We’ll join the everlasting song, and crown Him Lord of
all.
--Edward Perronet, 1779
I drove in that sort of half-mindless reverie that long
sunsets and lonesome backroads inspire, far enough from the few small towns I
passed through that I met few headlights or taillights. My NPR station crackled
with enough static that the quirky voices of the show hosts teased me with
nearly-full statements of great import. Then, all of a sudden and also at long
last, I found myself on a long stretch of road, aimed at the dying-sun sky,
with the held-breath world embracing me from either side of the road. And
there, and then, I sat up. I took notice. I slowed my breath. I turned grateful
eyes, heart toward the Creator of this exquisite moment.
Perhaps you have experienced those instants of solitary
adoration also. They echo in the soul (and if I’m lucky, and prepared, my
camera roll) far after the moment passes. And they are important. But they are
not the only holy moments.
The moments when the pieces fit, and we match our voices to
the lasting song, and to our beloved family—across the aisle, around the
world—hold their own glory, and offer us a chance to join in a sort of worship
we will never experience on our own.
Not because we are not good enough, alone. But because we
are created for together.
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