The lights flicker to signal for people to find seats. The amps get turned on, the electric guitar straps are hung over shoulders, microphones are checked. And we worship.
Across the country, a few hours earlier, a piano plays a classical piece with strains of a hymn strung across the complex chords. An ancient tune and even more ancient words rings beneath the steeple. And they worship.
In the time zone in between, a piano plays, but its tune is a little newer. An acoustic guitar accompanies, and ancient words echo through the gym to a tune written by some college students a few years ago. And they worship.
Worship. Nothing to do with the building. Nothing to do with the musical instruments. All to do with the heart attitude of the people, who gather to worship together. Young moms learning to worship in 30 second spurts in between settling sibling squabbles and retrieving rolling pacifiers. Elderly learning that it's okay to sing sitting down. Middle aged folks putting the battle of the teenage years to the back of their mind and hoping some bit of the beauty sinks into the heart of the slouching and pouting walking hormone beside them.
Rejuvenating our spirits for the week ahead, when our moments of worship are interrupted by screams and leaks and requests for a certain book to be read for the fifth time today. Or does the moment of worship simply change direction, change focus? Caretakers of giant eternal souls in little messy toddling tornado bodies. What greater act of worship is there, than giving a cup of water to the least of these? I'm pretty sure Jesus is okay with us substituting milk or juice. =)
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