Yesterday was an off day for me. I can't explain it, but it just didn't feel right. I went to bed feeling emotionally flat-lined, but hopeful because today we would worship together. I was not disappointed. The music was great; we even sang one of my songs, but I was running the video, concentrating on getting the lyrics on the screen at the right times.
The songs didn't move me. Neither did the preaching (sorry, Joe). I received communion, went back to the booth to set up the last song. It was during that song that I noticed it. Paul is about my age, is bald like me, and like me, is very hard of hearing. He stands on the stage in back behind the vocalists, tucked in between the bass and the drums. You have to look to even see him. Paul plays bongos and the conga, and maracas. With enthusiasm. He closes his eyes and sings along...worshipping. As I watched, the Holy Spirit broke through to me. Part way through that last song, as the band played and Paul be-bopped his bongos, Harry blew the shofar and for me at least, God was present. Last night I went to bed hopeful; tonight, hope is fulfilled and tonight I am grateful.