Exclamations of hallelujah echo into the pitch black as we gather under a tree older than all of us combined.
The dirt is on our feet and we’re pouring with sweat.
The sweet sounds of hallelujah are filtered with true declarations of freedom.
The Holy Spirit is alive. The Holy Spirit is present. Vibrating. Shaking. Moving. Yelling.
I feel it. You feel it.
You know that feeling when you are overworked with Jesus. This is it.
Worship looks and sounds different everywhere.
I sit here and think of American worship. At the same time that I write this it’s 7:15 in Tennessee. I imagine service starting and the congregation standing up and beginning to dance. Our music sounds different [more familiar to me] and I see them begin to exclaim praise through their lips. A similar, overtaking, beautiful expression of freedom similar to the one I’m watching now, in India.
Our praise are both sent up, intertwined, melodious, pleasing, perfect to God’s ears.
God is listening to his saints worship him on pews, in chairs, on floors, on cement, on grass, sweating, freezing, aching, dancing- everywhere.
How beautiful is the sound of praises from the saints.
