Joyful Noise

Arturo is preaching now.
        The Aymara gutturals and rasps pour out
        and fill this small adobe building
        with admonitions from your word.
        Staccato rain fists
        beat their rhythm on the tin roof.
        It doesn’t seem to bother the preacher at all.

        Other noises mingle to form a background music—
        the yip of a drenched dog outside the window,
        from time to time a baby’s cry,
        quickly smothered in mother’s breast,
        the various rustlings, scuffings and turnings
        of the people gathered here to worship you.

        An altiplano wind whips around the building,
        rattling the windows, but here inside,
        200 crowded bodies keep the cold from distracting.
        I wrap my poncho tighter around me
        and enjoy the sounds.

Earlier, five musical groups took turns to praise,
        accompanied by flutes, guitars, and one incongruous drum.
        The congregation swayed, clapped, and joined in,
        moved by the beat and the simple words.

The storm outside is getting louder.
Arturo just finished his sermon
        and the congregation is shifting forward and to their knees.
        Your people explode into pleas and wails and high-pitched praises,
        outdoing the rain.
        I visualize the praying, a living block of sound,
        rising and coming before you,
        a bright and holy gift.

Thank you, Lord, for the exuberance of my brothers and sisters.
Thank you that this joyful noise mixes with heaven’s own music.
Thank you that, in any form or language, our praises please you.
And thank you for showing me that this boisterous place of prayer
        is a temple of the living God.