He who despises music, as do all the fanatics, does not please me. Music is a gift of God, not a gift of men . . . After theology, I accord to music the highest place and greatest honour. -Martin Luther

While preaching in Warsaw, I was invited to a small village in eastern Poland, close to the Soviet border. It had seen a spiritual awakening many years earlier, but the church had never received foreign guests. We arrived a couple of hours prior to the worship services. The building was an old wooden structure with a padlock on it. I peeked in the windows, and it appeared the room could hold 100-150 people. I walked around the village while we waited for someone to unlock the church. I was a little concerned about the attendance. There were only six houses in the entire village!

Everything seemed quiet (almost dead) in this little village. The only excitement was on the top of a telephone pole where a stork had built a huge nest and flew back and forth to it. I wandered down the highway to the edge of the village. I found a stream and spent some time in prayer there. Across the fields I could see the Soviet Union. My heart ached for that nation. I asked God to let me preach His salvation again one day to the Soviet people. I remembered the hunger for the gospel of the students at the university in Leningrad.

I stood staring into the Soviet Union when Tex came up behind me. "It's time for the worship service. Everyone is looking for you."

The church was full. I couldn't understand where they had all come from. Seventy-five percent were older than fifty. People stood at the doors and outside. Their faces glowed all during the service. It was easy to tell that these people had known the glory of God in their midst. We had a beautiful time of worship together.

No one wanted to leave, but we had a problem. We had only one interpreter, and he became involved with one of the members of the church. The people could not communicate with us. It was hilarious to see all our hand motions, like playing charades for real. Then one little old lady began to sing "How Great Thou Art" in Polish. They sang a verse, and we sang a verse. Then they began "The Old Rugged Cross." The communication barrier was bro- ken. They communicated clearly with us. They loved Jesus more than anything in this world.

Later that week we traveled to the opposite side of the nation and ministered in a church in a major city near the East German border. Seventy-five percent of those people were under thirty, and although this church was metropolitan in nature, it had several of the same characteristics as the little country church. They, too, had experienced the touch of God.

The church was full. And they loved to sing. Someone had brought them many short praise and Scripture choruses. The joy and love of Jesus on their faces were the same as we had seen in the little country church.

The fruit of revival is the same all over the world. It doesn't matter whether the revival is among young or old, educated or illiterate; the fruit remains the same