Imagine. An inner-city area of Britain. Sunday. You stumble into a Victorian Free Church building. Predominantly Caribbean people. You join the group at the front as they're praying for God to move.
'Electrifying!' says a friend, anticipating the worship. As people return to the pews, a music group leads into the first song. 80-year-old women are dancing with hands in the air. The song finishes. You pray together out loud, praising God, praying for others, praying for yourself. Another song. Harmony. Rap rhythms. No problem with young boys' behaviour - they're on the bongos.
After an hour, the pastors appear. 45 minute preach. Passionate message. 350 responsive people. Stories from experience. Encouragement for the oppressed. Songs of response to God follow. A conga as you give the offering. The other pastor challenges non-Christians and backsliders. An altar call. 25 people go forward. After two and a quarter hours, the meeting finishes. You're deluged with people who are glad to see you and ask you to come again.
