Snow Instead of Church on February 12!

The readings for the Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany were:
2 Kings 5:1-14
1 Corinthians 9:24-27
Mark 1:40-45
Psalm 30

Here in Virginia we didn't get hit as badly by the big coastal blizzard as New York and New England, but we did have about a foot of snow and lots of ice. It kept most of us indoors for about a day and a half. There was no way we could get to church on Sunday morning. That was the time of the heaviest snowfall, but one of our pastors and a total of 75 parishoners braved the elements and made it to each of our regular three services. That averages out to about 25 per service, but I think only 10 people actually made it to the 8:30 service. Our normal attendance is about 375 per service, so we were short over 1,000 people this week. Two choir members showed up, and the pastor asked them to sit in the choir loft. The organist couldn't get into town, nor could our daughter who directs the youth choir. But they had three services and here are the hymns they sang.

Praise, My Soul, the King of Heaven by Henry Francis Lyte. The hymn tune is called Lauda anima by John Goss.

Praise, my soul, the King of heaven;
to his feet thy tribute bring;
ransomed, healed, restored, forgiven,
evermore his praises sing:
Alleluia, alleluia!
Praise the everlasting King.

Praise him for his grace and favor
to our fathers in distress;
praise him still the same for ever,
slow to chide and swift to bless:
Alleluia, alleluia!
Glorious in his faithfulness.

Father-like, he tends and spares us;
well our feeble frame he knows;
in his hand he gently bears us,
rescues us from all our foes.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Widely yet his mercy flows.

Angels, help us to adore him;
ye behold him face to face;
sun and moon, bow down before him,
dwellers all in time and space.
Alleluia, alleluia!
Praise with us the God of grace.

He Touched Me by Bill and Gloria Gaither

Shackled by a heavy burden
'Neath a load of guilt and shame
Then the hand of Jesus touched me
And now I am no longer the same


For He touched me, He touched me
What wonderful joy that floods my soul
Something happened and now I know
He touched me and made me whole


Oh since I met this blessed Savior
And since he cleaned and made me whole
Oh I never cease, never cease to praise Him
I'll shout it while eternity rolls


Oh He touched me, oh He touched me
And oh what a joy that floods my soul
Something happened and now I know
He touched me and made me whole.

The anthem was supposed to be Hymn of Promise by Natalie Sleeth. Since the congregation knows this anyway, the pastor had everyone sing the anthem.

In the bulb there is a flower; in the seed, an apple tree;
In cocoons, a hidden promise: butterflies will soon be free!
In the cold and snow of winter there’s a spring that waits to be,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

There’s a song in every silence, seeking word and melody;
There’s a dawn in every darkness, bringing hope to you and me.
From the past will come the future; what it holds, a mystery,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

In our end is our beginning; in our time, infinity;
In our doubt there is believing; in our life, eternity,
In our death, a resurrection; at the last, a victory,
Unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see.

The final hymn was It Is Well with My Soul by Horatio Gates Spafford. This is one of those hymns written as a response to overwhelming personal sorrow. Spafford was ruined financially by the Great Chicago Fire of October, 1871. His only son died that same year. Two years later his family decided to vacation in Europe and during the trans-Atlantic crossing Spafford's four daughters were killed in a collision with another ship. His wife survived the shipwreck. Spafford wrote this hymn a few weeks later.

When peace like a river, attendeth my way;
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well with my soul.

It is well...with my soul... It is well, it is well, with my soul...

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blest assurance control,
That Christ hath regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

It is well...with my soul... It is well, it is well, with my soul...

He lives--oh, the bliss of this glorious thought;
My sin, not in part, but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more.
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, Oh my soul.

It is well...with my soul... It is well, it is well, with my soul...

And, Lord, haste the day when our faith shall be sight
The clouds be rolled back as a scroll,
The trumpet shall sound, and the Lord shall descend;
Even so, it is well with my soul...

It is well...with my soul... It is well, it is well, with my soul...