Observations from the back wall.

I watch the clock tick down on the two big screens on each side of the stage.  When it hits zero the lights go down and the blinds lower over the windows, blocking out the sunlight.  The drummer stomps the bass drum and I feel it reverberate as I lean against the back wall of the worship center. The room is a subwoofer and I am right in the middle of it.

As a member of the church host team, I often stand in the back just in case I’m needed.  You notice a lot of things from back here.  You see who’s coming and going.  Who sits where and who they’re with.  You see joy and pain.  You see relief and enlightenment.  You see it all.

There’s the married couple who sits in the same section every week.  He keeps his arm around her and she snuggles in close and every now and then she’ll scratch his back.  They seem comfortable and happy to be there.  It’s one of those things they do together.  Worshipping as a pair.

There’s the large family on the opposite side.  They take up half of a single section.  The widowed matriarch sits closest to the aisle and she is joined by her children and grandchildren.  They are surrounded by each other.  Not only is it just children and grandchildren but they’re also joined by cousins, nephews and in laws.  Today they grow closer as a family as they grow closer to their maker.

There are the teenagers down front.  No one worships like them.  They exude spirit and excitement. When the music is playing they jump and dance and raise their hands to the sky.  They’re uninhibited; wild and reckless.  And when the sermon begins they are attentive.  They soak it in like a sponge.

The older people, in the next section over, find the kids either humorous or annoying.  It’s hard to tell.  They smile gingerly when they let out a scream or a whoop.

But the kids are setting the example, showing us how it’s done.  Why are we not following? Worshipping freely and wholeheartedly?

There is the singe lady who sits by herself every week.  She is receptive to the message that is being taught.  You can see it in her unblinking eyes and the way she nods her head.  The lights are going off.  She gets it.  God is making sense.

When the pastor ends the sermon and the music starts up again, the people in the room seem rejuvenated and restless.  Sometimes it’s like witnessing an aftermath.   Their world is wrecked and re-imagined.  Like a tsunami has washed through.

From the back wall I can see that hope has arrived.  Voids have been filled and doubts have been crushed.

From the back wall, I see that God was here today.