The Beginning of Worship: Embracing Vulnerability

It was the summer of 2009 in Hilton Head, SC. I had just finished a long day of meetings, preparing for my move to Wake Forest and the next chapter of my life at SEBTS. That night, I met with my mentor. As I poured out the struggles I was facing in my life and family, she listened intently. Afterward, she said something I’ll never forget:

"Sometimes, I feel like I still don’t know you any better after our conversations."

Those words hit me harder than I expected. I had shared my heart openly, yet somehow, in her eyes, I was still holding something back. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but she felt there was more beneath the surface—more of me I wasn’t willing to let anyone see. At the time, I didn’t know how to process that.

That night, I sat with the weight of her words, and for the first time, I realized something I had never truly faced: I was wearing a mask—not just for others, but for myself. I had learned to keep parts of me hidden away, even from my own heart, convinced that if I didn’t face them, I could keep going without ever truly being known.

That night marked the beginning of a journey I didn’t understand at the time—a journey of unraveling, of becoming vulnerable. Over the past 15 years, I’ve slowly learned what it means to open up, to let others see the parts of me I had long concealed. And in this process, God has been faithful, guiding me through the uncomfortable, sometimes painful work of letting go of the walls I built to protect myself.

I didn’t know it then, but that conversation with my mentor would lead me on a path of discovering a deeper kind of community and intimacy with God—one that could only be found through vulnerability.

Author Justin Earley puts it this way, “Knowing comes from vulnerability. Sharing is about what happens to us. Vulnerability is about what happens in us. Sharing takes time. Vulnerability takes courage.”

For so long, I thought that if I just shared enough of my life, if I exposed my struggles and fears, I would feel connected. But sharing and vulnerability aren’t the same thing. Sharing is the outward act of speaking your story, but vulnerability is the act of opening up the innermost parts of your heart—the parts you fear may be too messy, too broken to reveal. It’s about giving others a glimpse of your raw, unpolished self.

And then Earley drops this truth bomb:

"The word vulnerable means to be capable of being wounded. This is terrifying—unless surrounded by love. To be fully known without being fully loved is to be exposed. (And to be loved without being fully known is really to be hidden.) But to be fully known and still fully loved, that is the beginning of worship."

For years, I lived in fear of being exposed. I thought vulnerability would leave me alone, misunderstood, or worse, rejected. But what I’ve learned—and what I’m still learning—is that when we let ourselves be fully known, even in our brokenness, and we are still loved in return, something beautiful happens. That’s when the worship begins. It’s in those sacred spaces of being both seen and loved, despite our imperfections, that we experience the fullness of God’s love.

Looking back on these 15 years, I can see how God has been gently teaching me this truth. He has allowed me to experience deeper connections with others—connections built not on perfection, but on honesty and love. As I’ve learned to share my vulnerabilities, I’ve discovered that the people who truly know me, flaws and all, are the ones who love me the most. And in turn, my relationship with God has deepened as I’ve opened up to Him in ways I never thought possible.

But vulnerability is still hard. It’s still terrifying. There are still moments when I want to retreat, to put the mask back on and hide the messy parts of my heart. But God has shown me time and time again that it’s in those moments of fear and hesitation that His love is most evident. His love is the safety net that allows us to be vulnerable without fear of rejection.

I’m learning to love myself more in the process, too. It’s not easy, and there are still many walls I’m working to break down, but I’m beginning to understand that God’s love for me is not based on my perfection, but on my willingness to be real with Him and with others. He doesn’t love me because I have it all together; He loves me in spite of the areas that are still under construction.

And the more I embrace my vulnerability, the more I find that worship is no longer confined to songs or rituals. It’s in the everyday moments of being fully known and still fully loved. It’s in the friendships where we’re free to share our struggles and celebrate our victories, knowing that we’re not alone. And it’s in the quiet moments with God, when I can be raw and real, knowing that He sees me and still calls me His own.

As I reflect on all of this, I find myself asking: What if we all took the risk of being vulnerable? What if we let others see the real us, without the masks? What if we leaned into the truth that we are fully known and still fully loved, not just by others, but by God?

That is the beginning of worship. And that is where healing begins.

So, I encourage you today—take a step toward vulnerability. Open up to someone you trust. Allow yourself to be fully seen, even in your mess. Because in that space, God is waiting, ready to love you.