Worship Freedom
After working all day, Bill was able to get the RV running again. We left late in the afternoon, with me driving independently so as not to cause an extra strain on the RV. But I received a call shortly thereafter, telling me the RV had broken down again. After some confusion as to which exit the RV was actually at, I met up with Bill and my dad, ran over in my car and got a gallon of gas, and Bill slowly pushed the RV to a nearby gas station. We were next to a Native American casino. overlooking a gorgeous lake and RV park, that we had originally hoped to reach, before we learned how high the towing expenses would be. There Bill discovered the new problem- we were out of gas. Which was odd, as we had gassed up recently, just before the mechanics in Truth or Consequences supposedly fixed the vehicle.
We drove until late in the night. Somewhere East of Albuquerque we attached the car to the trailer again, and kept on driving. We pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot early in the morning, and went to sleep. But perhaps because of my anxiety over us being parked illegally, I couldn't sleep, and so elected to keep driving through the night. Come daylight Bill took over again, and we rolled into Kansas City this evening, to see the ministry that Linnea's been involved with. And just as we pulled in, the trailer hit an illegally parked garbage truck, ripping off the trunk's bumper and the plastic wheelhouse of the U-Haul trailer- the one not covered by insurance.
Linnea's been guiding a community of artists, interested in Jesus to varying degrees. There are musicians, visual artists, and actors living together or near a common house, meeting regularly to worship, and pursue or consider life with Christ. I had the privilege of being able to attend one of their gatherings the evening I was there. Immediately you could tell it was a different sort of place. A spirit of openness and freedom had been cultivated. One young man would spontaneously break out into skits or come up with country songs on the spot related to the conversation, while another would provide accompaniment that he had just created. People weren't there out of obligation, external or self-imposed. They were there to find some joy, and experience it.
Linnea facilitated the meeting, as she seemed to do regularly. She does not lead, as much as try to encourage growth and leadership in others. (Which is for me the epitome of excellent leadership.) The guy who was leading the worship was uncomfortable, as he had never done it before. Additionally, he didn't know how to play any of the songs the group usually sung. So instead- he wrote his own songs. I'm not making this up. He wrote about five songs, and they were the songs of Heaven. I only wish I had been more alert, to be able to follow and participate more fully, but I was exhausted from the all-night drive. These were choral songs that can easily be sung to, with melodious beat, and deep, penetrating lyrics. Everyone joined in, harmonizing or in counter-point, letting the Spirit move them towards new heights off the riff of the creator. When he stopped playing, all demanded more. While his talents were recognized, what moved was the presence of the Spirit penetrating the music. For the first time I saw before me displayed the merging of the Holy Spirit and what in another age was called the Muse, and I understood, if only for a brief moment. I only hope I can get ahold of the lyrics and words again, for it would be a pity to hear such beauty only once this side of Paradise.
We drove until late in the night. Somewhere East of Albuquerque we attached the car to the trailer again, and kept on driving. We pulled into a Dairy Queen parking lot early in the morning, and went to sleep. But perhaps because of my anxiety over us being parked illegally, I couldn't sleep, and so elected to keep driving through the night. Come daylight Bill took over again, and we rolled into Kansas City this evening, to see the ministry that Linnea's been involved with. And just as we pulled in, the trailer hit an illegally parked garbage truck, ripping off the trunk's bumper and the plastic wheelhouse of the U-Haul trailer- the one not covered by insurance.
Linnea's been guiding a community of artists, interested in Jesus to varying degrees. There are musicians, visual artists, and actors living together or near a common house, meeting regularly to worship, and pursue or consider life with Christ. I had the privilege of being able to attend one of their gatherings the evening I was there. Immediately you could tell it was a different sort of place. A spirit of openness and freedom had been cultivated. One young man would spontaneously break out into skits or come up with country songs on the spot related to the conversation, while another would provide accompaniment that he had just created. People weren't there out of obligation, external or self-imposed. They were there to find some joy, and experience it.
Linnea facilitated the meeting, as she seemed to do regularly. She does not lead, as much as try to encourage growth and leadership in others. (Which is for me the epitome of excellent leadership.) The guy who was leading the worship was uncomfortable, as he had never done it before. Additionally, he didn't know how to play any of the songs the group usually sung. So instead- he wrote his own songs. I'm not making this up. He wrote about five songs, and they were the songs of Heaven. I only wish I had been more alert, to be able to follow and participate more fully, but I was exhausted from the all-night drive. These were choral songs that can easily be sung to, with melodious beat, and deep, penetrating lyrics. Everyone joined in, harmonizing or in counter-point, letting the Spirit move them towards new heights off the riff of the creator. When he stopped playing, all demanded more. While his talents were recognized, what moved was the presence of the Spirit penetrating the music. For the first time I saw before me displayed the merging of the Holy Spirit and what in another age was called the Muse, and I understood, if only for a brief moment. I only hope I can get ahold of the lyrics and words again, for it would be a pity to hear such beauty only once this side of Paradise.
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