“Listen to the words,” the young woman behind me stage-whispered to her chatty date. “Are you listening?”

He wasn’t. But I was and so was most of the rapt, standing-room-only crowd that crammed the Greek Theater at UC Berkeley for the second of three sold-out Mumford & Sons concerts late last month.

“This ain’t no sham,” lead singer Marcus Mumford sang during the encore in a refrain from his song “Not With Haste.”

“I am what I am,” the crowd responded, singing in one, full voice.

“Though I may speak some tongue of old, or even spit out some holy word,” Mumford continued, “And we will be who we are, and they’ll heal our scars – sadness will be far away.”

It’s an image from the hereafter – of the heaven described in biblical texts – where all that is old will be made new and that which is broken will be repaired. Not so far away, on the other side of the veil that separates this world from the next, joy overflows into dancing and singing.

It also aptly describes the pervasive vibe at the Mumford & Sons show that night where more than 8,000 concert-goers sang and danced and shouted with what certainly felt like joy.

This is what I had come for – not just a concert, but a shared experience with a congregation of strangers (and a few friends) – when I made the trip north to catch all three of the Grammy-winning British neo-folk/skiffle band’s performances at the Greek’s relatively-intimate amphitheater.

The first show (May 29) was the first time I’d seen Mumford & Sons perform live. The Rev. Tripp Hudgins, a Baptist minister and friend of mine from Chicago who is pursuing doctoral studies in ethnomusicology and liturgy at Berkeley’s Graduate Theological Union, picked me up at the San Francisco airport and spirited me through rush-hour traffic to the concert. We arrived as the sun was beginning to set and the band was just about to take the stage.

“Serve God, love me and mend,” a quote from Shakespeare’s “Much Ado About Nothing” that serves as the opening line of “Sigh No More,” were the first words Mumford sang – an admonition, perhaps, to the crowd and himself.

“Love it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you, it will set you free,” Mumford and his bandmates – Ben Lovett, Winston Marshall, and Ted Dwane sang. “There is a design, an alignment, a cry of my heart to see, the beauty of love as it was made to be.”

More biblical allusions, declarations of spiritual yearning and what felt like prayers of the heart followed during the 90-minute show and the remaining two concerts.

I was not surprised. As a longtime fan – the first time I heard their uproarious music was a few years ago when my then-14-year-old nephew popped on Mumford’s first album, “Sigh No More,” on the kitchen stereo at my best friend’s home outside Chicago – it was what I had expected to hear.

Since their debut in 2009, Mumford & Sons has achieved monumental success, both critically and commercially, particularly among a subset of diehard fans I’d describe as the spiritual-but-not-religious.

It’s a modifier that could be (and has been) applied to the band members themselves. Front man and lyricist Mumford, 26, who was born in Anaheim, is the son of John and Eleanor Mumford, founders of the evangelical, charismatic Christian Vineyard Fellowship in the United Kingdom and Ireland. He is a pastor’s kid, reared in the church where his musical vocation first took root.

Recently, in an interview with Rolling Stone magazine where he was asked about his religious predilections, Mumford declined to affix the “Christian” label to himself, causing a lot of hand wringing from some evangelical fans who thought he was “one of ours.”

His spiritual life is a “work in progress,” Mumford said, adding that he has never doubted the existence of God and that his pastoring parents aren’t lamenting the condition of his soul.

As I wrote in a previous column about Mumford’s Rolling Stone interview and the backlash thereto, I’m not worried about him, either. To my ear, the lyrics he’s written belie any doubts about where his heart lies.

The other fellas in the band have a spiritual heartbeat as well, though none has described himself as “religious” by any stretch of the imagination. So much the better as that gray space is where so many of their fans – in their 20s demographic and not – live.

Religious labels are irrelevant when the Spirit is in the house as it was those three nights in Berkeley. This is church, Tripp and I whispered to each other. What we meant, really, was that it felt like what church should feel like.

