Yet again last evening at Maundy Thursday service, as it has so many times before, this hymn slayed me. Husky voice. Tearful singing. Such wonder in these lyrics.
Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King,
Never was grief like thine!
This is my Friend,
In whose sweet praise
I all my days
Could gladly spend.
The setting: Neimerg’s Steakhouse in Effingham, Illinois. The three-sided counter like you see in old restaurants, near the window to the kitchen.
The actors: Rob, an 80ish man with a red Cardinals cap. He hasn’t shaved in several days. And he sighs after every slurp of coffee. Joe, and 80ish man, taller than Rob. Joe has no teeth. He’s in a John Deere cap.
Rob is sighing after a sip of coffee. Joe sits down beside him. They clearly know each other.
Joe states that all the does is go from bed to the doctor to the hospital and back to bed.
Rob comments on the fact that his skin itches.
And then ensues a five-minute conversation between two wizened senior citizens . . . about which soap they use, how their skin feels, and what the best soap is.
Irish Spring is the winner.
But that’s only after Rob asserts that he uses shampoo all over his body, since it’s easier that way.
And I’m in stitches. I finished my peach pie and left with a smile on my face.