Chapter VI - An Epilogue

This is your church. It belongs to you. It belongs to God. We are God’s children.

Think about it. Walk into the sanctuary some evening at dusk. Place yourself in a pew. Look back, look around. Look up. And look at the Cross.

Indulge yourself in a moment of reverie. Think of the faces, of those you have known, of the unknown hundreds who preceded you in membership. Think of the vision of those few who created it; of the thousands who have carried it on.

It is quiet, now. There is not a sound. Suddenly, there is music. The organ is playing. A choir appears. There are voices: The Chancel Choir, the Westminster Choir, the Geneva Choir, and the upturned young faces of the Carol Choir.

"The Church’s one foundation..."

The glorious notes swell.

"Glory be to God. Glory be to God."

In a far-off mud hut, at jungle’s edge, a missionary is saying "Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name..."

And from the pulpit up ahead, a minister is saying: "…Thy will be done..."

You hear voices, hundreds of voices, from the past, from the present, from the future.

The voices of volunteers leading little children, and young people, in Church School prayers, into paths of knowledge about a Man who was known centuries ago as Jesus and who we know as the Christ.

"Blessed are those who thirst after righteousness..."

You are in a Nursery class, a Confirmation class, a Bible study class. You are in a home, by a bed of sickness. A minister is saying, "God is our Refuge and our Strength, a very present help in trouble. Therefore, will not we fear."

The voices grow louder. You are at a Men’s Breakfast. "Rise up, 0 men of God." You are meeting with the Senior Citizens, sharing in the pleasures, and lonesomeness, that come with retirement. You are sipping tea with the Genarians, indulging in talk about grandchildren, and loved ones living far away.

You are worshipping with friends and neighbors from another church during Lent. There is "no ease in Zion," and you know there isn’t, with the problems that beset us.

It’s Circle Day, and the Women’s Association Circles, and Circle X, and the Morning and Evening Circles, are meeting. "It is more blessed to give than to receive."

You are on an evangelistic team visiting homes to find New Members, or asking help, financially, for God’s work.

God’s work!

It is Christmas Eve. The sanctuary is filled with the glow of candlelight. "Silent night, Holy night, all is Calm, all is bright..."

It is sunrise, on Easter morning. You are standing on a hill facing to the east. "Christ the Lord is risen today, Hallelujah..."

"Hallelujah."

Your heart is aflutter as the Wedding March rings out, and the bride starts up the aisle.

"O perfect love..."

The campfire glows. You join hands. The shadows play across the youthful faces. A Conference is ending. "God be with us ‘til we meet again."

A little child, in arms, says "Daddy" and a quiet sort of laughter sweeps through the congregation. "Blessed are the little children, for theirs is the Kingdom of God," and another Baptism is ended.

"O love that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee," and a loved one passes on to eternity.

A child clutches an envelope, and "one Great Hour of Sharing" takes on meaning.

A telephone rings in an office. A hand reaches for it, the same hand that has reached out to help others for twenty-four years.

"I need your help. I need it immediately."
"How do I write to a friend who has lost a son?
What can I say?"
"May I see you quickly?"
"There’s been an accident. You are needed."
"I’m going to attend that meeting of Alcoholics
Anonymous, but please go with me. I can’t walk in alone."
"Father is ill."
" I’ve lost my job."
"What can I do. I am lost. I am weary. My caresare overwhelming."
"The eternal God is thy Refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms."

You are at a meeting of mothers and fathers and public officials, and newspaper representatives, concerned that some of our youth have gone astray, are in trouble, stealing, drinking, destroying property. Broken homes. Broken lives. Sorrow and tragedy.

"Give us the strength, give us the courage, 0 Lord, our God, to help these, Thy children."

A combo blares out "Exit 18," "Route 209," and the dancers swirl. A punchbowl is drained by unquenchable thirsts. There’s laughter; young laughter, in Russell Hall. A covered dish of string beans au gratin disappears fast in Carhart Room.

"Bless this food to our use."

Little hands grasp a picture book in McGuire Library, and a face lights up,

"Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the worldJ."

A stranger appears at a meeting of the Couple’s Club, or Doublets, or Fourth Friday Fellowship, or perhaps over coffee at a Neighborhood reception. "It’s a pleasure to meet you," you say, and lasting friendships are formed; friendships founded in Christian love and understanding.

"Blest be the tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love."

A young man, or a young woman, stands before you, dedicating his life to Christ in an Ordination ceremony.

"Take up My Cross, and follow Me."

You are the widow with her mite, or the businessman with his wealth, giving as He has given unto you, in a church called an "Honor Church" because you give one dollar for others outside for every two dollars you spend within. And a lone infantryman on a line in Korea hears the word of God. A sailor at sea kneels before a Cross. In a rat-infested Slum, a hand reaches out to help.

"Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, My brethren, you have done it unto Me."

The music dies... The crowds depart... You are alone. But not alone!... This is God’s house. And there is His Cross.

William S. Arthur