God is Not Dead...But I Think My Church Might Be

I was sitting in the back pew with my friend Sarah one Sabbath morning. We were studying the sanctuary with its beautiful stained glass windows and pipe organ as the church members slowly drifted in.
We watched complacently, legs crossed, arms folded, as the vibes in the room grew more complex. The original few older men who had sat in their spread out tradition-established seats for the adult Sabbath School were joined by their short-haired wives.
Soon, a few younger people came in and sat down. Sarah and I observed them quietly. There were no single girls; each one was with a guy who dressed nice but sauntered in like he was extremely bored to be there. The girls all looked like models for clothing companies.
I instantly started to wonder how they managed to look so perfect and how I came across to them. Such perfect looking girls must be a different species than me... (If so, I'm glad I'm not that species. They don't look very happy or comfortable. Just perfect. I wish I could make them happier.)

Anyways, as we watched the church pews ahead of us fill up, Sarah commented, "It's dead in here."

I agreed. The acoustics were kind of flat. But then she explained that she was talking about the atmosphere. Then I really agreed.
I mean, I'm not one to get after people for wearing jewelry or makeup or immodest clothing, but when there's all of that on top of an attitude...it doesn't really savor of Jesus. And when you go to church without Jesus, there's no point.

I'm just saying. The only thing that made me think that I was in an Adventist church was a stained glass window with the three angels, and the hymnal in front of me.

The man up front was calling for the congregation to be generous in returning their tithes and offerings, and my mind wandered back to a year ago...

I am sitting on a wooden floor, which has been polished by many bare feet. The room is about fifteen by twenty feet, yet more than one hundred people are here, happily sitting on the floor. There is no air-conditioning; only open windows letting in the morning breeze. A little girl is sitting in my lap, her head resting on my shoulder. Her hair is full of lice, but I don't mind. I can take lice out of my hair more easily than an orphan's heart can be healed.
As the church service continues, the sanctuary, which is full of mostly children, becomes alive with worship. The children sing wholeheartedly, mostly from memory. They listen very quietly to the speaker. They each give a tithe and an offering, though they are all poor and not earning money. They all kneel so reverently that a murmured prayer can be   heard. After church, they will fetch their bowl and spoon and wait in line for a slab of cooked rice, and a spoonful of some kind of simple, watered-down vegetable dish. They are happy, though, because it's Sabbath.
In the afternoon, they will have an AY meeting, where they will sing more songs, give more money, and learn more about the Bible.
Then in the evening, there will be a meeting for the students who go on mission trips to be able to share their testimonies and encourage each other to be strong. These kids (mostly under eighteen years old) risk persecution and possible death for their decisions to become Christians, and yet they are the most mission-minded people I've ever met. Here, I came to be a missionary to these kids, and I'm only teaching English while they are going to their villages in Burma to help villagers harvest the rice crops just so they can reach them for Jesus. 
Who is the missionary here?
Not I.
Getting lice is hardly a trial, compared to being disowned for the sake of Jesus.

And I really miss that place. That feeling of surrender, that joy, that peace. That Spirit-filled wooden chapel in the jungle.

And as I come to, in church in the States, having nearly fallen asleep in the A/C tempered room, I am struck with an urgent desire to pray for the shaking.

Please Lord, shake out the people who have made their final decision against You and bring in those who are seeking truth. We must worship in spirit and in truth, or it's worse than pointless. It's destroying us, and sickening those who honestly want to know God.

My church is dying, and I'm praying for help. It won't be long in coming. Let the shaking begin, for though my church may be dying, my God isn't, and people need to see Him now.

May He be seen in me.