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Saint Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church

8011 Douglas
Dallas, Texas 75225

Phone: 214-363-5471
Fax: 214-363-4388
After Hours Priest on Call Number: 214-232-7512

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James’ Notes


THE SIXTH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
PROPER 11
JULY 20, 2014


Future Glory

I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. —Romans 8:18-21 (excerpt from Epistle)

Immortal, invisible, God only wise,
in light inaccessible hid from our eyes,
most blessed, most glorious, the Ancient of Days,
almighty, victorious, thy great Name we praise.

To all life thou givest, to both great and small;
in all life thou livest, the true life of all;
we blossom and flourish, like leaves on the tree,
then wither and perish; but nought changeth thee.

—Hymn 423 (excerpt), Walter Chalmers Smith (1824-1908), alt.

 

Hymns

  • 556, “Rejoice, ye pure in heart!” —Entrance Hymn
  • 423, “Immortal, invisible, God only wise” —Sequence Hymn
  • 178, “Alleluia, alleluia! Give thanks to the risen Lord” —Communion Hymn
  • 602, “Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love” —Communion Hymn
  • 707, “Take my life, and let it be” —Communion Hymn
  • 365, “Come, thou almighty King” —Postcommunion Hymn

 

The Offertory (10:00 a.m.)

Dear Lord and Father of Mankind  C. Hubert H. Parry

Sunday’s Offertory is a hymn-anthem arranged by H. A. Chambers of the hymn tune Judith. Both the text and tune may be found in The Hymnal 1982, number 653.

Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
forgive our foolish ways!
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
in purer lives thy service find,
in deeper reverence, praise.

In simple trust like theirs who heard,
beside the Syrian sea,
the gracious calling of the Lord,
let us, like them, without a word,
rise up and follow thee.

Drop thy still dews of quietness,
till all our strivings cease;
take from our souls the strain and stress,
and let our ordered lives confess
the beauty of thy peace.

Breathe through the heats of our desire
thy coolness and thy balm;
let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm.
—John Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892), alt.

 

The Postlude

Final in B-flat Major  César Franck

 

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