Glass sculpture at Singapore airport.
While we were in Albania, our friends received a copy of the poem below, written by their friend. It was published in a Chicago-area newspaper. We sat and discussed the words of this eloquent poem and how the body of believers needs to be making more of an impact in the world. We need to stand out from the world and be different. People are searching for the truth, and if we appear to be the same as the world, not offering the Hope of our Messiah, we have truly missed our calling.
This is food for thought!
The Dying Church by Marcia Horan
Castles built in cities dire,
Housing hearts without the fire.
Steeples’ bells which once aroused,
Now shout Work! And grace is doused.
Its spirit weeps, and abandoned bride,
Love songs sung have slowly died.
And my spirit sinks into an endless song,
Mourn, mourn, my soul, His church foregone.
She struggles on to hear the preacher.
Deaf he is to the real Teacher.
Choking melodies that once were hearts.
Sentencing to death the Living Word.
The Bridegroom weeps for the empty womb,
A barren place now like a tomb.
His bride’s spirit broken apart,
Her heart grows cold, her eyesight dark.
And my spirit sinks into an endless song.
Mourn, Mourn, my soul, His church foregone.
Mourn, Mourn, my soul, His church is dead.
Cut to the quick by leaven bread.
I find no solace to my grief,
A comforter to give relief.
Yet on the horizon shining bright,
Is a sparkle of wondrous Light
And my spirit soars into endless song.
Praise, praise, my soul, has seen the Dawn.