presence of God, into a holy place not made with hands (and the more
real because it was not, being God-made and eternal), and that there
worshipers stood before eyes of perfect discernment, unclothed by
outward semblance, and offered "spiritual sacrifices" unto Him. It was
a beautiful picture, but awful. Winifred shuddered as she thought of
the august Presence that inhabited the Holiest of All that the minister
spoke of, and wondered if she would dare approach it. To stand in
naked spirit before eyes of flame and to be read through and through,
daring to speak no unmeant word, but only that which the heart
designed, in absolute sincerity! Was worship in spirit such a real
thing as that? Was she a true worshiper? Why was she there that
morning? She glanced about the building, with its arches and columns,
its stained windows, and almost perfect arrangement of form and color.
But the minister was saying:

"This material structure is not the house of God. No longer is God
localized to our faith as in the days of symbol and shadow, when surely
Jerusalem was 'the place where men ought to worship.' For the symbol
has given place to the 'truth,' and in that, 'in spirit,' men worship.
But while in every place, or, better still, without reference to
place--'neither in this mountain nor in Jerusalem'--true worshipers
shall find Him, still His spiritual people form a temple for His
manifestation, wherever they are gathered, and there is He. 'In the
midst' He takes His rightful place, and that place we must accord
Him--the center of our heart's attention and worship."

Winifred resumed her question. Why had she come? Was it to meet that
One, to gaze in spirit upon His pierced hands and side, as the minister
was saying, and to rejoice in Him as the risen Lord? She did not quite
know what he meant. She went back over the morning's experience,