Nor from thy precepts stray,
For thou shalt surely bless all those
Who live the words they pray.
Hope Winchester entered the church as the pipe organ began the prelude, and looked around anxiously for a place to sit. There was only one person in the rear pew on the left.
Thinking the rear pew a good choice, she slid in quickly, noting that Hélène Pringle occupied the other end. She nodded to Miss Pringle, who had bought note cards at Happy Endings just last week.
She consulted her pew bulletin, turned in the prayer book to page 355, and hugged the open book to her chest. She’d been inside Lord’s Chapel only twice before, and was feeling utterly naked, as if she were raw and exposed altogether. She hoped she wouldn’t make a fool of herself, and especially hoped that George wasn’t sitting where he could see her in case she did. She only knew that it was important to be here this morning, though she wasn’t sure why.
Perhaps, she thought, it was because she’d given up being a noun, and was being transformed into a verb.
“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, amen,” he said, crossing himself.
“I wrestled with this morning’s message as Jacob wrestled with the angel, until at last I said to God, ‘I will not let You go until You bless me.’
“I had prayed and labored over a sermon, the title of which is listed in your bulletin and which no longer has anything to do with what I have to say to you this morning, nor does it delve the meaning of today’s Propers.
“What I’d hoped to say was something we all need to know and ponder in our lives, but the message would not come together, it would not profess the deeper truth I felt God wanted me to convey.
“And the reason it would not is simple:
“I was writing the wrong sermon.
“Then…at the final hour, when hope was dim and my heart bruised with the sense of failure, God blessed me with a completely different message—a sermon expressly for this service, this day, this people.”
Father Tim smiled. “The trouble is, he gave me only four words.
“I was reminded, then, of Winston Churchill, how he was called to deliver the convocation address at his old school—where, by the way, he had not done well, his headmaster had predicted nothing but failure for Churchill. He was called to give the address and he stood to the podium and there was an enormous swell of excitement among the pupils and faculty that here was a great man of history, a great man of letters and discourse, about to tell them how to go forward in their lives.
“Mr. Churchill leaned over the podium, looked his audience in the eye, and here, according to legend, is what he said; this is the entire text of his address that day:
“‘Young men, nevah, nevah, nevah give up.’
“Then he sat down. That was his message. Seven words. In truth, if he had said more, those seven words might not have had the power to penetrate so deeply, nor counsel so wisely.
“Last night, alone in my study, God gave me four words that Saint Paul wrote in his second letter to the church at Thessalonica. Four words that can help us enter into obedience, trust, and closer communion with God Himself, made known through Jesus Christ.
“Here are the four words. I pray you will inscribe them on your heart.”
Hope Winchester sat forward in the pew.
“In everything…give thanks.”
Father Tim paused and looked at those gathered before him. At Emma Newland…Gene Bolick…Dooley Barlowe…Pauline Leeper…Hope Winchester…Hélène Pringle. Around the nave his eyes gazed, drawing them close.
“In everything, give thanks. That’s all. That’s this morning’s message.
“If you believe as I do that Scripture is the inspired Word of God, then we see this not as a random thought or an oddly clever idea of His servant Paul, but as a loving command issued through the great apostle.
“Generally, Christians understand that giving thanks is good and right.
“Though we don’t do it often enough, it’s easy to have a grateful heart for food and shelter, love and hope, health and peace. But what about the hard stuff, the stuff that darkens your world and wounds you to the quick? Just what is this everything business?
“It’s the hook. It’s the key. Everything is the word on which this whole powerful command stands and has its being.
“Please don’t misunderstand; the word thanks is crucial. But a deeper spiritual truth, I believe, lies in giving thanks in…everything.
“In loss of all kinds. In illness. In depression. In grief. In failure. And, of course, in health and peace, success and happiness. In everything.
“There’ll be times when you wonder how you can possibly thank Him for something that turns your life upside down; certainly there will be such times for me. Let us, then, at times like these, give thanks on faith alone…obedient, trusting, hoping, believing.
“Perhaps you remember the young boy who was kidnapped and beaten and thrown into prison, yet rose up as Joseph the King, ruler of nations, able to say to his brothers, with a spirit of forgiveness, ‘You thought evil against me, but God meant it for good, that many lives might be spared.’ Better still, remember our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, who suffered agonies we can’t begin to imagine, fulfilling God’s will that you and I might have everlasting life.
“Some of us have been in trying circumstances these last months. Unsettling. Unremitting. Even, we sometimes think, unbearable. Dear God, we pray, stop this! Fix that! Bless us—and step on it!
“I admit to you that although I often thank God for my blessings, even the smallest, I haven’t thanked Him for my afflictions.
“I know the fifth chapter of First Thessalonians pretty well, yet it just hadn’t occurred to me to actually take Him up on this notion. I’ve been too busy begging Him to lead me out of the valley and onto the mountaintop. After all, I have work to do, I have things to accomplish…alas, I am the White Rabbit everlastingly running down the hole like the rest of the common horde.
