I have had wonderful worship experiences before. I have been moved to tears by the beauty of Chartres Cathedral in candlelight. I have felt the presence of the spirit in the African bush as hundreds of villagers sang of their love for Jesus. I have been lifted up by the voices of thousands at a national church gathering. I have had wonderful worship experiences before and last Sunday I experienced another.

We gathered in silence in the narthex. The doors to the sanctuary were shut and people wondered what was happening. I spoke to the congregation and told them that what they were about to experience would be different than a normal Sunday worship service but that it would be, most definitely, worship.

We opened the doors. All the chairs in the sanctuary had been pushed aside. The baptismal font was in the center, the cross and paschal candle at its side.

Surrounding the font was a huge pile of discarded clothes, four feet high and twenty-five feet in diameter.

We began to chant one of our favorites, "Ubi caritas et amor. Ubi caritas, Deus ibi est." "Wherever there is charity and love. Wherever there is charity, there is God."

We began, slowly and with great care, to sort through the clothes, folding them neatly and placing them in boxes.

We continued to chant.

We continued to sort the clothes. Some of us meditated on what people throw away. There were beautiful things and there was junk. What did these discarded clothes say about our attitude toward the poor and the outcast? What were we feeling...pity, compassion, disgust, anger?

We heard the prayer for the poor and neglected from the Lutheran Book of Worship.

Gospel readings from Luke.

There was silence, long and lovely.

Another chant..."O Lord, hear my prayer. O Lord, hear my prayer. When I call, answer me. O Lord, hear my prayer. O Lord, hear my prayer. Come and listen to me."

The sorting continued as I watched from the chancel. It was a kind of cosmic dance as men and women, boys and girls quietly moved about the sanctuary. It was a ballet based in compassion.

The eucharistic prayer proclaimed the great mystery of our faith and still the people sorted through the clothes, interrupting their holy dance to come to the altar to receive holy bread and wine.

Within the hour the clothes had moved from pile to packed boxes. Within the week, two large trucks would be needed to transport the boxes from Dillon to downtown Denver.

We had worshiped the Lord.

Thanks be to God!