He looked at the peeling gray paint and the uneven parking lot full of potholes. Stopping for a full moment beside a car with a rusty bumper, he carefully traced the letters on the sticker.
‘Love never fails’
He smiled and lifted his head absorbing the sound of worship music coming from inside. Finally he walked forward and entered the slightly worn out church.
On the welcome board at the entrance, a sign up sheet for Girl Scout cookies lingered. A calloused hand gently removed the paper. He looked toward the sanctuary and noted the singing had ceased, followed by quiet words of prayer.
He had visited here many times. Every time the doors were open and often when they were closed, he sat by the people and walked through the halls.
He knew the order of worship. The offering basket would be passed. The communion message and sharing broken crackers and grape juice would follow. A tired pastor would begin his sermon.
That’s what would normally happen. But today was going to be different.
Mrs. Jenkins, a lonely widow with eighty years of life behind her and two days on earth left, prayed fervently. She was the first to notice the light begin to filter into the sanctuary and a single tear wove its way down her soft wrinkled face.
Suddenly chairs flipped their complacent guests, offering money blazed into orange and red fire which soon gave way to smoke, communion plates vanished and then … the sanctuary grew still.
With tears streaming down his face, the pastor knelt and put his face to the floor as the man approached the stage.
At first the congregation stood silently but the moment the man reached the podium, some began to edge toward the doors.
In the blink of an eye the congregation changed.
The Sunday school classes emptied into the sanctuary. People who were sick and hopeless and dying came pouring through the church’s open doors.
Sadly, many who had attended regularly chose to leave in the coming weeks.
What caused that remarkable shakeup to an ordinary church that day? The man had only spoken six words to the church.
“The Lord your God is Holy.”
Since the people believed his message, he joined that church ... no longer as a visitor but as a member.
Mrs. Jenkins went to his house just two days later and was stunned at the size of her room.
As she stood singing with the angels, one of them came towards her holding a huge golden bowl. Mrs. Jenkins looked over at him and he winked.
Yep … you guessed it … her prayers safely stored for the little church she left behind.
A house of prayer for a Holy God-
IN WHATEVER CHURCH YOU ATTEND ...Start the wave …