Great old narrations
Last week in our church, Warren used the old story about the man playing cards at the back of the church to remind us of some great Christian truths.

Warren did this well. It was not too long, and it gave some variety to the beginning of the service. It reminded me of my parents’ 78 rpm gramophone record of Tex Ritter [I think] reciting The Touch of the Master’s Hand on one side and If Jesus Came To Your House on the other.

I don’t like the latter. It sounds too much like the green plaque my parents had on the kitchen wall. I know people mean well, but

Christ is the Head of this House
The Unseen Guest at Every Meal
The Silent Listener to Every Conversation

gives me chills. While I believe it to be true, I prefer the more encouraging

Only one earth life
Soon it will pass
Only what’s done for Jesus will last

[I think other people have “Christ” where I recall this having “Jesus” in the last line.]

But I love The Touch of the Master’s Hand. I don’t think I could recite it myself, because I choke up when I try. The parts that make me cry are the lines about the person who is rejected by other people, and who has walked away from God, and the lines which tell of how God values us differently and can bring hope and new life.

The Touch Of The Master’s Hand

‘Twas battered and scarred, and the auctioneer
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
“What am I bidden, good folks,” he cried,
“Who’ll start the bidding for me?”
“A dollar, a dollar. Then two! Only two?
Two dollars, and who’ll make it three?”

“Three dollars, once; three dollars, twice;
Going for three...” But no,
From the room, far back, a grey-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.

The music ceased, and the auctioneer,
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said: “What am I bid for the old violin?”
And he held it up with the bow.
“A thousand dollars, and who’ll make it two?
Two thousand! And who’ll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand, twice,
And going and gone,” said he.

The people cheered, but some of them cried,
“We do not quite understand.
What changed its worth?” Swift came the reply:
“The touch of the Master’s hand.”
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scarred with sin,
Is auctioned cheap to the thoughtless crowd
Much like the old violin.

A “mess of pottage,” a glass of wine,
A game—and he travels on.
He is “going” once, and “going” twice,
He’s “going” and almost “gone.”
But the Master comes, and the foolish crowd
Never can quite understand
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the touch of the Master’s hand.

-- Myra Brooks Welch

Got any others?

Last week in our church, Warren used the old story about the man playing cards at the back of the church to remind us of some great Christian truths.

I remember my father “playing” this to us with his tennis racquet guitar over 50 years ago, it must be now.  We loved it.

I remember one also that used to be told to us at bath time, I must have been about 7, and it was quite scary, and it was about an Indian creeping up on someone.  When I just googled “Abou Ben Adam” this is what I came across - nothing scary or anything about an Indian creeping up on some suspecting enemy at all. I also I dont remember my father as a christian or a Church goer at all.  I remember he said seeing mates die in WW2 was enough to question if there was a God.  I do remember this first line, tho, and it seems I have conflated two poems into one, perhaps.

funny, ....(as in not) it’s given me pause to thought of my Dad.  I will keep hunting the other poem as well.

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou?” The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.”

“And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,”
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men.”

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest!

Hi Gill.

I remember Abou; nice poem, but he makes me cringe, cos I don’t think he is preaching the same gospel as Jesus and Paul. What do you think?

David said
Hi Gill.
I remember Abou; nice poem, but he makes me cringe, cos I don’t think he is preaching the same gospel as Jesus and Paul. What do you think? “

No, I definitely agree.  Dad would have said, if he had ever said anything about himself “write me down as one who loves his fellow men.” He was a nice man, and a good man, but not a Christian when I knew him.  I was in Tanzania when he died, and I remember that someone from our local church used to visit and I am not too sure whether he became a Christian when he died.  My twin sister, when she was dying said she was looking forward to seeing Dad when she died, so I think he may have come to Christ, but I don’t know the how or when.

Thanks David for reminding us of that old classic “The Touch Of The Master’s Hand”. It brought back memories of decades ago when our Sunday School class performed it on the Annual Prizegiving Afternoon at the Panania School Arts where the Gospel Hall held classes on Sunday afternoons. I played the old man.

Interestingly, the C of E held Sunday School classes there on Sunday mornings.
Little did I know that I would ‘meet’ my wife some 10 years later - and then later on realise that we had been in the same hall every Sunday all those years before - but at different times of the day. Ah nostalgia - who said that it’s not what it used to be ?

Gill Evans - 02 July 2007 01:39 AM

My twin sister,

Wow!  Another twin on the fora!  I didn’t realise you were a twin too Gill!

TZ.

I’ve got twin brothers ... Deos that count?

Hi there Tia.....

I’ve got twin brothers ... Deos that count?

Naahh, naaha, (thinking hard and praying for godly response).... definitely NOT David!  :-)

Actually yesterday was the anniversay of her death, so it is not surprising I have been musing over the last few days about family I suppose.  I rang all of her kids - we may go to the movies when we can all get together. 

back to the topic,.......  There was a poem/song that goes “I love to play my ole banjo and rest it on my knee”...in 1983 I taught this with some “llls in it, so it went I lululove to playlaylay my ollollo banjololo etc. to her kids when they went to visit Ireland (and paid for me to travel from Tanzania to meet them there).  I have no idea where the “song” came from or how I knew it, and now I sing it to her children (my great nieces and nephew) and it is my great nieces favourite bedtime song.  I wrote the words in a Revolting Rhymes book by Roald Dahl at the time.  They learnt it travelling around Ireland for 10 days or so in a car with me and the family.  My niece still has it.  Her brother has just gone to Ireland to visit the Irish family and his children are now more or less the same age as he was when he first visited Ireland with his parents, - 8 months before their father died.

now creeping back to her rocking chair and stop the reminicences, and alllow these fora to get back to more serious matters.

regards
Gill