WHEN ALL THE SAINTS ARE GATHERED… [R, 8-20-20]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

WHEN ALL THE SAINTS ARE GATHERED…   [R, 8-20-20]

 From time to time I get a vision that requires a song. This one comes from the southern Indiana days of my youth, when churches used to picnic after worship on the church grounds. I have a tune for it {Not “Bill Grogan’s Goat” this time}, but since I can’t write music, you’ll have to think up your own.

 Yes, if you’re a long-time reader of this column, you’ve “heard” this before. I just think it’s a nice image to have before us now, so worth a repeat.

 WHEN ALL THE SAINTS ARE GATHERED ON THE LAWN

There is a time to gather, there is a time to scatter,

there is a time to harvest and to sow,

but a time there is that’s coming,

when the banjos will be strumming

and to the final circle we shall go.

 

Will the circle be unbroken, by and by, Lord, by and by,

There’s a better home a waiting, in the sky, Lord, in the sky…

 REFRAIN

There will be singing and laughter, fried chicken ever after,

when all the saints are gathered on the lawn.

No need for sighing or for moaning,

for weeping or for groaning,

when all the saints are gathered on the lawn.

 

The winds were blowing harder, the waves were getting higher,

my little boat was splitting from the blast.

Jesus stopped that wind from blowing,

told Michael to get rowing,

Beyond the Jordan we’ll reach that lawn at last.

 

Michael, row the boat ashore, alleluia

Michael, row the boat ashore, alleluia

 

Some say if God made you different, then you have no place to be.

You’re second class and have no claim on grace.

It’s time for us to take a stand,

to be a part of that Gospel band,

to see the form of Christ in every face.

 

I shall not be, I shall not be moved

Just like a tree that’s planted by the water, I shall not be moved.

 

There the Free Church will be chanting, teetotalers decanting,

the Romans and Reformed will sing the blues.

Pinko libs and hardshell fundies,

will dance together in their undies,

when the banjos start picking out good news. [1]

 

And they’ll know we are Christians by our love, by our love,

Yes, they’ll know we are Christians by our love.

REFRAIN

There will be singing and laughter, fried chicken ever after,

when all the saints are gathered on the lawn.

No need for sighing or for moaning,

for weeping or for groaning,

when all the saints are gathered on the lawn.

John Robert McFarland

[1] Okay, YOU try to rhyme something with “fundies.” In case you can’t, here’s an alternate verse:

There the Free Church will be chanting, teetotalers decanting,

The Romans and Reformed will sing the blues.

Hard shell people and mainliners,

Together will be diners,

When the Lord does host his table of good news.