The Little White Church On The Hill

THE LITTLE WHITE CHURCH ON THE HILL

The old oak tree still stands on the hill, it’s branches spreading wide;
The cedar trees with their perfume, lined up, still stand beside
The cemetery, with tombstones old, so peaceful and so still,
But the centerpiece of this rural scene is the little white church on the hill.

Since 1883 it has stood there, a lighthouse to show the way,
A haven for the weary, a place for the burdened to pray.
Jacob Blickensderfer designed it, but God set the dream in his heart.
Oakland needed a churchhouse, where people could draw apart

And come to a place of worship when they needed sweet peace and rest;
A place where they felt God’s presence, when they needed to be blessed;
A place where they sought His healing when the physical body was ill;
Jacob built them this House of Worship, this little white church on the hill.

The bell tower guards the southern side, the bell rings loud and clear
Proclaiming the time of worship has come, as it’s done for many a year;
And the little white church with its doors open wide still welcomes God’s people in
Where the music rings out and the gospel is preached that you can be saved from your sin.

Weathered stones now compose the old library walls where ivy has grown through the years -
A memorial built more than a century ago in honor of one held so dear
Who wrote in his diary that family and business meant so much to him, but still
He was leaving a legacy for others to use– the little white church on the hill.

The old wooden cross which was hand made with love still beckons the weary to come;
It’s the first thing you see when you enter the church and you know that at last you are home
In the little white church which was built long ago for families who wanted to pray,
Where the altar is blessed and stained with the tears of those who were seeking the Way.

Sometimes in the silence of this sanctuary - I sit and it seems I can hear
The laughter of children from days long ago, the memories that now seem so near
Of Jacob, Louisa, and their children, too, who worshiped in this very place.
These walls heard their songs and echoed their prayers as they came to partake of His grace.

And then I can see their caskets, draped with sadness and flowers of mourning
Being carried away from this chapel outside to await the final dawning.
When their graves on this hillside will open and this building will be no more,
But the church will all be together on that happy golden shore.

And we will all share our precious memories of the times we gathered here
As we sang and prayed and worshipped in this place we all hold dear;
And I think even heaven will listen, and the angels will all be still
As we remember the blessings of Oakland, and the little white church on the hill.

Written by Pastor Joan Hart on July 26, 2002 in honor of the Oakland Heritage Church of God, formerly the Oakland United Methodist Church, and originally the Oakland Moravian Church, and in memory of Jacob Blickensderfer, who designed and built the church in 1883. Copyright 2002


