The morning sun spilled across the wooden pews of the Mount Zion Chapel, but the real warmth was coming from the choir loft. Sister Beatrice, a woman whose smile could light up a blackout, adjusted her spectacles and nodded to the pianist.
As the final chord of the first song echoed, the tempo shifted. It didn't slow down; it smoothed out into a deep, soulful groove. Put Your Hand /Joy, Peace and Happiness/What a Mighty God
"I’ve got in my soul," the youth choir sang, their voices bright and energetic. In the third row, Mr. Henderson—a man known for his stern face—found his toes tapping. Then his knees started bouncing. By the second chorus, he was beaming. This wasn't a quiet, reserved peace; it was the kind of happiness that bubbled over, making the air in the chapel feel thick with a sense of "all is well." The morning sun spilled across the wooden pews