Pastor Don’s Corner . . .  

Psalm 91:1-2, 5-6

You who live in the shelter of the Most High, who abide in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the Lord, “My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.” You will not fear the terror of the night, or the arrow that flies by day, or the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, or the destruction that wastes at noonday.

 A song keeps running through my mind, a song with the rhythmic beat of a deep steady tribal drum underscoring the soothing words, “Come to me Jesus” which are sung over and over again. It is a haunting song, a comforting song, a pleading song, a hopeful song. It is a ‘speaking of my heart’ and the prayer of my soul.

You see, that is the problem with my taking a day off and going to the farm to work: I tend to ‘think’. I think about the Church and this congregation. I think about the town and what is going on in the business of the city and the schools. I think about our nation, with both our woundedness and our drive to seek justice by wounding others. And, I think about our world, how the nature of community has changed, how ‘friend’ and ‘enemy’ has defined new relationships, and how it seems that the common man, woman, or child on the street, no matter where, has very little to say about it. Words to songs, yet unwritten, swirl through my mind and find an outlet in the solitude of a chisel-plowed field on the lips of one unsure how to compose them.

Come to me Jesus.

Mothers are cryin’ (Come to me Jesus)
tears mixed with smoke and ash (Come to me Jesus)
hatred and violence (Come to me Jesus)
silence a precious sound (Come to me Jesus).

Come to me Jesus. Wrap me in arms of love. Quiet my troubled soul. Lead us into Your peace.

Fathers are grievin’ (Come to me Jesus)
visions are sealed away (Come to me Jesus)
coffins of wood and steel (Come to me Jesus)
bury their dreams and hopes (Come to me Jesus).

Come to me Jesus. Wrap me in arms of love. Quiet my troubled soul. Lead us into Your peace.

Children are weepin’ (Come to me Jesus)
parents are gone away (Come to me Jesus)
clinging to innocence (Come to me Jesus)
seeking your Sanctity (Come to me Jesus).

Come to me Jesus. Wrap me in arms of love. Quiet my troubled soul. Lead us into Your peace.

We’re coming to the Table (Come to me Jesus),
to taste of Your sacrifice (Come to me Jesus),
to drink of Your mercy (Come to me Jesus),
to dwell in your Spirit (Come to me Jesus).

Come to me Jesus. Wrap me in arms of love. Quiet my troubled soul. Lead us into Your peace.

Holy, Holy, God above (Come to me Jesus)
I sing with angels, full of love (Come to me Jesus)
no more weepin, no more pain (Come to me Jesus)
teach us how to sing again (Come to me Jesus).
Come to me Jesus (Come to me Jesus).
Lead us into your peace (Come to me Jesus).
Come to me Jesus (Come to me Jesus).
Lead us into your peace (Come to me Jesus).
(Come to me Jesus) 
(Come to me Jesus).

 Well, I guess you had to be there to hear it, but it does have a tune and my writing it down here copyrights the thought. Just the same, I don’t believe for a moment that I am much different than anyone else living in these uncertain times: so many images of grief, anger, despair, hope, heroism, faith, and strength . . . all rolled up together. I doubt that the terrorists could have ever known what they would trigger, both in the response of the military and in the public transformation of the American faith community. Over-wrought with pain, over-saturated with media images, and overflowing with questions and fear, the Church has become a safe haven for men, women, and children, alike. There, at the foot of the cross, the differences in language, race, and ethnic background melt into prayerful oblivion as people wrestle with the demons of their day. There at the Table of the Lord people look to the One who knows what it is to mourn and still triumph, to the One who knows what it is to suffer loss and still rejoice, and to the One who knows what it is to sacrifice all for the greater good . . . and to gain it all in the name of an even Greater Good.

I suspect this year’s Thanksgiving will have a much deeper meaning, too. Not unlike the stories told of the first Thanksgiving, when the bounty of such a feast would have meant little had it not been preceded by tremendous hunger and struggle for survival, so, too, will the Thanksgiving Day 2001 will be permeated by the bittersweet humility of survivors gathering to remember the journey and those lost along the way. That all are welcome at the Table goes without saying, but that some are missing in service to their country or because they have become unwitting victims in a battle of ideologies, those absences will not be silent, either in the families or before God. ‘Come to me Jesus’ is more than the pleading of a prayerful soul, it is a statement of God’s steadfast love, regardless of the circumstance, and that is my prayer for us all this Thanksgiving season.