada, and has been adopted in various forms by other United / Uniting Churches around the world, notably the Church of North India. (In some traditions you find the language of “form and freedom” or similar.)

In the pre-history of Uniting Church liturgy, both the Reformed Presbyterian and Methodist traditions emphasised similar principles in their approach to worship, though for different reasons.

Rejecting the imposition of The Book of Common Prayer in the act of uniformity, the Reformed tradition sought to protect the theological integrity of worship, while also protecting the local autonomy of the congregation. Principally this was a reflection of a commitment to the “regulative principle” of worship: we should only do in worship what scripture warrants — this history continues to be reflected in one of the suggested patterns for communion which places the narrative of institution before the great prayer, as a scriptural warrant for the liturgical act.

The Methodist church, similarly, moved away from rigid adherence to The Book of Common Prayer, John Wesley heavily annotated the BCP for Methodists to use. Their concern was not primarily stronger adherence to scripture, but closer attention to the Spirit — which was reflected in a significant place for free unscripted prayer, and the need for pragmatic and flexible patterns of worship.

The Congregationalists, of course, had even stronger sensibilities for local practice.

The questions we might consider in thinking about a smoking ceremony conducted as part of a service of Christian worship are:

• What role is this practice playing within the liturgy?

• Does the smoking ceremony distract in some essential way from the meaning of our worship? Or does it clarify and enhance our understanding of the meaning of our worship?

• To what extent is this practice seeking to reflect an understanding of scripture, the movement of the Spirit, or an attempt to localise received patterns of worship?

The places I would go looking in scripture are Paul’s texts in regards to food offered to idols, particularly 1 Corinthians 8. Paul’s general guidance seems to be that participating in non-Christian practices (if that is how we interpret smoking ceremonies), such as eating food offered to idols, is a question of conscience for the Christian. I might also consider Paul’s address to the Areopagus in Acts 17, where Paul sees ostensibly non-Christian and non-Jewish understandings of God as finding their fulfilment in Jesus Christ (which finds an echo in The Revised Preamble of the Constitution of the Uniting Church, particularly paragraph 3).

I would also consider the implications of cultural reconciliation between Jews and Gentiles being at the heart of Paul’s ministry. And the connection between God’s eschatological promise of the Spirit and the gathering in of all nations — seen as foretaste at Pentecost and in fulfilment at the end of Revelation with the tree whose leaves “are for the healing of the nations.” Although meaning something slightly different than we do today, it seems fitting to quote Paul: “ … [God] has given us the ministry of reconciliation.” (2 Cor. 5:18)

In the Uniting Church’s declaration that “We are a Multicultural Church” (1985) it is made clear that culture cannot be seen as inherently in tension with Christian faith — which is not to say it does not need to be reflected upon in light of our Christian faith.

At the heart of our worship is seeking to know the Good News of Jesus Christ, proclaimed from the scriptures and celebrated in the sacraments. The liturgical scholar Fr. Robert Taft SJ in his seminal studies of the development of Eastern and Western liturgies highlights that in earliest Christian practice, the proclamation from the scriptures and the celebration of the sacraments (particularly communion) were the “hard points” of worship which structured everything else: these are the things that are at the heart of worship. What we do as we gather, and what we do as we depart, are “soft points,” which serve to open our hearts in readiness to hear the Gospel in a fresh way, and ready ourselves to live the Gospel in fresh ways in our lives in the world. The essence of our worship, in other words, is always how we open ourselves to hear what the Spirit is saying about our Creator and our Christ.

3. What implicit theology might be connected with the practice of a smoking ceremony?

The last set of questions I would consider relate to the comment in regards to the understanding of “warding off bad spirits and cleansing individual’s souls.” Again, no official guidance from the Assembly exists here, so at best I can point to further questions and the kinds of clues I personally would look for.

The first point I would make is that questions of bad spirits and the cleansing of an individual’s soul imply a way of seeing the world that is much closer to how Christians have seen the world at different points in history — and quite a different view than many modern Western people hold. In this sense, the implicit view of the world in smoking ceremonies may help those of us from a different culture better understand parts of our tradition that we have lost as we have contextualised the Christian tradition for our own modern Western culture. (Note: in this context when I used the term ‘modern’ I mean it broadly in the sense of the period of ‘modernity,’ essentially the “revolutionary” period post-: renaissance, reformation, enlightenment, revolution — political and industrial.)

