Today, as I was studying for Greek, a piece came on my play list that took me back to a little place called the Oasis outside of Vienna. There, refugees from all over the world come to hear about and worship Jesus as the son of God, drink and eat really sweet chai and cake, and just talk like normal people in various cicles divided by language groups. The sermons were usually translated into 4 or five major languages. It sounded like heaven to me: Farsi, Russian, German, English...
I will never forget the little 12 year old boy who sat at the piano and played the piano while people talked after the service. His family had to even leave his music manuscripts behind, but his fingers remembered their homes on the keys. He played Mozart, hymns, and this Yann Tiersen piece:
http://youtu.be/H2-1u8xvk54
Now, when I hear it that all comes back. my conversations with him in German. the commuter train through the darkened vineyard covered hills. and my dear friends who took me there, weary from the weight of their love for people they weren't sure how to help.
