going sockfoot

It was a hot summer Thursday evening, years ago at a Vine Band rehearsal; our bassist was wearing flip-flops and he took them off. Our worship leader commented on this, and our bassist replied something to the effect of: “you can’t play rock-n-roll in flip-flops; there’s just something wrong with that.” So we all went barefoot for rehearsal.

Sunday morning, in fun, he dared us to go barefoot on stage, so we did – and it was one of the most worshipful Sundays we’d had. Reflecting on it later, a couple of us agreed that at some point during worship that morning, our bare feet had become less about musical protocol and so much more about standing on holy ground, and I can only think of a handful of times over the past few years since then that I’ve worn shoes on stage while singing or leading worship. I am known around our group at church, by those who don’t know my name, as “that chick who leads worship in her sock feet” – and I am okay with that. If it makes them think for a second, “why does she do that?” – excellent. If they ask me – even better.

There’s an unwritten rule at my current church that shoes are to be worn on stage, but it seems to be vaguely rooted, though vehemently enforced. I found out about this rule when I auditioned for the team about a year ago (in my sock feet) and really wrestled with it all summer, even at times in tears over it. What would I do when I got on stage in the fall? Wearing shoes up there after years of not doing it distracts me to no end – I suppose if I absolutely had to, I could lead with shoes on, but it would be hard work and would take me a long time to get to a point where I didn’t notice my feet… The first time I sang at a service this summer, I got on stage with my shoes on, but I felt so compelled to take them off, and finally, in my heart, it came down to a question of obedience – who would I obey, God or men? So I took my shoes off, and have continued to do so. A lot of my fears about eventual repercussions were alleviated a couple weeks ago when one of our senior pastors complimented me on my socks (I was wearing fun stripy ones). But then one of the worship leaders heard about it and told me I had to wear shoes. For the whole rest of that rehearsal I prayed and struggled with my frustration, until God opened the door for a positive conversation about it, and I gained permission to wear surreptitious socks.

Why is this such a big deal? I mean, I understand the argument that on stage we should be as non-distracting as possible, although I maintain that if people are not only noticing but having issues with my sock feet that they have greater issues to contend with about their own ability to worship. But there are so many other things in the “worship wars” that are more important to wrestle with than what I do or do not wear on my feet! Or are there? I don’t claim that going sock foot makes me a better worship leader, or that people who lead worship with their shoes on are not good at what they do (hello, Chris Tomlin wears very nice shoes). But I believe that God has called me to go sockfoot or barefoot, when I’m on stage. And here’s why:

1) it’s a sign of respect. We take our shoes off when we go into people’s houses so we won’t track dirt on their carpets. Why should we track dirt into God’s house? (there are spiritual applications of this, if you want to go there)

2) it’s a sign of being at home. We don’t hesitate to kick our shoes off and tuck our feet up under us on a friend’s couch. Shouldn’t we be that comfortable in God’s house? (so it’s a symbolic act of worship that approaches both God’s otherness (point #1) and God’s nearness (point #2))

3) it’s biblical. Moses had an experience in God’s presence where he was ordered to take off his shoes because he was standing on holy ground – and if I’m remembering correctly, so did Elijah.

4) it’s about humility. Standing on stage in my sock feet reminds me that I am not there because of my own merit – I am not the most gifted musician nor the most talented vocalist in my band (nor have I ever been). I am not professionally trained, nor am I a particularly skilled leader. But God has called me, and there is nothing in the world I love doing more than leading God’s people in worship. (Except maybe the planning process that goes into doing that.) Mark says God doesn’t let me glimpse the anointing He has on me so I won’t get arrogant about it. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but I do know that as an artist I can get really caught up in my art and be way too proud about my abilities. Learning to say thank you to people who compliment me in church without internalizing it as “all about me” has been tough – I think I’m mostly there, but there’s a line between letting people build you up and letting them puff you up. So standing in my sock feet is simply an outward sign of humility (which ironically sounds a bit show-offy). Nevertheless, taking off my shoes has become a ritual act of worship that no matter how quickly or reverently done, helps me shift into “this is not about me” mode, which I think is essential, especially considering I will probably rarely have the opportunity to lead worship from the back of the room on a routine basis again.

5) it’s an act of obedience. Even if I don’t understand all the reasons He has for it, ultimately what it comes down to is that I feel God has called me to lead worship without my shoes on. I’d rather obey Him on this than argue, honestly.

So that’s the story… and I’m really hoping and praying that the permission I’ve gained to continue wearing socks on stage will not be revoked. I haven’t quite figured out whether this an issue worth walking off stage for – but I would hate to have to make that choice, tho I trust that He will help me make the right one, if it comes to that.

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