The sound of the chatter envelopes me as I open the freshly shined mahogany wooden doors. As I look out I see rows upon rows of blood red velvet covered pews filled with people. The people who occupy this place are made up of sinners, hypocrites, conservatives, the lost ones, and rebels. It even house the angels and demons that taunt them. These occupants are there for a reason but not just one but many. We have the sinners looking for forgiveness, the lost ones looking for self assurance, the hypocrites looking for validation, and the rebels looking to pick out every flaw. By coming to this place the occupants are ultimately seeking one thing: insurance. The insurance that one day they will go to heaven and not be damned and banished to hell. The occupants wish to be accepted and approved by others they deem holier or the perfect version of a Christian. This space is a sacred place that causes those who inhabit it to change the purpose of itself. The church should not be a museum of all the perfect people and only the good that occurred but it should be a hospital for the broken and troubled, the lost and the found. Now the space has been mutilated to resemble the perfection of Christianity therefore everything must be perfect in their eyes. So as I walk through the rows of people I remember this small detail: I’m there for a reason too.