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Time Travel

I went back this morning. I went back to Salem. I am missing worship. Not the quiet pensive variety but deep holy worship. As I went back, I heard a strong voice leading in prayer. It started like this: Most Gracious Heavenly Father. The voice grew. The responses followed with a rhythm like the falling of dominos in a row. I knew this sound well. There were whispers of thank you Jesus. Or praise you God. Or oh yes God. As the leader’s voice swelled so did the response. Soon it was a cacophony of harmony. Hands were raised. Tears flowed. Heaven came down and was orchestrating the sound of worship. Needs expressed out loud at the same time. Adoration exclaimed. Quietness settled but there was no amen. A word of exhortation or adoration proclaimed. It came from the back or the side of auditorium. The anointed voice was heard. Hearts and heads bowed as they we absorbed the Holy Spirit’s work. Responses came. Some knelt. Some grieved over sins. Some expressed joyful praise. No response was wrong, but response was necessary. God was moving among His people. No rush. God was there. I wanted to stay there. My prayer echoed familiar lyrics: I long so much to feel the touch of His consuming fire. The worship continued. Each in their own way, expressing their desires and love. Then the sound came. It was faint at first. A man or a woman, not one that could sing or who graced the platform, but just an average person on the pew would start to sing. No, they weren’t asked. It wasn’t in the bulletin. Spontaneously, they sang. I listened as I would have in that sanctuary of worship. It began to grow. Another joined and another. Soon the sound reached the pianist and she started to play. The congregation joined in song. Pass Me Not O Gentle Savior, Hear my humble cry. While on other’s though are calling do not pass me by. It continued and once again, the work of the spirit continued. My heart and mind stayed as long as it could this morning. I miss those days. I miss praying and hearing the sound of other’s praying with me. I miss amens. I miss raised hands in worship. I miss clapping hands to the beat. I miss kneeling in humility. As I left Salem this morning, I remembered the last verse of that hymn that came from the back of the room. Thou the spring of all my comfort More than life to me Whom have I on earth beside Thee? Whom in Heav'n but Thee? Sunday was All Saint’s Sunday and as I remember the saints of Salem who formed my faith, I am thankful.

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