Edwin Dadson - Higher - When The Praises Go Up Lyrics

Video

Higher by Ps. Edwin Dadson

Meaning & Inspiration

If we slow down here, this one phrase changes how we understand the whole passage. "When the praises go up, His glory comes down." It sounds like a transaction. Like a vending machine. You put in the prayer, you put in the worship, and the mechanical arm drops the blessing. But that is not how it works. That is not how any of this works. We think we can manipulate God. We think if we sing loud enough, if we hit the note, if we sustain the "Higher" for ten seconds, he is forced to move. It is a dangerous way to look at the Divine.

Look at the words. "Higher, Higher, Higher." It’s repetitive. It’s relentless. It feels like we are trying to build a ladder out of noise. We want to reach him. We want to climb up to where he lives, dragging our songs behind us like luggage. And the implication is that he is far away. We are down here, he is up there. And we have to do this specific thing—we have to lift our voices—to make him notice. It’s like yelling at a bird in the clouds. Why do we think God is deaf? Why do we think the glory of the Creator is stuck in a sky-box until we sing well enough to unlock the door? It’s a strange, shaky theology.

If we look at the history of the thing—that old story about the burning mountain—people were terrified to even touch the edge of it. They weren't singing to pull the presence down; they were hiding because the presence was too much. It burned. It changed the air. You couldn't just "praise" it into existence. It just was. So why are we acting like we’re summoning a storm? Maybe we like the feeling of control. If I can make the glory come down, I can also make it stay. I can make it do what I want. That’s not worship. That’s power. And we have no power.

Think about the "glory." We throw that word around like it’s just a warm fuzzy feeling in a room. We act like "glory" is just the bass getting louder or the lights getting dim. But in the old books, glory was heavy. It was a weight. It broke people. It made them fall face-first into the dirt. It wasn't something you invited; it was something that interrupted. So when we sing that it comes down because we sent our praise up, are we actually inviting the weight? Or are we just looking for a show? We want the favor. The lyrics mention favor later. That’s the part we really want. We want the blessings. We want the easy life. We treat the presence of God like a conduit for our own comfort.

Then there is the "Tu-lu" part. Nonsense sounds. We fill the space with noise when the actual words run out. Maybe that’s honest. We don’t actually have the language for God. We are just making noise, hoping he hears something in the static. But it feels like a distraction. It fills the room so we don't have to sit in the silence and realize we are talking to a brick wall. We want the sound. The louder, the better. If it’s quiet, maybe he isn't there. We need the proof. The glory coming down is the proof.

What if he doesn't come down? What if the praises go up and hit the ceiling and bounce back, and the room stays exactly the same? What then? Do we sing louder? Do we try to climb "higher" with more desperate energy? That’s where the wrestling starts. We are addicted to the result. We need the feeling. If the glory doesn't "come down," we feel like the whole thing was a failure. Like we didn't work the system right. We are like children playing with a broken radio, clicking the dial over and over, thinking that if we just turn it the right way, the music will start.

But look at the mechanics of it again. "When the praises go up, His glory comes down." It sounds like an exchange. I give you this, you give me that. It’s a market. And we are all standing in the market, screaming our praise, waiting for the goods to be delivered. Is that what Jesus meant when he said he was the bread? Was he a product? No. He was a person. You don't "praise" a person into being present. You just look at them. You listen to them. But we want the glory. We want the big, heavy, visible thing. We want the lightning. We don't want the man. We want the favor, but we don't want the cross. We don't want the part where the glory looks like suffering.

We are so sure of ourselves. We sing these songs like we are in charge. We tell God when to move. We tell him what to do. "It's coming down." We say it like a prophecy. But it’s a command. We are trying to command the creator of the stars to descend into our little box of a room. It is arrogant. It is small. It makes me uncomfortable to even sing it, because I know I’m just trying to make myself feel like I have a handle on the Infinite. I want the glory, but I want it on my terms. I want the favor, but I don't want the brokenness that usually follows being in the presence of something truly holy. I want the magic without the fire. That’s the problem. We want the result without the transformation. We want the "glory" to visit us so we can feel good, then leave so we can go back to being exactly who we were before. We don't actually want to stay in the light. It’s too bright. It reveals too much. So we sing for it to come down, but we really hope it leaves fast.