Singing in the rain
Awake, sleeper,
And arise from the dead,
And Christ will shine on you.
— Ephesians 5:14
December 19, 2025, Cathedral Square — Our last street concert, before the Christmas break.
Each concert is a unique story, and yet, each time, the same miracle occurs. The fact is, no one knows in advance how many of us will be singing, nor who will be there to fill the roles that need to be assigned on the spot each time. The director calls everyone together, and the strength of Little Light lies in relying on a unique group of people who, on a Friday evening, when it is completely dark outside, decide to light a small flame in the night with their ever-renewed YES.
But this time, it was raining really hard. We had to move, taking shelter under the Picasso paintings that decorate the Barcelona Architects' Association. And there's always that doubt, natural at the beginning: should we cancel? Will people come if we try? The eternal answer: putting on our Santa hats and starting the show.
The street? Empty. Yet, as the show begins, it seems as though our voices are like a campfire in the night. People automatically stop, draw closer to warm their hands, their souls, their hearts; they form a circle around us and the miracles begin.
It's very subtle at first. Two or three feet tapping to the rhythm, an elderly woman smiling, a lady watching the show and her husband watching her in the night.
Then we do parodies, funny songs, we want to make people laugh. We tell the story of Moses to the tune of The Jungle Book, we dance like Egyptians, we play Cossacks, cowboys, Italians... That's when we a see sixty-year-old couple imitating our choreography, a father dancing with his daughter, friends hugging, people in wheelchairs starting to sing; everyone joins in, without anyone seeming to care too much that it's still pouring with rain.
But finally, the sky clears, and Sara enters. Everyone falls silent. We want peace for the children of the world. Just for a second, we would like for you to know what it feels like to be on the other side of the wall, with nothing but hunger in your stomach and nothing left to lose or nowhere to go.
Hallelujah. Because war, horror, violence, rejection and malice will never have the last word as long as one person still has the courage to raise their voice. And we move towards the audience, where every gaze, every person becomes a whole world. People are crying, because suddenly they remember what it means to belong. Oops, another little light in the night.
Illustration : Kevin Carden.
Anyway, as I was saying, each concert seems identical to the last, but each Friday is a different story. When the last notes fade away, the crowd melts into the night. One by one, people go back to their lives. And everything goes back the way it was. All you can hear is the patter of raindrops on the Cathedral's cobblestones. As if nothing had happened.
We will never know their stories, their names, or what made them stand for an hour and a half in the rain. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. The miracle happened. We saw it, like a shooting star in the night sky.
Witnessing a heart awakening after being asleep for so long. —
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♡
