First Twisted

My church may not be perfect—
It may have its shortcomings and flaws—
It may have its errors and bad habits
And its imperfect leaders—
And even some of its sins
Swept under the carpet—

But what makes my church
As pure as the new-driven snow
As white as a lily
As fresh as the Earth after a spring rain
Is that your church is worse.
And this fact gives us new energy
Poured down from on high
To carry on as we were before.

Here at First Twisted
We believe in celebrating
Some of the tiniest things
As if they were the biggest
And in mourning some of the biggest
As if they were the smallest.

Won’t you join us this Sunday?!

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