I Only Play Gospel

Friday night was our last night to stay in Cass Park, a place I’ve written about on several different occasions. Friday night is the night we came back from hosting an “emerging artists” night at Hope Community Church on the east side of Detroit.

Before we left, we invited some of our friends who live in Cass Park to come with us to the concert. Two (Chris and Elena) said, “Sure. Count us in.” It was truly a magical night. We experienced worship, slam poetry, guitar solos—it was as powerful a night as I’ve been a part of in a long time.

After the festivities, I did not have the heart to drop our friends from Cass Park back off at their pre-selected shelter. I just couldn’t, in that gut-driven moment, believe that Jesus would drop off his friends back at the shelter after a night of experiencing God as the original artist.

“Eleya. Chris. Y’all want to hang out with us. Play some more music.”
“You know it Bishop Josh,” (that’s what Chris calls me).

We stayed up until 3a.m. playing hymns, worship on the piano and drums. At one point, I looked at Chris and said, “Hey man . . . let’s do some Ray Charles. ‘Georgia . . .Georgia . . The whole day through.’”

“Nah,” Chris replied. “I only play Gospel.”

Both friends stayed the night with us. By the time I woke up Saturday morning, Chris was gone. All his stuff packed as if he'd been sent by God to bless us and leave before the morning sun appeared on the horizon.