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JERUSALEM, MY
HAPPY HOME
(Note: we had
permission to print the text during Lent but have had to remove
the text after Lent. Refer to your hymnal for the text.)
Back in seminary
days, when Paul had no car and no money, we walked to church and
other places. To use the time, we memorized some hymns. One of
the first ones I typed onto a recipe card was “Jerusalem, My Happy
Home.” We liked the tune and the words, and it was short. The
idea of a beautiful garden full of trees and flowers and
angels was very appealing in the middle of Chicago. We really had no
sorrows in our lives at that point, but that didn't make the
thought of heaven any less appealing!
When we moved to
northeast Wichita, it seemed as if we were surrounded by
cemeteries. People have been living and dying here for a long
time. But death seems distant in our everyday lives until someone
we love is touched by it. We treasure memories of friends like
Virginia Leikvold, who left her love of music as a gift for us, a
glimpse into the angels' songs in Jerusalem.
While we were in Tanzania last July, we saw little shops lining
the road, selling fruits and vegetables and fabrics. There also
were little carpenter shops, especially on the road that led past
the big
hospital. Some specialized in wooden caskets, displaying them on
the ground along the edge of the road. Many of the caskets were
small — painted white with blue or pink trim, maybe even with a
few bows. Each time we drove on the road, we were reminded that
big and small alike were dying every day. The Ashira pastor said
he had about 45 funerals a year, and most of them were not for old
people. My friend Kaanaeli said her village had funerals every
week, and all families were touched by the plague of AIDS. Young
mothers and fathers were dying. Their children were dying. This
would seem hopeless, except that we have been promised a happy
home in a beautiful kingdom, and the music of angels will welcome
us. What a glorious thought!
Father God, what
a comfort it is to know that death is not the end of life, but the
beginning of seeing the joys of eternal life.
Glennyce Reimers
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