[Propertalk] Fwd: [propertalk.topic] Singing a New Song

Fri Nov 4 14:58:07 EDT 2011

 Forwarded:

-----Original Message-----
From: Frank Fisher <f.fisher.obl.osb at comcast.net>
To: PRCL-L <PRCL-L at LISTSERV.LOUISVILLE.EDU>; propertalk.topic <propertalk.topic at ecunet.org>; midrash <midrash at joinhands.com>; SBA <SBA at SBAbbey.com>
Sent: Fri, Nov 4, 2011 12:31 pm
Subject: [propertalk.topic] Singing a New Song

This is my sermon for All Saints using Rev. 7:9-17.  The words to "Gather at
the River" will be sung between sections of the sermon.

PAX,

__

Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB
www.ffisher.net
Interim Pastor
First Presbyterian Church of Gibson City, IL
http://www.firstpresbygc.org

aka

Brother Oscar Romero
Oblate of St. Benedict's Abbey
Bartonville, IL
www.SBAbbey.com

"I pray not that you walk in my shoes - nor I yours - but that together we
walk so close to Rabbi Jesus that we are covered with dust from his
sandals." - Neal Rylaarsdam

_______________________________________

Shall we gather at the river,
where bright angel feet have trod;
with its crystal tide forever
flowing by the throne of God.

Yes we'll gather at the river,
the beautiful,
the beautiful river,
gather with the saints by the river,
that flows by the throne of God.

Ann was only thirteen
when those around her
began to call her
a saint.
Up until then
she had a normal life.
That is,
she had as normal a life
as a girl could have
growing up in Europe
in the time
of the black death.   

When Ann was very young,
she learned all the skills
her society believed
she'd need in life;
how to cook,
sew,
keep house,
and tend the sick.
Of course,
as a girl
of a good family
she was also schooled
in utter devotion
to God.

It was her devotion
that first seemed
 to set her apart.
She spent hour after hour
in prayer.
And many hours more
listening
to the words
of the Abbess
of her town's convent.
As time passed
her family,
and indeed 
most of her village,
came to believe
Ann was destined
to join the convent.
And during
 one horrible week
we might say
she did indeed join it
in a fashion.

The week began,
when the convent's bells
sounded an alarm
in the middle of the night.
Her father hurried out
to discover the alamr's cause.

When he returned,
all the family gasped
at the stunned look
on his face.
"The black death
has come,"
he gasped out.

Ann's mother
quickly
ran to the cupboard
to find the handkerchiefs
she'd been storing 
in aromatic oil
against this very possibility.
Her father and brothers
began to seal up the house
to keep out 
the bad air.
But before they could seal
the last door,
Ann slipped through it
and ran into the night.

Something in the back 
of Ann's mind
 told her
she was needed
at the convent.
And it was true.
Someone
was needed very badly.
For the Abbess
and two of the novices
had taken to their beds.
They were burning with fever
and their hands
showed the color
of those
stricken by the black death.

No one
in the abbey,
of the town,
would come near
 those who were sick
for fear 
of dying themselves.
But Ann
didn't hesitate
for a moment.
She went to the women's bedsides,
tried to keep them cool
with wet cloths,
and talked softly to them
when they cried out
in fear.

That was when
those around Ann
first used the word
saint.
They used it
more and more
as she nursed all the dying
of their village;
including
her own family.

At last
when over three quarters
 of the village
had died,
and the rest recovered,
Ann was stricken
with the disease.
During the few hours
remaining
in her life,
the one remaining sister
talked to her
of the joys of heaven.
She told Ann
how she would hear
all the earth
 singing to Jesus
in a joyful song of praise;
a song,
which even the roar
of the sea
would join.

Much later
Ann's church
officially named her
a saint.
But Ann
paid no attention
to the naming.
For she was too busy
standing before Christ's throne,
dressed in a
 dazzling 
robe of white,
with the cross of her baptism
shining in blazing .gold
upon her forehead.
And beside her
the other members
 of the white robed army
of the saints in light
raised the melody;
melody raised
with their voices in song;
melody raised
with their hands
 on the strings of lyres;
melody raised 
with the witness
of their very lives.

