The little church that I attended when I was a child was a very different kind of place. Most of the members there were either related to each other or were the children of people who grew up with their parents. The pews were old and creaked when you sat on them. The walls were in serious need of a good paint job, and the floor had a huge crack that stretched from the back door to the pulpit.
One might think that there was nothing unusual about a church building in need of repair. Especially a building that was more than fifty years old, but the much need repairs were not what was odd. It was the fact that the building’s physical appearance seemed to match the members’ attitudes. The more the church members argued and fought, the worse the building’s condition deteriorated.
The worst part about it was that it was easy to tell which members were the constant source of trouble in the church because every Sunday morning, no matter how carefully they walked into that church building, they always managed to trip on some part of that crack.
Many might say that it was just a coincidence, but I knew better. Being an observer of human nature, even at the tender age of eight, I could tell that that crack was out to get them. After all, the pews were in ill repair from being knocked over during the fights that often took place during business meetings, and the paint was chipping off the walls because of Bibles that had been thrown across the room missing their intended targets and hitting the wall. They were tearing that builing down one church meeting at a time, and that little church was out to get them.