“I want to tell you that I started thanking Him last night—this morning at two o’clock, to be precise—for something that grieves me deeply. And I’m committed to continue thanking Him in this hard thing, no matter how desperate it might become, and I’m going to begin looking for the good in it. Whether God caused it or permitted it, we can rest assured—there is great good in it.
“Why have I decided to take these four words as a personal commission? Here’s the entire eighteenth verse:
“‘In everything, give thanks…for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.’
“His will concerning you. His will concerning me.
“This thing which I’ve taken as a commission intrigues me. I want to see where it goes, where it leads. I pray you’ll be called to do the same. And please, tell me where it leads you. Let me hear what happens when you respond to what I believe is a powerful and challenging, though deceptively simple, command of God.
“Let’s look once more at the four words God is saying to us…by looking at what our obedience to them will say to God.
“Our obedience will say, ‘Father, I don’t know why You’re causing, or allowing, this hard thing to happen, but I’m going to give thanks in it because You ask me to. I’m going to trust You to have a purpose for it that I can’t know and may never know. Bottom line, You’re God—and that’s good enough for me.’
“What if you had to allow one of your teenagers to experience a hard thing, and she said, ‘Mom, I don’t really understand why you’re letting this happen, but you’re my mom and I trust you and that’s good enough for me’?”
He looked around the congregation. “Ah, well,” he said, “probably not the best example.”
Laughter.
“But you get the idea.
“There are, of course, many more words in the first letter to the Thessalonians. Here are just a few:
“‘Pray without ceasing.’
“‘Abstain from all appearance of evi
l.’
“‘Quench not the Spirit.’
“These words, too, contain holy counsel and absolute truth.
“But the words which God chose for this day, this service, this pastor, and this people, were just four. Yes, do the other things I command you to do, He says, but mark these.”
He gazed upon his former flock with great tenderness.
“Mark these.”
Hélène Pringle realized she had been holding her breath for what seemed like a very long time.
“When we go out into this golden morning and meet in our beautiful churchyard, let those who will, follow yet another loving command from Paul’s letter. ‘Greet the brethren with a holy kiss!’
“Amen.”
Miss Pringle exhaled; and then, with the congregation, gave the response.
“Amen!”
In This Mountain, Ch. 19
HE HAD WELCOMED the newcomers for a fare-thee-well, put forth a bit of church history, invited one and all to stay for their dinner on the grounds, and moved briskly onward.
In all his years as a priest, he had experienced few Sundays so richly promising, and so dauntingly filled, as today would be.
“Your pew bulletins were printed on Friday, well before I received some thrilling news, news that affects our entire parish—news that, indeed, causes the angels in heaven to rejoice.
“Add to that yet another evidence of God’s favor to Holy Trinity, and I daresay your bulletin will be somewhat hard to follow.”
He removed his glasses and looked out to his congregation; he felt a smile having its way with his face. “In short, he prepared for the best!”
Several of the congregation peered at their pew mates, wondering.
“In the fifth chapter of the book of James, we’re exhorted to confess our sins, one to another. In the third chapter of the book of Matthew, we read, ‘Then went out to him,’ meaning John the Baptist, ‘Jerusalem and all Judea, and all the region round about Jordan, and were baptized of him…confessing their sins.’
“I’ve always esteemed the idea of confession, and in my calling, one sees a good bit of it. But this notion of confessing our sins one to another is quite a different matter. Indeed, it involves something more than priest and supplicant; it means confessing to the community, within the fellowship of saints.
“When I left Holy Trinity on Friday, I was going home. But God pointed my truck in the opposite direction.
“I drove to see someone I’ve learned to love, as I’ve learned to love so many of you since coming to Wilson’s Ridge.
“We had talked and visited several times, and I could see that his distance from God had made things uphill both ways. But I always hesitated to ask him one simple question.
“I didn’t hesitate this time. I asked him if he would pray a simple prayer with me that would change everything.”
His eyes roved the packed pews, to those seated in folding chairs that lined the aisle. There was Jubal. And all the Millwrights. And Robert and Dovey and Donny, and Ruby Luster holding Sissie on her lap…
“Now, the thought of having everything changed in our lives is frightening. Even when the things that need changing are hard or brutal, some of us cling to them, anyway, because they’re familiar. Indeed, our brother had clung…and it wasn’t working.
“In our hymn this morning, we sang, ‘They who go through the desert vale, or any parched and arid valley, will find it filled with springs.’ When we choose to walk through the valley with Him, He will be our living water. He will not only sustain us, but give us the grace to move, as that beautiful hymn says, from height to height.
“In a moment, we will have a joyous baptizing, our first since Holy Trinity opened its doors again after forty years. As part of the service for Holy Baptism, our brother has asked if he might make his confession to all of us here today.
