For almost fifty years I have lived comfortably within the church. And for almost fifty years I have loved the church. I still remember sitting in the pew, a small child of three or four - dwarfed by big shoulders embracing me on every side. I loved the music - the grand soaring chords of the organ. I loved the windows and the colors, the flowers and soft cushions. I loved the warm, full voice of the preacher and I loved the hushed silence - a silence that made me feel like I was part of something special - something that I didn't understand with my mind but which I already savored in my heart. Most of all, I loved the offering plates - those shiny brass bowls, lined with deep blue velvet, and filled with holy money. As ushers carried those plates forward, with my dime tucked into all thos…