Ice is slippery, and presby* people like our little congregation are fall risks, so we are having a snow – or more precisely, ice – day for the Second Sunday after Epiphany.
Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others. Philippians 2:5
So we had church by text message and emergency alert and “Did anyone contact the new people?” from some place where people travel to corporate worship through five times as much snow as this and heart emojis.
And thought of All Beautiful the March of Days.
Being elder-ly hath its privileges – like being old enough to remember this beautiful hymn, which somehow didn’t manage to make it into the new hymnal. [Which in so many other respects is wonderful, I hasten to add. I’m not that old.]
There’s more information about this hymn, its author Frances Whitmarsh Wile, and the tune FOREST GREEN at Hymnary.org
[*] A Greek root that means “elder.” As in “presby-opia,” the far-sightedness that elder-ly people get, or “presby-terian” – which technically does not mean a church full of old people, although considering the average age of our congregation a person could be forgiven for thinking that, but a church governed by “presby-ters,” that is, elders.