Here we are—on the other side of the world and 2,000 years removed from the place and time of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection. And on any given Sunday, untold millions gather to worship Christ and hear his teachings. Truly, this is Christ’s church. He is building it. And nothing will prevail against it!

This past July, my church graciously gave my family and me a month-long sabbatical. For four consecutive Sundays, I had the opportunity to visit four different churches from three different regions of the U.S.

I had one main criteria for deciding which church to attend: the church must take the Bible seriously.

With a little poking around on the internet, this was fairly easy to discover. Did the church’s website emphasize the timeless relevance of God’s Word or did it reflect current social trends? Was the most recent sermon an explanation and application of a Scriptural text or theme, or was it more of a self-help, motivational talk?

A church’s serious approach to the Bible was my one conscious criteria, but after visiting these churches, I discovered that four additional aspects of a church’s Sunday gathering mattered more to me than I initially realized.

1. Congregational Singing

First, I wanted a church where my family and I could participate in the worship by singing with the congregation.

The earliest Christians made singing an essential part of their worship gatherings. Writing to the Colossians in the middle of the first century, the Apostle Paul urged them to “let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs” (Colossians 3:16).

Non-Christians took notice of this as well. The Roman official Pliny the Younger, in a letter to emperor Trajan, reported that Christians “were accustomed to meet on a fixed day before dawn and sing responsively a hymn to Christ as to a god.” It is true that other religions incorporate music into their liturgies; but in Christianity, music enjoys a uniquely place for unique reasons. Christians (normally) gather to sing together because of our belief that each Christian—not just an elite priesthood—has the privilege and responsibility of praising God in song.

All the churches we visited included musical worship, and I was happy to sing praise to God every time. But it is worth mentioning that in some gatherings, certain factors conspired to dampen congregational singing, despite the efforts of the worship leaders.

At times I was confused about whether the song was just for the worship leaders or for everyone. In one service, the stage arrangement and levels of lighting approximated a concert setting in which we were spectators rather than active participants. Some songs had melodies and rhythms that were just difficult to follow. And in still other cases, the lyrics had such a tenuous connection to Biblical doctrine that left me puzzled about what we were celebrating.

In most churches, however, the music was a highlight. The songs were carefully chosen to facilitate congregational singing, with lyrics that honored Christ and melodies that were both beautiful and easy to sing.

I want to be clear here that I’m not talking about a “traditional” versus a “contemporary” worship service, or for old hymns versus new songs. In fact, it hardly mattered at all whether there was a drum or organ, guitar or piano, old new songs or old songs. (In a couple services, I appreciated how the drums bolstered the energy of the congregational singing.) What mattered was whether the instruments—drum or organ, contemporary chorus or classic hymn, piano or guitar—melody, and lyrics were put to the service of congregational singing.

2. Worshipful Preaching

I’m an avid student of public speaking, and I know in theory that a person’s character (ethos) is often more persuasive than their content (logos). But I was surprised by how much I found myself saying silently to the preacher, “And who are you? Do you believe this? Does it matter to you?”

During one sermon, the pastor played a video clip of S. M. Lockridge’s well-known sermon “That’s My King.” I love that clip: the climactic cadence of the words, the resonance of Lockridge’s voice, and the passion of his delivery. “That’s my king!” Lockridge thunders, then earnestly asks, “Well, I wonder, do you know Him? Do you know Him?”

The audience applauded when the clip ended, and the pastor humbly remarked that Lockridge put it better than he himself could have. That was probably true, but I couldn’t help silently asking, “But do you feel the same way about King Jesus? I wonder, do you know Him?” As moving as Lockridge’s delivery was, how much better would it be for the pastor—in his unique but heartfelt way—to exalt Jesus as his king?

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