As I walked into the Crowne Plaza hotel outside of Houston, Texas in April, it was hard not to confuse my surroundings for a typical evangelical Christian convention. Once I made it past countless booths peddling Bible software and anti-abortion pamphlets, I slipped into a darkly-lit banquet hall, where the guitarist of a lively rock band was just hitting the first power chords of rousing spiritual anthem. As the singer, illuminated by glaring spotlights, stepped up to the microphone, thousands of hands were suddenly lifted into the air, rocking in time with the music. Beside me, a man swayed back and forth in the classic fashion of American evangelicals: eyes closed, hands clasped together, head tilted back in rapturous prayer. As I watched, he spread his arms wide, smiled, and began to sing.
But while the tune â?? â??Trading My Sorrowsâ? â?? would be familiar in many American megachurches, the words, projected on two screens flanking the performers, sounded distinctly different: â??Aunque triste en al noche yo este / El gozo viene en la mañana / Sí Señor, sí, sí Señor!â? he sang, repeating the last line over and over again before shouting â??Amen!â?
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