First Sunday in Advent - 2009

Thoughts from The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a Kempis.
The Third Book - Chapter 1 - Of the Inward Voice of Christ to the Faithful Soul


"Blessed are the ears which receive the echoes of the soft whisper of God, and turn not aside to the whisperings of this world."

"Blessed are they who long to have leisure for God, and free themselves from every hindrance of the world."

"Put away thee all transitory things, seek those things that are eternal."

Thank you, Lord, for speaking to me. I am clinging to Your promise even now. May I not be hindered by this world, but seek Your face alone, and expectantly wait for You.

The Dreaded Task

The basement weighs on my heart; some times more than others. And as cluttered as this looks, it's one of the better sections of the basement. Boxes, baskets, stuffed animals, old National Geographics, plastic grocery bags holding who-knows-what is bad enough. I wouldn't dare step back and show you a wide angle view.

I keep thinking I need to get the rest of the house in better order before I tackle the basement. But I think this is just an excuse to avoid it entirely.

I read this verse recently, and was nudged yet again that I need to begin my basement project. Maybe tackling the basement should be a winter chore after Christmas.

Some background before the verse: When the exiles return from Babylon and rebuild the wall, Nehemiah realizes that there aren't enough people to defend the city. He devises a plan to bring some people from the tribes of Benjamin and Judah to settle in Jerusalem. Nehemiah calls for genealogical records and makes a census of sorts, counting all of the various tribes of people.

During this census, there were six families who could not prove that they were descended from Israel:

They searched for their family records, but they could not find them and so were excluded from the priesthood as unclean. Nehemiah 7: 64

Now, this should make me want to get myself in gear!

"Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing"

The past few weeks, I have been humming this hymn as it pops into my mind. The author of the words, Robert Robinson (1735-1790), was an English pastor, first in the Methodist church, and then in the Baptist church.

Although hymnals print the name of John Wyeth (1770-1858) in the spot reserved for the composer of the music, he was actually an American printer and publisher who compiled songs others had written. It doesn't appear that he had musical or theological training, but he had a large collection of printed music. His tunebooks; Repository of Sacred Music (1810) and Repository of Sacred Music, Part Second (1813); may have been the result of a good business move rather than inspired by any religious convictions.

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.


(Fort Hunter Mansion in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, above. It was built in 1814 by Capt. Archibald McAlister, about the time that Wyeth was printing his songbooks in the same town. It was named for the 18th century fort constructed near the site.)

"For All the Saints"

The words to this hymn were written by Englishman William How (1823-1897). An Anglican minister, he was appointed bishop of Wakefield in 1889. There has been a church in Wakefield for over 1000 years, something that's a bit difficult for us Americans to grasp. The Cathedral of All Saints in Wakefield, England, erected a marble memorial to How.

I would be remiss if I didn't mention that the music was composed by a fellow Englishman, Ralph Vaughn Williams (1872-1958).


"For All the Saints"

For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Apostles’ glorious company,
Who bearing forth the Cross o’er land and sea,
Shook all the mighty world, we sing to Thee:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For the Evangelists, by whose blest word,
Like fourfold streams, the garden of the Lord,
Is fair and fruitful, be Thy Name adored.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

For Martyrs, who with rapture kindled eye,
Saw the bright crown descending from the sky,
And seeing, grasped it, Thee we glorify.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may Thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blessed.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on His way.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
And singing to Father, Son and Holy Ghost:
Alleluia, Alleluia!

(Photo of the spire of Wakefield Cathedral, formerly Cathedral of All Saints, comes from this website.)