On the bosom of the river,
where the Savior-King we own,
we shall meet, and sorrow never,
'neath the glory of the throne.

Yes we'll gather at the river,
the beautiful,
the beautiful river,
gather with the saints by the river,
that flows by the throne of God,

Kevin was 65 years old.
And no one,
I repeat,
no one,
ever 
called him
 a saint.
That's not to say,
he wasn't a good person.
He was indeed
a very wonderful person.
He would give you
the shirt
off his back!
But no one,
could call him
a saint.

He grew up
in northern Illinois,
did all right
 in high school,
and
in his own good time
managed 
to graduate from college.

Kevin got a job,
a decent job,
which he enjoyed,
and married a wonderful girl
he met in college.
Together
they had two wonderful kids
whom they raised
very well,
and who turned out to be
two wonderful adults.

Through out his life,
Kevin was a part of his church.
Actually,
you could say
it was a central part
of his family's life.
He served the church
as an Elder,
and tried his best
to live his life
as one
who was baptized;
one
who was a part
of the body
of Jesus Christ.

But Kevin knew
no one
 would ever call him
a saint.
There were times
when he was
just a bit crabby.
Hey,
to hear his family talk
there were times
when he was downright
nasty!
There were times
when he was tempted
to do things
a follower of Jesus 
didn't do.
And
there were times
when he jumped right in
and did them.

Yes,
Kevin was a good person.
But no one
 could call him
a  saint.

So you can imagine
 his shock
when he awoke
after having a time
of incredible pain in his chest.
To his surprise
the hospital room
had vanished.
And there in front of him
 someone,
someone 
he somehow knew 
quite well,
was handing him
a robe of dazzling white.
And from his forehead
the cross of his Baptism
shone
with a light
of blazing gold.

All around Kevin,
as far as the eye could see,
were people
who were dressed
just like he was dressed.
They were singing 
something
he seemed to know by heart.
And when someone stuffed 
a strange instrument
into his hand
he immediately 
knew how to play it.

Then
as Kevin joined in the song,
he looked up,
and saw before him
Jesus the King
reigning in glory.

No one
could ever have called
Kevin a saint.
But he knew now
he really was
 one
of the saints in light;
the saints
who receive a blessing 
from the Lord  
and a just reward 
from the God 
of their salvation.

Ere we reach the shining river,
lay we every burden down;
Grace God's spirit will deliver,
and provide a robe and a crown.

Yes we'll gather at the river,
the beautiful,
the beautiful river,
gather with the saints by the river,
that flows by the throne of God

They may
have been called saints.
Or perhaps,
they were termed
something
exactly the opposite.
Most likely,
they fell
 somewhere in between.
But no matter 
how we labeled them
during their life
on this earth,
all those who've gone before us
during this year
are now
members of the saints 
in light.

Today
we  proclaim
their sainthood
by naming them,
in the canon
of our Great Prayer
of Thanksgiving.

And one day
we'll meet 
these saints again,
and meet
 for the first time
all those
who've gone before us
into Christ's presence.

Until then
we live on
following 
their examples of faithfulness.
We carry on
the work they've begun
toward the building
of the kingdom of God.

Until then
we sing on;
mouthing a mere semblance
 of the words and music,
we'll find them singing
on the day 
when we see 
a new heaven 
and a new earth; 
for the first heaven 
and the first earth
will have passed away.

We will see the holy city, 
the new Jerusalem,
coming down 
out of heaven from God,
 prepared as a bride 
adorned for her husband.
And with them
we will hear 
a loud voice from the throne 
saying,
"See, 
my home
is now among you."

God will dwell with us
as our God;
we will be God's people.
God will wipe every tear 
from our
eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying 
and pain 
will be no more.

And our voices
will join 
in the song of praise
proclaiming the glory
of the One
who has made
all things new.

Soon we'll reach the shining river,
soon our pilgimage will cease;
soon our happy hearts will quiver,
with the melody of peace.

Yes we'll gather at the river,
the beautiful,
the beautiful river,
gather with the saints by the river,
that flows by the throne of God

To God alone be glory.
Amen.

-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://stsams.org/pipermail/propertalk_stsams.org/attachments/20111104/4d39c1bc/attachment.htm>