Once upon a time the doors to a church were always open. The doors were never locked. You were always welcome in God’s house. You could come in off the street and go to the alter. You could kneel down and pray, cry, talk to Father. Your own private thing. If you were cold Father beckoned “Come in get warm, my child.” You did not have to have a bed. A pew would work, because you were warm.
We do not always know where the homeless are. We do not always know who they are. Do we go out and look for them? If there is ice why should they freeze?
What happened? The doors are now locked. You can only go in Father’s house when the people allow you too. I know you can talk to Father anytime and anywhere, but somehow you always feel closer in His house. It should be unconditional. You should be able to walk in and shout, “Father, I am here. Help me. Save me.” With or without an audience.
“Save me,” Does not always come during church service, and yes you can be saved anywhere. But Fathers house is glory.
Are you worried about stealing? If they want to bad enough they will break the door’s down. It is easy to break a window. Where is your faith? It is Father’s house. Do you not think he will deal with it? Father’s wrath would be worse than anything we could ever do. Besides once they get in there the spirit might just hit. They may become a better person.
Father will replace what was lost. Father will take care of the church. Everything in that church really belongs to Father, not us. To God goes the glory.
Where is the faith?