While attending a 2008 awards presentation at the Strathmore Music Center, a concert hall just outside of Washington, D.C., author Mark Gauvreau Judge witnessed what can only be described as unashamed joy—something we don't often get to see in a broken world, let alone the church. The scene was made all the more powerful because it included different people from different cultural backgrounds—a Nimiipuu Indian, a saddle maker from Idaho, a Brazilian street dancer, a leader of the music liturgy of the Ethiopian Christian church, an Iroquois choir, a bluegrass band, a master of Peruvian folk art, a quilter from Alabama, a Korean dancer from New York, and a jazz musician specializing in the traditional New Orleans style. Judge writes:

After almost three hours, it was time for a curtain call—one last bow to end the evening. As [the host of the event] reintroduced everyone, [the] featured jazz band played "When the Saints Go Marching In." That's when something happened.

The audience at the Strathmore rose to its feet to acknowledge the fellowship winners—it seemed at the time like one last blast of applause before the exit. But as they—we—clapped in time to "When the Saints Go Marching In," the performers onstage began to dance. … The jazz band, sensing something in the air, got louder, and kept playing. And playing. And playing. Onstage, the performers formed a conga line, led by one of the jazz musicians, then a circle, each person taking his or her turn in the center. The invisible line between performers and audience evaporated. It had turned into one big party—or revival meeting.

The spiritual writer Stephen Mitchell once described a holy joy "so large that it is no longer inside of you, but you are inside of it." I used to work at a record store and wrote music reviews for newspapers and websites, and I've been to hundreds of concerts over the years. I have never seen anything like what happened on that stage at the Strathmore. It was the most totally unselfconscious explosion of bliss I have ever seen in performance; the people onstage were not hamming for the crowd or blowing kisses. They were as lost in abandon as we were. I wouldn't be surprised if they had forgotten we were there. This was a spontaneous eruption of happiness. …

After about thirty bars of saints marching in, [the host] shut things down. No one wanted to leave; I honestly believe the band could have played for an hour and no one would have moved for the exits. Staggering outside, I heard a woman say she was "swimming in joy." I myself was speechless. Then I heard someone say, "I hope there was someone from the media there." I thought of saying that I was in the media. But then I had the decency to admit there were times when language failed. Like everyone else, I just wanted to stay inside the joy.