I grew up Baptist and still now I attend a Baptist church in The Woodlands. So, being the good Baptist that I am, I sit in the same row every week for “big church”. That also means that I know everyone who sits around me because each week, we have a welcome where we “greet those around us”.
It’s what we do.
This makes it easy to spot someone new.
And this past Sunday, I did that. I walked to my normal section and sat in my normal row. But when I turned to the row behind me, I was met with a new, beautiful, Indian family.
Let me pause for a few numbers. According to census statistics, 79.8% of the Indian population are Hindu, 14.23% are Muslim, and only 2.3% are Christian. Two percent! Only 2 out of every 100, only 20 out of every 1000, know the Lord.
But here was this family, in a protestant church, awaiting the service to begin. A friendly “hello” was exchanged between the family and me and then I sat down, directly in front of this Indian father.
Personally, I love the time we have in church to sing together as a whole. Corporate worship brings a special unity and music is one of the sweetest ways we can vocally show our love to the Lord. So, when we all come together in the sanctuary with risen voices in one accord, it is spiritually rich.
This particular Sunday was no different. Instruments started, the worship team stood, and when the beginning note was played, the church began to sing.
Including the Indian man behind me.
That isn’t unusual. Most adults sing. But I do find that sometimes adults, and even more so, men, tend to sing at either a comfortable volume level or even slightly softer.
NOT HIM.
This man was shout-singing the words. It was as if he couldn’t wait to raise his voice in praise. You could hear his gratitude and adoration.
My mind wondered…This family must have been taught about Hinduism, and the Brahman, right? He had to have known about karma, and the multiple gods of his culture. Maybe he was taught about God being in the universe? And likely, reincarnation too?
I can’t answer those questions, but…regardless, his worship made it clear. His family, at some point, had broken free from religion and met the One who Saves.
And he was here now, right behind me, shouting his songs of worship to the same God as me:
“I cast my mind to Calvary
Where Jesus bled and died for me
I see His wounds, His hands, His feet
My Savior on that cursed tree.
His body bound and drenched in tears
They laid Him down in Joseph’s tomb
The entrance sealed by heavy stone
Messiah still and all alone
O praise the Name of the Lord our God
O praise His Name forevermore
For endless days we will sing Your praise
Oh Lord, oh Lord our God…”
I couldn’t even finish singing. Instead, I let him, his wife and their child sing the words behind me, and as I listened to their voices, I thanked God for this family, who likely had to disentangle themselves from something else in order to follow Jesus.
Salvation is a miracle.
It was a piece of Heaven’s choir, a glimpse into the forever. What a sound it will be when the whole world, every tribe, tongue and nation, sings together, better yet, shout-sings together about His grace for all eternity.