“After the concert, my Facebook feed lit up with ‘it was just like church’ or ‘that was church’ by several people including some ordained church types in attendance,” Tripp wrote in a post on his AngloBaptist.org blog after the first show. “The Vineyard background has not been wasted, not by any stretch. It has been given a new venue, a new form, a venue where the truth can be sung in quiet tones, where no name is taken in vain or otherwise, where wild passion is replaced with festal devotion.

“What I saw and heard last night was devotion. That there was no stated object of devotion will trouble many of those who balk at equating rock concerts with church services. I understand. But that’s the reality in which we live. Nonetheless, people were shushing one another to hear the quiet a cappella singing or singing along with the rowdy anthems, enjoying friendships, and holding their loved ones,” he wrote. “It was a festival of devotion.”

A hootenanny for the soul, is the way I’d describe it. Mumford & Sons are a delight to watch, all foot-stomping, banjo-blasting, jig-inducing gladness and passion. It is obvious that the four band members not only love what they do, but they love each other. They are friends, family, community and tribe, and they welcome the audience into their fold.

Last week came unexpected news that Mumford’s animated bassist, Dwane, had a blot clot on his brain and would need surgery. Many fans took to Twitter with messages of love and support, as did I, offering prayers for a comfort and a speedy recovery.

“You are not alone in this,” I added, quoting from one of the band’s songs.

A Twitter follower I don’t know responded to my tweet, saying, “How odd that a band which provides such a ‘religious’ experience wouldn’t ask for prayers. Closeted piety is so refreshing.”

I thought about his comment and posted a response of my own: “They didn’t have to … and I hope they knew that. #wegottheirback.”

That is the kind of kinship and faith that the band at once expresses and inspires. There is a community inside the sound. (Happily, word is that Dwane’s surgery went well, and he is on the road to recovery.)

Only on a few other occasions have I had the opportunity to see musical artists perform several shows in a row as I did last month. Each night was different in subtle and more palpable ways, but the spirit (and Spirit) was the same.

In all honestly, I had hoped the visit to Berkeley would result in a sit-down interview with Mumford, whom I find terribly compelling as a musician and a person of faith. I thought we might further explore the soul behind the music and its inspiration.

There was no interview to be had, but in hindsight, it would have been something of a fool’s errand. I don’t know that there’s anything Mumford could have told me in a conversation that I didn’t know after hearing the band play and watching the audience have an experience with the music and the musicians themselves.

Much of what I learned came not through words, but in posture, gesture, and moments at once visceral and transcendent.

When the band sang a cappella or in softer tones, the audience collectively leaned forward, listening intently, perhaps even prayerfully.

The most meaningful and powerful moments in each show for me arrived with the same song: “Timshel.” It takes its name from John Steinbeck’s novel “East of Eden,” which has been described as a modern midrash of the biblical story of Cain and Abel.

Timshel is a transliteration of a Hebrew word that Steinbeck translates to mean “Thou mayest.” His character in the novel, Lee, explains it this way: ‘Thou mayest’… makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course.”

In their song, Mumford & Sons begin with another line borrowed from Steinbeck, “Cold is the water,” from “Of Mice and Men.”

The song is more contemplative than rollicking. But it builds…

“Cold is the water that freezes your already cold mind,” it begins, the quartet singing in harmony with no accompaniment. “Death is at your doorstep, and it will steal your innocence. But it will not steal your substance.”

As the crowd joined, I saw thousands of raised hands and upturned faces, some with eyes closed, repeating the lyrics at the top of their lungs. Each night, as the unlikely congregation sang the chorus in unison, I felt a lump in my throat and then tears.

“You are not alone in this,” we sang. “You are not alone in this. As brothers we will stand and we’ll hold your hand.”

It was a sacred promise from fellow travelers along the spiritual journey that is this life.

Mumford offered no easy answers, no trite salvos.

“I will tell the night, whisper, ‘lose your sight,'” he sang, “but I can’t move the mountains for you.”

Such heavy lifting is the work of the Spirit alone.

While we wait, the hold music is marvelous, and we’re in great company.