I could just see the sharp creases on my daddy’s dress pants flash from behind the pulpit, being barely old enough to see over the pew. I was lulled by the sound of his cadence, the rise and fall of his voice. In the hushed pause when he shut his bible, the sound of the tiny upright piano filled the room and voices rose; so different from one another, but for that small moment in time, united.
Within 3 stanzas, a grown man somewhere beside me broke down. Sobbing, he came to the alter and fell to his knees. It was then that I learned the power of the written word. How groups of people came together around ancient text. How a five-versed hymn could break open your soul.
Once you have seen the power of words, I don’t know that it ever leaves you.