Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the door and see all the---where are the people? There are a few scattered haphazardly throughout the rows of pews. But they seem lost in an endless sea of boredem.
This was a once alive, thriving community of believers. They responded to God. They easily flowed with the leading of the Spirit. Yet, once progressing wheels had dug a rut of complacency. The status quo had been maintained. They continued to do what they had always done. They were happy.
Alice Smith and Fred "Bingo" Franco had recently died. "Saints" was a freely used adjective in describing them. Tears flowed readily from those in attendance.
Fred had been a deacon...very dependable. They were sure they could find someone to replace him. A young family man. There was sure to be one in the new class they had discussed starting. But it would have to wait until a later time. Where are all the people?
Excitement was building for the upcoming hymn sing. It was sure to bring out the folks who appreciated their dearly held heritage. Where are all the people?
The youth were to be honored. Bibles with the Pastor's signature for those graduating from High School would be the "perfect" token to carry out into the world. Everyone was pleased to see how well dressed the two young folk were. Where are all the people?
Confident of our tradition. Pleased with our history. Protecting against "new" ideas. Uncompromising in our style. Judging others righteously. Where are all the people?