Thanksgiving – 1941


A magnificent edifice of the most modern construction, adorned with the last word in mod­ern furnishings.

A large, steaming, golden brown turkey graces the center of the dining room table, set off by two candlesticks and surrounded with heavy silverware and costly china.

Two bright-eyed children sit at opposite sides of the table, while father and mother take their respective places at opposite ends. Sweet potatoes, vegetables of vari­ous kinds, jams, jellies, and cran­berry sauce, all help to round out the meal.

“Mother, we’ve had a very good year, stocks are climbing, business is good, everything we have undertaken was marked by success, we have much to be thankful for.”

Would it be speaking out of turn to suggest with all due reticence that Lazarus lies at the gate. cold, hungry, dirty and full of festering sores?

Thou Fool!


A simple yet attractive home, neat and well kept, bespeaking a man of moderate means.

On the table stands a platter with the remains of a chicken or two, while the greasy faces of hap­py children protrude out of a towel snugly tied about their necks.

Father is speaking: “Conditions are much better than a year ago; prices may be steadily climbing- but wages are also on the incline, and there is ample work for anyone who cares to work. We’ve acted accordingly; given to the Church, to benevolent organizations and other needy causes.”

With that thought in mind he turns unto himself and says, “Lord. I thank thee, that I am not as other men are, I… I… I…

But it remained for another to be justified rather than he.


A small cottage which has with­stood the spring rains, the drought of summer and the frost of winter for many seasons.

The threshold is worn, the door creaks on its hinges, the furnish­ings in the room speak of years of service.

At the old, round table near the window sits an old woman, the light shining on her silvered hair, tightly drawn back from a care­worn, wrinkled face.

No abundance here; no happy feasting. Her husband has gone on before her and left her to bide the time in her simplicity and lone­liness. But man’s life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.

Someone had very thoughtfully brought her a plate of chicken broth, which having been emptied, is now pushed aside, while she folds her hands over her Bible.

The Book lies open at the sixty- second Psalm: the silence of the room seems to take up the words:


My soul in silence waits for God:

My Savior He has proved:

He only is my Rock and Tower;

I never shall be moved.


As smoke from the incense, this prayer mingles with the prayers of all saints and fills the Sanctuary where angels worship.


My honor is secure with God.

My Savior He is known;

My refuge and, my Rock of strength

Are found in God alone.


For God has spoken o’er and o’er

And unto me has shown;

That, saving power and lasting strength

Belong to Him alone.