In the street-car of my Philadelphia boyhood, devout Roman Catholics would cross themselves when the trolley passed the Church of the Most Blessed Sacrament on Chester Avenue. The holiness they recognized was not only for the building, but it was particularly for the sacramental elements kept there. Most of the Irish in West Philadelphia were Roman Catholic. The rest were from North Ireland and worshiped at Westminster Presbyterian Church.
When Protestants speak of going to church, however, they are not thinking of a building but of a congregation. The congregation, not the building, is holy. The Scottish poet Robert Burns knew that the Bible calls the people of God “saints,” although he could not get beyond the louse he saw promenading on the bonnet of a saint seated in front of him in the kirk.
When worshipers are so easily distracted, they forget the awe of God’s holy name. Read more
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