the homesteaders daughter: Of the Sad and Bitter Split of a Church

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Of the Sad and Bitter Split of a Church

A lovely wooden chapel

Stands among the trees

Fashioned by the hands of men

Opened with High-Heaven keys

God placed it as a sheepfold

Offering still waters

And food from greenest pastures

For His new sons and daughters

Angels hovered near the scene

To view salvation

Looking on in wonderment

At every celebration

A wedding feast was readied

As the Groom drew near

Reaching out a hand for her

For whom He had paid so dear

Next would follow unity

All in one accord

The congregation all alike

A single heart with Christ their Lord

Wait! Heaven's eyes are focused

On the Earth below

The bride has sent an arrow

And now a cruel blow

Against herself she battles

In the name of love

With mercy flown away she fights

To stab and pierce and shove

While in the bridal chamber

A gown hangs...soiled

By wounds inflicted there

Oh, small-town maid

What have you spoiled

(Many years ago I watched a seemingly strong Christian fellowship split with an ugly judgemental, merciless spirit. It left a mark on my heart and I always wanted to somehow get the feeling out of my heart and replace it with understanding. Not possible, I have found.. Forgive me if I have over-used my imagination)

LET US LOVE ONE ANOTHER

2 comments:

KathyB.June 17, 2009 at 1:19 AM
This is such an apt portrayal of a church split, and the wound of such a split is always a gaping , oozing wound that only Jesus can heal...He is the Groom , we the soiled bride, and He loves us anyway. That is the true mystery, He loves us anyway.
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Mary HumphreyJune 17, 2009 at 5:00 AM
The church splits seem to happen way too often. I try to tell myself the church is comprised of mankind, only humans, and the worship and fellowship should be based on God's word. Not twisted, not bent, solid in His word. So, I second what Kathy said, "oozing wound that only Jesus can heal."
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A Little bit about the grandparents

I consider myself blessed to have known my paternal great-grandparents. Allie and Knapp were a couple straight out of "Little House on the Prairie. They lost a child while still in Kansas and soon after traveled to Washington state where they homesteaded a goodly piece of land and proceeded to build a beautiful farm where the flowers bloomed with abundance to match the fruit of the orchard and the fields of grain.

Their second son, Glenn married Pearl, had a son by her but she gave her life to bring him forth. She died when her baby son, Lloyd, was born. The grandparents raised the boy while Glennn married a young woman named Beulah. They had two boys, but grandson, Lloyd stayed on with them . when he was 8 years-old his father, Glenn was killed by a truck load of logs that rolled off a train and crushed him to pieces.

Their lives seemed one long tragedy, yet love was more alive there than most any other place I have ever been. My father, Lloyd married Maudie Clark and I was their first child, born in our own little house on the Moore property. How could anything so right go so terribly wrong??

By the time I came along the grandparents were in their 80's and life happened. My parents divorced and though I stauyd mainly with my mother I spent a great deal of time with my dad and Grandpa and Grandma on the farm...or what was left of it by this time.

There never was running water in the, "big" house or an inside toilet and only limited electricity.

On most days Grandma sat in the parlor in her rocker in front of a standing radio and two windows where the honeysuckle smiled- in during the summer months; the Bible at her side.

The kitchen floor sank in a little and the oil-cloth on the big square table
was worn from the meals that had been served there. A kerosene lamp stood there also and somehow it always smelled like apple pie.

My grandma was just under 5 feet tall, with grey hair pulled back in a bun and little tiny feet. She could not see well and wore thick glasses, maybe not a pretty picture to anyone else but a matchless queen to me, and whenever she asked me to go to her closet and bring a certain box to her side I knew I was about to see wonderous things or to hear grand stories

My family's history was in those boxes and over the few years that I had my dear great-grandparents I learned who I was. Grandpa had his tales to tell also. One such story was the one about a horse kicking him in the chest and he DID seems to have a hoof print in that spot.

Grandpa chewed...tobacco that is... and watching him bite off a chunk of the rich chocolate colored stuff was very tempting. My mother told me that when she was expecting me she was so overcome with temptation that she snuck a piece of the tobacco when Grandpa wasn't looking and had her chew...and spent some time with her head hanging over the dandelion field behind the house.

Grandpa Knapp was an unusual fella. Once a year the grandparents house was scrubbed inside with calsomine, a white paint-like substance. He had to walk to the paint store which was a good 5 miles one way. His walks were going to become a problem later on after Grandma was gone but that will have to come later.