In this sense, as part of the broader gift of our Covenant relationship with Congress, we should not assume that the practices drawn from Aboriginal cultures are simply about adapting the received Christian tradition to a new cultural context; they also draw us out of the ways we have already adapted the Chrisitan tradition to the cultural context of modern Western culture. It is not obvious which cultural context (modern Western culture or ancient Aboriginal cultures) draws us closer to the Christian tradition throughout history and at its founding. Proximity to the cultural histories of Christianity is not necessarily the main criterion of faithfulness — as mentioned above, reconciliation across cultural boundaries (particularly Jew and Gentile) is foundational to Christianity.

This is not to say that we should simply adopt the way of seeing the world which some First Peoples hold and which frames their understanding of a smoking ceremony. Not least because we cannot simply will ourselves to see the world in fundamentally different ways to our own culture: there is a question of honest here. Changes in our deep cultural perspectives happens over time through relationships and mutual learning and sharing: walking together.

At the same time, we often participate in shared practices with fellow Christians who have quite different theological imaginaries, or framing theological views of the world, than we do. The commitment to being the kind of Christian community which does this is at the heart of the Uniting Church’s very existence and witness to both the wider Christian Church and the world.

Some of the key points of connection I would make, therefore, might be the ways that Christians have understood practices of anointing (for sickness, physical and spiritual), blessing (for what we ask God to do for us in the future), and understandings of baptism as cleansing our souls (and how we might reaffirm our baptism in different way). There are likely others.

Taken together, I would approach this question — in lieu of any official guidance from the Assembly — through the range of considerations set out above. Paying particular attention to:

• respecting the integrity of the practice as understood by the First Nations leader of the practice, and the integrity of Christian worship as understood broadly by the people gathered

• drawing on the many gifts and broad wisdom of the Christian tradition which might guide new approaches to this question

• recognising that all Christian practices are embedded in particular cultural histories (including those of the majority tradition in the Uniting Church).

On this basis I would ask myself: how are we being drawn closer to the Good News of Jesus Christ?

Uniting Church worship looks ecumenical.

I recently attended a gathering of Extol in Adelaide, an ecumenical collective of Christian creatives seeking to shape culture to reflect the Good News of Jesus. Worship was raucous and joyous. Drawing Christians from different churches across Adelaide it was a wonderful reminder of the particularly calling of the Uniting Church to enable relationships and collaboration across boundaries of denomination. What matters is the heart of Jesus, and Extol gets that in its bones. (Ps. Lochie Hogarth does incredible work in the worship space.)

Uniting Church worship looks contemporary.

Every time I go to Adelaide I drop into the morning eucharist at Pilgrim Uniting Church in the city. It’s a simple, beautiful gathering. My most recent trip coincided with NAIDOC week, drawing the ancient patterns of table fellowship into the contemporary work of reconciliation. Marrying ancient symbols from diverse cultures who meet as we meet: here, now, at this table.

Uniting Church worship looks Australian.

The Elizabeth Grove Uniting Church congregation recently celebrated joining together with a faith community of people mostly from Burundi. In celebrating the joining together of these two communities, this local community expressed the Uniting Church’s vision for Australia, as a community which embraces all people. This hope-filled celebration warmly welcomed the local mayor, and highlighted the Uniting Church’s continued place within Australian civil society.

As we think about what Uniting Church worship means today we are called to pay attention to the life of the Spirit. The Spirit has always moved across these lands now called Australia. The Spirit disrupts, and it also forms: places and people and practices of worship.

In considering what Uniting Church worship looks like we are left with more questions than answers.

How do we ground our worship in our relationship with our Creator?

How do we acknowledge that worship begins with our life as creatures and our place within Creation?

How do we reflect Christ’s call to all people: holding together the need for inclusive language while celebrating the multilingual reality of our church?

How do we learn from our ecumenical partners who talk of “fully conscious, and active participation” in worship?

How do we encourage more voices in our worship?

How do we find the practices which bind our worship together with pastoral ministry beyond the worship gathering?

How do we rediscover the centre of Christian worship in the proclamation of the Scriptures and the celebration of the Sacraments?

How do we remember our baptism: invitation and participation as the heart of Christ’s call?

How do we see our whole lives as disciples - our work, our service, our protest, our daily prayer - as caught up in God’s life-giving Spirit?

How do we reflect Christ’s self-giving life in our worship: sharing power and making space for others?

How do we engage the wider cultures and sub-cultures of a changing Australia?

How do we rediscover the best wisdom of our tradition: an emphasis on covenant, the insights of reformation, the liveliness of evangelical renewal?

There are probably a million more questions to be asked, and fragile answers to be offered. I’d love to hear your questions, and the ways you’ve glimpsed answers in your own context.

