Forever

What this song understands, which many worship songs do not, is that eternity is not an abstraction to be argued but a feeling to be inhabited — and it builds that feeling patiently, over several minutes, through repetition that doesn't bore so much as deepen. It opens simply, acoustic guitar and Tomlin's voice in close proximity, almost intimate, before gradually drawing in more voices, more percussion, more harmonic richness. The tempo is unhurried, almost hymn-like, but the production has a warmth that keeps it from feeling antiquated. The chorus pivots on a single theological idea — that praise, once started, extends without terminus — and returns to it again and again until the concept stops being conceptual and starts feeling physical. Tomlin's delivery is unshowy; he lets the melody and the accumulating arrangement do the heavy lifting. By the time the song reaches its latter third, the voices have multiplied into something that sounds like a room full of people who have forgotten they are performing and are simply expressing something true. It belongs to the tradition of communal singing that predates recorded music — not a song you listen to passively, but one you find yourself joining. Best heard in a large, reverberant space, or with volume high enough to feel the low end.