# When Do We Bow? Ever?

“But as for me, through the greatness of your mercy,
I will go into your house;
I will bow down toward your holy temple in awe of you.”
— Psalm 5:7 (BCP translation)

I wasn’t raised with bowing.
Maybe you weren’t either.

For many of us, especially those from non-liturgical or low church backgrounds, bowing in worship feels foreign—maybe even uncomfortable. I remember the first time I saw someone do it during an Anglican service. The congregation bows as the priest enters with the cross and a copy of the gospels. A few others bowed toward the altar. And then, quietly and unexpectedly, I saw someone bow before stepping into their pew.

I didn’t know what to do with that.
I felt a twinge—not of judgment, but of inner resistance. A flicker of unfamiliarity.
Do we really bow now? Is this something I’m supposed to do? Isn’t that a bit… formal?

But then, as I settled into this new tradition and encountered Psalm 5 again—particularly verse 7—I began to wonder:
If not now, when do I bow?

# The Inner Question

For many Christians, especially those raised in traditions that emphasize intimacy and informality with God, the physical rituals of liturgical worship—standing, kneeling, crossing oneself, bowing—can seem excessive or external. Worship is in the heart, we’re taught. And that’s deeply true.

But there’s also a wisdom in recognizing that our bodies often need to act out what our hearts are still learning.

Psalm 5:7 doesn’t just speak of entering God's house. It speaks of bowing—in awe. Not fear or formality, but awe. A posture of reverence, as if the body must admit: I am not God. I am standing in holy mystery. I do not fully understand, but I yield myself.

That’s what bowing can become—not a performance, but a surrender.

# Anglican Practice and Tradition

In the Anglican tradition, bowing is not required—but it is meaningful. It is one of many embodied gestures meant to draw us more deeply into awareness:

Bowing at the name of Jesus recalls Philippians 2:10: "At the name of Jesus every knee should bow..."
Bowing toward the altar is a way of acknowledging the presence of Christ, even if sacramentally or symbolically.
Bowing before entering a pew is a quiet act of reverence—not to the building, but to the Lord whose house it is.

Some cross themselves at the gospel reading, or during the blessing. Others genuflect when passing in front of the altar. Some kneel for prayer or confession. These gestures are not magical. Nor are they prescriptions. They are invitations—chances to say with your body what your heart might not yet be able to say in words.

# A Word to Fellow Sojourners

If you're from a low-church background, or if you’ve ever felt a touch of awkwardness at these gestures during an Anglican service, I understand. I still feel it sometimes. But I’ve also come to see them not as barriers, but as tools for reverence.

They are, in a way, small liturgies of humility.
And they provoke a question I needed to ask myself:

When do I bow? Ever?

Not just in church—but in life.
When do I truly let myself bend before something greater, someone holy?

Maybe it’s worth asking yourself too.
Not because bowing is the only way to worship—but because sometimes, it is only when we do something physical that we realize how rarely we allow ourselves to feel reverent at all.

# No Judgment, Just an Offering

This isn’t a critique of the way others worship. I’ve encountered profound, Spirit-filled worship in folding chairs and basketball courts. I’ve wept in services where no one bowed or crossed themselves. God is not limited by liturgy.

But I’m learning—tentatively, that my body has things to teach me about worship.
And the learning might start with a question:

When do we bow?
Ever?

Maybe the answer won’t come all at once.
Maybe it’s okay to watch, to wonder, and—when ready—try bowing too.

Just once.
Not out of pressure. But out of humility.