I remember attending Christian retreats/festivals/revivals/conferences. These were much-loved quiet times of reflection, a time to spend in unabashed and unashamed camaraderie with fellow believers. More importantly though, they always had great music. I knew without a doubt that the evenings would be intense. It would be a kamikaze of blue lights, key changes, tears, sweat, and a 23 minute rendition of Michael W Smith’s Let it rain. It is a collusion of blood, bone and brain matter; fused with flickering lights, heat, glowsticks and D-chords. The synapses are firing. The skin is getting prickly. It leaves people on their knees, chest heaving and body crumpled on the floor because they could not stand the weight of the glory of God in the room. The air get thick with it, and it invariably becomes more than people’s hearts can bear.
In the aftermath, in the stillness, we would reflect…
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