A Zadok Experience
Victoria Hill

Zadok has been held in the Foundry for the last 7 years on Friday nights…
 
One psalmist begins with a spontaneous, simple refrain using a single acoustic guitar; he takes small, tentative musical steps. Little by little, other musicians join in, and, suddenly, peace saturates the room. Melody and harmonies come together, layer upon layer, rising and descending again, like smoke, until the tune is solid and rich and full. Then the guitarist begins to sing, and his words are candid, honest and intimate. This is Zadok....

On Friday evenings at 7:00, we've started a new season of Zadok School of the Spirit here at Provision. These services consist of extravagant worship, teaching, and ministry time. If you've never attended a Zadok meeting, I urge you to check it out. Zadok gatherings have changed my life in the past, often propelling me into new realms with God. The experiences and impressions recorded in the following memoir are very typical of a Zadok service. Join us this fall, won't you?

Memiors of a Volunteer, Volume 4

Zadok

6:48 P.M.
The first Zadok of the season, and I'm early. No matter; I actually enjoy watching the pre-service preparation including sound checks, coffee-brewing and easy bantering between musicians, so I take a seat and watch the activities. Little by little, folks file through the Foundry door; some pause at the book and tape table, browsing; others cluster in conversation or pour a cup of complimentary coffee or cocoa before settling into a chair or couch. The crowd consists of Provision staff and volunteers as well as old friends-believers who attend the twice-yearly Zadok sessions year after year. I see Melinda and Judy and Joe, and we greet one another warmly; it's a family reunion.

7:20
This place has been a refuge for many for us for years, though the building itself is small and plain. In fact, it's rather cave-like: musty, dark, and primitive, yet safe and inviting, too. The only splendor here is the Lord's.

Enamel-black cinder blocks constitute the wall to my left; a metal ladder stretches up to the ceiling. The opposite wall is red brick and holds four windows, one covered in paper, the three others laid over with grating-protection against vandalism. The rough, slightly dusty concrete floor is nicked and cracked and painted black, as are the lighting fixtures and naked pipes and ductwork which crisscross the ceiling. A great swathe of purple, red, and blue fabric-the sole bit of man-made grandeur in the room--is draped over a black ceiling pipe.

Battered black speakers stand, monolithic, in front of the stage, on either side of an ugly braided rug. Plastic chairs sit in rows across the front half of the room. A couple of unmatched, sinking sofas and several small round tables and chairs are scattered about the rear portion of the room, where folks are free to drink a cup of coffee or eat a muffin.

Across the lip of the stage and distributed throughout the room, candles in medieval metal holders soften the already dim lighting. The effect is romantic and soothing-perfect for a Friday night rendezvous with Jesus.

7:32
Finally, its time to begin. Pastor Scott greets everyone; he is elated to see old friends and new. His wife, Sarah, leads us as we bathe the night in prayer, asking for the Lord's blessing and presence.

Now the worship team members take their seats and collect their instruments. They wear jeans, shorts, and T-shirts, shirt-tails untucked and tennis shoes tattered. They are completely unimpressed with themselves. Rather, they are intent on finding the rhythm of the Lord, pleasing Him, doing His bidding tonight.

One psalmist begins with a spontaneous, simple refrain using a single acoustic guitar; he takes small, tentative musical steps. Little by little, other musicians join in, and, suddenly, peace saturates the room. Melody and harmonies come together, layer upon layer, rising and descending again, like smoke, until the tune is solid and rich and full. Then the guitarist begins to sing, and his words are candid, honest and intimate.

The energy of God rushes into the room through the instruments: conch shell, bass and acoustic guitars, shofar, keyboard, rainmaker, mandolin, flute, drums of every kind. The lead volleys between several psalmists; their raw, passionate voices combine with the instruments until there's nothing but sacred sound and motion, communion between the Spirit and the spirit.

Men, women and kids jump into the current; some wave flags, some sit quietly, others dance as they're swept up into the cadence of the Spirit. Everyone is so beautiful, I'm nearly overwhelmed. Children, black and white, weave in and out of the aisles, skipping or waving streamers. Misbehaving, too, but only a little....they are happy and snug in God's presence.

7:36
Jesus says to me: May I have this dance? as the music rolls like water from one tier of a fountain into the next...How can I resist an invitation from the One my heart loves? I feel a flutter in my belly like that of a lover the moment before a first kiss as I kick off my shoes and worship. Suddenly I can breath again--I'm no longer encumbered by the week's complexities. The hand of God curls around me, head to foot, and ushers me into holy places. I endeavor, along with fifty other worshippers, to tell the Lord what cannot be said with mere words.

How, Jesus, how can we tell you that we love You?

8:15
A handful of people moves toward the carpet as though on cue, and we settle onto the rug, some cross-legged, others prostrate. We close our eyes and hang out with God while the musicians play a mellow, rather poignant tune. Such peace! YiYi actually sleeps for awhile. Though this little event might appear ridiculous or irreverent somewhere else, it's natural here, in this safe, sacred place. We linger a while longer, worshipping quietly, all wrapped up in a God-blanket.

9:10
Now our pastor preaches and teaches about the sons of Zadok. We are wonderfully harpooned by the Word as he speaks with enthusiasm about these priests who spent their lives ministering to God, living pure lives, learning to "discern between the holy and profane." He does not make candy-apple promises to the individual who chooses to pour out his or her life in God's service. This sort of life is not easy, he cautions-and yet, as he continues to speak, he leaves little room for doubt that a life spent in any way other than a relentless pursuit after the heart of God is no life at all. Though I'm physically wilted, my spirit gulps the message down like Gatorade after a long-distance journey.

10:05
Communion and ministry time now. We file to the front of the room where a table holds a large loaf of bread and rows of tiny cups. As people make their way to their seats, they pair up and share communion with one another. Some return again to the front for prayer and ministry. God heals and saves and liberates and speaks to those who ask Him.

10:42
After the service, no one rushes to leave. Instead, we loiter happily and greet latecomers. The spirit of a man who starves for God is content here, dwells easily here, has no reason for restlessness nor a quick escape because there is peace here. Just as there is very little agenda during the service, there are no deadlines afterwards.

11:17
Home again. I head straight for the bathtub, and as I sit on its edge and plunge my feet under warm water, I realize that I nearly always have to perform this little ritual, as I invariably end up barefoot on the dirty concrete floor during Zadok services. I understand, suddenly, that this is no accident. Holy ground requires bare feet.
 

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