Reach out: worship@nat.uca.org.au

One example of this is how two words for sin in Hebrew were collapsed into one in the Greek translation of the Hebrew Bible (what Christians call the Old Testament). The notion of sin that was more directly carried into the Greek was ḥāṭāʾ, which carries a sense of “missing the mark.” The other key term, pāśa ͨ, reflects the idea of sin as a broken covenant or relationship, and isn’t as clearly reflected in ancient Greek translations.

Confession is a kind of slippery word when we use it in church. On the one hand, we confess our sins: we acknowledge the ways we have fallen short, missed the mark, and failed to do what we should. On the other hand, we also confess our faith: we recite the beliefs of the church, and retell the story into which God enfolds.

In both cases confession has something to do with telling the truth. The truth about ourselves, and the truth about God and the world which God loves.

One of the significant contributions of Uniting in Worship 2 is its encouragement of lament. Uniting in Worship 2 challenges us to take communal truth-telling seriously. Not simply about our own failings, but about the ways the world is held captive by all manner of evil and suffering. This reflects some of the ways the Apostle Paul talks about sin as a force which holds us captive:

Sin, for Paul (and probably also for us), is both the bad things we do, and a force which holds the world so often in its grips. Telling the truth about sin requires us not only to take responsibility for how we have failed and harmed others, it also requires that we offer lament.

Lament names how we continue to be held captive by a world that is filled with so much brokenness, violence, cruelty, and disregard. Bringing our lament to God is not a denial of God’s faithfulness and saving work. Rather, lament sits within rich biblical traditions which recognise that to confront the reality of sin requires remembering our covenant relationship with God. A covenant relationship goes both ways: it means God rightly calls us to account for our failures (greeting us always with forgiveness and kindness), and it means crying out to God from our continued struggles with honest and open hearts.

This richer understanding of sin, confession and covenant is particularly important for our church, and our covenant relationship with the Uniting Aboriginal and Islander Christian Congress (UAICC). (Which recently marked its 32nd anniversary.) Covenanting is deeply rooted in our tradition, and seeks to echo God’s covenant of love and grace in how we walk together as First and Second Peoples.

The covenant with the UAICC challenges us to incorporate ways of acknowledging Country when we gather to worship. These acts of truth-telling, like the covenant itself, flows out of our relationship with God. Our relationship with our loving God frees us to tell the truth about ourselves — our failures and our fears. So too the commitments of the covenant with the UAICC free us to name the ways that we have failed to respect the dignity of First Peoples, and also the ways that unjust relationships continue to afflict all of us.

For those who are preparing to lead worship over the next few weeks I wonder how our prayers of confession might contribute to the work of truth-telling.

How might we hold together confession and lament?

How might we acknowledge Country?

How might everything we do tell of that covenant of love and grace which Christ established in his life, death and resurrection?

An Acknowledgement of Country based on the Confession of Belhar

“God has entrusted the Church with the message of reconciliation in and through Jesus Christ; the Church is called blessed because its members are peacemakers, and the Church is a witness, by word and deed, to the new heaven and the new earth in which justice dwells.” (Belhar 10.5; see also UCA Revised Preamble §6)

And so we reject all alienation, all hatred, all enmity in this land,

We acknowledge the [local indigenous peoples of the land],

We acknowledge their elders past, present, and those to come.

[The congregation might sing ‘Kyrie Eleison’ / ‘Lord, have mercy’]

First, you meet as a group, quietly trying to work out which one of you is the instructor. Then there is the travel to where you are staying. You gather again: reviewing maps, checking the weather, and perhaps identifying who is most likely to fall in.

The following morning begins with a hearty breakfast—necessary fuel for the journey. Then comes the ritual of making lunch: always sandwiches, with fruit, a muesli bar, and a drink. The maps come out again, now read through the lens of the latest forecast.

Then you drive, unpack, layer up in all sorts of gear, and carry boats to the water—the shorter this walk at the start, the longer it will feel at the end of the day. You hope for tide out in the morning and tide in for the afternoon.

Only then do you get on the water.

Sometimes it is calm and sunlit. More often it is windy, wet, and demanding. You stop for morning tea—coffee or tea with the essential fruit cake. Later, lunch—hoping the dry bags have done their job. And finally, you paddle home, usually with wind or tide at your back, because a good instructor has planned the return to be kinder than the outward journey.

Then comes the pack down. You are exhausted and wet, but laziness is frowned upon.

You return to a hearty meal and a wee dram of single malt. Stories are told—of the day just lived and of others long past. You learn about people from all over the world. And then you do it all again tomorrow.

As you can see, the paddling itself is only a small part of the whole.

