Almost Heaven

Friday night worship sessions have become a crucial part of what Manna Cafe is and does. Without "refueling" our spirits and building a foundation of prayer and the presence of God, we can't keep doing what we do. So here I sit, in the loft of the Manna House, i.e. warehouse in which we keep thousands of pounds of food to distribute during the week, and I'm wishing that those who have never experienced this could take a peek at what I'm seeing and hearing. What a beautiful, crazy mix of people and sounds and stories and sights.

Smack in the middle of the warehouse are  the musicians. There is no stage, no platform, just an array of amps, monitors, speakers, singers, and instrumentalists gathered in a circle--some sitting, some standing. There are five guitars of various kinds, a jimbe, a drum set, and a mother-daughter pair at the mics. Others sing as well, and often it's impossible to tell the voices apart, especially when the song takes off "on its own," so to speak--on some musical bunny trail that last fifteen minutes or so before wandering back to its original form. The lighting consists of only a collection of white Christmas bulbs and string lighting like you buy at the hardware store.

Around the center hub are chairs, and blankets on the floor. Some people sit, some stand, some wander out to the coffee pots in the foyer. Nearly everyone wears a jacket--it's a concrete-floored warehouse, after all. We are in our twenties, thirties, forties, fifties, and sixties. We are black, white, asian, and hispanic. We are strong, and we're broken. We're in love with God, and we're asking questions about His existence. At least two of us are alcoholics; a couple of us are struggling with cancer. A few of us have had multiple marriages. Several of us are homeless. Some of us wrestle with emotional problems. We belongs to lots of different churches/denominations. The common thread is only that we're furiously loved by Jesus and that we're looking for Him tonight. 

There is virtually no distinction between singers and participants, between young and old, between those who sit with their backs against boxes of canned goods and those who stand with arms lifted, or between one song and the next. I can't imagine anyone, from the king to the addict to Jesus Himself (Lord, that's our prayer!) who wouldn't fit in right here, right now; and therefore we're surely experiencing a slice of heaven, right here, right now.