The Old Church

The Old Church

By John W. Vander Velden                          

 

 

Once proud on the corner, the monument of gray stone stands abandoned.  Now silent, how many years its great bell called, echoing throughout the town.  Long ago built with sweat and pride…long ago the center of many lives…long ago a sign of God’s presence…long ago….  Only the old remember; their eyes tear at the sight.  Scrappers have stolen the brass from her doors.  Vandals have broken the stately window of glass stained.  Stone has fallen from high up her walls.  Surely the roof no longer seals storms pounding rains.  Yet within perhaps something remains…something of the dignity…of the honor…of the truth.  Perhaps the scent of wax yet can be found among the dust and cobwebs in that place where so many lives began and others sent homeward.  The empty shell stands lonely, crumbling; the end of old dreams for God’s glory now in slow decay.  Most scarcely notice, moving past in life’s crush.  Many do not care…an eyesore, nothing more.  But to others there is nothing sadder than the old church.

 

(179 Words)