OAKLAND HERITAGE CHURCH OF GOD

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

This poem was inspired several years ago by Betty Shanks, whose email to me I have posted directly below.

LIQUID PRAYERS

I'm often asked why
Tears fall from my eyes
When my prayers ascend to the throne;
It's so easy for me
To shed tears, don't you see;
That's the way I make my needs known.

For the tears that I shed
In the prayers that I've said
Have all been kept by Him
In a bottle rare;
He has placed them there
He has never forgotten them.

For every tear
Is a liquid prayer
That waters the seed that we sow.
Through the good times and bad
Whether happy or sad
The tears help our prayers to flow.

Feel a tug in your heart?
Then let the tears start
When you take to God all your cares.
He knows what you need;
He hears when you plead;
For tears are just liquid prayers.

Written by Joan Rowden Hart 12.17.01, based on Psalm 56:8, “Thou tellest my wanderings; put thou my tears into thy bottle; are they not in thy book?” This poem was inspired by my dear friend, Betty Shanks of Farmington, Mo, who coined the phrase “liquid prayers” after I had preached a sermon on “Tears”.