Saturday as go to church on Sunday, to say nothing of the crowds that go
on the other five days."

Joe Carbrook whistled. "That's a tough nut to crack, gentle people," he
said, "because you've simply got to think of those other five days. The
chances are that four times as many people in Delafield go to other
public places as go to church and Sunday school."

"What can the churches do?" asked J.W. "You can't make people go to
church."

"No," assented Marcia, "and if you could, it would be foolish. We want
to make people like the churches, not hate them. One thing I believe our
churches can do is to put their public services more into methods and
forms that don't have to be taken for granted or just mentally dodged.
Half the time people don't know what a religious service really stands
for."

"Meaning by that----?" Joe queried, as much to hear Marcia talk as for
the sake of what she might say.

"Well, they have seen and heard it since they were children. When they
were little they didn't understand it, and now it is so familiar that
they forget they don't understand it," Marcia responded, not wholly
oblivious of Joe's strategy, but too much in earnest to care. "I've
heard of a successful preacher in the East who seems to be making them
understand. He says he tries to put into each service four
things--light, music, motion; that is, change--and a touch of the
dramatic. Why not? I think it could be done without destroying the
solemnity of the worship. They did it in the Temple at Jerusalem, and