Horns blaze into the night sky. It is the sound of joy, of ecstasy. It is the sound of release and salvation.
The church is crowded. People not only stand in the wooden pews, but they stand by fold-up chairs, and they stand where there are no chairs. Their hands are raised, and their voices are tuned, some better than others. They sing praises forever, and their celebration continues as members in the congregation take golden horns from beneath the pews and chairs and the bags they brought, and howl in delight.
I stand in the doorway, in the halfway world of the humid night air and the sweat of the church service. I lean against a wall, my hands in my pockets. Yet in my heart, I am amazed. Outside, bikes lean against the walls of the church. Little houses line the road, some dogs wander about, their scraggly manes caked with mud. The sky is filled with stars - brilliant, as if needles had poked through space into some world beyond.
The service quiets down. A man with a Bible in his hand walks up to the podium, but then he starts to yell. In the congregation, people take out their horns and join in the yelling with a round of booming blasts. Then people start to clap, loud, thunderous things. And then they begin to sing again. They sing a cappella at first, but then the drummer catches on and bangs away. I am finally swept into the fray, and as I take one last glance outside, the trees are dancing.
The church is crowded. People not only stand in the wooden pews, but they stand by fold-up chairs, and they stand where there are no chairs. Their hands are raised, and their voices are tuned, some better than others. They sing praises forever, and their celebration continues as members in the congregation take golden horns from beneath the pews and chairs and the bags they brought, and howl in delight.
I stand in the doorway, in the halfway world of the humid night air and the sweat of the church service. I lean against a wall, my hands in my pockets. Yet in my heart, I am amazed. Outside, bikes lean against the walls of the church. Little houses line the road, some dogs wander about, their scraggly manes caked with mud. The sky is filled with stars - brilliant, as if needles had poked through space into some world beyond.
The service quiets down. A man with a Bible in his hand walks up to the podium, but then he starts to yell. In the congregation, people take out their horns and join in the yelling with a round of booming blasts. Then people start to clap, loud, thunderous things. And then they begin to sing again. They sing a cappella at first, but then the drummer catches on and bangs away. I am finally swept into the fray, and as I take one last glance outside, the trees are dancing.
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