Sunday, April 26, 2009

worship

The soft and steady shuffle begins. Knees bend and feet tap; bodies rock, right to left; arms and hands follow along setting the mood for what will follow. My heart is quiet in anticipation. A clear and pointed solitary voice carries through the air, causing my heart to quicken. She begins the song. The rest are signaled by some silent clue to join in -- their voices in perfect harmony, filling the space with the power of their song. The sound bounces from wall to wall and penetrates straight to the center. Bumps break out across my flesh and tears prick my eyes. This is African worship.

Now it’s my turn to join. My feet begin to keep time involuntarily. My hands follow along. Soon I am mimicking the movement of the choir, allowing my whole body to be involved in this experience of worship. My voice is often the last part of me to join. Somehow, moving as one with the friends and strangers around me seems more important than the words of the song. As the words become familiar I lift my voice as well. This is worship. African worship. Kingdom worship.

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