I got lucky the other night at a Jeff Deyo concert. I stumbled into one of those wonder moments, the kind that sneaks up on you.
You never see it coming, oblivious to its significance, and then, boom, suddenly your heart is opened to something wonderful. In Biblical lingo, we'd call it revelation.
Jeff Deyo is a nationally known worship leader, previously heading up worship band Sonic Flood, now partnering in Louie Giglio's college youth movement and writing songs that move a generation toward the throne of God. He regularly performs before thousands, but some minor miracle brought him to my small South Jersey town this past weekend, where he played in an undersized church hall that holds maybe 300, if they're little. The timing couldn't have been better. I found myself dragging just a bit, and nothing sounded better to me than leaving my cares behind and losing myself in the worship of my God. I pulled up to the neighborhood church with an expectant heart, toes already tapping.
Deyo scoffed away his laryngitis; what did it matter how he sounded? The presentation and celebration of a Holy God was what was of supreme importance. There not to promote his latest CD but the God who saved him, he was stalwart in his focus, periodically whipping his well-worn Bible open to read and teach Scripture. The audience responded gratefully. We stood as close to the stage as possible, gazing past Deyo, to the Giver of the gift. Chairs lined the back wall, but the majority of us remained on our feet in this warm, no, hot, crowded room throughout the concert, which, by the way, lasted well over three hours. Yup, three, and I'm no spring chicken. But I was happily in the minority. Most of the crowd was younger than I, a few of them even tiny, bopping somewhere in the vicinity of my waist. Or at least where it was last spotted. So anyway, we're standing, crowded and sweaty, in the heat, for hours. And it feels like ten minutes because something so significant is happening that we've forgotten about our creature comforts. No small feat, pardon the pun.
As I looked around the teeming stage area I was struck by the beauty of these young faces, lifted up before their God. Eyes were closed, hands raised in worship, hips gently swaying to the inner music of rejoicing souls. I am a woman who loves the company of young people; I've raised four of 'em, two still teenagers. My child-raising years were not without incident; I'd be lying if I said we'd had no experience with angry principals, teachers and yes, even the occasional police officer. My kids were raised in a loving Christian home, but it does not guarantee a painless childhood. Not in the real world anyway, and that's where I live. But those hard days haven't depleted my enjoyment of young people. On the contrary, it's part of what makes me love their company. Our shared survival binds us together. We have come through some hard times, but it's only shown us our common need for help, Help of the highest order. There is great beauty in that.
And therein lies my bandstand revelation. As I gazed at those earnest faces, so transported by communion with God, I was overcome by the beauty and the power of God working through the generations. Yes, even through the struggle of growing, the mutual pulling and tugging as we try to find our way through the morass of cultural and generational distance. Remember the old Stretch Armstrong toys, those rubberized petroleum men whose limbs could be tugged to amazing lengths? You'd expect them to finally snap or be ruined but inevitably, slowly, they inched their way back to original size. It only looked impossible.
I felt a bit like Stretch that night in that crowd, kind of worn, my rubber aging, but my heart was not fettered by the constraints of age, gender or flexibility. As the Spirit of God moved through our worship, our hearts were bound together, our differences shed for the moment. I was struck anew by the unity of the Spirit, how He transcends every division, how each boundary blurs before the throne. It is this picture I'll bring to mind tomorrow when the TV news regales me with negativity and discouragement. I'll remember how God meets and lifts the generations together, how we are united and strengthened in Him to accomplish mighty works. My feet may ache tomorrow, but my heart will still be singing, and I'll remember this song forever.
