r　hands　for　joy。　There　hadnever　been　a　time　when　John　had　not　sat　watching　the　saints　rejoice　with　terror　in　his　heart；　andwonder。　Their　singing　caused　him　to　believe　in　the　presence　of　the　Lord；　indeed；　it　was　no　longer　aquestion　of　belief；　because　they　made　that　presence　real。　He　did　not　feel　it　himself；　the　joy　theyfelt；　yet　he　could　not　doubt　that　it　was；　for　them；　the　very　bread　of　life—could　not　doubt　it；　that　is；until　it　was　too　late　to　doubt。　Something　happened　to　their　faces　and　their　voices；　the　rhythm　oftheir　bodies；　and　to　the　air　they　breathed；　it　was　as　though　wherever　they　might　be　became　theupper　room；　and　the　Holy　Ghost　were　riding　on　the　air。　His　father’s　face；　always　awful；　becamemore　awful　now；　his　father’s　daily　anger　was　transformed　into　prophetic　wrath。　His　mother；　hereyes　raised　to　heaven；　hands　arked　before　her；　moving；　made　real　for　John　that　patience；　thatendurance；　that　long　suffering；　which　he　had　read　of　in　the　Bible　and　found　so　hard　to　imagine。

On　Sunday　mornings　the　women　all　seemed　patient；　all　the　men　seemed　mighty。　WhileJohn　watched；　the　Power　struck　someone；　a　man　or　woman；　they　cried　out；　a　long；　wordlesscrying；　and；　arms　outstretched　like　wings；　they　began　the　Shout。　Someone　moved　a　chair　a　little　togive　them　room；　the　rhythm　paused；　the　singing　stopped；　only　the　pounding　feet　and　the　clappinghands　were　heard；　then　another　cry；　another　dancer；　then　the　tambourines　began　again；　and　thevoices　rose　again；　and　the　music　swept　on　again；　like　fire；　or　flood；　or　judgment。　Then　the　churchseemed　to　swell　with　the　Power　it　held；　and；　like　a　pla　rocking　in　space；　the　temple　rocked　withthe　Power　of　God。　John　watched；　watched　the　faces；　and　the　weightless　bodies；　and　listened　to　thetimeless　cries。　One　day；　so　everyone　said；　this　Power　wo