Sometimes I see Jericho on Sunday mornings. Sometimes, when I lead worship, the walls loom large overhead and they're many rows deep. They're made of one rock upon the other, one defense mechanism over another...like arms folded defensively against an onslaught. The rocks are sealed together and time-worn, with wounds and imperfections hardened inside the wall. There are layers of different walls standing in rows like blank-faced people... some have cracks and crevices, some are broken through and opening... others seem impenetrable.
Jericho is considered be one of the oldest continuously-inhabited cities in the world. It was founded in 9000 BC. Yet it's walls fell at the sound of worship. It's been rebuilt, and reinhabited and rebuilt, and expanded, and rebuilt again and again. Yet it's walls fell at the sound of worship. It's been through the test of time, and has survived generations of difficulty, hardship and prosperity. It is still existing today. Still strong. Still alive. Yet it's walls fell at the sound of worship. Its defense, its protection, its mask, its facade, its barrier, its exterior... crumbled at the sound of worship to the living God. What a fantastic sight to see that would have been. What a demonstration of the power behind God's name. Simply honoring Him with worship melts away years of hard, worn, rocky layers. It opens up the city for God's love to wash over it.
Sometimes I see Jericho on Sunday mornings. And there are days when the walls don't fall. Then there are days when they finally do. What do you do on the days when the walls don't fall? I guess you go back and lead worship again the next Sunday. Because when you get to see the walls finally fall at the power of his awesome name, at His presence brought on by sincere worship... it takes your breath away.