There Was a Glorious Sunrise

As I drove to work today, past this newly-built church, I began to reflect:

For twenty five years this property  sat here empty on the far northeast corner of town. For twenty five years it sported a large sign announcing the building of a  "future church home".  Finally, this year, they built it--a new building--put the finishing touches on it, and set up all the furniture for their opening dedication. That night--a week ago-- the pastor looked around and pronounced it good. He then went home and died quietly in his sleep.     Yesterday, I asked a little girl who had come to our Wednesday night children's program if she had attended Sunday School this week at her church. She said: "I can't go to my church because my pastor died." 

He was, I'm sure, the only pastor she has ever known, a dedicated man who has spent over twenty five years serving his church, loving his people, being a friend and adviser to all the other pastors in the ministerial alliance, my husband included. He would have been the first to smile at that little girl and correct her:   the pastor is not the church;  the building is not the church. The church is a group of people who gather to worship God, regardless of the circumstances, and if their shepherd were here to console his grieving flock, he would remind them that as sure as the sun sets over the town, it will rise again in the morning ...and so will he.