Curtis Going As a little boy sitting on a church pew, with legs too short to touch the floor, and an attention span that was even shorter, my mother quietly taught me the words and the hand gestures to a familiar little poem that generations of church-going children have committed to memory. Here’s the church. Here’s the steeple. Open the doors. See all the people. Close the doors. Hear them pray. Open the doors. They’ve all gone away. A simple children’s poem which reminds us that it is...




