"It's More Than Just A Shirt"
I come to church
with reverence in my frame,
Prepared to serve, to learn, and to be still.
Not just in white, I hope to do His will—
My heart, not just my shirt, declares His name.
She chooses hues with care, and I give place,
Content to follow where her colors lead.
In step and spirit, both of us proceed.
A quiet act that time will not erase.
She dresses bright; I walk in step and grace,
Reflecting unity in what we wear.
Our colors speak of care and blended prayer,
And reverence shines gently from her face.
It’s not the shade, but how I lift my eye.
In worship, clothed with purpose, tie, and why.
Prepared to serve, to learn, and to be still.
Not just in white, I hope to do His will—
My heart, not just my shirt, declares His name.
She chooses hues with care, and I give place,
Content to follow where her colors lead.
In step and spirit, both of us proceed.
A quiet act that time will not erase.
She dresses bright; I walk in step and grace,
Reflecting unity in what we wear.
Our colors speak of care and blended prayer,
And reverence shines gently from her face.
It’s not the shade, but how I lift my eye.
In worship, clothed with purpose, tie, and why.
"Worship, Not a Checklist"
I walk inside the
chapel, take my seat,
But more is asked than simply being there.
The hymns invite, the prayers draw soft and rare,
And heaven waits for hearts—not just our feet.
To check the box and say the week’s complete
Is not the gift the Lord would have me give.
He seeks a soul that longs to truly live,
To lay down pride and worship at His feet.
Not all who sit are offering their soul;
Not every bowed head yields a broken heart.
Yet He who sees the inward, quiet part,
Knows worship is what heals and makes us whole.
So let me come with purpose, not pretense,
To love, to change, and not just mark attendance.
But more is asked than simply being there.
The hymns invite, the prayers draw soft and rare,
And heaven waits for hearts—not just our feet.
To check the box and say the week’s complete
Is not the gift the Lord would have me give.
He seeks a soul that longs to truly live,
To lay down pride and worship at His feet.
Not all who sit are offering their soul;
Not every bowed head yields a broken heart.
Yet He who sees the inward, quiet part,
Knows worship is what heals and makes us whole.
So let me come with purpose, not pretense,
To love, to change, and not just mark attendance.
"More Than Attendance"
I sit among the
saints, but in my core
I sense the Lord desires something more still.
Not motions passed, nor just a silent will,
But worship offered deep, not from a chore.
A song, a prayer, a talk; these help restore,
Yet heaven’s gaze goes past the spoken part.
He seeks a soul, a consecrated heart,
Not just a checklist opened at the door.
I want to go beyond those quick replies:
“Pray, read, obey”, and think the task was done.
But worship rises only when begun,
With broken will and lifted, seeking eyes.
Let not my Sabbath end where it began,
But shape my soul in praise, not just a plan.
I sense the Lord desires something more still.
Not motions passed, nor just a silent will,
But worship offered deep, not from a chore.
A song, a prayer, a talk; these help restore,
Yet heaven’s gaze goes past the spoken part.
He seeks a soul, a consecrated heart,
Not just a checklist opened at the door.
I want to go beyond those quick replies:
“Pray, read, obey”, and think the task was done.
But worship rises only when begun,
With broken will and lifted, seeking eyes.
Let not my Sabbath end where it began,
But shape my soul in praise, not just a plan.
"Undivided Worship"
No other voice
should rise above His name,
No other cause compete to claim my praise.
Though Sunday fills with structure, song, and phrase,
The heart may drift while lips repeat the same.
To truly worship is to stake my claim,
To cast off lesser loves that dim His light.
It is to choose Him wholly, not by rite,
And offer all, not portioned, not by frame.
I cannot serve and split my soul in two,
Nor stand for Christ while kneeling at the world.
He calls for fire, not incense faintly curled,
A life made clean, a vow completely true.
Worship is His and His alone to take,
A jealous God who asks my soul awake.
No other cause compete to claim my praise.
Though Sunday fills with structure, song, and phrase,
The heart may drift while lips repeat the same.
To truly worship is to stake my claim,
To cast off lesser loves that dim His light.
It is to choose Him wholly, not by rite,
And offer all, not portioned, not by frame.
I cannot serve and split my soul in two,
Nor stand for Christ while kneeling at the world.
He calls for fire, not incense faintly curled,
A life made clean, a vow completely true.
Worship is His and His alone to take,
A jealous God who asks my soul awake.
"To Worship Is to Become"
To worship God is
more than bending knee,
More than a song or quiet reverent tone.
True honor lies in actions rarely shown—
In living love where only He can see.
The greatest praise is in the life I free
From pride, and shape to mirror what is just.
To walk like Him, to speak with patient trust,
To lift the low and bind the broken plea.
He seeks not flattery, but faith made real,
A heart that feeds the hungry, calms the storm.
To emulate is worship in true form—
To act as He would act, to love and feel.
If I adore Him, let it not be said—
Unless His ways are also how I'm led.
More than a song or quiet reverent tone.
True honor lies in actions rarely shown—
In living love where only He can see.
The greatest praise is in the life I free
From pride, and shape to mirror what is just.
To walk like Him, to speak with patient trust,
To lift the low and bind the broken plea.
He seeks not flattery, but faith made real,
A heart that feeds the hungry, calms the storm.
To emulate is worship in true form—
To act as He would act, to love and feel.
If I adore Him, let it not be said—
Unless His ways are also how I'm led.
"The Heart of True Worship"
Not what I wear, nor
where I take my place,
Can substitute the offering God desires.
Though outward signs may mirror inner fires,
They fade if not upheld by inward grace.
To simply come is not to run the race,
Nor check a box and say my soul is fed.
The Lord would have my will, my pride, my dread,
A broken heart that seeks His warm embrace.
Worship is more than silence, song, or seat;
It lives in how I walk, forgive, and serve.
To emulate the Lord in faith and nerve,
That is the praise no shadowed form can cheat.
I’ll show my praise in how I live each day,
In quiet steps that walk His narrow way.
Can substitute the offering God desires.
Though outward signs may mirror inner fires,
They fade if not upheld by inward grace.
To simply come is not to run the race,
Nor check a box and say my soul is fed.
The Lord would have my will, my pride, my dread,
A broken heart that seeks His warm embrace.
Worship is more than silence, song, or seat;
It lives in how I walk, forgive, and serve.
To emulate the Lord in faith and nerve,
That is the praise no shadowed form can cheat.
I’ll show my praise in how I live each day,
In quiet steps that walk His narrow way.
All poems above are based upon the general conference talk give by Elder Christofferson April 2025
https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2025/04/35christofferson?lang=eng
