Let it, my people, go

Memo to the former parishoners of the former St. Patrick's Church in Watervliet:   let it go.  Do not bother trying to stop Price Chopper from tearing it down.  Remember they paved paradise to put up a parking lot.  You will lose.  Time is not on your side.  You are old people, and your power has waned.  Those hallowed halls  of worship where sacred memories were formed and once revered are destined to be aisles of frozen foods and fresh produce.  Your memories will fade; some of you will   reach a stage of senility or Alzheimer's that will allow you to make the transition less painful.   You will even be able to buy lottery tickets, way better than pinning your dreams on Bingo night winnings.  Your ambassador from the Diocese has most likely already explained to you that what you once regarded as God's earthly home is in truth nothing more than a compilation of bricks and mortar, to be rightfully returned to the oblivion of the ashes from which it sprung.  Just as battleships are decommissioned, churches go through a solemn rite where the holiness once bestowed on them is formally removed; they are desanctified.   St. Patrick has already left the building.   My former church, Our Lady of Good Counsel, site of baptisms, communions, confirmations, weddings, wakes, funerals, religious instruction, and countless Masses and religious ceremonies and rituals, is now known as The Brick Elephant.  We are not able to buy food there, only occasionally listen to Baroque music.  So your fate could be worse.