The place just doesn't look the same. It's been hit hard.

Flames tore through the inside last Saturday and smoke filled the massive chamber.

The windows were smashed and heavy damage is evident.

It emits a distinct sour, moldy smell of charred wood and destruction.

The 1852 First Presbyterian Church of Tamaqua no longer seems to be the church of my youth.

Sure, it closed in 2007. But I'd been inside several times after it became a private art studio. Up until now, it had retained those familiar elements that soothed my mind and took me back to 1960 Sunday School.

There, in a small room near the double-door entrance, I sat next to Tana Boyer. She was very bright, her parents both schoolteachers.

The instructor showed Tana, me and others how to form a church and spire using our little hands and fingers.

"Here is the church. Here is the steeple. Open the doors and see all the people!"

Religious instruction, or in some ways, indoctrination, was part of life and something we took for granted.

My house was just four doors away in the ecumenical town block.

Four doors in the other direction was the Catholic presence in the form of a convent, school, rectory and St. Jerome's Church, built 1861.

Next to St. Jerome's was Calvary Episcopal, 1851. Old, old institutions in a Norman Rockwell-ish neighborhood.

But there's more. Across the street was the Salvation Army, where I attended Bible instruction.

Next to that was North Ward Elementary. Tana and I went to school there until fifth grade.

But so much has changed.

The solid, brick school building was razed and turned into a parking lot.

Then, about 18 years ago, the Salvation Army moved into a large, new community center a block away.

Shortly later, the nuns moved away from St. Jerome's and the diocese sold off the convent.

Last month, St. Jerome's School building closed its doors for good, intending to send students to a newly purchased building in Hometown.

On top of that, the former St. Jerome's Church will close its doors about a week from now, a victim of parish consolidation.

Everything is changing, disappearing. Congregations are dwindling.  Churches are closing. Some are being torn down. Others, sadly, are left unattended and become fire targets.

It's happening in many places, not only on Broad Street. Not only in my hometown.

"Here is the church. But where are the people?"

Even Tana is gone. She passed away two years ago.

And I've changed, too. My thoughts about traditional belief systems and the existence of deities have evolved in dynamic ways.

I thought about this as I looked at the charred shell, once a house of sanctity. I was happy to see it become a refuge for a gifted artist. But now he lost all. How can a person not be sad?

My friend Carleen offered advice. She and her family experienced a similar situation.

"Go pick up little pieces of glass," Carleen said. "One day you might be happy that you did."

So I bent down and retrieved several shards of glorious, colorful stained glass.

They weren't burnt or melted.

The windows simply shattered, just like our spirit when we lose part of our past.

When that happens, it's important to pick up the pieces.

Caption: Large, majestic stained glass windows from the 1800s filled the walls at Tamaqua's former Presbyterian Church. DONALD R. SERFASS/TIMES NEWS

Caption: Picking up the pieces.