Reading Through the Bible in One Year

As the child of a minister one might think I would have already read through the entire Bible. Not so (sadly). Although I have heard scripture for forty-one years, I have never actually read and studied through the whole body of it on my own. On more than one occasion I have begun the journey only to get sidetracked somewhere in Deuteronomy. So I was intrigued when I saw a friend's Facebook post about another of her friend's projects.

Patricia Szymanski is the author of the blog Reading the Bible in 365. She is beginning her third yearly trip through the Bible and I'm sure she wouldn't mind anyone tagging along. You can visit her site and find out all about her and her project. In fact, you can easily and quickly go back and read her December posts which lead up to the start of the study. So far, I've enjoyed what I've seen of her site and look forward to learning some things about the Bible I did not know before.

My Little White Church

No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the vale.

The above lyric is from the song "The Church in the Wildwood" written in 1857 by Dr. William S. Pitts. It is a song my congregation still sings from time to time and there is never a time I sing it or hear it that I fail to think of my own church. While we are not in a valley, nor are we brown, we are little and it is most definitely a dear spot from my childhood.

I have many good memories from attending church over these past 41 years but the yearly Christmas play acted out by the children of the church is among the most fond. Most years we did (and still do) some rendition of the original Christmas story. You know, that one found in Luke 2.

Now, as a youngster my favorite role to play was Mary. With a flowing nightgown and shawl, she had the best costume. Plus, Mary never had to memorize any lines (which was good because memorizing anything seemed
too much like school work to me). She just had to sit there by the manger and look good. I always thought having long brown hair, and since I was the Pastor's kid, would make me the obvious choice to play her each year. However, in the name of fairness, we had to switch it up some, so I spent my fair share of time playing an angel, too. I'm also pretty sure I played a shepherd one year - which stunk because in those days all the shepherds ever wore were bathrobes and towels on their heads, although they did get to carry some pretty cool tobacco sticks as their staffs. The wise men had it a little better. They still had to wear bathrobes, but theirs could be more brightly colored, plus they each wore a crown made from tin foil.

This year, one of the plays the kids did was an interpretation of the song "The Friendly Beasts". Ren was Mary and John-Heath was the donkey. Mary was still silent but John-Heath did have a line, which he quickly learned a few weeks ago and said with gusto...

"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown,
"I carried His mother up hill and down;
I carried her safely to Bethlehem town."
"I," said the donkey, shaggy and brown.

Of course, he did pronounce mother as mudder, which made me think of the camp song "Hello, Mudder. Hello, Fadder".

The other little skit performed tonight was based on the song "The Christmas Guest". I love this song! It's a great song with a great meaning but I love it best when recited by Grandpa Jones, who always reminded me of my Pa Frazier. Anyway, the kids were awesome in this one, too.

In addition to the play itself, an equally fond memory from the evening of the church play is of my father standing by the door passing out sacks to everyone in attendance as they were leaving to go home. In each sack there was always an apple, an orange, and some candy. My father was raised during part of the Great Depression and has always spoke of what a treat it was at Christmas to receive even a piece of fruit, so I think this may have been what prompted him to begin doing this. We still do it to this day. It may seem insignificant but I just can't imagine the night of our Christmas play without those brown paper sacks.

P.S. The story behind the song "The Church in the Wildwood" is quite charming. You can go here to read about it or read about it in the book Then Sings My Soul Vol. 2, which tells the stories behind some of the most loved hymms.

The real Little Brown Church.

...Where Bright Angel Feet Have Trod.

Allow me to take a break in all things Christmas to share with you the great news of my nephew’s baptism. This would be a post better suited for Easter I suppose, but I didn’t want to wait that long to bring forth such glad tidings.

I, like most of my family, am a Baptist. As such, we believe that baptism, while not required for salvation, is a very important component in our relationship with Jesus. It is an outward sign of our decision to accept Christ into our lives, symbolic of his death and resurrection. Jesus considered this ritual so important that he, himself, was baptized and later told his disciples to "go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit." (Matthew 28: 18-20).

My great-nephew Weston was baptized the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Like those in families that are the first to graduate college, he was the first in my (immediate) family to be baptized in a baptistery. Since our little white church is not equipped with one, the service was held at another church in our association. It was a beautiful ceremony and I was fortunate in being able to play the piano for the occasion. It turned out to be my first time in getting to play a grand piano, truly a wonderful experience - though it led to my committing one of the seven deadly sins right there in church...envy.

My father, a minister, baptized Weston. I think it was probably his first baptistery experience too. He did for his great-grandson as he has done for many others throughout the years, including me one hot summer Sunday and Ren on a frigid day in January. He took from his pocket a clean, white handkerchief and, placing it over the mouth and nose of his new brother in Christ, baptized him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. My dad is 79. I hope he will still be in good health when the time comes for my little boy. It would be nice to know that Daddy was the one with each of his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren as they took the plunge, so to speak.

As Baptists, baptism by immersion is not only one of the most recognized tenants of our faith it is also one of the most important. And I don’t suppose it matters whether you are in a nice, climate-controlled tub or in a shallow creek off some beaten path. What counts is what is true and truly felt.