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I strutted across, expecting to be greeted by them. As I approached, however, it became increasingly clear that they were not interested in me at all. I headed instead toward a clergyman on one side of the group. "Our Lutheran congregation," he told me proudly, "use this building four nights a week and every Sunday, of course, for our services and Sunday School." Indignation swelled up inside and as courteously as I could manage, I probed further, "When do the Episcopalians meet then?" "Them," he replied, a smile spreading across his face, "there aren't many of those in town. They don't use this building much, except their service after ours have finished!"
That first dull, foggy Sunday in Lompoc, a group of us waited in the rain outside the Episcopal Church. The inside was crowded with this other Lutheran congregation who had nurtured a strong and growing fellowship in the same building in which our Church was dying. I was shocked that our people had agreed to rent the church for only forty dollars a month to help pay their own expenses. "I'll write to the Bishop about this in the morning!" I vowed quietly to myself. The Bishop agreed, the Lutherans moved, and we began repairs on the church and Parish house.
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