It is well with my soul hillsong chapel chords
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And, in a brief moment, all my pastoral training went out the window, and I assumed the role of one who loved him and couldn’t bear to let him go. “Your old Uncle Alan is dying,” he said, in that knowing tone of voice that only the dying possess. He tried to tell me this in our last conversation on the telephone. Fully aware of his humanness, he could and did put himself in God’s hands, in the embrace of a loving shepherd. First, Alan was a man who could mouth these words with conviction. I think this passage is especially appropriate for two reasons. I am the good shepherd I know my own and my own know me, as the Father, and I lay down my life for the sheep” (John 10:11–14). He who is an hireling and not a shepherd sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees and the wolf snatches them and scatters them.
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Today, as we gather to commend Alan to Jesus Christ, the Bishop and Shepherd of our souls, in whose priesthood Alan was pleased to share, we take no small comfort in Jesus’ words in the tenth chapter of Saint John’s Gospel: “I am the good shepherd: the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Over sherry, one of my classmates asked Alan’s guest how he came to know Father McFarlane The former prisoner, doubtless also schooled by Alan, replied, “I met him on the outside.” He had, after all, paid his debt to society. Alan spent fifteen minutes on the telephone explaining that it would be unethical to let on that I had met this man when he was behind bars while I was the prison chapel organist. Once, he visited me at college and brought with him a young man who had been formerly an inmate.
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When, a year or two later, he returned to Montreal, ostensibly to work as chaplain at Her Majesty’s Prison (but really, I suspect, to keep an eye on me) he informed me that, for my soul’s health, I should come to to prison to play the organ for the Sunday services-for free, of course. He told me to apply to McGill University, and, when I was admitted, he arranged for me to stay at the Diocesan Theological College and to worship at his boyhood parish, the Church of St.
#It is well with my soul hillsong chapel chords mac#
Philip’s and known to young and old alike as “Father Mac.”įather Mac took charge of my life. That priest was, of course, Percival Alan Rex McFarlane, beloved curate at St. “Harold,” he said, “God does not choose the worthy, he makes worthy those whom he chooses.” “Not a bad line,” I thought to myself, and I promised the priest that I would, like Mary, ponder these things in my heart. When I regained some of my composure, I said, “Oh no, Father, I am not cut out for for that sort of thing.” The priest’s retort-he was deadly serious-made me stop laughing. I laughed so loud that people stopped eating their breakfast. Without batting an eyelash, he asked me if I had ever considered the priesthood. I told him I wanted to become an interpreter at the United Nations. It was on such a Sunday breakfast that one of those priests approached me and, out of the blue, asked me what I wanted to do with my life. Now the only people who didn’t pay for breakfast were the reverend clergy of the parish, an awesome threesome, who arrived, at the stroke of ten, in cassocks and birettas. Between masses, the youth of the parish served breakfast to the faithful and charged the princely sum of a dollar and twenty-five cents. Philip’s Church, Brooklyn, New York, where I had grown up. (John 10:11)Īlmost exactly forty years ago, I found myself in the role of president of what we used to call the YPF-the Young People’s Fellowship-in St. The Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Mary’s Church, Paddington, London 2 February 2001 PERCIVAL ALAN REX McFARLANE, Priest (1928–2001)