She stands silent, empty, forlorn

Once the vibrant center of life

Her stained glass is dim, no light within

And her doors long shuttered are still.

Baptisms and burials, weddings and worship

And communion and liturgy and confession;

She heard the fervor and witnessed the vows

Of all that was sacred and blessed.

Prayers from parishioners and proclamations from the pulpit,

Hymns, dedications, new birth.

The word went forth, hearts burned

An exchange between heaven and earth.

Was it rote religion? Duty done? An appearance?

Or was it sincere?

The Lord knows, but the one thing it shows

That men’s hearts once knew holy fear.

In St. Clair, churches everywhere,

Lutheran, Methodist, Reformed.

Poor farmers and miners these fledgling flocks,

But they were lavish toward the House of the Lord.

Now homes spring up and the populous swells

More data centers, warehouses, and bars.

A cross on every corner?

Nay, a vape shop instead,

And the soccer fields full Sunday morn.

Perhaps if some soul chained himself to the altar

Like the desperate of revival days

That zeal would spark the same outpouring

To see the church flourish in repentance and grace.

But I have a family to feed and a schedule to keep,

And a meeting tomorrow evening.

Perhaps some saint with more time to spare

Can stir the heart and hand of the King.

© 2026 Emily Tomko