Real Church

Softly the rain caresses the tin roof in the beloved silence.
Noone need speak though there is a small hungry crowd.
Together we are moved in the Presence.
Tears fall, but we cannot know all behind the workings and the whys.

A shout, “Let it rain” breaks the quiet.

Melody creeps into the sacred moment.
It starts to rise and build, like the spire on a cathedral.
Still no words are necessary as we hold the song in our flowing hearts.
The music begins to thunder and crash under the Weight.
I've experienced nothing like it before, and it is a wonder.

Lyrics become essential suddenly in the swell, “Let it rain.”

Time stands still.

We cry out together, “Let it rain!”
One proclaims, "Lift up your heads, oh ye gates, that the King of Glory may come in!"

We drink deeply from the Well.