He gestured with his guitar, and at his cue the congregation joined in at full-throated cry. As the guitarist worked his magic, the voices raised the roof, and the very walls of the building seemed to throb with the passion of the song.

Now let us
Have a little talk with Jesus
Let us
Tell him all about our troubles
He will
Hear our faintest cry
And he will answer by and by
Now when you
Feel a little prayer wheel turning
And you
Know a little light is burning
You will
Know a little talk with Jesus makes it riiiight!
Makes it right

People were literally dancing in the aisles. Jumping, singing, their bodies rocking and swaying with the music. One old man was down on his knees in a state of ecstasy, pounding the floor with an open palm. If there is such a thing as the Holy Spirit, it was here, and it was upon these people.

I had heard this old hymn a thousand times in my life, but never like this. It was done in a driving, pulsing, rockabilly rhythm, tinged with a taste of raw country blues, and garnished with the accents of the people. And I realized, this is where rock and roll came from, the backwoods and churches of the Deep South—from the uninhibited worship of the black and white outcasts, our own untouchables—the lowest of American society. The moves made by a young Elvis in performance were the same as the ones made by the man on the stage. And the sound that poured forth was pure Carl Perkins and Jerry Lee Lewis.

I was grabbed body and soul, pulled in by the emotional vortex of the music and the moment, and soon found myself giving voice with the others. I glanced over at Patricia and saw she had joined in, too.

I may have doubts and feeears
My eyes be filled with teeears
But Jesus is a friend who watches day and niiiight
I go to him in prayer
He knows my every care
And just a little talk with Jesus makes it riiiight

Now let us
Have a little talk with Jesus
Let us
Tell him all about our troubles
He will
Hear our faintest cry
And he will answer by and by
Now when you
Feel a little prayer wheel turning
And you
Know a little light is burning
You will
Know a little talk with Jesus makes it right
Makes it riiiight

Pastor Truman Rainwater—for that’s who I now knew the man on stage to be—with the last few stanzas of the chorus brought the house back down to a bubbling roll. He strummed the guitar as he looked again upon the congregation and allowed a relative calm to descend upon the house.