The Messenger by T. Davis Bunn Page B

from an affluent, mostly white bastion into a church that ministers to the needs of all the surrounding neighborhoods. I was sort of nervous at first, but these folks have gone out of their way to greet me with the Lord’s gift of love.”
    Ariel seated herself behind the harp and looked up at him. “It shows.”
    â€œYeah, I guess the Lord knew what He was doing when He planted me here.” He beamed at her. “You need anything?”
    â€œI’m fine,” she said, and was.
    â€œGreat.” He glanced at his watch. “Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go back to my place.”
    The crowd settled and quieted. Reverend Townsend greeted everyone and led them in an opening prayer. Throughout, Ariel remained enclosed within the bubble of comfort, a sense that she was loved and guided and cared for and home. As she quietly tuned the strings, she wondered at the difference between the outside world and here.
    â€œWe have a guest with us tonight,” Reverend Townsend said. “An unexpected special visitor. Our originally planned musician was unable to join us, but a wonderful replacement has literally just stepped off the bus from Philadelphia. Ariel here is accompanying Sister Clarice, of whom many of you have heard me speak. They are here to help us get our new projects up and running.” Leslie Townsend had a genuinely nice smile. “We had to hurry back from the station so fast that I did not even think to ask what Ariel wanted to play for us. Ariel?”
    What indeed? She found her question lofted upward, and the response granted to her upon a wave of the same peace that filled the hall. “A song of praise.”
    â€œHow wonderful.” Another smile, then, “I am sure we will all want to stop by afterward and thank her for helping out at the last moment like this.”
    As the pastor seated himself Ariel adjusted the harp to her shoulder and ran through the strings. Then she closed her eyes. There waiting for her was that same peaceful Presence that had answered her question, a gentle guiding Spirit. Ariel fitted her fingers to the strings and let the still, small voice lead her into song.
    She played of her longing for what she had left behind, the constancy of all that her home possessed. Of love beyond measure, peace without end. A light so total that no sun was required. A city of crystal and gold. A place for all. For all .
    The song became a river, a flowing melody of praise and worship and prayerful longing, a tide of sound which in truth had neither beginning nor end. She simply joined with what always was, always will be, her strings chiming to the sound of unheard voices singing eternal praise to the King.
    The Spirit within the great hall began to move, flowing with the music, filling the chapel with voices that people heard not with their ears, but rather with their hearts. Singing in time to Ariel’s playing, a heavenly chorus that rose and soared on gossamer wings.
    The entire chamber moved beyond the borders of time and space, of earthly woe and worry. For all who came with open honest hearts there was a moment of joining, an instant of glimpsing beyond the veil, of hearing the voice of promise and fulfillment, and knowing it was there with them, filling them with a love that was theirs for all eternity.
    The message was given, the gift received. The song did not diminish, but rather soared ever higher, flying toward the unseen heavens, beyond the reach of human ears and hearts, higher and higher and higher until the final note was a chiming almost at the limit of awareness. Yet all knew that it was not the last. It was only the beginning. The first note of a song they would hear and carry with them always. Forever to be sung in praise of the One.
    ****
    Manny was being followed. He knew it. The sensation was stronger than it had been outside the pawnshop. Manny did his weaving dance through the evening crowds filling the airport terminal,