(Warning: long post, and this was the long story short version)
The “hardening his heart” has been addressed on the SDMB before, and by much better theologians (i.e., they are theologians) than I am. As I understand, there is some controversy as to the exact translations there. I’ll leave them to someone more worthy.
So, why do I worship?
Here is a simple answer. Because it makes me feel wonderful. It doesn’t make me feel better than everyone else, it makes me feel at one with everyone else, connected through a higher power to all life in the universe. I think it is important for everyone, religious or no, to set aside time in their lives on a regular basis to contemplate the infinite, the world greater than that which exists within the confines of their skulls. Some people stargaze. Some study the inner workings of human beings. Some build houses for the homeless or feed the hungry. Some meditate sitting under a tree or in a quiet room.
Worship is also a valid way of communing with the universe.
I’m a Christian. I don’t, personally, question anyone else’s religion or lack thereof. You don’t believe there’s a god? I might find that a rather sad and lonely belief, but assuredly a person who believes in no god still has some way of reconciling him/herself with the rest of the universe.
There is a much longer answer to the question of why I worship, mixed in with soulshaking epiphanies and a sudden shocked paralysis of faith slapping me in the face on a drive up Highway 290 a year ago and a number of very kind, very patient people. I doubt anyone really wants to listen to me witness, though.
I see the God of the Old Testament as being what was needed by his people at that time. I believe that God evolves, just as everything else in the universe does, and part of his evolution was the shift between the Old and New Testaments. I cannot reconcile the genocide and rape and slaughter of the Old Testament with the God of Love put forth in the New without coming to terms with the fact that maybe God needs to change when the world does. That as humanity changes and perceptions shift, so does God.
I am a bit of a weird Christian. I don’t think God requires worship. I don’t think that He requires His followers to be Christians or belong to any other religion. I don’t think He’s anywhere near that human.
But I do believe there is something that connects all of the life in the universe together, and I believe it is a benevolent force.
I know, rationally, that when I went to go see my rector yesterday, that when he took my hands in his and prayed with me, that when he placed his hands upon my head and spoke gently, that when he anointed me with the chrism and prayed for my healing and health, that this was not going to make my kidney stones go suddenly away or give me the money to pay for their removal. I knew that, all other things being equal, I would have the same chances of success and a speedy recovery if I sacrificed a goat to Satan or burned incense in a Buddhist temple. I knew all these things rationally.
And yet. And yet I could feel a strange power in his hands – you know the feeling when you embrace someone you love? The feeling of that hug? That feeling. I felt light-headed and faint. His prayer comforted me and soothed me and helped me come to terms with a scary situation and with the way I’d been behaving toward my loved ones.
(He also gave me the number of his own therapist and suggested I give her a call. Never did he give me the impression that a prayer would make it all better. God helps those who get counseling.)
There’s no doubt a lot of you say this is sick and bad and wrong. I shouldn’t be telling my innermost secrets to a kind-eyed man in a backward collar. What’s the point in dabbing my forehead with olive oil? It’s not going to take the stones away. And deluding myself that there is a God and that he cares for me especially and personally is just that – self-delusion.
Okay, I say. Then I’m intentionally deluding myself. And I’m doing it for a purpose. Whenever I take Communion I feel literally cleansed, like a cool shower after a hot day working outside in the sunshine. When I speak with my rector (who knows me by name and background and personality, even though I’m just one out of two thousand or so parishoners who doesn’t really go to church that often and doesn’t belong to any committees and doesn’t donate much money) I get the sense that he really is the representative of something far greater than himself.
Lies to oneself are bad, and maybe I’m wrong, and maybe I’m deluded. But I don’t refuse treatment for the problems that ail me, I don’t assume that God will take care of everything, and I have tangibly positive effects from my spiritual life. Since I started going to church regularly I have been more even-tempered, more calm, more peaceful in my dealings with people, more thoughtful about how my actions affect others.
Can people get this in ways other than worship? Hell yes! And wherever they do it, I wish them well.