“Before I call him forward, I’d like to recite the simple prayer he prayed, similar to one I prayed myself…long after I left seminary.
“It’s a prayer you, also, may choose to pray in the silence of your heart. And when you walk again through the parched valley, as you’ve so often done alone, He will be there to walk through it with you. And that’s just the beginning of all that lies in store for those who believe on Him.”
He bowed his head, as did most of the congregation.
“Thank You, God, for loving me. And for sending Your son to die for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins, and receive Jesus Christ as my personal savior. Now, as Your child, I turn my entire life over to You.
“Amen.
“Robert Cleveland Prichard, will you come forward?”
Robert moved along the crowded aisle, trembling; his knees were water and his veins ice.
He stood by the pulpit and opened his mouth, but instead of words, tears came. For two days, that had been his worst fear. He turned away for a moment, then faced the people again.
“I’d like t’ confess t’ you…,” he said.
The very air in the nave was stilled. Robert raised his right hand.
“…b’fore God…that I didn’t do it.”
Father Tim looked out to Miss Martha and Miss Mary, both of whom had forgotten to close their mouths. He saw Lace, riveted by what was taking place; and there was Agnes, pale as a moonflower….
“I cain’t go into th’ details of all th’ stuff about m’ granpaw, ’cause they’s little young ’uns in here. But Friday e’enin’ I done a thing with Father Tim that I guess I’ve wanted t’ do, but didn’t know how t’ do. I give it all over t’ Jesus Christ, like I should’ve done when m’ buddy talked t’ me about ’im in prison.
“All I can say is, it’s good. It’s good.” Robert nodded, as if to himself “I thank y’.”
He gazed peaceably into the eyes of those seated in the nave.
Agnes Merton stood, and together with Dooley Kavanagh, presented the century-old tin basin to Father Tim, who poured creek water into it from a tin pitcher.
There was the sound of a log shifting in the firebox; something like a deep, collective sigh stirred among the pews.
My faith looks up to thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Savior divine!
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away;
O let me from this day
Be wholly thine.
May thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire;
As thou has died for me,
O may my love to thee
Pure, warm and changeless be
A living fire…
At the time of announcements, and with no suggestion of what was to come, Father Tim introduced Lloyd Goodnight and Clarence Merton.
The two men took their places by the pulpit.
Lloyd cleared his throat, blushed, and adjusted his shirt collar. He’d completely forgotten to check his fly, but it was too late, now.
“What it’ll be is two stalls, one f’r ladies, one f’r men, four b’ six each, with wash basins an’ all.”
He pulled a note from his pocket, studied it a moment, and once again addressed the congregation.
“Me an’ Clarence will be y’r builders. We’ll run a pipeline to th’ spring, like th’ ol’ schoolhouse done. We’ll have a tin roof an’ a concrete slab, an’ real good ventilation.
“We thank you.”
The congregation stood as one, and applauded.
Rooter had pretty much felt his hair drying out by the end of the first hymn. He didn’t know which way it might be shooting up since Granny chopped it off with a razor. But he couldn’t think about that, he’d just gotten the signal from Father Tim and he had a job to do.
He stood as close to the vicar as he could, for protection—though he wasn’t sure from what—and made the sign he’d learned this week from Clarence.
“Watch Rooter,” said the vicar. Rooter made the sign, which involved three separate movements, three times. He was
careful to do it slowly.
“Now it’s our turn.” Some got it right off the bat, others struggled.
“What are we saying here, Rooter?”
“God…loves…us!” shouted Rooter.
He hadn’t meant to shout. His face felt hot as a poker.
“Amen!” said someone in the back row.
“I’m asking you to give that sign to someone today,” said Father Tim. “And do it like you mean it, because He means it. Indeed, I would ask you to allow yourself…to really believe, from a deep place in your soul, that…”
His eyes searched the faces as he and Rooter signed.
“…God…loves…us.
“Amen.”
“Amen!”
He nodded to Sparkle and the choir. Clarence took up the cross.
Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.
Before our Father’s throne
We pour our ardent prayers;
Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
Our comforts and our cares.
We share each other’s woes,
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear…
The rain began at dusk.
It quickly gathered force, and soon came down in sheets, filling dry creek beds and scattering cattle to the shelter of trees and run-in sheds.
In the downpour, anyone driving past Green Valley Baptist probably wouldn’t have noticed the bold black letters of the sign by the road.
LOVE IS AN ACT OF ENDLESS FORGIVENESS
Light from Heaven, Ch. 20
MISS MARTHA HAD supervised the greening of the church this afternoon. The sharp, pungent odor of pine and cedar filled the nave; sticks of hardwood burned bright in the firebox.
“In the name of the Father…”
He crossed himself “…and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
“I wrote a sermon this week, but discovered something as I reflected upon it.
“It told us more than we need to know.”