Silence

I rededicated my life to the Lord two years after I married, leaving the Assemblies of God to attend a Word of Faith/Charismatic church with my parents. These were the first integrated churches I had ever entered, and they allowed (and encouraged) women to preach, teach, and pastor.

One year, we hosted a lady minister for a week of revival services. She was Irish, so on that first Sunday when she stood to lead us in prayer, she called His name "Papa". I immediately began to weep silently. I did not know that others were weeping until sniffs began to pepper the congregational air.

This lovely woman ministered humbly and knowledgeably all week, and at times, we wept silently when she stood up for to pray. The church was full every night, and after that last evening service, she called a time of reverence and prayer. We knelt in front of our pews, quietly praising the Lord as the minister paced prayerfully in front of the altars.

Then something palpable settled over us, softly weighting us down, blanketing us. We grew silent - the entire church. Not a sound, not a prayer, not a sniff. Silence. Silence and a lowering presence that caused me to relax my limbs in order to bear it. There was no desire to ever move from His energy-laden stillness; His keyed-up silence. I cannot even describe it to you. But as that gently electrified weight pressed down, my head bowed with it until I wondered if it would, if not for the barrier of the pew, eventually flatten me to the floor face first. I did not resist it. I only bore it.

And when It lifted, we all sighed aloud on the upsurge.