Church on Sunday morning

A girl in red cowboy boots and a denim dress rushes past, absorbed in her destination. Old friends chatter and laugh. It is a chance to look one's best, to wear your new earrings and have someone notice. Soaring above the monotone natter of the crowd, the choir practices their peice. People laugh, whisper, are introduced. Handbags swing, necklaces flash. It's just like all other Sundays.
But behind the faces, what makes this Sunday unlike any other morning? Why is this Sunday different?
These people come with different thoughts, unique needs. Who will they tell? I see no tears, no desperate faces. Where will they find aid if not in the arms of the church? Beautiful arches loom above. Carved wood glints, railings gleam. All the beauty of ages shines within the ancient traditions of the church, lovely in its grandeur and solitude. but where will the needy go? What place is there for the searching? In what hidden realms will they find solace?
Rise up, oh church!
Spread wings strengthened with your faith in victory!
Under grace we triumphed and shall be redeemed!
Those with a mission, those who care
Wake the church up with your prayer
Sweep aside the smiles there
Feel your hearts begin to tear
Wake up church, if you so dare!