There would be no sermon delivered in a bored drone to a bored congregation. This was the worship service. It was worship in its purest form. I looked about me and realized that here was to be found only the slightest veneer of Christianity. Sure, they quoted the Christian Bible, and they called upon Jesus Christ, but they could have used another name, one more ancient, and another sacred script, if only they knew it existed.

For as I watched and listened I knew that this was a gathering as old as our race. This was how our ancestors worshipped their deities when gathered in community among the sacred oak groves of Ireland and Britain, or along the jungle-shaded banks of an African river. This was the essence of a pure humanity, expressing itself with a collective consciousness to a God created in their own image—a tangible God, one who was close, personal, and accessible.

The singing, shouting, and praying went on for another hour, Brother Rainwater shepherding his flock through the hills and valleys, the swamps and deserts, of worshipful free-form expression. At last it began to wind down.

Rainwater unplugged the amp cord from the guitar and set the instrument aside. The room calmed and became still. Lifting his hands, a broad loving smile on his face, he addressed the congregation.

“Brothers and sisters in the Lord. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been filled. I’ve had me a dose that cures all ills, a dose of that Holy Ghost medicine, a dose of the Father’s medicine, that will get me through this coming week.”

The crowd: “Amen, brother. Yes, Jesus. Praise his name.”

“But there’s others in our hearts—friends and loved ones, even enemies—others out there, lost and alone, who don’t know the divine physician, who don’t have the prescription for the life-giving medicine. So let’s keep them always in our prayers. Let’s pray that they, too, find God’s loving touch, and let’s conduct our lives that we might be a living example of the loving graciousness of our sweet savior, Lord Jesus Christ, who gave his life that all might live.”

Crowd: “Amen. Amen, brother. Hear us, oh Lord.”

Rainwater then stepped from the platform, and as he walked quickly down the aisle said, “Brother Alvin, will you lead us in a closing prayer?”

Rainwater stood by the door as the prayer was said, and then, as the people filed from the building, he shook hands, spoke with, and hugged each and every person.

Patricia and I waited quietly until the last, and when there were only a few people left she squeezed my hand and whispered, “I’ll wait for you in the car.”

“All right,” I replied.

I handed her the keys. She slipped out the door as Rainwater was speaking with an elderly couple. And then, he and I were the only two left.