Thursday, June 11, 2009

THE BLESSING OF THORNS
Sandra felt as low as the heels of her shoes as she pushed against a November gust and the florist shop door.
Her life had been easy, like a spring breeze. Then in the fourth month of her second pregnancy, a minor automobile accident stole that from her.
During this Thanksgiving week she would have delivered a son. She grieved over her loss. As if that weren't enough, her husband's company threatened a transfer. Then her sister, whose holiday visit she coveted, called saying she could not come for the holiday.
Then Sandra's friend infuriated her by suggesting her grief was a God-given path to maturity that would allow her to empathize with others who suffer. She has no idea what I'm feeling, thought Sandra with a shudder.
Thanksgiving? Thankful for what? She wondered. For a careless driver whose truck was hardly scratched when he rear-ended her? For an airbag that saved her life but took that of her child?
"Good afternoon, can I help you?" The shop clerk's approach startled her.
I....I need an arrangement," stammered Sandra.
"For Thanksgiving? Do you want beautiful but ordinary, or would you like to challenge the day with a customer favorite I call the Thanksgiving "Special?" asked the shop clerk. "I'm convinced that flowers tell stories," she continued. "Are you looking for something that conveys 'gratitude' this thanksgiving?"
"Not exactly!" Sandra blurted out. "In the last five months, everything that could go wrong has gone wrong."
Sandra regretted her outburst, and was surprised when the shop clerk said, "I have the perfect arrangement for you."
Just then the shop door's small bell rang, and the shop clerk said, "Hi, Barbara...let me get your order." She politely excused herself and walked toward a small workroom, then quickly reappeared, carrying an arrangement of greenery, bows, and long-stemmed thorny roses. Except the ends of the rose stems were neatly snipped: there were no flowers.
"Want this in a box?" asked the clerk.
Sandra watched for the customer's response. Was this a joke? Who would want rose stems with no flowers! She waited for laughter, but neither woman laughed.
"Yes, please," Barbara, replied with an appreciative smile. "You'd think after three years of getting the special, I wouldn't be so moved by its significance, but I can feel it right here, all over again," she said as she gently tapped her chest. And she left with her order.
"Uh," stammered Sandra, "that lady just left with, uh....she just left with no flowers!
"Right, said the clerk, "I cut off the flowers. That's the Special. I call it the Thanksgiving Thorns Bouquet."
"Oh, come on, you can't tell me someone is willing to pay for that!" exclaimed Sandra.
"Barbara came into the shop three years ago feeling much like you feel today," explained the clerk. "She thought she had very little to be thankful for. She had lost her father to cancer, the family business was failing, her son was into drugs, and she was facing major surgery."
"That same year I had lost my husband," continued the clerk, "and for the first time in my life, had just spent the holidays alone. I had no children, no husband, no family nearby, and too great a debt to allow any travel."
"So what did you do?" asked Sandra.
"I learned to be thankful for thorns," answered the clerk quietly. "I've always thanked God for the good things in my life and never questioned the good things that happened to me, but when bad stuff hit, did I ever ask questions! It took time for me to learn that dark times are important. I have always enjoyed the 'flowers' of life, but it took thorns to show me the beauty of God's comfort. You know, the Bible says that God comforts us when we're afflicted, and from His consolation we learn to comfort others."
Sandra sucked in her breath as she thought about the very thing her friend had tried to tell her. "I guess the truth is I don't want comfort. I've lost a baby and I'm angry with God."
Just then someone else walked in the shop. "Hey, Phil!" shouted the clerk to the balding, rotund man.
"My wife sent me in to get our usual Thanksgiving Special....12 thorny, long-stemmed stems!" laughed Phil as the clerk handed him a tissue-wrapped arrangement from the refrigerator.
"Those are for your wife?" asked Sandra incredulously. "Do you mind me asking why she wants something that looks like that?"
"No...I'm glad you asked," Phil replied. "Four years ago my wife and I nearly divorced. After forty years, we were in a real mess, but with the Lord's grace and guidance, we slogged through problem after problem. He rescued our marriage. Jenny here (the clerk) told me she kept a vase of rose stems to remind her of what she learned from "thorny" times, and that was good enough for me. I took home some of those stems. My wife and I decided to label each one for a specific "problem" and give thanks for what that problem taught us."
As Phil paid the clerk, he said to Sandra, "I highly recommend the Special!"
"I don't know if I can be thankful for the thorns in my life." Sandra said. "It's all too...fresh."
"Well," the clerk replied carefully, "my experience has shown me that thorns make roses more precious. We treasure God's providential care more during trouble than at any other time. Remember, it was a crown of thorns that Jesus wore so we might know His love. Don't resent the thorns."
Tears rolled down Sandra's cheeks. For the first time since the accident, she loosened her grip on resentment. "I'll take those twelve long-stemmed thorns, please," she managed to choke out.
"I hoped you would," said the clerk gently. "I'll have them ready in a minute."
"Thank you. What do I owe you?"
"Nothing. Nothing but a promise to allow God to heal your heart. The first year's arrangement is always on me." The clerk smiled and handed a card to Sandra. "I'll attach this card to your arrangement, but maybe you would like to read it first."
It read: "My God, I have never thanked You for my thorns. I have thanked You a thousand times for my roses, but never once for my thorns. Teach me the glory of the cross I bear; teach me the value of my thorns. Show me that I have climbed closer to You along the path of pain. Show me that, through my tears, the colors of Your rainbow look much more brilliant."
Praise Him for your roses; thank him for your thorns!
-- Author Unknown

No comments: