No music touches me quite like Gospel music. When I sit down at my piano in the dark hours of the night, I can't help but play the opening notes of Brother Wilbur's favorite gospel tune. Upon hearing the B-flat drop a tone, I am transported to a praise service with all the saints of South Oak Cliff. I hear the heavenly declarations of Sister Saundra's beautiful voice, the artful licks of Brother Anthony's alto sax, and perfectly timed hits as Dee plays the drums. I hear all of this while enveloped in the heavenly choir that is the community around us - the grandparents long-weathered in church tradition, the adults praising for the first time, and the stray children playing with their friends in the back. I smell the freshly cooked meal that sits still-upon the serving tables, and I watch as folks continue to pour in from the open porch outside. Though it may seem to the onlooker that I am alone at my piano, I am surrounded by a memory of ecclesial community and the pr...