On Saturday I heard a piece of music. A solo voice singing in in a language I think was Hebrew.

In my mind I saw the singer, standing in a hall. An enormous hall, full of people in white robes, on stands around the walls. There was not an inch of floor space. Gradually their voices joined the soloist.

I realised they were all facing in the same direction and that this was, in fact, a throne room. Although I could not see who sat on the throne, I knew. This was not just a room with a throne in it but The Throne Room. The seat of the King of kings.

The sound swelled and, as if I was a bird, I soared above the crowd, higher and higher. The original hall led on to another, and another, all filled with people; all facing the Throne; all singing.

Higher. Higher.

The halls ended, and I could see fields stretching to the horizon. People were working there. Hoeing, tilling, harvesting, sowing. I know little about farming but I could see they were doing all these tasks at the same time. As the sound from the halls grew and flowed over the fertile fields, the people tilling, harvesting, sowing, dropped their tools and turned towards the throne. Together they joined the song.

Holy. Holy.

Worshipping the King.

All work ended. Nothing was more important than this. This was why they were here.  Men, women and children were lost in the moment. And I was overwhelmed by the beauty and the hope I felt as I listened to the harmonies flowing, filling the air with joy and worship, weaving themselves around me in ribbons of sound.

The halls of heaven resounded as the whole of heaven, worshipped the King. One day I know I will be part of that assembly worshipping too.

I pray I will see you there.