This reminds me—stay with me—of the Lord’s Supper: the Eucharist, Holy Communion.

We often think “communion” is simply the moment we eat the bread and drink from the cup. But that moment sits within a much larger story—the liturgy in which it is held.

In Holy Communion we enter a story that echoes across generations. Bread is kneaded and baked. Wine, if used, has been cultivated and matured over time. The table is prepared—often with linen and vessels carrying their own history.

The sacrament comes as the climax of the service: after prayer, song, scripture, and proclamation. It begins with invitation, moves into the Great Prayer of Thanksgiving, and retells the story of the meal. Then we do not simply remember—we enact it.

The sharing itself is both deeply personal and profoundly communal. Sometimes we eat and drink as we are ready; sometimes we wait and receive together as one body. Then we pray again and are sent out into the world.

Even what remains is treated with reverence—though, as a child, I remember those leftovers being shared with friends on the back steps of Gladstone Uniting Church.

There is so much in this unfolding drama that we miss if we focus only on consuming the bread and the cup.

Next time your community gathers at the table, pause. Listen. Wonder.

The breadth and depth of what is happening is as vast as the ocean on which my small kayak bobs—and even this is only a foretaste of the heavenly banquet prepared for all people.

This is the first new feast adopted by the RCL since its development, and comes out of a wide-ranging ecumenical conversation with voices from the Eastern Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Anglican, and broader Protestant churches.

For many churches who already engage in the season of creation (endorsed by the World Council of Churches), this feast provides an anchor for the beginning of that season.

The feast focuses on 4 theological themes:

1. Creation as God’s creative act

2. Creation as Christological mystery

3. Creation as Trinitarian mystery

4. Creation as sacramental and covenantal.

Each of these themes offers an opportunity for rich reflection, and creative worship.

Call to action!

To encourage the adoption of this feast within the UCA, I invite you to send in prayers related to the feast (the readings to guide your prayer writing are at the bottom of this article).

Please send prayers to: worship@nat.uca.org.au and we’ll collect them into a resource in preparation for the feast of creation later this year (and put a few out on this substack).

In particular it would be great to collect:

1. Opening prayers — which might be used at the beginning of worship, you might be guided by the trinitarian pattern typical of opening prayers: adoration of the Creator, invocation of the Spirit, and confession through Christ.

2. Communion prayers — how might a broader emphasis on creation disrupt and expand the typical trinitarian pattern of our prayers at the table? I encourage you to think about the fullness of our thanksgiving at the table: thanksgiving for creation and God’s work of salvation throughout scripture, remembering Jesus, calling the Spirit upon the people, and praising the Trinity of love.

3. Collects — prayers which reflect the feast, and have a perennial quality (they can might be prayer year in and year out as this feast comes round: inserted in opening prayers, or at the conclusion of the prayers of the people).

The CD-ROM for ‘Uniting in Worship 2’ has a collection of collects for the RCL (typically at least 2 prayers for every Sunday of the year!), which might help guide your writing. You can find them here.

This feast offers a fresh opportunity for us to listen to the First Peoples of this land who continue to call us to care for Country, to respect the Covenant, and to pursure justice. And also to hear the call of our sisters and brothers across the moana of the Pacific, whose homes are already feeling the impacts of climate crisis.

Perhaps we need more lament?

As we think about how we might pray ourselves into this feast you might consider:

Can we truly separate God’s creative act from our responsibility to care for what God has created?

How do we express the mystery that all things came into being through Christ, and are held together by Christ?

In what way might we express the fullness of God’s trinitarian life in the work of creation?

What is the connection between the UCA’s Covenant with Congress and God’s covenant with all of creation?

Readings

These readings are offered for trial use, and feedback is sought. So play around with them as we approach September 6 this year, and I’ll try and remember to remind people to provide feedback.

Year A (Current)

• First reading: Genesis 1:1-2:3 or Genesis 2:4-25

• Psalm: Psalm 148:1-14

• Second reading: Acts 17:22a, 24-28

• Gospel: John 1:1-5

Year B

• First reading: Proverbs 8:22-31 [32-35]

• Psalm: Psalm 104:1-4, 14-24 or Psalm 104:1-2a. 5-6. 10, 12. 24, 35c

• Second reading: Colossians 1:15-20

• Gospel: Matthew 6:25-33 or John 1:1-5

Year C

• First reading: Job 38:1, 4-11 [12-18] or Sirach 42:15-25

• Psalm: Psalm 29:3-11 or Psalm 65:5-13

• Second reading: Romans 8:18-25

• Gospel: Luke 8:22-25 or John 1:1-5

“We love, because God first loved us.” (1 John 4:19)

I would add: we worship, because God first loved us. My favourite Bible verse articulates a similar idea:

“[God] chose us in Christ before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before God in love.” (Ephesians 1:4)

Even before the first day, God’s disposition towards us has always been free and boundless love. God chooses us, chooses to set us aside for God’s own purpose (which is what ‘holiness’ really means); and God chooses us to be blameless, to be welcomed unconditionally into God’s eternal embrace. Hallelujah!

