I got to WCV on Saturday night, ready to join in the worship watch leading up to Easter Sunday. I found Nathan C. playing his djembe on the back steps, interceding for the working girls.
I joined Nathan in the rhythm of prayer and play.
Just like our hands, the passage of time became blurry.
A new friend hobbled up and, without a word, added to the rhythm with what was available to him. The division between white and red became as blurred as his sticks; the sounds were resoundinly clear. This was a sacred moment.
Things moved inside, where we continued to fuse the movements of our hands and our hearts.
The rhythms weave in and out of each other as they fuse to express something so much more than the sum of its parts. This is church, these are the called-out-ones.