What once held us all together is falling apart,
The church, so strong, is breaking God’s heart.
Massive buildings with columns of inlaid gold,
Are not the story God intended to be told.
The church is not a building or even a place,
It is the look of contentment on an old man’s face.
It’s the hand of one reaching out to another,
It is a community surrounding a widowed mother.
Look at the world through God’s eyes, then perhaps,
You’ll reach a world on the verge of collapse.
Let the buildings fall, that no longer have purpose.
Ask always “How may I be of service?”
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