A small, white dairy barn had stood alone upon that hill for years.
The town had grown around it. Now a university professor, architect,
will try and see if he can build a church for students there.
They have almost no money. But they are Reformed, still Puritans with
a concrete floor will do with folding chairs, clear windows open to
the light, the street, the passers-by, invite all in. They meet
around a table, pulpit, bowl, and hear the word. The room is filled
with song and prayer– the walls, inside and out, like milk are white.
Up high, no steeple, but a box of light, a cupola like on a barn:
- Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, September 2, 2012