Our worship, therefore, is always a response to God. This is why across many different and diverse traditions Christian worship starts with what gets named a “call to worship.” The call is not our human call to each other (the leader’s call to file in from the foyer and pay attention), but God’s call to all of us. In some churches, to emphasise this point, the call to worship is a simple, single line of scripture, reminding us that it is God’s word which calls us together. When we gather to worship, to do all the things it is good and right to do, we should recognise that we gather in response to God’s prior works of love, and God’s call to all and each of us.

Perhaps a radical suggestion might be that at the end of each service we don’t assume that there’s any reason to meet next week at all. We should only gather again if we hear God’s call again. Our worship is our public work of witness to the life-giving God, whose Spirit makes Jesus heard and known. We cannot conjure God to be present among us - not even with a well phrased epiclesis! - but we can wait upon God. We can listen to the Spirit. We can pay attention to our world - in its hurting and its hoping. We can see, truly see, our neighbours: made in the image of God. … and then, all of a sudden: we find that God is calling out to all people the whole time. The call of God to all people is as close as our breath.

Our worship finds it centre not in us, and what we do, but in Jesus, who promises that he will be present with us by his Spirit. If we want to talk about worship, in other words, we must begin by talking about the faithfulness of God. Who we worship and why we worship matters more than how we worship. Getting the who and the why right, I think, helps avoid some of the difficulties around the how of our worship. Because a call to worship can look like a million things; what matters is that we know who it is that is calling us, who it is that is welcoming us, who it is that we respond to with thanksgiving and praise.

A recent example I saw that shows beautifully the creative possibilities, and the clarity of proclamation, is this audio visual call to worship from Journey Uniting Church in Adelaide:

This call to worship framed the service within the narrative of God’s creative power and redemptive love, drawing on the imagery of God’s abundant light and life in creation and in our lives. This is the God we respond to with our worship, this is who calls us.

My encouragement for those of you planning worship over the next few weeks is to focus on the call to worship. How might the first words people hear as they gather be Christian words? How might your worship begin by echoing the call of God: who loved us before all things, who calls us to God’s very self, who is faithful beyond all things?

Let us worship God:

Maker of all things

Lover of all people

Breath of all life

This project seeks to foster renewal by building shared understanding about how we worship, why we worship, and most importantly who we worship. What we want to create together has three parts:

1. Theology of Worship

   Our shared foundation in scripture, tradition, culture, and experience

2. A Short Guide to Worship

   Guidance for preparing, leading, and participating in worship

3. Authorised Services

   The essential elements and meaning of services which order our common life

This project is about celebrating the diverse expressions of worship across our church, which in their own way help make public an encounter with God.

At the same time as celebrating what our worship currently looks like, we are also challenged about whether we are living up to all of our commitments as a church:

Has our commitment to covenanting and walking together as First and Second Peoples truly changed how we worship and acknowledge our Creator?

Have we truly lived out our claim that, “We are a multicultural church” by becoming a truly multi-lingual, intercultural church?

Does our commitment to Christ’s reconciling unity and love truly extend to all? Particularly when people have been blocked from encountering Jesus because the church hasn’t been safe or welcoming in our practices and language?

Our diversity must be seen as an instrument of our unity, because the Creator has made us unique and the Spirit draws us all together in Christ.

Whether your community is bound together by a deep connection to Country, drawn from across the moana, or shaped by stories of migration old and new. Whether your church has organs, guitars, drums, or just voices. Whether you have always felt welcomed by our Church, or you have struggled to find love and acceptance. Whether your theology is conservative, progressive, evangelical, liberal, pentecostal, justice-oriented, or a mixture of everything!

Everyone is invited to participate in this project of liturgical renewal, because everyone is invited to worship the life-giving God we meet in Jesus.

This substack is here to facilitate the conversation. We want to hear from you! We want to publish your submissions about worship:

• What questions about worship does our church need to wrestle with?

• What do you think would help make our worship more faithful and life-giving?

• What does life-giving worship look like to you?

Send your submissions to: worship@nat.uca.org.au

And encourage others to subscribe to this substack and join the conversation!

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