A Year of Morning Thanks
Before the concert, the pastor, whose father started mission programs among Native people for more than fifty years, told me that recently on the reservation, two suicides havae added to the incredible tally among the Rosebud Sioux--highest suicide rate in the nation, he told me. Just incredible.
After the concert, the pastor, who's been preaching himself at this Lakota church for a decade, couldn't stop praising the Lord for the concert he'd just heard, a concert put on by the Rehoboth Christian High School Choir. He told them he wasn't sure they actually understood what they'd done with that concert. He just couldn't stop praising the Lord, which means there was some kind of volume, especially if you're charismatic--quite a number of Amens, an echoing chorus of hallelujahs.
He may be right--maybe the Rosebud folks who attended were deeply blessed. I'd certainly like to think so because the concert was electric--when it wasn't haunting in its beauty, it exploded in excitement, every last minute perfectly lit by smiles as wide as prairie sky.
I'm not Lakota, and I'm not from the Rosebud, so I won't even try to speak for the audience. I'll just speak for me: to hear those kids sing out God's praise like they do makes me go on and on too. I don't think I own the adjectives to describe the joy those young people bring to an audience.
Hallelujah, the Lakota pastor said.
Yeah, I said. Amen and amen.